Stenbrough Nights

|Shot 111| • Yellow Lights II • |Stenbrough|

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"Stan" Bill quivered, staring desperately at Stanley's body.

The machines and gadgets surrounding Stan's bed assured Bill that Stan was alive, that he was breathing, but he was so still. So lifeless. It felt like he was seeing a stranger lay there, so foreign and unnerving.

It had been weeks since Bill found Stanley's car accident. Weeks since Stan left that damn party and drove straight into the arms of that wreck.

Bill didn't eat. He didn't sleep, not that he did much anyway, but now it was far worse. His eyes were stained black with tears often glistening from them. He didn't go out, nor did he see the Losers. His true home had always been Stanley. It never mattered where they were as long as Stan was with him. And that always made everything alright.

Bill practically lived at the hospital ever since Stan arrived. The only time he left the room - or even got up for that matter - was to get a drink or a sandwich that Beverly or Eddie would force him to take, or to use the restroom. Other than that, his place remained beside Stan.

"What do I do?" Bill whispered. "What do I do? I'm lost, I...I don't know what to do, Stan, I'm so scared..."

Silence.

"I um...everyone keeps asking how you are, but I think they already know. I think it's just an excuse to talk to me, to make sure I'm okay, that you're still...that you're still, breathing..."

Silence.

Bill wiped his eyes with one hand while grabbing ahold of Stanley's with another.

"You know, uh...", Bill sniffled, "Ben and Eddie told me that even when people are asleep or in a coma, sometimes they can still hear and even feel a person talking to them and holding their hand...can you, Stanny?"

Silence.

"Even if it's just a little twitch or something, anything, just...give me a sign, Stan"

Silence.

"You know, I uh..." Bill began to cry. "I...I didn't kiss you because I was drunk or for fun or anything, I mean I wasn't even drunk or anything, but...that kiss was real, for me. I mean I...I didn't get to tell you before, but, I love you, Stan. And if I could go back, I'd tell you before any of...before any of this could happen. God, Stan, I'd do anything to see you out of this bed, out of this Goddamn hospital. I should've never said yes to that party. I should've just invited you over, or at least made sure the damn door was locked! I could've done something, I should've-"

He cut himself off, not even noticing how angry he was, nor that he had stood up and punched the wall.

Blood trickled down his knuckles, but he couldn't feel the pain from the impact, even as his hand throbbed. He sobbed into his hands, until the snot, blood, and tears finally ceased.

Once he calmed down, he sighed, picked up the chair, and pulled it up to Stanley's bed.

"I talked about you all the time, you know...it drove everyone nuts. And when I did, everyone would roll their eyes, laugh, and give each other these looks, like...like they knew something...and I..."