Losers: Bill Denbrough x Reader

Parental Guidance

Third Person POV:

Mrs. Uris had been busying herself around the house, doing laundry, cooking dinner, and sweeping up. Stan had dropped by at about six to eat something and take a bath. He had said that he was going back to the hospital with his friends for a bit longer. He promised that he'd call when he was ready to come back home and kissed her on the cheek before he left.

But it was now about eight thirty and she hadn't gotten a call from Stan asking to be picked up. She tried to tell herself not to jump to conclusions, and that he'd still probably be at the hospital and he'd be safe there.  But, with all of the murders and missing kids, it did make her a bit uneasy. She sat in her chair, sewing the buttons back onto one of Donald's shirts, her eyes snapping back up to the phone every couple minutes.

"Andrea, you're going to kill yourself with all this worrying. Stan is a smart level headed boy, he's going to be just fine." Donald Uris shook his head, a tired look on his face.

"Don, he hadn't really been home for two whole days! Haven't you wondered where he's been this whole time?" She asked, throwing down her husband's shirt.

"Andrea please just-"

"And then when he finally comes home he's bleeding out the side of his head and he tells you that he can't tell you why because you wouldn't believe him. How are you not worried for him?" She asked, staring over at her husband with watery eyes.

Stanley had been the only child the Uris's had been and would be blessed with. He was a good boy. He always did as he was told, kept his room neat and tidy without having to be asked, had good grades. He was the poster child of children, the son everyone wished they had.

She knew that he had a good head on his shoulders and would be just fine. He had the "Don't take candy or rides from strangers" thing practically tattooed on his brain. Still, she worried. He was out past curfew and for all she knew he was alone, slowly walking his bike down the sidewalk on his way home.

"Alright Andrea, how about I take you down to the hospital and we can pick him up? Would that make you feel better?" He asked, sitting up from his relaxed position on the couch.

"Yes, I suppose that would calm my nerves." She nodded, carefully putting away all of her needles, thread, and buttons before following Donald out to their car.

She kept her eyes on the sidewalk, ready to give Stan a good stern talking to if she were to catch him out by himself. She knew where Stan was, and she tried to remind herself that she was just a little jumpy considering all that she had heard today. So, instead of thinking about the horrible things that could've happened to her son, she let her mind wander to how she could comfort her good friend, Maggie Tozier.

She thought over the various casserole recipes that she knew and decided that maybe food wasn't the best thing considering that (y/n) wouldn't be able to eat entirely solid foods for the next few days. Or so she assumed, she didn't know much about the treatment and recovery of a stab wound. In fact, she couldn't even think of a plausible explanation for how the little Tozier girl got stabbed in the first place.

How does a young girl go about getting her own knife shoved six inches into her side while none of her friends seem to know what actually happened. She assumed that Stan might know. (She put two and two together and had come to the conclusion that Stan liked (y/n) but had kept it from Donald, who was still in the dark, because the Tozier's were not Jewish).

Donald and Andrea pulled into the hospital parking lot. The clock on the dash read 9:30, but she was sure that it was a couple minutes off. It shouldn't have taken them thirty minutes to get there by car. She shrugged and hopled out of the car, her small heels clicking against the asphalt. She made her way inside, the freezing air of the waiting room a welcome feeling compared to the humid stickiness of the Derry summer.