Summer of '93 - Stozier

50

Stan laid awake most of that night, his fingers still raking through Richies tangled hair, careful not to pull it, Thinking.

He thought about a lot of thing, as he usually did when he couldn't sleep, just staring up at the dark ceiling of the cold basement. He thought about Richie, and his nightmares, and how they were all like that once, with the nightmares, and the paranoia, and the constant anxiety of having to face that clown again. But it was dead.. they'd squeezed its heart into nothing but mush, watching as the light drained out of its eyes, Its last word bouncing around in their mind for months, perhaps even years.

'Fear.'

Fear was a horrible thing, but, in Stan's opinion, whats life without a little fear? Are you ever really living if you don't get scared once in a while?

They'd all found their coping mechanisms, though. Their ways to deal with it.

For Bill, it was writing. He'd spend hours— days, even, just writing anything that came to his mind. He'd write short stories, and sometimes long ones, and base the characters from people in his life. It took him a long time to let anyone read them though, scared that they'd think it was dumb, just as his father did when he'd told him he wanted to be a writer. The losers didn't think it was dumb, though. They'd let Bill read his stories to them, and he'd try not to stutter. He did, only stutter occasionally whilst reading his stories, but less than usual. His way to cope was whenever he'd have nightmares, or flashbacks, he'd take out a notepad, that he had on him at all times, and write about it. He'd make it into a story, with a happy ending, and eventually, they stopped, since they didn't really scare him any more. He still got them occasionally, during October, and sometimes at the start of summer, but otherwise, he'd found his way to cope.

Eddie took track. He decided the best way to run from his problems was to Literally Run From His Problems. He'd always been quite a good runner, but his mom would never let him participate in Gym with the fear of him getting hurt. He'd took track for about a year without him mom finding out, and it was the best year of his life, in his words. He'd take late night runs to distract himself when he got nightmares, and it helped. When she did find out, she'd tried to make him stop, but he refused, telling her it was good for him and that it made him feel free. She'd argued back for a while, saying he didn't need to feel free, because why would be want to be free?! The free world is a dangerous place, Eddie! You couldn't get hurt! blah blah blah. Eddie had told her that he didn't give a fuck, and that she couldn't stop him from running because he was good at it, and that his coach said it might even get him a scholarship to college, of course, he didn't really want to run for the rest of his life, but if that got his mom to shut up, it couldn't be so bad.

Bev had tried fashion designing, after weeks of her aunt teaching her how to sew, she'd finally got the hang of it. Like Bill, she'd spend days sewing and hand making all her clothes to distract herself from everything. It took a while for her to be able to afford mannequins, so she'd force her friends to let her pin clothes to them, to make things. Richie had stood still four around two hours as Bev was pinning material to him, trying to make a summer dress, whilst Stan laughed in the background, wolf whistling once in a while to get a reaction out of them, and then bursting into another fit of giggles. He'd regretted it soon though, because when Bev was done, she'd turned to Stan with a wicked grin and announced that it was his turn. She'd never let herself think about the incident, always trying to make something new whenever the thought wriggled its way into her mind. Probably wasn't the best way to deal with it, but it helped, so she was fine.

Ben had gotten more serious about architecture and woodwork, carving and building different things whenever he felt scared, even once carving a tiny replica of the clown (It didn't look quite right, but he was only fourteen, what did you expect?) and then smashing it with a hammer. He'd do that sometimes, carve Its face out of a left over chunk of scrap wood, and then break it. He'd make different things for his friends. He made Stan a small wooden bird, that Stan had kept (and still kept) on his nightstand. Ben had also taken track a while after Eddie, although others who took track would just laugh, cause he was still known as the fat kid, Eddie would encourage him. He'd used that as a way to get away from things.

Mike took up a plethora of things to help him cope, like baking, gardening, sometimes helping Ben build, or Bev with fashion (He was surprising good at embroidery), he'd sometimes go on runs with Eddie and Ben, too. (Though he'd never tag along to birdwatch with Stan (iykyk)) Most of Mikes nightmares were about Henry, like what would've happened if he hadn't pushed the gun away at the right moment, or if Henry grabbed onto him to stop himself from falling, and ended up pulling them both down the well, or if the Losers had decided not to investigate when they saw Belch Huggins' car and Mikes bike. Being around his friends was what helped, inviting them to hang out almost every day, trying to make them feel safe, just as they made him feel safe.

It had took Stan a while to cope, jumping at every noise, never really wanting to be alone, laying awake at night and rubbing at the stupid ugly scars that surrounded his face (That was a hard one to explain to his parents, the cuts. He'd told them that he fell off his bike and got his head stuck in a broken metal fence, it was a dumb excuse, but it worked). He'd tried painting, it was just something to get his mind off of things, and helped a little. He'd take walks after getting over his fear of being alone, and go birdwatching at the memorial park more often, enjoying the quiet. There was times where Richie would tag along, and Eddie or Ben on occasion, but it was mostly Richie, or Stan alone. He'd get nightmares, really bad ones, and end up waking up screaming. But they died down after a while. He'd sleep over at Richies a lot, sure that Richie was only asking because he didn't want Stan to be alone, but maybe, Stan thought now, it was because Richie didn't want to be alone.

Richie had never really found his way to cope. Like Stan, he was never really good with his feelings, but Stan knew how to deal with his feelings, Richie didn't. He'd use humour as a defensive mechanism whenever he was asked if he was okay. He'd never really open up to people after the summer of '89, but even before that it was hard to get Richie to have a serious conversation. Richie got easily attached to people, which made his fear of losing them worse. He'd always been scared of being left behind, abandoned by the people he loved most. He knew one day Eddie was gonna get tired of the same stupid jokes about his mom, and Stan was gonna get sick of the annoying jewish jokes, and Bill would get pissed off at the jokes about his stutter, Ben and Mike would get annoyed by his constant voices, and Bev would finally snap when Richie took a joke too far, and they'd all leave him. But he couldn't help it, he needed to make people laugh, or to just get a reaction out of them. He needed people to know he was there, so he would know he was there. He hated silence, so he'd always try to fill it with a joke, or a voice. To a normal person, Richie just looked like an attention seeking, insensitive prick, but to his friends, they knew all he really needed was validation. He needed to know they cared.

Ignoring his problems was something Richie did a lot. He'd only ever talk about them to Stan, or Eddie on occasion. Ben, too, very rarely. Stan supposed Richie always made jokes instead of actually dealing with things, and talking to people, was because he felt that if he opened up, they'd realise that Richie was just too much to handle, too broken to try and fix, so they'd just throw him away and replace him, as you do with broken things. It hurt Stan to know Richie felt like that, like he was nothing and that he could be replaced. Nothing could replace Richie Tozier, he was the glue that held Stanley together most times, and Stan the same for Richie. They needed each other, though they'd never wish admit it.

Stan sighed, looking down at Richie. He knew he had to get back to his own sleeping bag, as much as he didn't want to leave Richies side, he really did not want to deal with Bills teasing in the morning.

So, as quietly and gently as possible, he pulled Richie off of him (With much struggle, as Richie, though being a skinny bitch, weighed a ton when he slept, and was gripping onto Stans shirt for dear life), and slowly crept over Bill on his way back to his own sleeping bag.

Stan hadn't realised how exhausted he actually was, but as soon as he slipped back into his sleeping bag, and closed his eyes, he was asleep.

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oh yeah, i forgot to say that i changed the cover and uH- title? of this book cus why not.