#agere stories

[cg-sunnyd]

💥rip 'em up.📒

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"you're awfully quiet today, love," your caregiver says softly as they come into the living room. you'd finished up with your classwork for the day and had settled on the couch, flicking through tv shows with little interest.

you shrug without any other response, not particularly in the mood to chat. there's a tense bubble in your stomach and part of you knows that if you say anything, it'll be mean for no good reason. you can feel your caregiver's eyes on you, and you scowl slightly.

"i'm just watching tv," you say, despite the fact that you've yet to choose anything in the last twenty minutes, "you don't have to stare at me." your words are snappier than you meant and immediately you regret them when your caregiver hums and turns away without saying anything else.

now you're angry at yourself, too. that wasn't fair, wasn't nice. but you're never nice, you think to yourself, you're just really good at acting like it. really, you're just-

your internal spiral is paused by the return of your caregiver, hefting a cardboard box. they don't look upset, but your stomach twists anyway. before you can fumble out an apology you hope sounds genuine, they wave you over. the box is full of notebooks- you recognize some of them as notebooks from previous classes, from high school. they're all half-used, with too much unused paper to want to throw away.

you give a look to your caregiver who pulls out a notebook and hands it to you.

"...i don't wanna write. don't wanna draw or scribble either," you say with a frown, knowing that you've done those things in the past. the idea of accidentally breaking a crayon right now makes your stomach twist again.

"then you don't have to," they say simply, settling onto the floor across from you, the box between you both. "but we've both been wanting to tear out the used papers from these notebooks, right?" you watch silently as they take a notebook and star tearing out the pages, delicately. one by one. you stare down at the one in your hand and frown.

you open the cover and tear out one page. and then the next. and then another, and another, and-

soon enough, you're just ripping pages out. your caregiver simply passes you a new notebook when you've torn out all the used paper, not stopping you from the frenzied pace. some of the notebooks end up more torn up than others, spirals mangled and the covers ripped up too.

your face is hot and angry tears sting your eyes, but your caregiver doesn't tell you to calm down or take a big breath. they let you rip and tear, paper shreds scattering the floor. you've gone through several notebooks before the pace slows and you hiccup. you rub your eyes angrily, your cheeks damp. it just makes you mad again and you toss the notebook away, flopping back onto the hard living room floor.

"s'not fair!" you shout, mostly up at the ceiling. you flail your arm at the pile of torn up paper around you, kick the box at your feet. there's a quiet shuffle as your caregiver scoots back a bit, just enough to give you a bit more space. you tug your hood down and shout into it, the fabric not exactly muffling the sound. it's just an explosion of words, of every little thing and every big thing.

by the time you go limp on the floor, your head hurts, your throat hurts, and your sleeve is damp with tears and snot.

"...you want a hug or do you want some more time, love?" comes the careful, soft voice of your caregiver. they'd sat there the whole time, just letting you rip and tear, kick and flail, get it all out. when you sniffle and nod, they move over, taking your head into their lap. "that was a lot, huh? you had that in you for a while, little love."

you sniffle again and nod, hiding your face in their shirt. you don't want to look up at them, and they don't make you. they just gently rub soothing circles into your back. they don't ask you to get up, even though the floor really isn't the most comfortable place. they don't keep talking either, just letting the room settle into a silence that's far less heavy than before.

"...nhm." you just grip their shirt tighter. maybe later you can talk about it - maybe while cleaning up all that torn paper. maybe you won't, and it'll happen all over again. but there's a bit of relief loosening that bubble in your stomach- it's not gone, not by any stretch of the imagination. but it's a bit looser, a bit less heavy.

and for today, that's enough.

[babey-lewis]

Hey baby bug, I missed you!! Are you doing okay? Have you had any water and food today, little love? I hope you have, angel! You deserve to eat and drink today and every day, okay?

[jacksdinonuggets]

Lil Vaggie and cg Husk? Him being the only one available to take care of Vaggie and is all grumpy/annoyed since he has to stay sober for her, but finally ends up warming up to her and having a good time?

Becoming Soft

“Thank you sooo much, Husk! You have no idea how much I appreciate it!” Charlie exclaimed in Husk’s face. Charlie had managed to get angel an interview with heaven to try and get him redeemed or at least have his contract with Val destroyed. Alastor had come along if Lute were to try any funny business. Vaggie meant to come with Charlie to show support, but she had gotten way too stressed out about it the day before and ended up regressing that morning. Knowing that heaven would just cause her to be more overwhelmed, Charlie thought she should stay. However, Carmilla was very busy with meetings and so was Rosie, so the only one who could watch over Vaggie was Husk. Nifty technically could, but she kinda scared Vaggie at times.

“It’s fine, princess. I’m used to having to look after whiney bitches,” He kind of grumbled before taking a swig of liquor.

“Husk.. don’t use the words around Vaggie. She’s very sensitive! Also-” Charlie grabbed the liquor bottle from his hands and vanished it, “No drinking. Even though I know you can handle alcohol pretty well, I need you to be at least a little sober for her.”

“That wasn’t part of our deal!” He yelled. Vaggie, who was holding Charlie’s hand the whole time, got scared by his yelling and tried to hide behind Charlie’s leg, whimpering. Charlie saw this and knelt down to her.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby.” She tried to comfort her.

“He mad with me, he mad with me!” She whimpered. Volume was something that was very important with Little Vaggie. If someone raised their voice, she would automatically assume that they were mad at her. That was because of Adam.

“Little one, he’s not mad at you. Why don’t you go play with your toys in the lobby while I talk with him, okay?” Charlie told her. She hesitated but nodded and went to the lobby.

“Please watch your tone with her,” Charlie urged, “She hates it when people raise their voice,”

“Well maybe I would watch it if I was allowed to drink,” He said. Charlie sighed and pulled out a lot of cash.

“I’ll pay you all of this and restock the bar if you don’t drink while we are out,” She offered. He sighed.

“Fine.” Husk grumbled and put away all the alcohol at the bar.

“Thank you Husk! We’ll see you in a couple hours!” She said, waving goodbye and leaving with the group.

Vaggie was sitting in the lobby on her tummy, drawing. Husk sighed and went over to her.

“So, what’re you doing, kiddo?” He sat down next to her. 

“M dwawing da hotel,” She told him, barely looking up from her paper. It looked very similar to Charlie’s crayon drawings but vaggie’s was a little more…childlike, when it came to the quality. It probably was considered good for her mental age, but her physical, eh.

“It uhh, it looks good,” Husk said. Because he was starting to sober up, it was hard to be enthusiastic. 

Vaggie didn’t say anything and kept drawing. She was pretty nervous about having Husk babysit her. After he raised his voice, she kind of felt like she had to walk on eggshells around him. But luckily, after an hour she started to warm up to him.

Husk was resting his eyes for a moment, trying to fight off his headache. He made sure to look over and watch Vaggie every once a while.

“Husky! Wook!” She tried showing him the drawing she made. However, he was still feeling pretty grumpy from before and his headache only made it worse.

“That’s nice, kiddo,” He said, barely glancing at it. 

“Bu…you didn’t see it,” She replied, a little sad. Husk made a little groan and sat up straight and took the drawing in his hands. It was a picture of him. Sure, it wasn’t great, but something about it made him feel happy. Like the kind of happiness you’d get when someone gives you a gift. He couldn’t quite explain it.

“This is amazing, kid! Thank you. You’re a little artist, huh?” He pulled her into a hug and ruffled her hair. She giggled and nodded. He looked over and saw that she was trying to draw all the residents. It was honestly adorable.

After that, he started to become a lot less irritated. He was warming up to her and tried to play with her. He was a little nervous when she suggested they play tea party, but it was actually quite nice! He did have to help her make the tea (Which he may or may not have given her chamomile) since she was a bit too young to use the kettle. He got out the cookies from the top shelf and set them out on the coffee table with the tea. Vaggie had all her stuffies sitting around the table with their own small cups. 

The tea party eventually had to end when Vaggie started getting sleepy. Husk laid her down on the couch with a soft blanket. As he started cleaning up, Vaggie’s wings suddenly popped out. He got a little worried for a second because the wings coming out could mean 3 things. Either she was really relaxed, really happy, or her body was trying to protect her. The latter was usually when she was feeling any negative emotions. Sometimes she would be afraid of being seen as weak, and her wings would try and hide her. But it could also be used to self-soothe when she was feeling upset.

Luckily, Vaggie just seemed to be relaxed. There was nothing indicating that she was having a nightmare, so Husk continued to clean up. He smiled and brushed her hair out of her face. She was adorable. Maybe Husk was turning soft. But it was okay, only for the little one.

[lil-cg-lynx]

Guess how much I love you💚 (Picture heavy!)

Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed, held on tight to Big Nutbrown Hare's very long ears.

He wanted to be sure Big Nutbrown Hare was listening. "Guess how much I love you," he said. "Oh, I don't think I could guess that," said Big Nutbrown Hare.

"This much," said Little Nutbrown Hare, stretching out his arms as wide as they could go.

Big Nutbrown Hare had even longer arms. "But I love YOU this much," he said. Hmm, that is a lot, thought Little Nutbrown Hare.

"I love you as high as I can reach," said Little Nutbrown Hare.

"I love you as high as I can reach," said Big Nutbrown Hare. That is quite high, thought Little Nutbrown Hare. I wish I had arms like that. Then Little Nutbrown Hare had a good idea. He tumbled upside down and reached up the tree trunk with his feet.

"I love you all the way up to my toes!" he said. "And I love you all the way up to your toes," said Big Nutbrown Hare, swinging him up over his head.

"I love you as high as I can HOP!" laughed Little Nutbrown Hare, bouncing up and down.

"But I love you as high as I can hop," smiled Big Nutbrown Hare - and he hopped so high his ears touched the branches above.

That's good hopping, thought Little Nutbrown Hare. I wish I could hop like that. "I love you all the way down the lane as far as the river," cried Little Nutbrown Hare. "I love you across the river and over the hills," said Big Nutbrown Hare. That's very far, thought Little Nutbrown Hare.

He was almost too sleepy to think anymore. Then he looked beyond the thorn bushes, out into the big dark night. Nothing could be further than the sky.

"I love you right up to the MOON," he said and closed his eyes. "Oh, that's far," said Big Nutbrown Hare. "That is very, very far."

Big Nutbrown Hare settled Little Nutbrown Hare into his bed of leaves. He leaned over and kissed him goodnight.

Then he lay down close by and whispered with a smile, "I love you right up to the moon - and back."

Goodnight little one 💚

[flickerssafespace]

Does anyone know of any really good agere comics/fics? No fanfics, just original stories

[pink-glitter]

🎃˚.✦ ⎯ i made a halloween agere “pick one” game !! 🐈‍⬛ ₊˚ 𖦹 ⋆

thank you for playing !!

. 𖥔 ݁ ˖ (㇏(^ᵥᵥ^)ノ) ˖ ݁ 𖥔 .

[alwaysribbit]

tea time game <3

[sprinkles-stims]

leapster cartridges !

[furbtast1c]

how i wish to be, small and pure and cute. how i yearn to be a child again, in a field in late spring trying to make daisy chains but failing, laughter echo’s near by, family by the picnic basket everyone is happy, they don’t yell or cry or scream, they let you eat all the treats you would like, you go into the lake with no concern about how you may look, you just want to swim and have fun. life is sweet and pure. you want to stay here forever, you wish you wouldn’t grow

[cg-sunnyd]

😵‍💫just too much...❌

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it crept up on you, a little bit at a time. and then suddenly, it felt like it was swallowing you whole. you smack the mute button of your computer and clap your hands over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut. you try and take a few deep breaths, managing to get the feeling of too much to calm down for just a few moments.

but it feels like treading water, just barely keeping your nose above it all. a blip from discord makes your chest tight and your face hot with anger and frustration at the noise. you can't shove your computer off the table so you settle for smacking the kleenex box off instead, and the sound of that only makes you feel worse.

"everything alright?" your caregiver knocks softly at the office door. normally, you might welcome the implied invitation to complain and grumble to your caregiver, but right now? their voice just makes you want to cry.

when you offer no answer, they carefully open the door and peer in. their eyes soften at the sight of your miserable face, hands squeezing your ears to try and get everything to stop making noise. they quietly step in and hover a hand over your back.

it's good, because the thought of being touched right now makes your skin crawl.

"hey, buddy. why don't you go lay down?" your caregiver says, softly as they can. it still makes you feel angry and upset, and you have to try and remember that they just want to help. you give a jerky nod and get to your feet, shuffling through the hall.

the cat comes up to brush against you, but thankfully, your caregiver gently shoos them away before they can brush up against you. you like your cat, but she's very chatty, and you can't stand to hear her meow-meow-meow right now.

you follow your caregiver into the bedroom, the curtains drawn and the lights staying off. you tug your clothes off and shake your head when your caregiver holds up pajamas. the blanket on your bed is plenty soft- you just want to wrap up in it.

"mh?" it's not a full word, but it gets your attention anyway. you watch as they scroll through your music playlists before pointing at one of them- soft, quiet video game music. no harsh pitches, no vibrant energy. they start the music as you wrap up and curl into the pillow with a heavy sigh.

in a few hours, they come and check on you. you might curl up into the bed still, or get up earlier. you might get clingy now, wanting to hold their hand and follow them around the house.

you might even get more upset and overwhelmed, and they'll come and sit on the bed with you if you cry into the pillow about how everything is just too much! but regardless, they'll be there, waiting to check in and comfort you how you need.

[babey-lewis]

Hey there cutie, are you ready for bed? You are? Such a good baby!! I'm so proud of you! I love you so so much, you know that, yeah? You do? I'm so glad! I want you to feel my love forever and ever. Baba/daddy/mummy will stay with you until you fall asleep. What's that? You want a lullaby? Of course my baby.

[jacksdinonuggets]

So you guys know that idea I had for the original work. well I wrote it down, and had motivation today to write more. So i'm officially posting it

Summary:

In this Littles Are Known Au, Xavier is young 16 year old trans boy who doesn't have the best life. At school, he's constantly bullied, at home, he's constantly bullied, and by himself? he's also bullied. He wants to pain to stop. He want's to live a happy life but knows that won't happen. So he decides to try to take his own life, in hope of getting a better life.

Before he can jump, a kind lady stops him. She's social worker for Littles and works at a programs called Regression Residential, where caregivers take home Little's from mental hospitals to help them cope for a few months. Xavier's caregiver ends up being the lady who saved him, May. How will he adjust to this new caring and loving environment?

[little-pup-pip]

Christmas Movie Night!!

[lavenderplushie]

october 1st picnic for my baby bats! what did you choose? 🖤🦇✨

[autismdogg]

Wishbone theme song, 1995

[the-universal-sun]

Little Lee coping with being overstimulated from Halloween/trick or treat, please and thank you!!

(Sorry this is a bit late! I’ve been really busy these last couple of days! I think I’m going to make this one an attempt at a fic Drabble instead of head canon bullet points. I’m not sure this is 100% what you’re asking for, but please let me know!)

It was so loud. Everything-everybody-was so loud. And bright. Bright and Loud was all Stan could process. The people talking to him, the itchy feeling of the warm under shirt Sixer made him wear under his werewolf costume. It was all too much. He wanted the noise to stop, for people to stop talking at him and down to him and expecting an answer. An answer he can’t give because he can’t speak, not like this, not when he’s small and his tongue feels like it can’t move in his mouth. He can feel his breathing pick up, he starts rocking on his feet to calm himself but it’s not working right now.

He looks at his big brother, hoping Sixer can pick up on his need to leave and for everything to stop, but he’s talking to someone about something he can’t bring himself to hear. He doesn’t want to bother his brother, he doesn’t want to make him mad. He never gets mad at him, but he doesn’t want to push him, not right now and not right here. He can feel the tears prick at his eyes, his lip wobbling. But he can’t cry, not now! Not here! Not in front of all these strangers who’ll know and who’ll make fun of him and ruin this good thing he has! He likes feeling little. He has to leave now, to get away. He lets go of Ford’s hand and darts off, his muscle memory moving him around the bodies surrounding him and bringing him to a quiet area of trees, the houses around it are dark, so there’s no one here to trick-r-treat, to see him and talk to him and make more noise around him.

Stan lets himself collapse against the tree, hands blocking his ears, rocking back and forth, his breath hitching and heaving and sobs wracked his body, tears fogging up his glasses and getting the taste of salt in his mouth. He cries silently, a lesson he learned a long time ago, and waits for his big brother to find him. He needs his brother to take him home and comfort him, but he ran off and what if Ford’s mad? He broke two rules! He left Ford and he didn’t tell him that he felt too much at once! But he can deal with him mad because he’s all alone now and he’s scared and alone and wants to go home now! But he can’t go home because Ford isn’t here, and he’s not supposed to go anywhere without him when he’s little, but he did! He broke the rules!

Stan’s sobs get heavier, quiet wails leaving his throat as his thoughts start spiraling and spiraling. His breathing picking up to a pant as he starts clutching and pulling at his hair.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“It’s so nice that you’re still trick-r-treating with your brother at your age! I can barely get my kids to eat dinner with each other, and they’re not even teenagers yet-“ Ford smiles through the mindless babble of the woman in front of him. He stopped paying attention a long time ago, but experience lends him the knowledge that walking off as someone’s speaking to you tends to sour their feelings towards you, and he can’t have that while he’s with Lee. The people of Gravity Falls love him, and they don’t question them on the rare occasion that he takes Stan out around town when he’s regressed, like now. They just assume they’re doing some brotherly bonding or that Stan’s like that sometimes because of the deal with Bill or the memory gun. He doesn’t care to expound upon their theories, he doesn’t want them to know the real reason. Sure the kids, Soos, and Melody were fine with Stan’s regressing, but they’re family, he doesn’t know nor trust the rabble of Gravity Falls, all that matters is that they like Stan and he’s going to ensure they keep liking him. So he has to behave.

He takes a glance over to his brother and furrows his brow, Lee looks overwhelmed. He can feel his hand clutching his own even more, and his eyes have this far off look, one he gets when he’s overstimulated and is trying to hide it. He turns away from the woman to check on Lee more thoroughly when he rips his hand away and runs down the street.

“Stanley! Stop, what are you doing!” Ford yells as he immediately drops into a sprint after Stan, briefly losing him in the crowd of people huddled on the sidewalks. He needs to find Stan and do it quickly, he doesn’t want him to have an attack out here, all alone and vulnerable. He must’ve been so scared and overwhelmed to have run away from him like that. Why didn’t he notice the signs sooner? Why didn’t Stan give him a sign and let him know? He would’ve left in a heartbeat!

“Stanley, Buddy! Come on out, it’s Sixer, you’re safe with me!” Ford calls out as he gets to a less populated area of the neighborhood, hoping the nicknames will draw him out. He can feel himself starting to panic now, he scared for Stan. He doesn’t care if people find out about his brother's regression, but he knows Stan cares too much about it. Plus, he could be hurt, or could really be lost, or that blasted Trickster could get to him! He needs to find Stan soon.

Ford stops for a moment to catch his breath, hunching over his knees and trying to collect his thoughts. He needs to be logical and rational about this. His thoughts pause, however, when he hears a faint sound. He quiets his own panting and stopping, trying his best to hear the sound again. And he does, it sounds…it sounds…it sounds like Stan! It sounds like Stan when he gets so upset, he can’t silence himself, the muffled moaning wails that come out of his throat always breaks his heart to hear, and it still breaks his heart now, but at least he can find Stan with the sounds! He darts to his right, where he heard the wailing, and sees a cluster of tree near the darkest part of the street, the houses are all empty with their lights out, giving the tree cluster darkness and privacy away from snooping eyes.

Ford slowly approaches the trees, hearing the wailing get louder and louder the closer her gets. He spots Stan on the ground, furiously rocking back and forth, a self soothing habit he’s had since they were in elementary school. He slowly approaches him, not wanting to spook him and make him run off again.

“Hey, Lee? It’s alright, it’s just me, it’s Sixer. I’m here and everything’s going to be fine. Shhhhh, it’s okay, we are going to go home, get cleaned up, and I think an early bedtime is in order. Does that sound alright?” Ford likes the phrase every “command” he gives as a suggestion, something he learned early on in caring for Stan. Commands remind him too much of their father and of his decade of the streets, where he had no control over his life. Making anything that could come across as a demand a suggestion gives Stan the freedom to choose, to not remember those bad times.

If Stan heard him, he doesn’t give any indication. Rocking back and forth and whimpering, his hands almost tearing at his hair. Ford slowly gets down onto his knees beside Stan, reaching out with his hand and trying to set it on his brother’s shoulder. Stan whimpers and flinches away, an act that breaks Ford’s heart. He stops his hand from moving further, “shh-ing” Stan and talking in a soft and low voice, trying to calm him down.

“Lee, are you okay? Are you hurt? Or was everything just a bit too much, hmm? It’s okay, Bubs, you can tell me.” Ford questions slowly, trying to get Stan to focus on his voice rather than his thoughts. He figured Stan got overstimulated, but it wouldn’t hurt to check and make sure he wasn’t physically injured.

“…m’ so..ee” was the faint response he got from his brother. Stan was sorry? For what!? Stan had nothing to be sorry about, nothing at all!

“For what? I can’t think of a single reason for you to apologize, my Little Lee.” Ford reaches his hand out again, and Stan lets him rest it on the back of his head, hand sliding down to smooth his hair down and clutch his head.

“…I w-ran away…n’ I did’n say I was feew-feeling b-bad…” Stan’s panting as calmed down, but he’s still crying and hiccuping with each word. There’s a couple reasons his brother doesn’t speak very much when he’s little. He’s said he find it hard to move his tongue, he doesn’t feel the need to speak that often, and that when he does speak, he will flub his words, which Stan thinks makes him sounds too much like a baby. Ford disagrees of course, he thinks Stan sounds adorable when he speaks like that, but he understands the lack of need/want to speak at times, and he’d never force him. But he will revel in everytime he does speak. Except this time, of course, when his little brother is so panicked and overwhelmed he has to formulate words around a heavy tongue and heavier vocal cords.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Oh, Lee. I’m not mad that you ran away, or that you didn’t tell me you were feeling unwell. In fact, I’m sorry.”

Stan looked over at Ford at those words, why was he sorry? He didn’t break the rules, Stan did. Stan should be getting punished. His breathing slowed down with his thoughts, and his brother must’ve known what they were from his face.

“I’m your caregiver, Stanley. I’m supposed to look after you, to make sure you’re doing okay, especially in times like this, where you can easily get overstimulated. So yes, I’m sorry, Stanley, I’ve been remiss in my duties, my responsibility, to keep you safe. I’m so sorry.” Ford looked so sad, the look on his face made Stan’s chest ache even worse. Ford shouldn’t look like that! Ford shouldn’t be sorry! Stan should’ve let him know everything was becoming too much! It’s his fault, so why is his big brother sorry!? He doesn’t understand!

Stan leaned into Ford and vigorously shook his head, signaling his disapproval towards Ford’s apology and pointing at himself instead. Telling him that Stan should apologize.

“Oh, dear one, you can’t think this is your fault? Oh please don’t give me that look, I know you have trouble using your words, and I should’ve predicted that you’d get overwhelmed and kept a better eye on yo-!” Stan interrupts Ford by clapping his hands over his mouth and shaking his head again. Trying to Will himself to speak, but his tongue kept failing him, frustrated tears gathering in his eyes instead of scared ones.

Ford wraps his arms around Stan and pulls him into his lap, settling himself further on the ground, and rocking his back and forth as he gently pats his back. He slowly reaches up with one hand and wraps it around Stan’s wrist, removing his hand from his mouth so that he may speak.

“How about this, we both could have done better, and we’re both sorry, and we will work on our communication together so that we can avoid a situation like this again, is that good?” Stanley could continue to argue that he was wrong, but his Sixer’s rocking was better than his own, and now that he’s calmed down some, he’s feeling really sleepy.

He nods slowly as he reaches up and rubs at his eyes, feeling his brother laugh underneath him. He settles further on Ford’s lap, nuzzling his head into the crook on his brothers neck, letting out a deep sigh. Mind slowly drifting off with his brothers gentle rocking and soothing pats in his back. His mind barely picking up words as he drift further into sleep, arms clenched around Ford’s neck.

“I’ll take that as an agreement, my sleepy Little Lee. It’s alright, I can carry you to the car, you can go to sleep. Shhhhh-sh-sh-shhhh.” Stan starts to snore just a little, his eyes feeling too heavy to open, his head weighed down too much to nod. Instead, he puts two fingers down to form his favorite sign and gently taps his hand and Ford’s head in a well practiced rhythm of “tap…tap…tap…”

“And I love you too, my precious little brother.” Was Ford’s answer, Stan too deep into the throes and sleep to acknowledge it, but a small smile forming in his face anyways.