#AND THEN CAP’S LIL CRUSH ON MIKE

[seancekitsch]

Stan Uris x Reader: Making up for Lost Time, the Final Part!

This will probably be the last part, and then like a cute lil epilogue

Warnings for the series include: canon issues including self harm, attempted suicide, emotional trauma, mentioned disordered eating, the clown, anxiety, adult Bill Denbrough’s personality, book and movie canon being merged together because I like to play god, light smut and my terrible vocabulary, canon events.

-Stan thinks about his divorce the second he wakes up. Mostly, it’s prompted by the fact that you’ve already left before he woke up. That’s fair, he understands the uproar in the townhouse if you’d been caught sneaking out of his room. And the fact that he had just strayed from his marriage, and that he felt more loved last night than he had since he was a teen. But he thinks about how easy it will be. How he would much rather be facing divorce and talking to his attorney than being in Derry right now.

-Patricia was amazing. Maybe that’s why he had fallen for her at one point in his life. But after they had stopped trying for kids, all sense of romance had fizzled from the relationship. She wanted kids, and he couldn’t give them to her. He couldn’t blame her for being distant and she would never blame him for falling out of love. That’s why if he called her right now, she would already be cancelling their trip to Argentina, and they’d both agree they’d have to work on some paperwork, and they’d both hang up feeling unhurt.

-So He makes that call, and Stanley Uris breathes a sigh of relief for once. He hopes they remain friends. He wants Patricia to know she meant a lot to him.

-Downstairs, a storm is brewing. The losers are wracking their brains to think of tokens they can use to defeat it. You are especially struggling, as you cannot remember being alone once that summer. You had never encountered it alone at any time, despite being one of the losers most aggressively attacked by it. You remember the scar on your leg, how it hurts when it rains. But you don’t remember solitude. Everything that summer was the losers. Everything that summer was Stanley, too.

-But then a memory with Beverly seems to be your best lead. Although you weren’t alone, it was the most alone you’ve ever felt, save for her hand holding yours and pulling you away from public pain and bullying. She was there when Greta had somehow gotten a hold of your journal. You knew something was up when you found the lock for it in your bag without the book attached.

-You remember it vividly, how she stood on a bench in the cafeteria and read it aloud. She spilled everything from your parents neglect, to your struggles with body image and how you skipped meals, to your crush on another loser.

-God, it reminded you of that movie Carrie, how they all laughed at you and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. But then Bev tangled her fingers in yours and dragged you out of there, out of the school and back to the quarry. You couldn’t even feel yourself crying in the water. You really had to thank her, but she probably would just shake it off. That lock would be your token, but you knew it would have to be at the bottom of the quarry.

-Stan doesn’t come down until the token discussion is almost over, but you notice he looks at peace for the first time since you reunited with him. He moves to get closer to you, but you figure he has to do this alone just like you. It’s not a coincidence that Bill and Bev are also not acknowledging each other personally.

-As you go to head off to the quarry, Stan catches you by the door. The way he grabs your wrist is soft but firm, and fills you with the feeling of last night. Your body calls to him and you feel flush all over, but now is not the time.

-“Find your token, then we’ll talk about this.” You dismiss him before he even begins. It’s as gentle as you can be, but it’s not the time for this. Last night can wait until after this clown is dead. You cannot afford to be distracted, even if all you want to do is sink to your knees in front of him and worship.

———

-Finding the lock was more than a struggle. The second the lock was in sight, the algae came to life. Pennywise no doubt, but you barely escaped with your life. Half drowned, you Trek back to the townhouse and ignore the stares around town. The rusted lock is held in your vice grip, and that is all that matters.

-But what you come back to is Eddie bleeding profusely from the face. Richie, Mike, and Bill are all missing, and there is absolutely no time to lose.

-You all meet Bill at the Neibolt house after patching up Eddie, and fear almost makes you run right then. You can’t find yourself actually entering the house until Stan is behind you and using his hand to guide you up the steps with him. You are the last two to enter the house.

-It shows itself to you as Stan in the kitchen; but as a corpse. Waterlogged, bleeding black from the arms. All the sudden all of the little comments and the bandage on his arm makes sense, and you’re paralyzed with fear. You knew what he was going to do before coming here. And he was going to leave you alone.

-Bill, Stan, and Richie all have to work together to pull the corpse off of you. You didn’t even try to fight it off and accepted death with tears running down your face. You hear Bill yell at Eddie for not helping, but it doesn’t process the way it should. Everything feels far away, your ears are ringing, you can’t focus on any one object or face. You don’t care. You don’t care at all about what could have happened to you and all about what could have happened to Stan.

-Meanwhile Stan is terrified for you. He watched you give up and succumb to fear before you even reached the sewer, all because of him. He holds you close and wipes the blood from where it cut you and tries to hide the tears on his face as he pulls you further and further with the rest of the group.

-The two of you are gripped to each other as you enter the cavern with the crater, until you all have to hold each other’s hands and throw in your tokens. His is a shower cap; yours is a lock, and neither of you explain your tokens. But you close your eyes and chant with everyone else.

-And it almost seems to work. But then it gets bigger. It separates you. And all of the sudden you’re back in the cafeteria. And the laughing from that day surrounds you but there are no people in sight. It’s just you and the laughter and the walls closing in on you.

-Through the laughter, a voice rings out, snaps you out of your trance like fear and brings you back. Stan screams out to you and grabs you by the arm. You’re yanked out of the cafeteria and somehow back into the cavern.

-“Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend” Stan cries, as he starts pelting any rocks he can at the now spider like Pennywise, running away from you to get it away from you, even if that means putting himself in danger.

-But instead of him it’s Richie in danger, and then Eddie. And by the end of the battle, Eddie is gone. But there’s no time to save his body or say goodbye because the cavern is collapsing and Richie needs to be dragged out.

-Once the remainder of you are safe, you go back to the quarry for the second time in twenty four hours. You wash yourselves of the sewers and hold each other as you cry. Cathartic doesn’t even begin to describe it.

-“Stan you called her your girlfriend!” Followed by “Beep Beep Richie” and you all knew it would be okay from here on out. Eddie would not be forgotten, you could all live without fear, and new futures could be planned.

-Ben and Beverly left first, together, which surprised you but you figured you somehow always knew. Richie left soon after, but not before telling you to visit often now that he knew you were on the west coast as well. Bill left to write a new book. A tribute to Eddie. He also got divorced, which he didn’t need to call to tel you because you saw it in a tabloid magazine in a pharmacy. Mike decided he would finally leave Derry, but he had to plan where he would go first.

-Stan went to Atlanta without you, and you took a flight back to Seattle. He had things to sort out, but you had no doubt that he would come to you when it was time.

-One day, weeks later, the phone rings and it’s your Stanley. “Open the door, Babylove,” he says. And he’s there. Just like he always should have been.

———————————-

Epilogue maybe?????? Idk

[begrimedchains]

[...This Shit Again]

   @azarovsslayer

It's not like he wanted to overstay his welcome in the wrecker's yard. But after that hoodlum in the ski cap dropped a rotten pallet over his hard head, he really has no say in the matter. Because while the wooden slab is entrapped between two formidable rocks, he is also--inside its gutted middle. And try and twist as he might, he couldn't wedge the barricade free of its formation, nor drop his pallet skirt. His eyes still burn from the girl's flashlight abuse by the time he hears a bell toll.

Jogging through the junkyard Philip hopes to find a quiet spot to meditate, his mind racing after the slaughter he could feel the possibilities of new items wanting to be manifested into reality. With the Entity’s strange gift of the blood web items that probably wouldn’t exist normally could simply be thought of and be pulled into being, making hunting easier when more blood was spilled. Though the shadows around him wail loudly the sound Billy distress pulls him from his quest for sanctuary. Turning to gaze between two rocks Philip’s face contorts into a smile at the sight of his friend’s misfortune. It’s fairly difficult to stomach his laughter when comedic circumstances are almost nonexistent in the realm of the damned, but he tries his best knowing that Billy’s would be catches probably did the same. Composing himself he uncloaks and moves closer to his fellow hunter. “I may not have Evans incredible strength but I imagine you’d like any help in getting out of there.”

   It was almost amusing how a collection of cowards could only muster up enough courage to approach him when the circumstances prevented him from lunging forward to swat the targets their flashing teeth quickly became dancing in and out of the corners of his puny peripheral vision. Though he may have been rooted to the spot as ornery as a plow-horse half helped into its harness, there were no blinkers to blind him to the tentative taunts of unbroken bodies remaining despite them having delved into the core of his terror radius. The hoodlum had herded her flock over for a front row seat to her deeds, tittering jokingly on about how they owed her their lives and thus—whatever loot they’d come across before the altercation that rendered him a spectacle over a threat. Managing to crush only one emboldened shoulder that swayed too close to his temporary captivity with the tip of his hammer, he settled back once they scurried to a safer distance. The night was already sticky from the fog, and the added heat of their lights swiping curiously over the collection of gashes garnered over misshapen limbs, only helped soak his tank top in sweat faster than if he’d been chasing them all along. He almost preferred their erratic movements over the stillness that befell him and stifled his senses as easily as his original confinement below floorboards and footsteps once they set out together for the nearest generator. One by one, the lights popped on across the junkyard, subtle reminders that he was still present and still stuck despite the strained grunts of distress he dealt the shadow-stained skyline. Where was Ma? Would She really allow an innocuous flaw in her design to halt his rampage? Apparently so. Once an explosion of thrashing fails to free him, he hangs his head to collect his strength for the next attempt, growling obscenities all the wicked while.

  Perhaps he should have been grateful that Phil is the first to find him. Evan would either make a scene and swear bloody vengeance on the souls responsible for detaining him, or laugh and berate him for not working on his imitation of the trap-setter’s brutal strength, depending on the Macmillan’s mood. Mike would have been no better company, no doubt dedicated to the task of watching him struggle from afar, given the opportunity. Phil might have found a tint of humor in the situation, but at least he’d seen much more of the Hillbilly than what he presented in a miserable situation. It’s enough of a small comfort for the ensnared beast to trust the taller being’s approach--enough to settle his stiffened spine. “Y’have no idea.” Grunt grainy from straining the range of sounds he was capable of making when he thought himself forgotten, the Crooked throws his weight forward again. Wood scraping against stone is a new sound that meets his ears—a sign that the plug is giving way to his persistence. “Reckon I could use ah leg here.” Maybe if the Wraith tied both of the stilts he called limbs together, they’d make it into “a leg” tier? “Middle’s rotten, if y’can manage it.” He adds, squeezing the stone edges at his sides as he steels himself for a stomp above belt buckles that will hopefully spare his crotch the splinters. “Ma’s miffed.” It’s the main conclusion he’s drawn while marinating in his misery. “Don’t think She’s awful keen on our lil… get-togethers.” Or maybe the god was simply busy delivering a load of eggs to the Macmillan Estate? Either way, he’s sore—and not just from the splinters. "Or maybe that's what ah'll keep tellin' m'self. You'd believe it, wouldn'tcha?"