[fraser]

[finally_ahead]

The night stretches on, bloody and claustrophobic, and awful. When the morning comes and they get out, when there's been reunions and a hospital trip, time moves double. Even the waiting, when it comes, flies by, and that might be for a dozen different reasons.

And maybe Stan's too tired to be as deeply re-traumatized as he ought to be, or comfortably numb, but he thinks it's just as likely that it's the same reason he makes sure that as the last of it winds down, he makes sure that he's next to Fraser.

"Hey," he says quietly, nudging Fraser a bit further from any lingering group, "don't go back to the Home. Come back with me. We'll make someone talk to them. I mean, if you-- you shouldn't have to go back alone. We can do sleeping bags or," and God, would he be any better at talking if he were less tired? He'd like to think so. "I'd feel better about going to sleep if I knew you were there."

Comments

[juststrange]

It was late morning and Fraser was so tired he could barely stand. They'd escaped at dawn, were whisked off to the hospital, where there was more waiting and uncertainty and weirdness. He hated hospitals, the same way any sane person hated them. Or, at least, that's what Fraser thought— that it was normal and right to be wary of them.

"I don't care where they think I am. I'm already late anyway," he said, shrugged. Exhausted as he was, his heart stuttered at Stan's request. "We can do sleeping bags."

[finally_ahead]

"We can get someone to call that one guy who was there when everyone disappeared," Stan says. "If they give you any trouble." Righteous anger always wakes him up, and right now he knows that he needs to be awake in order to do things like make it back to the house, get the blood off, and crash. Some in-store scrubbing had helped, but he knows it's there.

So he thinks about something else instead, which happens to be pretty easy to do-- anything thinking capacity that hasn't been focused on survival has been completely caught up in Fraser, in what he's allowed before it becomes too much. Stan's always been slower to act, considering the fallout, and while the decision to kiss Fraser right then had been on impulse, the larger decision has been made for a while now.

"Not sure if Bill or Richie's coming, but we should get to leave soon."

[juststrange]

"What? Oh, yeah, okay," Fraser said dazedly, looking down at his own hands. They were bloodied. Not like Stan's. But he'd seen enough, done enough, down there in the dark where he knew things were different. He felt different.

Or maybe he was just tired.

"Can't we go? I mean, now. We could get a cab or something."

[finally_ahead]

Stan sees him looking at his hands, and even when all of the shit about Derry and the shit that's happened to him here piles on in the head, he's already crossed a threshold. He knows all sorts of things he wishes he didn't know, that he tried to keep from knowing, and as awful as that is, it's also easier every time.

"I forgot about cabs," he says, determinedly reaching for Fraser's hands. "Yeah, let's do that."

In the dark of the store, covered in blood, he'd reached out for Fraser, and he doesn't plan to let go now, not if he can help it. "Can you-- I'll let everyone know what we're doing."

[juststrange]

His other hand was only a little shaky when he pulled out his phone, opening the app to call them a car.

Shuffling closer, he jostled into Stan's side, ducking to rest his cheek on the other boy's shoulder.

"Do you think El's okay? She seemed pretty upset."

[finally_ahead]

Both things, the contact and the knowledge there's going to be a cab on the way, helps ease the lingering sludge of anxious feelings. He presses his face briefly into Fraser's hair, and then sighs, admitting, "If I thought she would be allowed to stay with us, I'd have tried. Her dad's a really good guy, but I don't think he'd probably let her stay over with us."

Stan's own fingers move along the screen of his phone, sending texts. "I'll tell her that we'll come find her as soon as we get some sleep."

[juststrange]

"Okay, good," he said, dragging the collar of his shirt into his mouth and chewing restlessly at the already fraying cotton.

"I smell," he observed, nose wrinkling. "Like rat shit. I'm never going back to a Törgt again."

[finally_ahead]

Stan looks up from where he's trying not to doze against Fraser's hair, having a vague faith he's relayed all of his messages without major error. "You don't smell that bad," he says, and the implication is that Stan wouldn't lie about this. "But maybe a shower would be good."

And then he blinks, slightly aghast.

"Do you think I'm fired?"

[juststrange]

"Do you care?" Fraser said, giving him a skeptical look. He couldn't imagine them being able to pay him enough money to go back in there.

At least not for a few weeks.

[finally_ahead]

"I think it would be rude to fire me over this," Stan says, rubbing his eyes. "But, yeah, point taken."

He's utterly, deeply grateful when the cab actually arrives and he can pile in the back with Fraser for the ride home. The driver looks at them oddly, but Stan guesses the guy has seen worse, as they leave without issue. He watches the streets move by, staring blearily out the window.