The familiar rumble of Hannah's V-Twin engine was cut short, the sudden stillness between Stan's legs making him feel ill. The sandy asphalt crunched under his boots much too loudly as he approached Uris Fuel and Snacks. Bill stood silently next to his motorcycle, staring down at the helmet he cradled in his hands. His gaze bounced up when he heard the door jingle open.
"Hello there, Stanley," An older man exiting the building said.
"Hello Father," Stanley said, hanging his gaze like a guilty dog.
"Please. Call me Donald," he said to Stan.
Stan stopped in his tracks, looking up.
"I- I don't understand..." He asked, confused.
"That's alright. I've put your things out."
"You- what?" Stan said. A waiver had nestled into his voice.
"You don't need to come home. You left without telling me, so I went through some of your things," he said, brandishing a journal.
Stan's eyes widened in disbelief, "You read that?"
"All of it. You're not coming home, Stanley. It's not for you anymore."
"Are you disowning me?" Stan asked quietly.
"Yes. Now get out of my sight," Donald said, suddenly spiteful.
Stan breathed out sharply, face twisting into a grimace. He shook his head, looking at his feet and the ground beneath them.
"That's all it took? A confirmation that I'm gay? And now I'm dead to you?"
Stan was met with silence. He sniffled and rubbed his nose.
"Are you satisfied? Finally glad that you got rid of me?"
Donald's averting gaze gave all the answer Stan needed.
"Look at me!" Stan yelled, water brimming in his eyes. "Look me in the eyes and say it!"
Donald didn't.
"You motherfucker!" Stan yelled, shoving the older man back.
"Stuh-Stan!" Bill said, grabbing the yelling boy. "C'mon, luh-let's go," He continued, wrapping his arms around Stan's smaller frame.
"I FUCKING HATE YOU!" Stan bellowed, screaming like a wounded animal, struggling against Bill's strong hold.
"We're leaving," Bill said calmly into Stan's ear.
Stan shuddered, wailing and yelling incoherently now, years of frustration and oppressed living bursting free. Bill dragged Stan to the motorcycle, turning him around so he could look in his eyes.
"St-stan?" He said, holding his arms tightly.
Stan's tear-stained face sniveled and snorted, animated desperately and incoherently. His eyes caught Bill's, and the calming ocean-blues soothed his tears somewhat. "Y-yea?"
"You can come with me. We'll f-f-fuh-figure something out, o-o-okay?"
Stan sniffled, shaking his head harshly, almost like he had fleas in his hair. He took a deep breath and stared at the sandy floor for, counting to three under his breath.
"Okay," he finally muttered.
"Good. I-I-I-I owe you that muh-much," Bill said.
Bill helped Stan fasten his riding gear, buttoning his helmet for him. He sat him down, before turning to look at Donald.
"I huh-hope you're h-h-hah-happy," Bill spat, before starting Hannah. He revved her high and loud, dropping into first gear. Her back tire let loose, spinning rubber and smoke out across the small gas station, before finding grip again and tearing away into the Nevadan desert.
The boys rode for what seemed to be hours. They weren't headed anywhere in particular; just away. Stan's mind had gone numb, lulled into a raucous placidity by the wind and engine noise. He blinked, sure that he hadn't done that for about an hour now. His attention was returned by the slowing of their pace, and by Bill swinging Hannah over onto the shoulder of the lonely Highway they'd been riding on. They came to a full stop, and Bill kicked the stand down.
"What's wrong?" Stan mumbled through his helmet. "Did we run out of gas?"
Bill hung his head low, helmet hanging between his outstretched arms.
"Bill?" Stan asked, noticing his shaky breathing. "Bill, are you okay?"
Bill dismounted suddenly, throwing his helmet across the road. "GOD DAMNIT!" He yelled.
Stan jumped at the sudden volume. Bill turned to look at him, eyes red and swollen.
"St-St-Stan..." he started, sobbing once before continuing, "I'm so sorry."
"For what, Bill?" Stan asked after removing his helmet.
"What d-d-d-do you mean, f-f-for wh-wh-wuh-what?" Bill asked, incredulous. "I just got you d-d-d-d... disowned!"
"Bill... no. No you didn't. He was waiting for an excuse..."
Bill cut him off, "An ex-excuse that I-I-I-I caused! I shouldn't ha-ha-have ruined your life ju-ju-just because I was luh-lonely!" he said, gesticulating frantically.
"Bill! You did not make him disown me. And you did not ruin my life. What you did do, was take me under your wing, no questions asked. You could've just as easily turned around and left. But you took me. And that means something." Stan said, trying to calm Bill.
Bill turned away, sniffling heavily. He drug his boot around in the sand next to the road.
"I don't e-e-e-even knuh-know if that's a g-g-good thing," Bill said quietly.
"What does that even mean?" Stan asked.
"Because I'm not wh-wh-who you th-think I a-am!" Bill shouted, quite a bit louder than he meant too.
Stan shrunk down against Hannah, lowering his head.
"Shit, I-I-I-I'm sorry," Bill said. "I huh-huh-haven't been honest with you, St-Stan."
"How?"
"I should've told you the tr-tr-truth. Why I'm o-o-out here. Why I r-r-r-ran all the wuh-way from Maine."
Bill ran his hands through his hair, sending it sprawling every which way.
He whispered to himself as he pulled out a cigarette, "Fuck."
He took in a massive breath of nicotine, trying his best to slow his shuddering. He sat down, his back up against Hannah, legs crossing over into the desert. He sat and puffed away, the cigarette burning down to a butt in what felt like an eternity to Stan. His leg started bouncing as he threw the but onto the road.
"S-s-so I guess I'm guh-g-gonna tell you wuh-what happened," Bill said at last.
(It's my birthday, but I still updated because I love y'all that much.)
YOU ARE READING
Wayward (Stenbrough)
Fanfiction"What about you? You've been riding for awhile. What are you doing all the way out here?" "Th-that's a sss...secret," Bill said, smiling glumly. Stan made a point of looking to his left, and then to his right. "Well, you're in luck. There's so...
