#fckarchetypes

Stan: I've made you a copy of the key.

“what do you think, padfoot?” it’s one of the last warm days they’re going to get before spring, and remus is taking advantage of it, wearing shorts even if the breeze is cold. “i’ll get a big piece, right here on my thigh.” he stretches his legs out in front of him, patting his upper thigh. “maybe one of those obnoxious geometric wolf heads or something. really sell my cool new millennial vibe.”

      harry’s in a good mood,  today.   it’s not too much of a surprise,  he hasn’t had a bad day in a while after all.   work might change things though,  given that today he’s relatively on his own.   he can’t complain much though,  having taken a day or two off because he couldn’t focus  ---   yes,  for being a useless gay,  he gets it  !   so when it’s his turn to take over a few shifts,  he’s more than willing to offer.   but while harry can manage opening by himself,  tackling the lunch rush vastly understaffed is worrying.  

“now, dick grayson, i know you are hardly containing your desire to turn me into your other lover, but know i’m not going to make this easy on you.”

wally grins at him, paintball gun slung over his shoulder. his paint is a bright red, but he won’t be needing it. though shooting dick could be fun, it’s not the point of this exercise.

“what are our rules, again? visible every thirty seconds? or did we change it to twenty?” it wouldn’t be a fair fight if he ran circles around dick the whole time, but popping up all around the room made for pretty decent target practice.

“hey, adam?” gansey appears, knocking politely on the roof of the car adam’s been working on for the better part of the afternoon. “wally told me i’d find you back here. you know your shift ended twenty minutes ago, right?”

“do you ever look like a normal person, or are you always on that model shit?” marshall lee tugs at the pink strands on the topmost part of beau’s head, grinning down at him.

he’s floating above beau’s head on his stomach, as though there’s some sort of invisible board holding him up for him to rest on, casual as he props himself up on one elbow. “i’d be jealous if i were anyone other than me, you know that, bubba gum?”

as the glow of the arcade overtakes his senses, stanley uris is confident of one thing:

if richie tozier is here in purgatory with him, this is where he will find them.

and surely, this must be purgatory. he’s dead, he remembers it. and, as far as he knows, this isn’t what christian heaven looks like, and it’s definitely not what his heaven looks like.

his hand finds the star of david around his neck, six points digging into skin. it stings as it settles into the indents left by tics repeated a million times over. stan sighs in relief. 

he doesn’t know what to expect. doesn’t want his hopes too high, just in case, but he can’t help it. if he can find just one of his friends, together they’re stronger, together they’re more.

and plus, if he can find richie, eddie won’t be far behind, and eddie surely knows where to find bill, and if stan finds bill, everyone else will find them.

g-d, there’s an ugly shirt in his peripheral now, something nearing neon and far too bright to be anyone else.

“richie?”

his smile could blind someone, relief flooding through him. he wasn’t alone. it wasn’t big bill but it was close, his dearest friend, who he’d known since birth, had known in hell, hadn’t forgotten in death.

“if you touch me, i’m going to cry, and it will be your fault.” he’s fully expecting richie to hug him. he would be offended if richie didn’t hug him. his skin doesn’t revolt immediately at the thought of it, which is definitely promising.