~Understanding Your Littleone~ (little!losersclub oneshots)

Switch (Stenbrough)

~Not Stanlon besides what the gif shows. Sorry, Stanlon fans. ): Also, why does it look like Stan is holding a blade of grass in that gif, wtf? Am I just being stupid? ~

"My biscuits are gone." Bill held up the empty bowl and waved it around, his face dead serious. Stan looked over at him, raised his eyebrows, and stared, trying so hard not to laugh.
"All gone, huh?" He asked. "Well then, what are we gonna do about it?"

Bill stood up and walked to the kitchen, searching for what he needed. His biscuits weren't biscuits, but they were crackers. Crackers that were for some reason called 'Chicken Biskits' for reasons that Bill's little brain would never be able to understand. So he just called them biscuits.

But his biscuits were gone. The box sat empty on the counter.

At first he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His mouth fell open. How could it be possible? His favourite snack. Just~ gone like that?

"Daddy!?" He yelled running back out to the living room. Stan sat reading a book, his back perfectly straight, and his legs crossed.

"Yes?" He asked, even though he already knew what the problem was. Stan had eaten half of the box of crackers the previous night to cure his depression and insomnia for a few hours. He was tired of being tired all the time.

"They're g-gone! S-s-some-someone ate them all!" Bill panicked. Stan nodded a little before looking back down at his book.

"Then I guess you're just going to have to play detective and figure out who did it." He suggested to the boy in front of him without looking up.

Bill seemed to think this was the best idea since sliced bread or something because he took it seriously. He even grabbed a pair of Richie's old glasses -with the lenses taken out- and asked Stan if he looked smarter. Of course, Stan agreed.

Then Bill asked for a magnifying glass which Stanley proceeded to dig out of a box in the back of a closet, tiring him even more.

Then Bill asked for a trench coat, but Stan didn't have one so he just gave Bill a winter coat.

And then Bill suggested they get a dog to sniff out clues so Stan told Bill that his pet bird had the same ability. The only problem was that the pet bird they spoke of was sleeping.

'May I join you, Carrots?' Stan thought when he saw the little finch with his head tucked under his wing. But Carrots couldn't read minds. Plus, he was sleeping.

But wait- there's more. After that Bill asked if Stan had any flour. Not understanding why Bill needed flour, he gave it to him. Foolishly gave it to him. Bill opened the bag and tilted it, dumping all the flour on the floor. Stan watched in horror as his OCD screamed from the inside.

"W-What the hell was that for!?" He gasped. Bill looked at him with wide and innocent eyes.

"So I can s-suh-see the b-bad guys fo-footprints." He stuttered. Stan clenched his hands and took a deep breath in, his anxiety building.

"Bill- that's not- there is- there's no bad guy Bill. I ate your fucking crackers." Stanley's voice quivered as he tried not to cry, staring down at the huge mess in front of him. Bill looked down at his feet in shame.

"I'm sorry dada. I- I didn't mean too..."

Stan's hands shook and he reached under the sink to grab cleaning products and a dustpan with broom. As neatly as he could without drawing up huge clouds of flour, he cleaned.

For the sixteenth time that week. He cleaned.

He was so tired.

So FUCKING tired.

Tired enough to point a gun at his head and pull the trigger.

The pure panic built in his chest as he realized these thoughts he had tried so hard to get rid of had returned. His breathing sped up, his vision going dark like what happens when you stand up too fast, and his palms got sweaty.

"Hey, dada? Are you okay?" Bill asked softly. Stan didn't respond. The words 'I'm fine, go play' were caught in the back of his throat.

His chest hurt, his muscles hurt, his head hurt.

Stan was familiar with panic attacks. He'd had them before. But just because you are familiar with something, doesn't mean you're used to it. It doesn't mean you like it. He just needed his medication, that was all. Then he'd be back to regular old, numb, and cold Stanley Uris.

But he didn't want to be 'regular old, numb, and cold Stanley Uris'. He wanted to be the 'I'm-fine-and-this-time-I-actually-mean-it Stanley Uris'.

Bill pulled off his winter coat and sighed, falling out of littlespace.

"Stan? Do you need your meds?" Which to Stanley replied: "Why do I have to have meds each time I want to kill myself? When do I get a hug?"

Without hesitation, Bill wrapped his arms around Stan.

"It's your turn to go to little space now. And we'll blame the missing biscuits on Richie. Okay?"

Stan nodded and put his arms around Bill's neck.

Bill already knew the first thing Stan wanted was going to be a pacifier, so he lifted him off the ground and grabbed one.