Chapter Text
The next day, Stan was greeted by Eddie’s wide-eyed, awe-struck expression and Sonia growling like a dragon whenever he neared their house. He dismounted his bike and flashed them his most charming smile, purposefully ignoring Sonia’s scowl. "Eddie!" he greeted cheerfully, before turning to address his mother. "Sonia," he nodded, ignoring her snarl of distaste. He could practically feel her desire to scold him, but at the raised eyebrow he gave her, she only turned to glare once again.
Ben and Eddie’s eyes bounced back and forth between them, like they were watching the most dramatic scene in a telenovela. Since neither of them had responded to his greeting, Stan continued to focus on Eddie. "Are you packed?"
Eddie snapped his head toward him and nodded eagerly, gesturing to the additional bag on his bike. "Good to go!" he said with a grin.
"I am, too. We’ll head straight to Ben’s house, and I’ll drop you off at your place on Saturday afternoon." Stan commented.
Though Eddie and Ben were bummed that they couldn’t spend the entire weekend together, Stan had assured them that more opportunities would come. He was determined to make sure of it.
And, apparently, his words were as good as scripture to them—both boys took him at his word.
Sonia looked reluctant to let Eddie go, but the boy himself had no such qualms. He mounted his bike, adjusted his school and sleepover bags, and gestured for them to start pedaling. They did.
"How did you convince her?" Ed demanded, trying to sound threatening but only managing to look cute—adorable, really. "She was furious! I didn’t think she’d ever agree!"
"We have a mystical connection."
"You and my mom?"
"Yep," Stan confirmed with a grin. "We bonded over our mutual fondness for you."
Ben snorted, but Eddie scowled. "You’re lying."
"More often than not, yeah."
"I don’t get you," Eddie pouted. Stan couldn’t help but be reminded of how cute Eddie used to be. No wonder Richie was head over heels for him. Both of them, if you believed Richie’s nonsense.
"I get that a lot," Stan replied with a soft laugh. He sighed, pretending to be pensive. "Don’t worry, Eddie. You’ll get me one day."
"Is that a promise?" Ben asked, speaking up for the first time. He sounded shy, as usual.
"Of course," Stan assured him.
As they made their way to school and parked their bikes, the remaining members of the former Losers' Club, plus Henry, rolled in on their own bikes. Eddie and Ben immediately stiffened, while Stan didn’t spare them more than a cursory glance, too focused on locking his bike.
"Hey, Stan," Mike greeted, and Stan nodded at him before turning to Ben, who was still frozen.
"Benny boy," Stan said, his voice teasing. Ben snapped his head around, as if waking from a trance, his gaze still locked on the group ahead like they were the living embodiment of his worst nightmare. To be fair, Stan doubted any of them had experienced Pennywise or his illusions yet, so Ben lacked some perspective.
"Come on, lock your bike. We’re going to be late."
"You're coming to my house this weekend," Bill murmured quietly, and Stan turned to raise an eyebrow at Bill, who was staring at him with that unnerving, punchable face.
"Is there a question in there?" Stan asked, raising both eyebrows. He could hear Richie snicker behind him, while Eddie decided to seek protection behind Stan’s back.
Bill tilted his head to the side, amusement flickering in his eyes. Stan scowled—Bill looked like a cocky douchebag when he did that, and it reminded him of his old friend, the Bill who had been a reliable, brave, and sweet leader. The Bill who always tried his best, no matter the odds.
"Why?" Bill asked, his tone flat. At Stan’s questioning look, he clarified, "Why did you agree so suddenly?"
"Mutually beneficial agreement between my parents and me. So, none of your business," Stan replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He gestured for Ben to take Eddie inside while he side-eyed Henry, who was still staring at him. There was a lot of staring going on, and Stan wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.
"It’s my house," Bill interjected, sounding a little annoyed. But Stan had no idea what was bothering Bill, so he didn’t even try to replicate it. "I have the right to know your motives."
"Huh, interesting," Stan murmured, tilting his head slightly as he moved closer to Bill. The Alpha’s eyes widened at the movement. Ben and Eddie hadn’t left him yet; they looked nervous but were clearly not going inside without him. "Tell me, William. What do you think my motives are?"
Bill remained silent, but Stan felt a strange flutter in his chest when he used Bill’s first name. It reminded him of the old Bill, the one who had once been his best friend. That Bill had never been this… distant. He could almost taste the bitterness in the air, but he wasn’t sure why he felt this strange satisfaction from pushing Bill’s buttons.
Reaching out, Stan lightly touched Bill’s hair. The action froze Bill in place. Even though this Bill was taller, Stan felt nostalgic for his own childhood version of Bill—the one who had been so dependable and kind. He noticed everyone was watching them now, the new group of friends, as well as Eddie, Ben, Beverly, Mike, and Richie. The whole parking lot seemed to hold its breath.
"Don’t touch him," Beverly snapped, her voice laced with a warning. Stan stared at her impassively, watching her upset expression. She was clearly bothered, probably because Stan was touching her boyfriend so casually, and Bill hadn’t done anything to stop it. Stan knew they didn’t end up together in his world—at least, not the way things seemed now—but it still made him feel a strange tug of regret as he saw her face fall.
It wasn’t a big deal, though. He and Bill had been close in another world. They’d all been a little touchy-feely as kids. But still, Stan understood why Beverly was upset, though he didn’t quite comprehend it. So, he moved toward her, gently tugging at her red curls.
She froze at the gesture, her eyes widening with confusion. For a moment, he thought she might slap him, but instead, she seemed to nuzzle into his hand. Stan felt Bill’s presence close behind him, and part of him expected the boy to rip him away from his girlfriend. But Bill didn’t move. Instead, he placed a hand on Stan’s back.
Stan could feel the tension in the air, thick and almost suffocating. The Alpha and Beta dynamics were foreign to him, but he was starting to get a sense that something weird was going on. Neither Bill nor Beverly was reacting how he expected. They should both be ripping him to shreds, but instead, they were both almost seeking his touch, like they were… touch-starved.
Time to go.
Stan pulled his hand from Beverly’s cheek, wincing when she made a soft, wounded sound. "What the hell?" he thought, shaking off the odd feeling that lingered in his chest.
He moved away from Bill, who only gave him a disapproving look. Stan wasn’t in the business of making Bill happy. "See you Saturday," he said with finality, grabbing Ben with one hand and Eddie with the other, and dragging them toward the school doors. They were already late for their first class.
Behind him, Richie yelled, "What the fuck?!?" Stan couldn’t help but agree.
Sometimes, Richie really had a way of voicing exactly what Stan was thinking.
"Wow," Mike says, "Just wow."
"I know," Richie says fanning himself, watching the now newly labeled, 'sexually confusing' Omega, "That was something."
Beverly blushes while Bill ignores them, he's also tracking the Omega, practically running into the school,l dragging his friends along, "I don't know what happened." She whispers, looking spooked.
"I know," Richie says and Bill glares at him but he's ignored, "He single-handedly turned on half of the school, the fucking parking lot is reeking with your and Bev's pheromones, keep it in your pants guys. Please we have children here."
"He's pretty touchy-feely," Mike commented, "I don't think it was something special or anything, at least not for him. Gramp says he's a hugger." Typically Omegas were not that physically affectionate with stangers, Stan doesn't seem to think much of it.
Bill can agree with that statement, he's seen the Omega casually touch his brother and has no objection to receiving affection from Bill's mother and father either. Stan was also seemed close and extremely affectionate with his own parents, which was not very common in Omegas over the age of ten.
"Still," Richie said thoughtfully, "hugging your mom is one thing. Almost hugging someone's girlfriend? In front of the same someone? That's some bold Omega shit, man."
Beverly made a mortified sound and buried her face in her hands. Mike patted her shoulder sympathetically, while Bill just clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on the school entrance Stan had disappeared through.
There was something wrong about all of this. Something about Stan didn’t fit the tidy boxes Bill liked to put people into. Omega. Beta. Alpha. Friend. Threat. Ally. None of it stuck properly when it came to Stan Uris.
"Maybe he’s just different," Mike suggested, ever the peacemaker.
"Different like... radioactive different," Richie muttered, still half-joking but fidgeting like he was unsettled too. "I mean, no offense, but if he stares at me like that next, I'm gonna need a cold shower and a therapy session."
"You're disgusting," Beverly said, finally lifting her head to glare at him.
"Only sometimes," Richie chirped. "But seriously, if that wasn’t Stan ‘casually existing,’ then what the hell was it?"
Bill didn’t answer. He couldn’t because he didn’t know either.
Inside the school, Stan didn’t slow down until they were tucked behind a dusty old trophy case, well out of sight. Only then did he finally let go of Ben and Eddie, who stumbled to regain their footing.
Ben looked like he was going to say something, but Stan quickly held up a hand.
"Nope," Stan said shortly. "Whatever you're about to ask — just... no. I don't know what the hell that was."
Eddie’s hands were clenched tight in the fabric of Stan’s jacket. His big brown eyes were wide with concern. "But... " he whispered. "Everyone was acting weird. They were staring at you. Sniffing. And — and their faces—!"
"I don't know." His hissed back, "Where I come from, people don’t go around sniffing like they just walked into a bakery."
"Where do you come from?" Eddies asked with a frown and Stan ignored him.
Ben, still pale, nodded solemnly. "Maybe you're leaking pheromones?" he suggested hesitantly.
Stan squinted at him. "Pheromones?" He snorted. "What, like a skunk?"
Eddie shook his head frantically. "No, no — it's a thing here! My mom has these books—" he broke off, blushing furiously.
Stan looked between them and sighed heavily. "Fantastic. I am literally living inside some hormone-soaked sci-fi novel."
They didn’t get far before trouble found them.
Stan rounded the corner first — and promptly came face to face with Henry Bowers.
Henry sneered down at him, cracking his knuckles. "Well, well, you put on quite a show," he drawled, taking a menacing step forward, "Didn't you Uris?"
Stan crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Hey, bitch." he greeted back.
Henry's face twisted in a scowl. "Think you're funny, Uris?"
Ben shifted closer, trying to wedge himself between Stan and Henry, shoulders stiff with fear. Eddie whimpered softly but clung tighter to Stan.
Stan, meanwhile, glanced over Henry’s shoulder — and spotted a teacher strolling toward them, oblivious for the moment.
A plan flickered to life behind Stan’s sharp, annoyed eyes.
Without warning, he dropped his bored mask and gasped like he’d just been stabbed. His whole body jerked backward dramatically, clutching his chest as if in mortal peril. He scrunched his face up, turned on the waterworks, and wailed — loud enough to echo down the hallway.
"Please, Henry! Don’t hurt me!" he sobbed, throwing in a quiver for good measure. "I’m sorry! I'll give you all my lunch money! I'll give you my dessert, my homework — just please don't beat me up in front of my friends!"
Henry blinked at him, completely caught off guard, mouth opening and closing like a confused goldfish.
That was when Mr. Hamill — the history teacher built like a brick wall and carrying the permanent aura of I am too old for this crap — came stomping around the corner.
"Henry Bowers!" Mr. Hamill bellowed, voice shaking the nearby lockers.
Henry stiffened like he’d been electrocuted. "I-I— it wasn’t me!" he sputtered, voice cracking like a poorly tuned radio.
Stan, never one to miss an opportunity, dialed the drama up to eleven. He collapsed into Ben’s arms with a pitiful wail, fake-sobbing so hard his shoulders shook.
Ben nearly toppled under Stan's full weight but somehow managed to hold him up like a terrified, quivering knight.
Eddie, meanwhile, clung tighter to Stan's back, peeking around him like a frightened barnacle, whispering urgently, "Stan, you’re gonna get arrested for lying!" He said in Hindi.
But Stan was committed.
He sniffled wetly and hiccupped for effect. "He said he was gonna throw me in a dumpster," he whimpered loudly. "And call me a— a—" he glanced wildly at Mr. Hamill, searching for something devastating enough, "a dweeb!"
A horrified gasp rippled down the hallway. The sacred middle school insult.
Mr. Hamill’s eyes narrowed into a death glare aimed at Henry. "Is that true, Bowers?"
Henry tried to stammer out a denial, but it was no use — Stan kept trembling pitifully, Ben kept looking ready to punch someone (and immediately cry about it), and Eddie looked one sneeze away from having a full panic attack.
Mr. Hamill grabbed Henry roughly by the elbow. "Principal's office. Now."
"But—" Henry started.
"Now!" Mr. Hamill barked.
As he was dragged away, Henry threw a murderous glare over his shoulder. Stan met it with a tearful little sniff and the fakest, most innocent puppy-dog eyes ever to exist on God's green earth.
As soon as Henry disappeared, Stan straightened up instantly, wiped the tears from his cheek, and flashed a dazzling grin at his friends.
Ben, still shaking, stared at him like he’d just watched a man wrestle a bear. "That was— that was— holy crap, Stan."
Stan bowed at the waist with a flourish. "Thank you, thank you. I'll be performing 'Helpless Omega in Distress' every day at noon by the cafeteria."
Ben laughed weakly, almost hysterically.
Eddie, still clinging to Stan like a baby koala, squeaked out, "Don’t ever do that again. My heart can't take it."
Stan ruffled Eddie’s hair fondly. "No promises, buddy. Besides," he added with a wink, "you gotta admit — it was art."
Ben covered his face with his hands. "We're gonna die here. They're gonna kill us and stuff us in the lockers."
Stan just shrugged, utterly unfazed.
With that, he looped his arms around his two very traumatized friends and herded them toward class — humming cheerfully under his breath like they hadn't just committed grand theatrical slander in the middle of a school hallway.
They managed to make it to class just before the bell rang, slipping into their seats. Ben was still vibrating with leftover adrenaline, and Eddie kept darting nervous glances around the room like he expected Henry to burst in through the wall like a demon Kool-Aid Man.
Stan, by contrast, leaned back in his chair, arms folded loosely.
Mrs. Harris, their teacher, beamed at the class once everyone had settled. "Good morning, everyone! Before we start today's lesson, I've got your test results from last week’s science exam!"
The class groaned collectively — except Stan, who barely looked interested.
Mrs. Harris began passing back the papers, handing them to each student with a comment here or there. "Nice improvement, Jason. Good effort, Marcy."
When she reached Stan, she held his test up for the whole class to see.
"Stanley Uris," she said, practically glowing. "A perfect score! 100%! Not a single mistake!"
The class buzzed with impressed murmurs. Eddie clapped politely. Ben shot Stan a look of pure hero worship.
Stan just shrugged, bored.
He could already feel more stares drilling into the back of his head.
And the day had barely even started.
The end of the school day was as anticlimactic as Stan had expected, which honestly? A blessing. No dramatic cafeteria showdowns, no Alpha posturing, no Greta sightings. It was, by all definitions, a good day.
Stan was packing his bag, carefully ignoring the way Eddie hovered by the locker like a koala separated from his favorite tree, while Ben was humming some unknown tune and trying to shove a stack of books into a backpack that was not built for that level of ambition.
"Ready?" Stan asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder and looking at the two Omegas like a reluctant babysitter.
"Yes!" Eddie chirped. Ben grunted. His backpack let out a tortured zipper-noise.
They walked out together, Stan holding the door like a gentleman while dramatically sighing, “I must be the strongest Omega in Derry. Chivalry is exhausting.”
When they entered Ben’s house, it smelled like cinnamon, fresh dough, and that distinct scent of hope only new houses and older moms carried. Mrs. Hanscom opened the door with a warm smile that grew to full sunshine the moment she spotted Stan.
“Stanley! My favorite gentleman,” she greeted, pulling him into a hug.
Stan, ever the charmer, gave her a slow blink, “I’ve been promoted from ‘adorable neighbor boy’ to ‘favorite gentleman’? What did Ben do to fall so far from grace?”
Ben made a strangled noise from behind him.
“Oh stop it, you’re incorrigible,” Mrs. Hanscom laughed.
“He flirts with everyone. Don’t encourage him,” Ben grumbled.
“I’m almost twelve, Ben. I have standards,” Stan said solemnly.
Eddie snickered.
Dinner prep was already underway, but Stan insisted they help. He tied an apron around his waist like a man preparing for war and handed another to Ben and Eddie. Mrs. Hanscom gave in with an amused shake of her head.
“Stan, honey, I think I can handle the rest.”
“I don’t trust you,” Stan said gravely. “Not after you let Ben season those potatoes last week.”
“Hey!” Ben cried.
They finished up quickly, with Mrs. Hanscom giggling and swatting at Stan’s mock-criticism. The moment she gave them the go-ahead, the trio made a break for Ben’s room.
Ben’s room looked like the conspiracy theorist section of a public library, and the scrapbook aisle of a craft store had a baby. The wall had been transformed into a shrine of missing person flyers, newspaper clippings, and red yarn connecting dots only Ben understood.
Stan raised an eyebrow. “So when exactly did you audition for ‘True Crime’s Youngest Intern’?”
Ben flushed. “I organize what matters.”
“It’s cute,” Eddie added helpfully.
“I think I should be worried about how much serial killer lore you've memorized,” Stan mused.
They settled in, Eddie sprawled on the floor with his chin on a cushion, Ben sitting cross-legged on his bed, and Stan flipping open his Hindi lesson book with a sigh that felt theatrical even by his standards.
“Alright, misfits. Time for language that makes German look like child’s play.”
Thirty minutes later, Ben could pronounce five sentences with confidence, Eddie had memorized three but kept saying one of them meant "I need a lawyer" (it didn’t), and Stan was halfway to reconsidering his life choices.
“Guys,” Stan said, tone sharper than usual, he had been thinking for a while, “what if it’s not a serial killer?”
Ben looked up. “You mean… like multiple people?”
“No, I mean… what if it’s something else? Something not human.”
Eddie blinked. “Like… Bigfoot?”
Stan stared at him. “Yes, Eddie. Bigfoot sneaks into Derry and drags children into the sewers because his passion for cryptozoology is just too intense.”
Eddie flushed. “I was being serious!”
Stan sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “I’m not kidding. What if it’s... ancient? Something old. Something that eats children. Something like a... monster.”
Ben and Eddie exchanged looks.
“You mean like a demon or something?” Ben said slowly.
“Yeah,” Stan nodded. “Like… Pennywise.”
“Who?” Eddie asked.
Stan opened his mouth, paused, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Forget it. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” Ben said softly.
“It is,” Stan replied, not unkindly. “You won’t believe me until you see it. And I hope to every divine being that you never do.”
The silence that followed was thick, awkward. Stan clapped his hands.
“Okay! Moving on. I have a question.”
Ben perked up. Eddie’s ears tilted forward like a puppy's.
“My parents never gave me… the talk,” Stan said seriously. “So, explain this Alpha, Beta, Omega dynamic to me. Assume I know nothing. Because I don’t. And also because I’d rather hear it from you than stumble into a health class run by someone named Coach Rick.”
Ben blinked. “Wait. You seriously don’t know?”
“Nope.” Stan popped the ‘p’ with obnoxious clarity.
Eddie sat up straighter. “I can help!”
“Oh, dear god,” Stan murmured.
Ben sighed and leaned forward like a professor. “Okay. So, Alphas are… generally the dominant ones. Biologically, they have stronger pheromones and can trigger responses in Omegas and Betas. They’re also stronger and faster, but that’s not always true.”
“Because I could absolutely suplex Henry Bowers if I wanted to,” Stan said.
“Exactly,” Ben agreed with a straight face. “Now, Omegas are generally the most vulnerable. They can go into heats, which are kind of like periods but more intense and hormonal. Betas are... well, regular people; they don't have extreme traits either way. They're like... default humans.”
“And who made this system up, exactly?” Stan asked. “Because I’d like to return it.”
“God?” Eddie offered.
“Tell him I want a refund,” Stan replied dryly.
Ben snorted. “You’re taking this well.”
“I’ve had worse. Finding out I’m the emotional support breed doesn’t even crack the top ten.” I’ve stabbed a demon clown in the face.
Eddie laughed, soft and surprised. Ben chuckled too, and they went back to bickering.
“You’re really coming with us?” Andrea asked, eyes wide with suspicious hope.
“I did say I would,” Stan replied dryly, adjusting the collar of his sweater. “I like to keep expectations low, so this sort of behavior remains a pleasant surprise.”
His dad chuckled, but there was that look again—soft, proud, and just a bit stunned. Stan shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t understand why the Denbroughs were so interested in having him over. Sure, he saved Georgie, but he distinctly remembered threatening police officers and snarling at Beverly, their supposed-to-be future daughter-in-law, in the same breath. Not exactly ‘let’s invite him over for pot roast’ behavior.
When they reached the Denbroughs’ home, the door was pulled open with such enthusiasm Stan was momentarily concerned it had come off the hinges.
“There he is!” Mr. Denbrough beamed.
And then—
“STAAAAN!”
Stan was tackled by a blur.
Georgie wrapped himself around his leg like a limpet and refused to let go.
“Georgie,” Mrs. Denbrough sighed. “We talked about this.”
“I missed him,” Georgie mumbled into Stan’s sweater.
Stan said. “Did I secretly adopt you?”
Despite himself, Stan smiled and patted the small boy’s back. He glanced up to see Mrs. Denbrough with misty eyes and Mr. Denbrough smiling like he’d just won the lottery. Andrea squeezed his shoulder like he just solved climate change.
What was wrong with everybody?
“We’re so happy you could come,” Mrs. Denbrough said warmly, stepping aside.
“I brought cookies,” Stan announced, handing over the tin with ceremonial reverence. “Recipe courtesy of Mrs. Hanscom, so if you don’t like them, I’m blaming the flour.”
Mrs. Denbrough took it, smiling, “Oh, Stanley. That’s so thoughtful.”
“Also, bribery,” he said. “So you'd like me more.”
“You mean, more than we already do?” Mr. Denbrough chuckled, his eyes motioning at Georgie still attached to Stan.
Inside, Stan’s father was already in conversation with Mr. Denbrough, the two men exchanging handshakes and laughs. Andrea joined Mrs. Denbrough in the kitchen, but not before Stan tried to follow her.
“I can help—”
“No, no,” both women said in unison.
“Sit down and enjoy yourself,” Andrea added, already rolling up her sleeves.
Stan sighed theatrically and hoisted Georgie into his arms like a ragdoll. “Fine. But if this child starts a fire, I wash my hands of it.”
“He’s right here,” Georgie muttered, head resting on Stan’s shoulder.
“And so is the crime,” Stan deadpanned.
He carried Georgie into the living room, answered Mr. Denbrough’s questions with casual ease, and politely nodded when asked about school. When his father looked over with a hint of surprise, Stan only raised a brow as if to say, Yes, I can human. Shocking, I know.
“And what about extracurriculars?” Mr. Denbrough asked, sipping from a glass.
“I’ve taken up amateur knife collecting,” Stan said with a straight face. “Very soothing.”
Mr. Denbrough blinked, there was silence as Bill stopped reading the newspaper and look at Stan, his expression? Unreadable. Stan let it sit for a second, then added, “Kidding. Mostly. I read a lot and bake. I baked the cookies.”
“You’re a talented young man,” Mr. Denbrough said.
Stan shrugged. “Some people call it emotional repression. I call it productivity.”
When the conversation shifted to business between Mr. Denbrough and his dad, Stan listened quietly, only interjecting once when they began discussing local market volatility.
“I think the mayor's new tax policy is going to implode in about three weeks. Probably less.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to him.
“I watch the news,” Stan explained. “And the council's financial reports are poorly encrypted.”
There was a long pause. His dad just stared at him like he had never seen him before. Bill raised an eyebrow. Mr. Denbrough coughed into his hand.
“I’m going to the kitchen now,” Stan muttered, still carrying Georgie like a very soft duffel bag.
Once in the kitchen, he asked again, “Need any help?”
“You’ve done plenty,” Mrs. Denbrough said, a hand to her heart. “Go relax.”
“Georgie, homework,” she added with a look.
Georgie groaned, melting into Stan’s side like butter.
“I’ll help him,” Stan offered.
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s—”
“Fine. It’s fine,” Stan assured, already setting the boy down.
That’s when Mrs. Denbrough surprised him.
“Bill, why don’t you help as well?”
Bill, who Stan had noticed was just behind him made Stan jump, he looked at Stan before he agreed.
“Sure.”
Stan internally cursed. Aloud, he said, “Great.”
The three made their way to Georgie’s room. It was a cheerful, chaotic mess of crayons, stuffed animals, and child-level mayhem. They settled down around a small table. Bill and Stan worked in quiet tandem, guiding Georgie through subtraction problems and then helping him with a short essay. Georgie lit up like a firefly. “I’m gonna be ahead of the class now!” he cheered.
“You’re gonna be mayor,” Stan said. “Why stop there, though?”
Bill laughed quietly at that, and Stan gave him a sidelong glance. It was weirdly comfortable. Natural. Too natural.He found himself thinking about another room, another life. Him and his Bill studying late, snacking on cereal and talking about things that mattered and things that didn’t. He missed that. Missed him.
“You’re good at this,” Bill said suddenly.
Stan looked up. “Manipulating small children? Yeah. It’s a gift.”
“No,” Bill said, smiling faintly. “Just... being around people. Especially Georgie.”
Stan looked away. “He’s easy to like.”
“Still. Thanks.”
Stan didn’t reply. He just focused on Georgie’s drawings, smiling softly at the crude stick figures and rainbow scribbles.
Yeah. He’d rather die than have it happen again. And the idea of losing him again, of having the same gloom on Bill as a result? Unthinkable.