#also yes im still working on stanuary

[shadowofaghost5]

Give us all your money :)

(Stanuary Week 2: Connection - I saw the word connection and this song started blaring in my head soo… I can not be blamed for this.)

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary ‘20 - Week One: Burn

Why yes, it is the last day of January and I am posting my ficlet for the prompt of the first week, but I don’t care.

As a quick frame of reference, this ficlet takes place in my Superhero/villain AU, which is a superhero AU of my own design.  In it, Stan has pyrokinesis (the ability to control fire) and Ford can teleport things if he’s touched them before.  Also, Ma Pines is a retired superhero, in whose footsteps Stan eventually follows.  But this ficlet takes place before then, after Stan was kicked out of the house due to the science fair incident, while Stan is still homeless and roaming around the country.

That’s about all you need to know to follow the ficlet but if you’re curious about the rest of the AU (since there’s a LOT more to it than what I just described), feel free to check out its tag on my writing blog and my main blog.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

              Stan couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have his powers. According to his mom, his powers manifested when he was two, in a very showy manner.  Ma Pines liked to point out the burn marks on the wall in the kitchen to him whenever she felt he needed to be embarrassed.

              “That was when I realized that I needed to up my parenting game.  I mean, you tried to burn the house down just ‘cause I wouldn’t let you spoil your dinner!”

              Stan could, however, remember very well when he first learned the limit of his powers.  He was six. Ma Pines had set out a candle for Stan to practice controlling.  It went smoothly at first – Stan made the flame grow and shrink, even coaxed it out of its native teardrop shape into a triangular one.  Things went south when he tried to scoop the flame into his hands.

              That was something he’d done plenty of times before with flames he’d generated himself.  In fact, it was one of his favorite tricks.  Flames raced down his arms and into his cupped hands, then he’d throw them up into the air, where the sparks would go out almost instantly, as he lacked any ability yet to make them last.

              It was a trick his mom insisted he only do outside, with his older brother Shermie standing by ready with a bucket of water and a fire extinguisher.

              But the day he tried to do that trick with the candle, he felt something completely foreign: a burn.  His shriek of pain reverberated throughout the house and his mom appeared by his side so quickly it was like she had super speed instead of telekinesis.

              “What happened, Stanley Danley?” she cooed, cupping his face in her hands.

              “The- the candle-” Stan sobbed, “it- it hurt me!”  Ma Pines then inspected Stan’s hands carefully and gently, turning them over.  She stroked his cheek.

              “It’s okay, sweetie.  Just a coupla minor burns, that’s all.  We’ve been stockin’ up on that good burn cream ever since you accidentally set my rose bush on fire, just in case somethin’ like this happened.  Come on.”  Ma Pines guided him towards the bathroom, where she set him up running his hands under cool water.  Stan watched her through teary eyes as she dug through the cabinet, looking for the burn cream.  “Ah! Here we are.”  She set a tub of something called “Silvadene” on the counter. “So, how did you get burned?”

              “The candle.”

              “Did you try to touch the candle’s flame?” Ma Pines asked.  Stan nodded tearfully.  “Why would you do that?”

              “Fire never hurt me before,” Stan whined.  Ma Pines stroked his rambunctious curls.

              “Well, you’ve never tried to touch fire that wasn’t your own before.”

              “Huh?”

              “I’ve had my suspicions for a while now about how powerful you are.” Ma Pines’ voice adopted a lecturing tone.  Stan immediately began to focus more.  Whenever Ma Pines told him about superpowers, it was smart to listen.  She didn’t like repeating herself, particularly given that Stan wanted to follow in her footsteps someday and be a superhero. “I’ve told you before that elementals like yourself have distinct levels of abilities.”

              “Level one, two, and three,” Stan said obediently.  Ma Pines smiled at him.

              “That’s right.  I knew you were at least a level two, since you can create your own fire.  Level one pyrokinetics can only control fire, they can’t generate it.”  Stan nodded. “But lately I’ve been leaning towards you being level two, not level three.  You don’t seem to have the powers a level three pyro should.  You getting burned confirms it.  A level three pyro is completely fireproof, while a level two would be vulnerable to fire they don’t themselves generate.”  Ma Pines turned the faucet off and began to carefully towel Stan’s hands.

              “I’m a wimp, then,” Stan said quietly.  Ma Pines stopped drying to frown at her son.

              “I never said that.  Level two is perfectly respectable for an elemental.  Your great-great-grandfather was the only elemental in this family’s history before you came along, and he was a level one pyro.  Level threes are very rare.  In all the time I put on my mask and took care of evildoers, I only ever met one level three elemental.  Do you know who that was?”

              “Sirocco?” Stan asked after a moment, naming the only elemental he knew of.

              “That’s right.  She was a level three aerokinetic.  Worldwide, there’s only a handful of people with that strength of power.”  Ma Pines set aside the towel and started putting the burn cream on Stan’s hands.  “You’ve got a lot of potential, sweetie.  Now we know your limits, we can really work on making sure you live up to all that potential.”

----- 

              Stan thought back to that day as he watched the Juke Joint burn down.  It had been abandoned for years now, so the fire crews standing by were just focusing on keeping the fire from spreading, rather than extinguishing the whole building.  He leaned against the Stanleymobile and wrestled with what he felt the urge to do.

              Since the day he’d learned he could be burned, he’d found out about his other limits.  Namely, that his lungs were vulnerable to smoke.  The rasp he’d developed after picking up cigarettes was proof enough of that.

              If I run inside, I can fuck myself up in a million different ways. Fire he didn’t himself create was more difficult to control; Stan liked to think of it as being feral, much like the possum he’d tried to train as a child.  It would take a lot of concentration to keep the flames from scorching him.  Even if he managed to get in and out without burning, he’d still be breathing in smoke. But would it really be that bad? I mean, I do that for fun.  What’s a few more puffs of smoke?  Still, Stan could feel himself tensing with nerves, both trying to charge into the building and resisting that urge at the same time.

              “You came back to town for a reason,” he told himself firmly.  “Don’t let that go to waste.”  Stan closed his eyes and pictured where he would find what he’d come for.  Emboldened, he opened his eyes.  “C’mon, Stan. Just do it.  You’ll be fine.”

              Probably.  Stan half-walked, half-jogged over to the other side of the building, away from the observing fire crews.  He took a deep breath and spread his arms wide, parting the flames covering the back entrance.  Already, he could feel the fire resisting him.  He grit his teeth.

              “Hell, no.  You’re gonna do what I tell you, capisce?” he ground out.  The resistance against his control dwindled.  He grinned.  “That’s right.”  Stan sprinted into the diner, clearing the flames ahead of him as he ran.  By the time he got to the parlor where the booths were, his breath was running ragged in his throat.

              Gotta move fast, Stan.  You won’t be able to keep the fire off you for long.  Stan quickly scanned the room.  The smoke filling the room made it near impossible to make out any details. Stan chewed on the inside of his cheek. Great.  Okay.  Think. Where did they keep it?  Stan fumbled his way over to the counter, where he dimly remembered a corkboard hanging on the wall, covered in pictures. He brushed his hands over the wall. Ha!  Under his fingers, he could feel tacks and what could be paper or photographs.  No time to figure out which one is which.  Just take all of ‘em.  Stan quickly pulled the pictures off the corkboard, tearing them in his haste and not caring. Get out!  Get out!  Stan stumbled through the haze of smoke and flames, his control over the fire loosening. Flames tugged at his clothes and skin, scorching him.

              “Just get out,” Stan grunted to himself.  After what felt like an eternity, he escaped through the back door, burned and coughing.  He bent over to wheeze loudly.  Fresh air filled his lungs.

              Sweet Moses, I never realized how sweet the air in Glass Shard Beach is. Relatively speaking.  Stan straightened his back and looked at the scraps in his hands.  Time to see if it was worth it.  He began to flip through the stack of photos, tossing each one on the ground as he realized it wasn’t the one he wanted.  At the second-to-last photo, he stopped.  Is it… He rubbed off a thin layer of soot and smiled slowly.

              “Got ‘im,” he whispered, staring at the picture.  The Juke Joint would take pictures of kids who had their parties at the restaurant, and if asked, would hang the pictures up on the wall. On their seventeenth birthday, the last one they’d celebrated together, Ford and Stan had done just that.  Stan was wearing both his conical paper party hat and Ford’s, his arm slung around Ford’s shoulder.  They were both laughing with their eyes closed, their food forgotten on their plates.

              Stan stared at the picture for a few moments before tucking it into his back pocket.  He leaned against the Stanleymobile and watched The Juke Joint finish burning down to the ground.  The fire crews in the front began to extinguish the remaining embers.  Stan winced as the night air brushed across his fresh burns.

              I’ll never get used to how that feels.  A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.  But this time, it was worth it.