Chapter Text
By the time they realize what’s going on, it was too late to stop it. Nobody knew how it got into the Haus, but as best they could narrow it down, the first victim was the Green Couch.
Bitty always knew that thing was a biohazard, but damn, did he hate being right.
It was little things at first, things that were chalked up to overactive imaginations and susceptibility to suggestion. Of course Chowder was going to feel itchy after sleeping on the Couch, with as many stories as were being told about the things being done to it. On it. With it. But it wasn’t until he was spotted, literally spotted, changing into his gear after his pre-game nap, tiny red dots speckled all over his back. At first there was just simple chirping, comparing his new skin condition to Holster’s backne; it wasn’t until the third game, and the spread of the welts, before anyone really get concerned.
And by spread, of course, we mean to the rest of the team.
Everyone started getting the spots, barely noticeable at first, until you did notice them, and then they were impossible to ignore. Everyone except Bitty, who never had anything to do with the Couch if he could help it. It was with great wailing and gnashing of teeth that he finally managed to convince the others to put the wretched thing out on the curb, and bring in a newer, much cleaner replacement.
It helped, but only in the sense that Bitty was no longer harping about it.
Now the spots were a constant thing, Chowder attempted to fitfully sleep on the new couch, his game suffering only slightly with the change to his routine. Everyone in the house who slept there, or sat, or stood in one place for too long, regardless of where said place was, eventually wound up scratching and cursing, until one day, by happenstance, Bitty griped about the situation to Mama Bittle.
“Oh, honey,” she sighed. “Sounds like y’all got bedbugs.”