Blame the Rats- A Spooky Month Oneshot

Blame The Rats

Cw//Descriptions of illness and hospital imagery

Author note: Blame discovery channel for teaching me about this disease

It was around 5 pm on a Friday, which meant most people were heading home from work. Dexter was no exception, having just entered his apartment after a long day of exterminating various pests from other people’s homes. He walked into his bedroom and began changing out of his work clothes, placing his backpack on the floor, and removing his hat, mask, gloves, boots, and suit. While looking for some more comfortable clothing, he spotted a red sweater in his closet. He thought about it for a moment, but opted instead to wear his yellow one. It fit him better anyway. 

After putting it on, as well as some sweatpants, he headed into his living room. The TV was already on and on the couch sat Bob Velseb, the cannibal serial killer. Most people would freak out if a murderer was in their house, but for Dexter, this was completely accepted. It had been a few months since Dexter had agreed to let Bob lay low at his place and the two had grown rather close since then. Besides, it’s not like Dexter had a clean slate either.

Bob was watching some sort of cooking show that had him completely engrossed until it cut to commercials and he looked up to see Dexter standing there. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you come in.” “It’s fine” Dexter replied, sitting down next to Bob and leaning his head on his shoulder. Bob noticed the normally energetic man’s lackluster tone and took concern, “Is everything alright? Was work hard?” Dexter shook his head, “Work was fine, I’m just tired, that’s all.” 

Bob didn’t buy it, “There isn’t anything else that’s bothering you?” Dexter fidgeted with his hands, “Well, my back sort of hurts.” Bob chuckled slightly, “It’s ‘cause of that damn backpack you’re always carrying around. That thing is massive.” “Hey! I need it, my tools are in there.” Dexter jokingly protested, before wincing. Bob stopped laughing, “What happened?” 

Dexter sighed, “I think my head hurts too, and my stomach, a bit.” “Maybe you’re coming down with something.” Bob put a hand on Dexter’s forehead, pushing his scraggly black hair out of the way, “Just as I thought, you have a fever.” He said, sounding like someone’s mother. Dexter didn’t react much, replying “Explains why I feel like shit.” “You should stay home for the next couple days,” Bob suggested. Dexter didn’t put up much of a fight, just answering with “Ok.” “Do you want me to get you some Tylenol?” Bob asked. Dexter shook his head, “No, just stay here for a bit. Please.” Bob nodded, rubbing the other man’s shoulder, “Alright, I will.” 

Dexter did like Bob said and stayed home, but he wasn’t getting any better. He was still tired, achy, and feverish. In fact, it was almost like he was getting worse, as his stomach pains had escalated to throwing up and he had started having coughing fits and shortness of breath. Needless to say, Bob was incredibly worried about Dexter. Dexter seemed to notice and tried his best to hide the worst of his symptoms from him.

Everything came to a head at 3 am, about a week after Dexter had started feeling sick. Bob woke up after hearing noises come from the kitchen and immediately noticed that Dexter wasn’t in bed. He quickly headed to the kitchen and flipped on the lights to see Dexter standing with a blanket draped around him and a broken mug on the floor. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Dexter apologized. He was clearly out of it, swaying back and forth with a glassy look in his eyes. “Lamb, please come back to bed.” Bob pleaded, walking over to the sick man and putting a hand around him in an attempt to lead him back to his room. 

“Ok,” Dexter nodded sleepily, but was interrupted by the beginnings of a coughing fit. Bob patted him on the back, “Easy now,” he assured, but it had little effect. Dexter continued to cough and wheeze, unable to catch his breath. He slunk to the floor, trying desperately to inhale. Bob’s heart dropped as he got down on the ground, trying to help Dexter, but to no avail. Bob decided that this was the last straw: he had to take Dexter to a doctor.