Chapter Text
Rosco slammed his fists down in defeat after another experiment went wrong. Even after the countless hours spent meticulously fine tuning every detail, he still couldn’t get it right. He figured that it was time for him to take a break and sat down in his chair to relax his mind.
Dammit, this is so annoying. Why can’t I just get it right?
Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation wash over him. A warmth spread through his body and he began to feel lethargic.
What’s that about? He thought to himself as he slumped back against his chair. He decided to leave it at just being stressed about his experiments and shrugged it off. That was until he felt his stomach start to bubble and the urgent need to throw up. Now, that wasn’t normal for him. He was a zombie, he didn’t just get sick.
He clutched his stomach and booked it towards his bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before emptying his lunch into the bowl. (Not dinner. He didn’t eat dinner that day.)
What the hell? What’s going on with me?
He tried to think back to the last time he was stressed about his experiments.
I’ve never gotten so stressed that I’ve thrown up before … Am I really pushing myself that hard?
It had been quite a while since he had gotten a proper meal, or rest, or anything. He’d cast his own well-being aside for his work. It was his pride and joy, he had to keep going. He needed results, and good ones, not failures. It seemed like all he had been getting lately were failures though.
Groaning, he flushed the toilet and headed to his bedroom (no he didn’t wash his hands). He face planted onto the mattress and curled up into a ball, gripping his sheets tightly. He felt like crying. First his experiment failed, again, then he went and made himself sick from all of the stress. Tears began to well up in his eyes.
“This blows,” he sniffled, burying his face into his sheets. He hadn’t even bothered to put on any pajamas. His own failure was already a lot, but the random tummy ache he had obtained on top of it was too much for him to want to do anything else. So, he just laid there in his bed for a while, pitifully sobbing to himself until he fell asleep.
The next morning was hell. Rosco woke up feeling ten times worse than he did when he fell asleep. Not only did he wake up feeling unreasonably fatigued, he quickly found out that at some point in his sleep, he had wet the bed.
Pissing the bed now, Rosco? What are you, a damn toddler?
With a frustrated scream into his pillow, he begrudgingly got up and took the sheets off of his mattress along with his clothes from the previous day. He wadded them up and made a mad dash to his laundry room. Despite there being no one else there, he still felt the need to remain unseen while trying to hide his accident.
Real mature, goofy. He berated himself as he threw his sheets and soiled clothes in the washing machine. He started the wash cycle before making his way to his bathroom to clean himself up. He felt a little too weak to stand up for a full shower, so he opted to take a bath instead. He figured it would be a good way to relax and clear his mind a bit anyway.
He watched as the tub filled up with gallons of warm water, catching his reflection in it. He looked like a wreck, like he had just lost a street fight against a bunch of alley rats and didn’t get any sleep at all. The water reflected the exhausted look draped across his face a little too well for his own self consciousness. He shook his head and grabbed a bottle of lavender bubble bath to pour into the tub.
Once it was filled enough, Rosco stepped into the bath and slowly sank down into the soothing warmth of the water. It wasn’t but a few moments before he closed his eyes and drifted off into a sound slumber.
The rest of the day, Rosco felt like dying. Again. Not only was he oddly sluggish all day, for some reason he felt bloated. He took a look in the mirror and saw that his tummy was a bit rounder than it had been before.
“What the?” he placed his hands on the sides of his stomach and pressed in. An almost offended scoff left him as the skin squished under his fingers. Shaking his head, he sighed, “I really need to cut back on the carne asada fries.”
Suddenly, he got that gurgling feeling in his stomach again. Oh no… he thought to himself before racing to his toilet again. Nothing came out that time, but the feeling alone was enough to make him feel defeated. He sluggishly made his way back to his room and sat down at his desk.
This can’t be normal. I have to figure out what’s going on with me. Luckily, Rosco lived in the era where the internet was easily accessible and contained plenty of answers. He typed in his symptoms into the search bar, hoping that whatever sickness he had contracted was curable with over the counter medicine. He didn’t really have the funds nor the time to go to the doctor. Not to mention it was hard to find a doctor that specializes in the undead. He read the first paragraph that popped up and his eyes widened in shock.
“Symptoms of … pregnancy?”
Rosco's mind was racing, he couldn’t believe what he was reading, but he also couldn’t deny that the symptoms he was feeling matched those of pregnancy. The mere thought of somehow being pregnant was just absurd and he didn’t even want to consider it, but then, what else could it be? He didn’t think it was possible for him to just get sick, seeing as he wasn’t really alive , but by that same standard becoming pregnant shouldn’t have been possible either. He looked down at his stomach and then back at the screen with the urge to throw up again.
“There’s no way that I’m actually pregnant, right?”