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Serenity, is the exact and only word to describe this feeling that Stan felt. Pure, incessant, serenity.
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It was now dark in the clubhouse, so much so, that beyond the lanterns that were previously lit moments ago and with adjusted eyes, their comforting space was painted and hued a dark navy. The comic books in disarray over in the corner there where the game cases and the newest addition, a miniature bookshelf with scattered volumes on the two shelves looked different now that he was looking at it from this perspective, but never the less it looked the same. The swing swayed ever so slightly as gravity did its thing and the main attraction, the hammock, hardly moved at all when not being used, at least, from what he could see.
The combined, eased breathing from all around him only accompanied the stillness of his current environment, with the occasional soft groan that let up from one of the six reposed forms on either side of him. Their shifts of bother from laying in the same position for too long and in search for a new source of comfort made the sheets rasp and the blankets and pillows fluff from their adjustments, before they settled down again and anew, came the silence. Though, this wasn't the silence that made you check your surroundings nervously; over your shoulder, through a window, a peep towards the closet, a pause for any sort of illing creak or bump in the night that makes your blood run cold and your heart quicken.
Not this silence, no. With this silence, you could lay back, and relax. You could let your mind ease and sit in peace, free of any worries, any disturbances, any concerning noises, any of anything that usually stirred anxiety. This silence was a comfort for the stressed and for the fearful, and those of which who lived in this atmosphere, were considered ‘lucky’ by all.
And though Stan wasn't lucky enough to live in this sort of environment daily, he would still enjoy these moments and promised not to envy those who could.
Stan tilted his head when he heard the soft mumbling from his left. His eyes opened, only to fall onto the boy placed in the middle of him and Mike, his head and most of his form leaned away from Stan and more into the young farmer's, who had his own pressed against the corner of the wall and the structure of the staircase that led down into here. His head had been tipped back over the edge of one of the cushions, undoubtedly straining his neck the longer he stayed in place and Stan contemplated touching the rim of his ear to encourage him to move down a bit so he could lay his head on something and straighten, save his neck from cramping. He withheld for now, in fear that he may wake him fully by accident, or any of them in the process.
He focused on Bill's muttering again, peeking at the way his brow tweaked with his incoherent speeches. He's never known Bill to be a sleep talker, as he never stuck around long enough nor been awake long enough to notice the habit. He knew that Richie tended to jolt a lot in his sleep, as if he were having a dream about falling and his body was reacting to the initial drop, but he never thought that Bill or any of the others had their natural tendencies once it came to rest. He thought it was just Richie being Richie, even in sleep. That was, until this newfound routine started for them, all seven of them, that he was now aware of the many habits that his friends acquired while they were asleep.
Bill mumbled muddledly. Richie jolted, twitched and would even kick sometimes if laying down. Eddie tended to squirm a lot, whether that be switching from side to side, stretching out his limbs or neck, lifting his head or nuzzling on certain occasions. Beverly would always sleep huddled up in some way, just curled firmly into place, and if she could, she'd press deeply against the person next to her, as if maybe seeking to be hid. Stan wasn't sure he wanted to know the reasoning for hers. Mike didn't really have any that stuck out too much, the only one being that he almost every time had his neck craned and tilted in an uncomfortable angle, but he was sure that it was because they were sitting up most of the time and he drifted off, ending up as he was. He wouldn't necessarily consider that a habit. And Ben would embrace the corner of a blanket or a small stray pillow next to him, as if it were a stuffed animal of some sort or anything he could cuddle, really. Stan's leg had also made its way onto that list. One of his go-to's, really, right after the pillow.
Now, though he prefers his personal space most of the time, Stan's surprisingly never found himself getting aggravated with any of them. Though Eddie would often pinch his leg when he shifted, or Bill would sometimes say something too loud while being right up close to him when he started talking, and Richie would frequently startle him awake when he was beginning to doze off as well from his harsh twitching, but they were never anything to be upset over or annoyed about. He could easily maneuver and adjust himself whenever Eddie moved and it began to hurt him, and Bill would never go on for longer than 30 seconds at max so he also wasn't an issue, and he could usually fall right back to sleep after checking that Richie was okay and settled again. He could handle it. Just as long as they weren't roused awake by anything, it didn't matter to him.
The times he'd accidentally wake one of them by a movement that was too quick or by making a noise that was just a little too loud, he'd be faced with this instant plummet of guilt when they bounced awake and looked at him. It wasn't the same looks they'd give him before he started staying until they have all woken up, but he still couldn't find it in himself to risk waking them and feeling immediate regret because of it.
Like everyone when they first woke up, they had these dazed, lost looks on their faces, but when they'd feel him move too jostlely and they realized what he had done, they'd stare at him with these eyes that were practically begging him not to leave. All six sets of those weary eyes would burrow into him and they'd all make him feel the same each time, but Bill's and Eddie's were by far the worst to be looked at like that.
Bill had these jade eyes that would bare into him when he'd blink awake, his brows slightly furrowed as he would ask him if he was leaving, or if he had to go. For the most part, he had the same mien as the others, yet the one quality that made him stick out among the rest was that he had a faint undertone of understanding with it, meaning he had already convinced himself that Stan was trying to take off. Though, still reluctant to let him go, that small bit of apprehension affected Stan more than it likely should have. When telling him that he wasn't going anywhere, just moving, he typically shifted more of his body to face Stan after and would lay his head on his shoulder instead, making it a bit more difficult for Stan to try and get up without waking him again.
And Eddie had these large, dark brown eyes with slightly narrowed brows, usually to appear unappealing and unwelcoming towards outsiders who he feared would cause him harm if he let them in, but when he got woken up by Stan moving his leg too much or too harshly, those eyes would soften. While the others would look at him with a more ‘please don't go’ in their eyes, Eddie's would have a more demanding plea. More of a ‘don't leave’, rather than a ‘please’. Once assuring him that he wasn't leaving – it took a lot more convincing with him than it did with Bill or anybody else – he would end up going back to sleep with the others, but not before moving himself up more into Stan's lap, ensuring that he really couldn't leave now.
He just hated when any of them looked at him like he was going to leave them. In any scenario, really, not just this. That's how he got into frequent trouble with his parents, because they'd all pity him into staying out later than he should've been.
They themselves, however, have never once forced him to stay. He was always the one that made the conscious decision to stay out with them. There was no one else to blame but himself, and though getting in trouble was annoying because he was way out past his curfew, he had yet to feel any regret because of it.
Yet. Keyword there. Yet.
Although one might expect that the clubhouse is where this only happens – he sure did, he never once anticipated it would move out of the clubhouse actually – but to his surprise, it had begun to move out of it as well. At the end of sleepovers, on the Friday nights they'd hang out in Mike's supply barn, their little spot on the cliff above the swimming hole when they really just wanted to get away from this town. But the main spot was the clubhouse. It was the first place this whole thing even happened, and Stan doubted it would never not be the go-to spot either.
Well, of course until they were too old to be doing this, but disregarding that. That time wasn't now, so he might as well just relish the moments he had with them because he couldn't be certain that it'll last forever.
Close no eyes to that thought, he was here and so were they, all seven forms conjoined into each other. And it's all because of one simple and quite frankly boring book. One sat next to him while he read, then again but then they wanted to read along with him, and fell asleep by mistake. It became a small pattern for them, but when another joined that's when they asked him to read to them and it seemed that all together they were all six pressed against him listening to him read out these outdated, out of style paragraphs.
He wasn't surprised that it had been Richie who asked him to read aloud, but he was surprised that Richie even entertained sitting through it without cracking one of his lemon jokes. Now that's the one that caught Stan the most off-guard, the lack of Richie's ridiculing commentary, that is. However, it wasn't a shock that he was usually the first one out after a couple minutes of reading, but the others. The others could hold their eyes, and sometimes they'd have him reading for an hour or a half. Thankfully none of them have ever been awake longer than an hour, because he wasn't sure he could sit and read out loud for 2-3 hours like that. Who knows, though. He could shun the ‘perfectionist’ in him and the goody two shoes, it wasn't too insane to imagine that he actually would sit and read out every word for hours. Hopefully he'll never have to, but if that day ever comes he better have stayed caffeinated for it.
An arm stretched across him, and Stan froze like a deer in headlights to avoid raising any of the rest of them and instead followed the hand to Richie at his near right. He noticed the different positioning from that head of chopped ginger locks, now laying on his back rather than her arm that was previously woven over the back of a cushion. Beverly made that move of horning in on Richie's peace of mind had ruffled him, and now made him feel like he had to rearrange from the pressure that wasn't there before.
Stan watched as his glasses altered from his stirring, slowly getting more and more loose from his face as he continued to sleep in them despite Stan's chivvy to get him to stop and he could only roll his eyes internally at him. Insists they'll be fine, then wake up and see them cracked on his bed or the floor of the clubhouse because they just slid right off his face. And Stan wouldn't help but laugh when it happened either, or hold back on a ‘I told you so,’ moment which he knows would earn a nagged glare in return from a set of blurry eyes. He could help him out once here.
Once he seemed to have settled himself again – pretty quickly, actually – Stan snuck a hand up and pulled the frames from his face, witnessing him scrunch his nose in return and modify his brows in a strait from the feeling on his temple. He remained asleep. Stan folded the mounts inward and tucked them in the small pocket of his shirt, now able to relax that he didn't have a near rod of plastic digging into his shoulder any longer.
Shifting from the bottom occurred and Stan peered down to watch Ben roll over in his spot, a pillow clung to his chest under his arms, and it was also in that moment that Stan realized that Bill had stopped his mumbling. Then nothing happened again for a bit, everyone evidently installed in their places for now. He'd say they've been asleep for about an hour now, maybe even an hour and a half, so it wouldn't be unlikely if they decided to stay out longer than the norm, but Stan was just now starting to get tired. At this point, he wasn't sure if he should fall asleep with them or just wait until he gets home to sleep for the night.
The sun has definitely set, but that doesn't necessarily mean it was late, right? It could've been dark out, but he wouldn't feel as guilty about staying out if it was like 4 or 5 o'clock. Although, it was summer, and the sun tend to set a lot later during the summertime than it does any other time of year. They should be waking up soon though, so he shouldn't be here too much longer. Though Stan could come off as seriously short-tempered, he considered himself fairly patient, but he remembered how genuinely surprised these losers were when they first woke up and found him sitting with them still. It definitely didn't happen in the first couple of times all of them were together huddled, it took quite a few tries before Stan finally realized that they wanted him to stay with them, that they wanted him to be there when they woke up.
The first time he realized it was at Richie's house.
His parents were out for a night and allowed them to stay with him, so they all did, except Eddie had been put on a strict curfew and had to leave around 7 o'clock, looking more sad as the days go by because of her inflexible moods.
Sometimes. Sometimes, she'll let him stay places. She'll let him stay at Stan's, at Ben's, maybe Mike's, depending on how she feels that day. Not Bill's, not Richie's, and not Bev's. And he's known Bill since he was a toddler, but apparently he was a ‘bad influence’ Eddie says she said, compared him to the ‘no good Tozier’ and said that he was turning out just as bad. Richie joked and said that she was just playing hard to get, but the disdained edge of his tone had stuck out that day, and no one said anything about it after the fact. So, technically, it wasn't the literal routine of theirs, because Eddie wasn't there, but it was close. Not quite, but close, and it was when he first started to discover that he wasn't meant to be leaving them after they fell asleep. It was made extremely clear that night, and while it took a little longer than he expected for him to actually stop leaving all together, he's long had that message set straight to him and he's been obliging by it ever since.
He had gotten up to do something, making sure he moved as slow as possible to pluck any arms or cradle any heads that laid on him and lower them to pillows before making his exit. He was away for almost twenty minutes, in the living room and quietly reading to himself until a head of red curls poked around the corner not even five minutes after he had got comfortable. She just stared at him, making sure he was actually there and not just a figment of her drowsy imagination before she turned over her shoulder and said something to someone, incoherent to him but made more than enough sense to her and whoever she was talking to, soon after revealed to be Bill as he peeked around her to see Stan, looking as bleary-eyed and stupor as Beverly did. Like they were in a sleepwalking daze, except leaning more towards the edge of being awake than not.
There was a fluidity in their movements that was too languid and intentional to not be coming from someone who was awake and aware enough to know who and where they are. They were quick to fall right back to sleep after they had him back for comfort, this time making it harder for him to try and get up again.
They made a point that night, when they got him up and dragged him back to Richie's room to his original spot. Whether it was two of them or all of them, they could tell when he got up and left them, and actually planned to stay away from them instead of getting up for a quick drink. It's like they had a sixth sense whenever they were in a somnolent state, one that apparently gave them heightened senses to be able to find him as quickly as possible. And he was just getting to learn who was who from the way they'd go about bringing him back before he inevitably just quit leaving them all together. He could remember them by memory now, though.
For the most part, Bev was silent but straight to the point with hers. She wouldn't really say much, unless someone else got up with her. She would bore her eyes into him, heavy lidded and as blue as the lagoon, and sometimes she'd tip her head in the direction of where he once was and where she just came from, as if to tell him to ‘get a move on’. Bill was light on his feet when he was half asleep, practically tiptoeing around the house in search of him. He always started it off by asking him what he was doing, insinuations of wondering if he was trying to leave and ultimately it ends the same way as others. And Ben, well, he didn't wake up much. He was a heavy sleeper, but there was one time he was the one who found him. He kinda just smiled sleepily and turned to go back to bed once seeing him, his way of being more optional to come back or not. Stan always ended up feeling bad or embarrassed about leaving, so he would follow suit.
Then, there were the other three, who used physicality more than words, quite literally dragging him back to their huddle. They claimed it felt ‘incomplete’ without him, hence their more manual approach.
Starting with Mike, whose hands were larger than they had any business being, but a smile that didn't seem to match how rough and worn they were. He hardly talked when woken up, but somehow Stan would be so absorbed in whatever he was doing that he couldn't hear him approach until he already had his hands on his shoulders, flashing a comforting smile with hooded eyes that barely wanted to open. He still knew where to find him, though, and Stan would be lying if he said that the blood wouldn't rush straight to his ears whenever he'd lightly guide him back without a word. Letting his actions speak more for themselves, he had definitely taken the more mild approach out of the three of them. Then you had what Eddie and Trashmouth did, which wasn't that.
For just a moment in time, he might have known what it was like to have a parent like Sonia. It almost felt like getting caught sneaking out at night by a parent whenever he turned around and saw Eddie Kaspbrak standing there; arms akimbo and an unfocused look on his bothered face, sorta like he had been tapping his foot and waiting impatiently for him to turn around and notice him before he'd say anything. He took a page from Bill's book, except in the Kaspbrak way, full of attitude and prickly to the ear and mind, especially in the dead of night past midnight. It wasn't like he would take any actual offense from him, he knew Eddie well enough by this point to recognize whenever he wasn't actually meaning any malice versus what they called – by ‘they’ that means Richie – the ‘Brak Wrath’, when he would really just let loose and let his easy temper do the talking for him. But he wasn't entirely too amused whenever he first discovered Stan left, especially multiple times after the fact, dragging him by his wrist before Stan could even excuse himself like Stan had been a child of his own.
He was starting to get a little testy with him, so he's sorta glad he stopped that before he ended up facing what Eddie's irk could do to his feelings. Not that he'd take it to heart, but he could sometimes pinch him with what he had to say. Or leave him flabbergasted with nothing to say in response. Eddie had a way of doing that. But even then, that experience seemed and felt like a Mike one compared to the confusion of Richie's.
Messy and blind, half pun intended. But in all actuality, literally blind, because the amount of times that a bedraggled head of black waves stumbled lazily around a wall without his glasses that probably got lost in the huddle of other bodies and blankets had been more times than not. Without his glasses, his eyes shrunk quite a bit, looking more like ravens and pointed and sharp than when his glasses were on, blowing his eyes up and making him look like a dork in all the best – weirdest but best – ways, and they'd burrow into him like big brown bats in the winter.
It might've been the only time he's ever seen Richie so serious, and it was when he was staring at him to figure out if he was some stranger or someone he knew, a part of his imagination or real. The hilarity in that though, was that he wouldn't even try to focus his vision in any way. He'd just stare, as if hoping that his vision would magically fix itself or clear and he'd see him better, then he would ask him what he was doing by himself out of the blue, a rough voice that wouldn't match the almost animated one he used on a daily. It would sometimes make Stan go wide-eyed at how low his voice could drop, not that he would tell his conscious self that to avoid boasting anyone's ego, especially Trashmouth's if he learned that he could have a voice as low and calming as Mike's, but only when he first woke up. But then he would trudge over with more synchrony than Stan could've ever expected from him and ask again: ‘what are you doing?’, as if his drowsiness would comprehend any answers Stan could give him. But whether Stan answered or not, he would reach down without warning and grab his hand, giving him no time by the moment he was already pulling him with him to go back to bed, done all like he wasn't trying to lug a whole human behind him. He seemed more eager to get back to bed rather than pulling Stanley with him, but not once did he loosen or tighten his hold. Then he would be glued to him like a jellyfish whenever they were back in the huddle, being a genuinely confusing moment of events.
He figured, that no matter where they were, how long they've been asleep for, or where Stan went and stayed, they inevitably ended up finding him, all muzzy-headed and lethargic, and if the worst of staying if he couldn't sleep had been numb limbs or just sitting in the dark for what felt like a painfully long time even though it was just an hour, then it'd be better than risking the chance of one of them falling or hurting themselves. It took Richie to trip and collapse like a fallen soldier into Stan's lap one time that brought that possibility to life. Thankfully, all he got from that was a headache the next morning and a light bruise, but nothing that was too harmful. They hadn't been in a place with steep stairs or uneven surfaces with sharp edges around every corner yet, though, so he decided after that close enough call that he wouldn't be slipping away anymore. Because he could always shake a deadened limb awake again, you couldn't just shake someone out of a concussion or head injury.
Now he laid here, in the very middle of six insensible forms who all breathed out of order, but comfortably nonetheless, all of his exits blocked off and even the potential ones he couldn't risk if he wanted to, not without the chances of stepping on somebody or waking them up. And he sat in silence other than that, in the darkness where only the moonlight helped him out and not even by much, being surrounded in their building warmth against the rather chilly air going around them currently.
The Stanley inside of his head, his inner voice Stanley had been protesting against all of this contact since the beginning; overstepping his issues with intimacy entirely done all by his lonesome, fully aware he could get up and walk away and tell them no if they tried to pull him back, but his outer self didn't want to. He wanted to stay, he wanted to be warm here instead of in a blanket in the corner furthest from them while they all shared it, getting more than he could ever by himself.
He found himself slowly starting to come to terms with physicality, when he used to be so frozen to it. It made him start to wonder what turned him off of it to begin with. If it was the fact of having so little space at times, or if he just hadn't gotten enough of it in his early years.
Maybe he wouldn't necessarily be the most touchiest person ever, but at least among them, he wouldn't give the losers the cold-shoulder as much anymore, depending on how he felt later about it or how it went. Perhaps he could find a way to live with it.