Young and Yearning (IT Imagines and Oneshots).

Losers; Mutants.

 a/n: hi readers!! im so sorry it took so long to publish this, the word count is 18523 & ive never done anything that big b4! enjoy, my loves :)

"Move your fucking feet, Miss!" A guard's voice echoed throughout the bank's tiled walls. Beverly Marsh's eyes were as wide as could be, here ocean blue irises glissening slightly. Her right hand shook slightly with ambition and fear. Finally, the guard lead her outside and slammed the bank door behind him. With a smile, Beverly's eyes shrunk back to their normal size, and any previous hint of tears had been abolished. She turned back to the guard who had now shrunk into a tall, but not as tall, teenage boy. A meter towering over Beverly, he pushed his curly hair out of his face, a bashful grin on his own face.

"Nice performance, Tozier!" Beverly high-fived the boy, as he swung a rucksack off of his shoulder and browsed through the bag. He continued smiling, and the two began to walk down a nearby alleyway, where a beige van was parked.

"Thanks, Bev," Richie Tozier replied, leaning his neck back a little to crack it, "Bein' a guard sure is hard," He chuckled, performing the sentence in a stern, husky voice.

"Sure is," Beverly nodded, laughing at the voice, and jumping into the passenger seat of the van, wedging the bag securely between her booted feet, "D'ya reckon it's enough to help the parents?" Richie started the engine and it began rumbling as he pressed his foot upon the accelerator. With a lunge, the van began moving, and Richie reversed out of the alley with ease. Before replying, he turned on the radio, and allowed the music to fill the silence.

"This was the third heist this week," He hummed thoughtfully, as he made his way up the street and past the bank they had just robbed, "We can sure as hell hope so," Richie thought for a moment, "Also, Marsh, they're my parents, not your's - keep that in mind.."

"Ah, relax, Tozier," Beverly chuckled, "I'd die for your parents, as I'd die for you," Richie hummed at that, too, and continued driving. Little did they know, overhead, they were being watched by a pair of eagle eyes, and followed by a pair of angel wings.

Stanley Uris had recently fled from his home in Indiana. From a young age, Stan had a very keen mind, naturally intelligent and graciously talented, and for this, his parents adored him. After about a year into teenagehood, Stan began getting increasingly worse pains in his shoulder blades. Sometimes it would simply be an aching - others, he would fall to the ground in pain and despair, clutching at his back as uncontrollable tears leaked from the corners of his squinting eyes. Finally, he managed to convince his mother to take him to the local doctor's office, desperate to find out what on earth was causing these pains. The doctor made a terrifying discovery of small deformaties growing in Stanley's shoulders, claiming that they may be minor tumors, and that an MRI scan, X-Ray and perhaps a surgery were recommended. This money wouldn't come easy, but Mrs Uris loved her son, so alas, the Uris family were in a great debt.

When the scans were completed, the doctor realised that this was unlike anything he had ever dealt with, hell, it didn't even seem human. So in came fellow doctors, and nurses, and surgeons, and paramedics. Finally, a veterenarian was brought to the scene, who claimed that she had only ever scene the deformities on birds, or creatures with wings. Stan spent many nights, days, and weeks in hospital, under inspection, people observing the wonder and mystery that was Stanley (Bird Man) Donald Uris.

After what felt like years to Stanley, these lumps began growing, until they sprouted far from his shoulders. For the first few weeks they just looked like loose skin, a few veins leading back into his shoulder blades, steadily moving with his breaths. After those days, feathers began growing from them, not like any feathers Stan had ever seen, and he'd seen a lot of feathers. These were a crystal white, untouched and unscathed. They were fragile and angelic. And Stanley had gained a control over them. If he clenched, they would fold inwards, easy to hide away. If he relaxed himself, they'd expand, spread, and almost shield him from anything. And if he thought it as hard as he could, they would flap. Up and down, fast enough for him to take flight.