"Team captain, Stan Uris, steps up to the plate," the announcer, Mister Muldoon, says, observing the game in detail, "A senior who has played for us every year."

Stan has learned to tune his surroundings out whenever he plays ball. It just works better for him. He taps his cleats against each other and dips the wooden bat he holds down to touch home-plate. He brings it back up over his shoulder and lowers into a ready position.

If there is one thing Stanley "Fleet Feet" Uris is famous for, other than his impeccable speed, is his swing. He got it down to a science in his sophomore year.

The step, the weight transfer, the swing, the turn of the hips, the follow-through.

"Steeee-rike one!" The umpire hollers.

A round of claps and cheers sounds off from the stands and Stan re-takes his stance. He hears Richie yell, "HEY BATTER, BATTER, BATTER, SAAA-WING, BATTER!"

Stan also hears the "You moron, that's for when the other team is batting!" from Eddie.

Stanley rolls his eyes and re-focuses on the pitcher. He winds up, kicks his leg up, and hurls the ball over his shoulder. A curveball!

My favorite! Give it to me, give it to me-

CRRRACK!

The crisp sound of the ball hitting the bat ripples through the gloomy air and the stand explodes into screams and cheers. Stan tosses his bat to the side and runs, runs, runs!

The opposing team members playing in the outfield gather in left field, mits up to the sky and their heads tilted up as well.

Stan's jet-black cleat stomps on the bag of first base and he begins rounding to second.

"RUN! RUN!" Multiple voices scream from the stands.

Red dirt kicks up from his feet.

"And they dropped the ball! Run, Stan, Run! Fleet feet!"

Stan's cleat comes in contact with second base and a stripe of pain shoots down his shoulder blades.

NO! NOT NOW NOT NOW!

"He's rounding third!"

Stan's helmet falls into the dirt, but he never stops running. Oh, but the PAIN! The HEAT.

RUN, YOU FUCK, RUN!

Stanley Uris' heels leave the dirt below him and his eyes widen to the size of golf balls.

RUN GET TO HOME PLATE AND DIVE RUN! DON'T FLY, RUN!

Stanley screws his eyes shut, his mind screaming and his wings pushing against the thin skin of his back. LET US OUT LET US OUT LET- the seemed to scream at him.

His light toes touch third base.

The audience is deafening. The pain is insufferable. But keep running! Don't fly!

Keep running, don't fly!

"The ball has made it to the infield- He's still running folks! The throw!"

The ball flies from second baseman's arm.

Everything feels like it's slowed. Stanley's ears begin to ring, tuning out the announcer, the crowd, his teammates from the dugout, his coaches.

The tips of his wings break through his skin. He dives for home plate.

Silence.

"SAFE!"

The entire field bursts.

"WOO-OOO!"

"GO NUMBER FIVE!"

"STAN THE MAN!"

Stan Uris heaves out his breaths, his chest against the plate of Home and the catcher laying across his back. The one time that he is thankful for that is now.

His team runs out from the dugout, cheering and pumping their fists.

The tips of Stan's trembling wings slip back under his skin. Stan can finally breathe.

His teammates grab him by his shirt and arms, hauling him up to his feet, all the while smacking his back and hollering praises in his ears. Stan does his best to smile.

✨

Stanley lugs his baseball bag over his shoulder as he leaves the locker room and sets out to the parking lot, where his six friends wait for him, standing between Mike's truck, Stan's car, and Bill's truck.

Manic thoughts fly through his head, and he feels dizzy. Ever since his heels left the dirt of the field, he couldn't shake the dizziness in his head. But the same question pestered his brain: Why?

"Stan the fuckin' man!" Richie Tozier hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth, "The man of the hour! Wonder-boy! Fuhhhhh-Leet Feet!" The others laugh and cheer as well as Stan lumbered closer to his friends. They grab him by this shoulders and pull him into a group hug that consisted of lots of pats on the back as well as rubbing his curls.

When they all pull back, everyone looks to Richie as he says, "You looked like you were gonna pass out, Stan-o!"

Stan shifts on the toes of his converse sneakers. "Kinda hard not to when your wings are digging out of your back."

All of the smiles around him drop.

"I'm okay, I just wish it wouldn't have happened. If I would have missed that run, Coach Brumelly would make me run the bae until I puked next practice," he explains.

"St-tanley-"

"I'm alright."

"You lo-oh-st control," Bill finishes.

"Yeah-yeah, you did," Richie adds, tapping the bill of Stan's hat with his knuckle, Stan slaps his hand away.

Stan digs his slim fingers under the faux-leather of his belt under this backpack.

"So what, so have you and Bev!" He says defensively. Richie throws his hands up in innocence and Bill's hand grasps Stan's shoulder, pulling him away from Richie and placing himself between the two. It wouldn't be the first time Stan has decked Richie.

"Knock it o-off," Bill warns. He digs his finger it to Richie's shoulder and pushes them back. Ben and Mike watch from a distance, and Beverly stands behind Stanley, ready for anything that comes her way. Eddie stand next to Richie, ready to hold him back if need be.

Ben steps away from leaning against Mike's truck and stands next to Bill.

"It's going to happen to all of us, so don't waste time fighting about it," Ben says, looking at Richie more than Stan.

And once again, silence.

Richie rubs his glasses with the back of his blue sweater sleeve and leans next to Mike, crossing one ankle over the other.

Bill looks at his hand on the thin royal blue windbreaker that Stanley wears over a long sleeve shirt. He slides it off, earning a side-glance from Stan.

"How about we go to my house," Mike suggests, breaking the chilly night air's silence.

Richie is quick to speak up, "Your momma cooking, Mikey?"

All of the other's ears perk up. It's a known fact that when you stay at the Hanlon home, you eat well and good.

Mike smiles and laughs softly, "You bet."

✨

The Losers have come to refer to Mike's mother as "momma" rather than Mrs. Hanlon. She prefers it, actually.

So, when the seven of them cane bustling into her house, she yells, "Take your shoes off!" And they reply with a, "Yes, momma!"

Richie is the last to sit down at the long wooden table, made by Bill and Mike and Mike's father two summers ago, with a slap-happy smile on his face. Mike sits at the head of the table, Beverly to his left and Stanley to his right. Next to Beverly sits Ben and Richie, and beside Stanley sits Bill and Eddie.

Upon their arrival, Mrs. Hanlon bounced into the kitchen with a small, rare smile on her face. Usually, a mother would roll her eyes at her son's band of teenage friends and put out a plate of crackers and cheese, but not her! Oh no! Any chance she got to cook for the Losers, she took. She knows that they love her cooking.

"Alright," Bill speaks firmly and clearly. All heads turn his way.

"It looks l-like it's hap-ha-happening ag-g-uh-ain and we need t-to be careful."

Richie props his head on his fist. "What'd you mean, big Bill?"

Bill looks over his shoulder and into the kitchen where Mike's mother is. He turns back and leans into the table, resting his arms on the table. Everyone follows suit.

"Maybe s-staying home from s-s-sch-school sometimes... and going t-to the spot m-more."

Stanley's eyebrows shoot up, as well as Mike's.

Beverly's hands splay out on the table and she leans forward so much that her chest presses against the table top.

"Do we even know if it's safe anymore? We haven't been there in forever, Bill," she whispers.

"Wuh-we can ch-check it out a few days in a-advance," Bill says, shrugging his shoulders, "A f-ew of us can- guh-go for a few d-ays in a row before we decide it's-s safe."

He swings his eyes across the table and all of them feel the tickle of Bill's feelers in their head. No hiding.

Stanley is the first to speak, "Okay."

Bill turns his head to his right, meeting Stan's eyes and giving him a look of thanks. He watches Stan's pupils dilate, then feels his brain go fuzzy. Bill's cheeks turn pink.

"Sounds good," Eddie also agrees, yanking Bill and Stan from their thoughts of each other.

"What Eds said," Richie adds, pointing his finger across the table to Eddie.

"Sure," Ben says, nodding his head and looking at Bev. She nods too.

Mike agrees just as Mrs. Hanlon enters, a plastic blue bowl in her hand.

The smells of fresh-baked biscuits and strawberry jam flood the Loser's senses and their previous worries temporarily melt away.

"Smells good, momma," Mike says, scooting his chair closer and closer to the table.

"Well," she smiles and sets the bowl on the table, then place her hands on her slim hips, "If you all want more, you just tell me. I'll be in the living room."

"Thank you, momma!" The table rings, all reaching their hands into the big bowl.

Mrs. Hanlon smiles again and maintains it as she walks back to her chair in the living room.

The seven Losers bask in the glory of baked goods and tired eyes, as well as strawberry jam.

Eddie bites into a biscuit, strawberry jam smearing over his top lip. Richie is quick to lean across the table and wipe it away with his thumb.

"Can't let you come home with red lips, Eds," Richie says. He licks the jam off his thumb, "Mrs. Kaspbrak might get the wrong idea!"

Eddie kicks Richie under the table and the entire table bursts into fits of laughter.

"Beep Beep, Richie!" Eddie hollers. Richie clutches his sides and pushes his glasses up on his nose and he laughs.

"All games, Eddie! All jokes!"

✨

The rubber toe of Bill's converse taps against the tile floor of his Government classroom as he waits for his teacher to turn his back so that he can lean across the aisle and pass the folded up piece of notebook paper he has in his hand to Stanley, who sits next to him.

Stan sits with his back as straight as a board and a blue pen in his hand, writing down keywords that Mister Chesterson speaks at a rapid pace.

Mister Chesterson reaches to his desk and picks up the piece of chalk he uses, then finally turns his back.

Bill, quickly, leans across the aisle and gently slides the folden note onto Stanley's desk. Stan's eyes dart to the hand that entered his line of sight. He turns his head and looks at Bill, who nods to the note as he pulls his hand back. Stan takes a glance at the teacher, then places his hand over the note and slides it off the desk and into his lap.

He unfolds it with cold fingers, thoughts of what could be written inside flying through his mind.

want to check the spot with me after school?
I will drive and we can get food after

As Stan reads the note, he reads it in Bill's voice, stutter-free. It's an odd sound, but it is nice. It is odd because Bill has had his stutter for as long as Stan could remember.

He blushes down to his toes and places his cheek in his palm to hide his pink cheeks from Bill.

Don't smile, don't smile, Stan chants in his head.

Bill furrows his eyebrows as he looks at Stan from the side of his eyes. He looks completely and utterly unamused. Bill continues to watch him as he pulls his pen out and begins writing.

Stanley folds the note back up and sets it in his lap as he waits for the go-ahead. When Mister Chesterson turns his back, Stan leans across the aisle and sets it on Bill's desk. Bill snatches it up immediately and smoothes it out against his desk.

Sure, I watched the Anderson twins
last night, so I can pay. Anyone else?

Bill clicks his black pen open and begins to scribble his reply.

just us unless you want to invite ben or some-
one else

Stan finishes reading and looks to Bill, who meets his eyes and shakes his head.

Just them. Just Stanley Uris and Bill Denbrough would check out the spot after school.

a//n : this is all i have had in my drafts for the past week or so and i feel bad keeping it, so here she is! i promise you all, i am still writing, slowly but surely. chapters just won't come as fast. i love you all and all of the love you have given me!💛