Inspired by: Elliej939 and her extreme dislike of cockroaches.

Beta'd by the magnificent 1983Sarah

A/N The problem with writing this is that 1) it's really dark right now and 2) I swear to god I can feel all these goddamn things on my skin and I'm supposed to be the author who controls them. Ugh. Also, fyi, I basically won't ever re-watch the episode of Bugs.

I've Got You Under My Skin

I've got you under my skin. I'd tried so not to give in. I said to myself, this affair never will go so well.
-F.S.

Chapter 1: Under Your Skin

Sam walked out of the bathroom and stared at Dean blankly. Dean raised one eyebrow at his brother, waiting for Sam to do something more. Sam just leaned his head to one side. There was a small snap as he kept leaning his neck until his head fell off completely. From the floor Sam started to laugh. His body started to crumble. It didn't dissolve like sand. No, of course not, because that would be far too normal. It dissolved into a hoard of crawling insects upon the carpet. Each freak vying for attention, moving across the carpet and swarming over Sam's head. Sam didn't even stop laughing until his flesh had been stripped down the bone.

Dean could still hear his voice loud and clear though.

"When he gives you the choice, it might just be easier to crawl."

And right as the ants were beginning their climb up his leg, right when the beetles were biting into his flesh- That's when Dean woke up screaming.

Dean frantically scrambled out of the sheets that had twisted around him, making him feel too hot and too trapped. He fell out of bed gasping for fresh air, staring wide eyed at the silent motel around him. There was a soft glow coming from the bathroom, but the rest of the room was dark. He always left the light on now. There were too many things that could come at you in the dark.

Dean reached behind himself, blindly grabbing under his pillow for the long knife hidden there. Not even the tooth fairy could surprise him. There was only one thing missing…He looked over at the bed beside him.

It was empty. There were only a few times he had seen that bed empty. And each time had left him with the taste of bile in his mouth. He swallowed it back, but couldn't calm his heartbeat.

Standing up on shaking legs, he moved over to Sam's bed. There had to be some sort of sign. They'd only just gotten back together, had Sam really returned to Stanford so fast? Given up searching already after a week? Dean knew he shouldn't think that, but he couldn't help it. He prodded the sheets with the knife in his hand. Nothing moved. At least, not until he touched the pillow.

Six cockroaches scurried frantically at his prodding, each going in separate directions.

And that was when he couldn't hold back that sickening taste in his mouth anymore. He fell to his knees vomiting violently on the carpet. The greasy dinner food was as disgusting going down as it was coming up. He stood up and sluggishly moved towards the bathroom. Splashing his face with ice water made him feel significantly more awake. It took him a step further from the dream. He looked back over at the two beds.

Only Dean's bed looked like there had been a struggle. Sam's was mostly neat, except for where Dean had pushed at the sheets. The only thing that stuck out in his mind were those bugs.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Oh god dammnit, Dean!" Sam threw down his coffee, disgusted.

Dean looked up from the newspaper, chewing on the pen in his hand halfheartedly. "Problem, Sammy?"

Sam pointed down to the spilled coffee in front of himself. In the puddle was a black plastic fly. Sam glared at Dean accusingly. "I have no idea how that got there." Dean said, lifting the paper back over his face to hide his grin.

Sam reached out and tore the paper down. "You know I'm gonna get you for that."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really, now?"

"Yes." Sam said. There was no trace of humor in his voice. He was already shuffling through his mind considering different possibilities.

"Well," Dean drawled, pulling the paper back. "Can it wait until after this case?"

Sam bit his tongue. "What case."

"Bugs. Lots and lots of crawlies." Dean gestured at the spilled coffee. "Maybe we shouldn't take it. I mean if you can't handle one little plastic …"

"Screw you. Show me the obit." Despite himself, curiosity was already starting to creep over him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean knocked over the chair as he moved toward the small table. The chair wasn't deserving of his violence, but it would be a decent substitute until Sam was found. He slammed his palms into the table and leaned into the mess of papers. Victims dying of heart attacks, but no corner had explained why it looked like their skin had been peeled off and sewn back together. Each victim had one other thing in common as well: cockroaches at the scene of their disappearance. They hadn't simply died, they had gone missing. Some days, some hours, and some hadn't been found yet.

Dean threw papers to his side, frantically tearing through the information. There had to be something they had missed. As he pushed aside one of the newspaper articles he saw a map. Sam must have been working on it after Dean had went to bed. Wasn't that like the little go-getter. Dean grabbed a pen and finished what his brother had started.

An X on each abduction site and a circle on were each body was found. Surrounding the map were various guesses they had printed off. Dad's journal was open on a promising entry. Dean was the one who had first suggested the stitches were a clue to the nature of the beast.

But it was Sam who'd scene the pattern, Dean realized, smiling as he looked down on the map.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Is it me or is the standard of cheap motels in America going down significantly?" Dean grimaced as he threw his duffle down on the bed.

"Oh come on princess, bugs don't bother you but this does?"

"Supernatural bugs," Dean corrected. "And that at least you know it's evil. This…" he gestured at the room around him. "Hasn't shown its true colors yet. Which means I can't burn it. But soon…"

Sam rolled his eyes as threw down his bag. He was gingerly pulling out his laptop and setting it up on the table. "Yeah, yeah ok. But it was your idea to come here."

"Strategy," Dean shrugged. "Closer to the vics. Less travel." He began throwing clothes out of duffle into piles behind him. "Now let's see if they have a decent laundry. Do you remember the last one?" Dean held up his burnt shirt as evidence of last week's mistake.

Sam sat down in front of his computer, already searching to see where they would have to go. "Whatever works. Hey, will you take some of my stuff too?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"How convenient," Dean growled down at the map. "We're right in the fucking center."

Dean grabbed his duffle and stuffed it with essentials. He wasn't ready to abandon the motel yet. It would do if he needed an emergency medical station. Dean didn't want to start thinking like that though. Flashlight, first aid, plethora of weapons… He went back over to the map.

There weren't many choices but he was going to have to try them one at a time. Slow and steady doesn't win the race in the Winchester world. It gets your family killed faster. Dean snatched the car keys and stormed out of the room. A small beetle followed behind him, grinning.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Wait… What?"

"I said," Dean said slowly, "what if it's sewed up too. As if the bugs help him move." Dean pointed to the picture of one of the victims, Ann Suller. "See this cut? It's too specific to be just for feeding. The bugs want company."

Sam took the picture in his hand and leaned back. The slender cut on her side was sewn together with some fine silken thread. The edges, barely visible without the aid of a magnifying glass, were black. Sam set it down and picked up Dad's journal. "Here," he snapped his fingers and passed the book to Dean.

"One of a kind." Sam huffed. "Most hunters shrug it off as a joke."

Dean looked over the entry. Dad had started to research it, but hadn't gotten far. "Man, Dad will flip when he finds out we beat him to it."

"If he's not dead." Sam grunted.

Dean looked up at Sam, glaring. "He's alive, Sam. He is."

Sam stood up. He didn't want to hear this conversation again. It was happening to often lately. "Okay, okay, let's go get dinner. We can narrow down the bugger in the morning."

And in the morning, he was gone.

.:tbc:.