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STAN never wanted much. Nothing too much, by the age of fourteen he really just wanted to be fed, his family and to not be so lost. He guessed he was too broken to stop himself from disappearing, falling invisible in this world, he let it happen.
And he guessed, in some sort of fucked way he let his life conceal in such away that he needed someone to find him again.
But when he was younger, he learned never to ask for anything, never to look for something else to save him, especially from himself. You couldn't grow up in Derry and believe something would, because if there really was someone here, watching and listening, caring. Everyone he knew would've been saved by now.
In conclusion:Stan's expectations for life was low, mainly due to being friends with Richie who had lowered his standards for friendships and the human species in general.
But that didn't mean Stan wasn't a little bit disappointed when Bill never got back to him about going to Mike's, because not matter how many times he got fucked over, it always hurt him a little when it happened again. He was used to the pain by now, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
"Does he think I was joking? That I was going to hurt him?" Stan asked, leaning his head against the glass of the window, painting out a miserable face on the fog that rested on the glass.
He heard Richie sigh, he was a well aware this was probably the eighteth conclusion he had come to. "I just wanted to help him"
"I know Stan, but maybe recruiting him for a bet wasn't the best option" Richie said calmly before aggressively honking at the driver infront and flipping them off. Richie suffered from mild road rage.
"I just didn't want to patronize him by treating him like a lost child...shit, what if I hurt him by not being sympathetic enough?" Stan said and he could feel Richie roll his eyes. It was a gift, a useless one, but he still had it.
"Stan your mind works in such demented ways I'm grateful I have never seen more than I glimpse of it, what goes inside that head of yours Stan gives me nightmares" Richie said and Stan smirked, letting the cold essense of the glass to numb through his touch.
"It's a dark place"Stan muttered allowing the breaks of fog to swirl into a small picture of a fog.
"I have no doubt-hey wait, what have I told you about drawing on my windows...not after last time. If you wanted to give me a lesson about condensation you could of told me before your drew a dick on my front screen and it appeared again the next time it fogged up...my parents were there" Richie complained, tapping the side of the steering wheel irritably.
Stan smirked "If we were friends since we were kids...would you have kept me around if you saw how I turned out?"
Richie sighed, looking over to Stan, but the wonder that draped through his dark eyes meant that Stan didn't conprehend how dangerous it was for Richie not to be looking at the road. "I liked how you turned out, don't tell Bev, but you're my favourite person in this fucked up world no 'what ifs', I'm glad you're my friend. You did the best you could for Bill, that's what's important, that's you Stan, you try your best to help people"
