finally_ahead | (no subject)

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eleven

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The days stretch on, and the people don't come back.

Stan still thinks, for the most part, that the disappearances suit him just fine. Out of the people that are left, the people who all came to Darrow from hundreds of different places, he can't imagine that any of them are as carelessly cruel as the entire freshman class of Darrow High.

Not that he hasn't heard things about Petros, too.

He heads to the empty boardwalk, fascinated and a little creeped out by it-- but he's not scared.

There's always the beach if it's too much. Stan's already texted El to see if she wants to meet up here, and he stands just at the edge of where the concrete ends and the wood begins, leading to the maze of booths and machinery.

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Texting is still a marvel for her, so she tends to answer quite quickly. Maybe, eventually, she'll get bored with it as a concept. But for now, she texts back an eager 'yes!!!!!' and heads in that direction.

The city is quiet, empty, in ways she doesn't like, but if Stan is here, she thinks it'll be okay. At least it doesn't look like the Upside Down.

When she arrives, she spots him easily, and makes her way over to his side.

"It's weird," she admits. "Quiet." None of the speakers are playing music. None of the booths are manned. Anyone else that might be here is like them, and she hasn't seen anyone yet. The only sounds are the surf not far away and the gulls wheeling overhead.

Just seeing El arrive at the boardwalk brightens Stan's mood, reinforces his sense of calm and safety.

"If it's too weird, we can just go down to the beach. But I always wanted to come here without worrying about Evan and his minions," he tells her, his usual half-smile still small but without the sort of ruefulness that often catches at the corners. "You make me braver, anyway. We won't turn anything on, I just... wanted to explore."

It probably says something about his problems that he's enjoying the absence of most of the population, but it's not like his therapist is around to comment on it.

You make me braver, he says, and El feels warm for a moment. "We can explore," she says. "I've never been around here when it's so empty." They could look at everything, she thinks. All the booths and games, the rides and food carts.

Stan brightens at her agreement to explore the place, just barely twitching his fingers back before he grabs her hand. "Maybe it's not fair to the people who say they're from Darrow, who aren't like us, but... I don't think we're in danger from any of the other people who also came from another world. And if that's all the people still here, then I don't even think there will be much vandalism."

He heads past the empty ticket booth, watching as a carousel looms up in front of them, and food stands of various type fan out all around. From a nearby cotton candy machine, there's a fair amount of squawking.

El doesn't point out that she thinks they aren't in danger at all, no matter who else were here. That might be considered arrogant, and she doesn't want to seem arrogant.

When she hears the squawking, she looks at Stan almost excitedly, and she makes her way over to it. She slows as she draws closer, so she doesn't startle whatever bird or other creature it is, making that noise.

Stan hurries his pace to keep up with her, well-practiced at moving quietly to keep from disturbing birds (and to keep from drawing unwanted attention). He lets out a breath when the source of the noise is exactly what's expected-- a seagull nesting in the wide, empty mouth of the machine.

it looks at both of them and squawks indignantly. Stan laughs, surprising himself and making the seagull let out another irritated cry.

"Sorry," he tells the bird. "I guess you're living the dream. Unless you're sticky from the sugar." Careful, deft fingers pluck away a sheet of thin plastic bag that's gotten wrapped on some metal edge.

"The dream?" El echoes, looking at Stan curiously, and maybe a little skeptically. "My dream isn't inside that." She knows only distantly what it is — that people can get cotton candy from it, but not how it works, or what the pieces are called. She doesn't really like cotton candy. She doesn't like how it melts against her tongue or the way it clumps up in hard clusters in her molars.

"That's just a dumb thing people say, like... it's supposed to mean the bird is living a good life. Seagulls will eat pretty much anything." He gives the bird a quick once-over, looking for any sign it might have gotten too much gunk on its wings or body.

Satisfied the seagull isn't in danger, Stan steps back again.

"We should probably leave it alone. There's other stuff to see."

She nods, but she's still watching the bird with interest as they start walking away. It seems quite happy and content, and El turns to look at Stan.

"It's eating the cotton candy? Gross." She laughs, though, because she's picturing the stuff melting all over the bird's beak and making a mess of itself. She spots one of the game booths, usually up and running with someone shouting about the cost of tickets and the prizes and now the sort of empty that people might find creepy.

Stan catches the direction of her look and alters their path to take them near the game booth. He can't read her mind, of course, but he doesn't need to, really. "Okay, this is creepier than I thought it'd be. Like maybe the people aren't gone, they're only... waiting."

Something creaks loudly behind them, and Stan turns with his heart in his throat.

He turns suddenly, and El reaches to grip his elbow gently.

"It's okay," she says. She points to the boat fender, faded from red to pink in the sun and tied to the pier by a thick, saltwater-sprayed rope. It's the rope that creaked, and it does again as the wind pushes the hollow plastic fender around the wooden post.

"It's not loud enough to hide the noise," she points out. She gently squeezes his elbow before releasing. "It's okay."

Stan puts his hand over hers before he really thinks about it, needing the connection.

He forces a deep breath into his lungs. "Sorry," he says, even understanding he doesn't need to say it. "I promise there's... there's a good reason why I'm... jumpy. I'm trying not to be, but it's just." And he almost doesn't ask, because he's kept from talking about it for so long, just barely to the other Losers here, and finally to Fraser, and it's the comforting reminder that El broke someone's arm with her mind that lets him ask now.

"Do they have monsters where you're from? Real ones, not just like when they say a person's a monster. Something that's not human, that hurts people."

"Yes," she says, after only a heartbeat or two of hesitation. Not because she has to think about it, but because she debates telling him at all. Stan has so much inside him. He doesn't need the demogorgon there, too. "Real ones, and person ones," she clarifies.

He's not surprised by either side of that yes.

After all, her magic or powers or whatever it is, that's as real as anything here, and so no leap of logic exists. Stan would like to not have the part about human monsters be real for her, but how long has he suspected they were? Someone like El, someone who seems like such a steady light, and fucking smart, they don't end up with such little knowledge of the world unless they've been kept away from it.

"Yeah, we had both too. There was this thing, though, this monster, and it was trying to eat all the kids in Derry."

"Just the kids?" she asks, like that's the most important part, here. It does confuse her a little. The demogorgon hadn't cared about age, and she doesn't think the demodogs had, either. "Did you stop it?" She slides her hand down to hold his, to be as reassuring as possible: she's here, and she's not going anywhere.

"I don't think it would turn down an adult meal," Stan says, some of the tension in him bleeding away as she takes his hand. He laces their fingers together, and takes a deep breath. "But yeah, it mostly wanted kids. It was trying to kill us, it... almost did. We stopped it, but not forever. So we made a promise to come back, if it did."

As always, he sees Bill's face, the golden light, Bill as he was at that moment.

"But now you're here," she says. "You're here, and it isn't, so you're safe." She tightens her grip on his, just a little. "And I'll help. If you need it."

She leads him away from the boat fender, further into the abandoned boardwalk.

To believe anything else, to believe it might be here, that's always seemed to Stan like choosing to lose his mind, throwing what self he's salvaged down a deep hole. Does it feel the same for the others? He knows they remember different amounts. Do any of them the sense of something that can't be changed?

El's hand clasped in his keeps him anchored here, where he chooses to believe he's safe.

"Yeah," he murmurs, though he'd do anything to keep It from perceiving El, from knowing anything about her. "That's what it would want anyway, for me to be afraid."

"You don't have to be," she assures. "You don't have to be afraid." She'd keep him safe, from whatever tried to hurt him or make him afraid. She did it for Mike and The Party. She can do it for Stan, too, and all of her friends she's made since coming here.

Up ahead, she sees a game booth, with the stuffed animal prizes still hanging from it and the throwing darts still lined up on the counter. She glances at Stan, then smiles small and tugs him over to it. They both need some cheering up.

"Look," she says. "I can win us a prize."

Even from her, Stan's not sure he can believe that he doesn't have to be afraid. He just knows he can't let it swallow him up, now.

"These games are rigged," he says, but he's easily led to the booth of one he's pretty sure is less rigged than others. "Maybe not this one so much, but..." He sees her attempt to brighten things up, though, and so he smiles. Doing so warms him in a way he doesn't expect, and he has to ask, "Wait, are you going to throw them, or is it like..."

He's not sure what to call her powers.

She looks at him with a small, knowing smile, then she glances around to make sure no one else is nearby. Then she looks at the darts lined up on the counter top. She picks one up with her hand, then slowly lets go. It remains hovering there, a gentle bob to it as she turns her focus to the board. Like this, she can feel the way the dart is weighted to fall without the exact right amount of force. Too much, and it'll just bounce off the board. Too little, and it'll sink before reaching it.

She glances at Stan, then grins and jerks her chin towards the board. The dart flies and lands smack in the bullseye.

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