Chapter Text
It was a typical evening at the Belcher household. The sounds of muffled voices, laughter, and the faint clink of dishes filled the air. Bob was sitting on the couch with his feet up, quietly flipping through a magazine. Linda was in the kitchen humming a tune as she prepped for dinner, the aroma of garlic and onions mixing with the sound of sizzling.
Gene was practicing air guitar with a broom while Tina sat nearby, reading one of her journals. Louise was curled up in her usual spot by the window, staring blankly out into the street. For a while, she’d been quiet, but that was nothing new. What was new though, was the way she had retreated to the corner by the window, her little pink bunny hat tilted slightly, and her posture stiff. Her breath started to quicken, rising faster with each passing second.
Bob noticed it first. The way her leg was bouncing restlessly, her foot tapping against the floor, faster and faster with each passing second. He watched, his stomach slowly sinking, as her small hands twisted together tightly, gripping the fabric of her sleeves as if she could squeeze away whatever it was that was coming.
“Louise?” he asked, voice warm but cautious. “You okay?”
Louise didn’t respond immediately. She wasn’t the type to talk about feelings, not when they involved things like fear or anxiety.
“Sweetie, you’re looking a little... tense. What’s going on?” Linda asked, walking over from the kitchen and kneeling beside her daughter. She didn’t need to ask, she knew what was happening. She was the one who’d spent years observing her daughter’s every move.
Gene, noticing the shift in the room’s energy, looked over his shoulder. Tina, who had been staring at the ground, suddenly stood up and met Gene's eyes. Without a word, they both quietly shuffled out of the room giving their sister some space.
Louise’s head snapped toward her mom, “I can’t... I can’t...” Her voice cracked, barely audible, as she grabbed at her shirt.
Bob’s heart sank. He couldn’t fix this with a joke or a distraction, the way he usually could. He could feel his own anxiety creeping in, but he buried it. Louise needed him calm. She needed him steady.
She had been dealing with panic attacks for a while, but it had been months since the last one. This one felt different, though. There was a palpable weight to the air, an urgency in the way she held her chest, struggling for breath.
“Louise, look at me,” Bob said, trying to keep calm, trying to be the steady presence she needed. But it wasn’t easy. It never was.
Her eyes met him for a fraction of a second, but she wasn’t really seeing him. She wasn’t really there. Her hands were trembling, and the pale skin of her face had taken on an ashen quality, as if all life had been drained from her. Louise’s breathing came in short, shallow bursts. She was hyperventilating now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath more desperate than the last. She brought her hands to her face, pressing her palms against her eyes as if she could block out the chaos of the moment.
But nothing worked. The room felt too small, the air too thick. It was like the walls were closing in around her. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t steady her heartbeat, and it was all happening so fast. So suddenly.
"Just... please," Louise gasped, her voice strangled, trying to ground herself. But she couldn’t, her body wasn’t listening. The panic had her in its grip, suffocating her, and she couldn’t fight it. Not now. Not like this.
Linda was there, her hand resting gently on Louise’s arm. Her touch was soft, but her expression was serious. She’d seen it before, and this time, she knew. This wasn’t just Louise having a rough moment, this was something deeper. Something she couldn’t hide from.
“Louise,” Linda said gently, kneeling beside her daughter. “Hey, look at me. deep breaths. You’re okay”
Linda pressed her forehead to Louise’s, their breaths mingling as the tension slowly began to dissipate. The panic wasn’t gone, but it was beginning to loosen its grip. “It’s okay to not have control,” Linda said softly, her voice steady and soothing. “You don’t have to control everything, especially not this. We’ve got you. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”
Louise still felt the tremor in her chest, the thin thread of anxiety threading through her body.
Bob’s voice cut through the lingering tension. “You want your pill?” he asked, his tone calm but not demanding.
Louise closed her eyes, taking in a shaky breath. The room felt quieter now, the air a little clearer. She didn’t want to need her rescue meds. She didn’t want to admit she needed help. But she was tired. So tired of fighting it on her own.
“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I think... I think I need it.”
Linda moved quickly, but without rushing, to get the small orange bottle from the counter. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, she knew the drill. She held out the pill and a glass of water, her gaze soft with understanding.
“Here, honey. Just take this. It’ll help.”
Louise’s hand trembled as she reached for the pill, and she swallowed it quickly with the water, barely tasting it. Her body still felt heavy with fear, but she allowed herself to relax a little, to let the medication begin to work.
The worst of the attack was starting to pass, but Bob and Linda stayed close, sitting with her in the quiet that followed, both of them knowing that it wasn’t over, not yet. But the worst of it had passed.
After a few moments, Bob spoke quietly, his voice soft but filled with pride. “You did good.”
Louise didn’t answer at first, her body still tense, her breath slow and uneven. But then she nodded, just the smallest movement. “I hate this,” she said, her voice thick with the remnants of tears.
Linda squeezed her hand. “I know, sweetie. I know.”