Young and Yearning (IT Imagines and Oneshots).

Reddie; Angel.

"Now that," Stan sighed into his laptop, "Was simply uncalled for."

What he was referring to, of course - was the obnoxiously disruptive eating sounds of his best friend, Richie Tozier. With a mouthful of food, Richie attempted to respond.

"Whatever you say, Shtanny," He droned, whilst chewing an overloaded sandwich, "But this shit is gourmet!"

"That shit-" Stan muttered, banging his head upon the keyboard below him, "-Is disgusting. Now please stop so we can do our research."

"Whatever, whatever," Richie sneered, "We already know what we're dealing with - vampires are the simplest sons of bitches there are. Chop off their heads and get on with life."

"You know you'll go to hell for this one day.."

"Hell? I don't believe in that. Belief and religion goes out the window when you hunt this stuff for a living."

"It'll come back to bite you in the ass, Tozier. Just you watch.."

Richard Tozier could not have given two lesser shits about what the past was to bring to him. He had fought tooth and nail to be with his friend in this moment. Richie had literally been to hell and back, with no memory nor recolation (or what he told Stan) of what had occured down there. Something inside of him had changed however. Whether it was the constantly burning scar or the awareness that he was undead, something inside of Richie stirred at the very thought of diving back into hunting.

"Alright, alright," Richie sighed out finally, resting the remains of his sandwich upon the paper plate below his hands and brushing his hands together - letting any and all crumbs fall to the ground. His mind was racing, yet he continued the conversation regardless, "We'll go nail this bastard and his nest, then head back out onto the streets. My baby cannot sit in the snow any longer." His baby, of course - was his car. Stan breathed in deeply, shutting the laptop soundly and standing to his feet.

"Okay then," He said, "Let's go."

The killing of the vampire and its nest went by without any hastle. As children they had fought assorted monsters, from ghosts to ghouls, to syrens to vampires. They were used to this. In the car drive back, Richie and his trashmouth were strangely quiet. A factor which Stan picked up on immediately.

"Rich?" He asked carefully, not wanting to hurt the man beside him. Richie's knuckles were white around the steering wheel of his Impala, "What's on your mind?"

"How in the hell did I come back, Stan?" Richie snapped, over aggresively, "Like, I know we're not normal. Hell, we're nowhere near. But coming back from the dead? That is above and beyond anything within our reach." He spat, in a mere breath. Stan continued staring forward in silence, and kind of in awe.

"Look.." He began, "I couldn't explain it if I tried. And God knows, I've tried. But we've researched and researched and found absolutely nothing. So for now, just stay settled and get on with the job. We'll be okay for now. Worry when it gives reason."

Richie didn't reply to this, and instead - his hands tightened further as he sped at an obnoxiously fast limit, nothing more than the two were used to, of course.

Back at the motel, Richie couldn't have packed his belongings any quicker. All thrown into a duffel bag with no care in the world, and he stood with it over his shoulder as he waited impatiently for Stanley - who was folding each of his shirts at an alarmingly slow rate.

"Christ, Stan," Richie sighed out finally, taking a seat on his bed and laying back on it, "If there is a God up there, answer me why in the goddamned hell I am here right now?" He breathed out, hands clapsed against his chest.