The seven members of the Losers club sit in the bed of Mike's parked truck. Each of them holds a can of Coke in their hand and Eddie has a straw in his. The Barrens around them is drenched in gold autumn sunlight, giving the changing trees a highlight.

Richie, Mike, and Beverly sit on one side of the truck bed with their legs tangled up with Ben's and Eddie's who sit on the other side. Bill and Stanley, who sit at the back of the truck bed, have their legs crossed and their elbows on their knees.

They all hit a lull in their conversation about the most recent Mighty Ducks movie and sipped from their Coke cans.

Stanley looks down at his lap. The question had been flying through his head the entire two hours the seven of them have been sitting here. He is practically sure that Bill has picked up on his thoughts too, but he just hadn't made a point of it.

Richie smacks his lips together and sets his can down. He throws his arms around the side of the truck bed and kicks his head back.

"Oh!" Beverly exclaims, setting down her can as well. She reaches into her back pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes. "Anyone want one?"

Mike, Richie, and Ben lean forward for one, but the others shake their heads.

"Line up," Bev says, tucking the pack away, but not before sticking one between her own lips and snapping her fingers, lighting it immediately.

The three boys lean forward with their heads in a line.

"Hey, let's not burn our eyelashes off this time, yeah?" Richie mutters around the stick in his mouth. Beverly rolls her eyes.

She leans back and lets her eyes fall on the three cigarette butts.

The others watch with interest. It's always fun seeing Bev pull flames out of nowhere.

Beverly places her hand under the three cigarettes, stretching her palm out as far as it can go.

She pulls her fingers together in a quick snap, then all three cigarettes are ignited.

They lean back into their respective spots and enjoy the smoke.

Stan clears his throat and everyone looks at him. He has had a serious look painted across his face the entire day, even throughout his classes and walking the halls and the others can tell by the look on his face that he is about to tell them why.

Bill props his chin up on his hand turns it toward Stanley. The others sip or smoke.

No one hurries him along, they just wait.

Stan licks his lips once, then flicks his eyes up to his friends. He won't deny it, he's nervous.

"Remember when we were all in middle school and everything started changing?"

Richie laughs and leans back, "Woah, woah, woah, Stanley the Manley, no one wants to hear about your fickle little pickle-"

"Beep beep, Ruh-Richie," Bill warns. Richie backs off and fiddles with his glasses.

Stan takes in another breath. Everyone re-focuses on him. Beverly notices the way the golden sunlight graces his hair, bringing out colors she didn't even know were there.

"Like, how Ben would just start fading in and out in the middle of class and we would all have to cover for him? Or that one time Mike fell off his bike and when he yelled, lightning hit that big oak tree?"

Everyone nods, remembering these days from a few years ago. It felt like the slightest obstacles could throw them off their balance and control over their abilities. Bev starts chewing on her fingernails.

Eddie inwardly cringes when he remembers the time he webbed his own toes together in trying to heal his poison ivy. He cried for HOURS while the others brainstormed on how to fix it. It took him two days, but Eddie was able to reverse it through lots of concentration and many mental breakdowns.

"But after all of that everything was a lot easier to handle," Beverly adds.

Everyone grimaces remembering her "changing" phase. It was definitely a painful one for all of them. Stan and Beverly got into a fight because Stan accused her of cheating at their came of War. The tips of Stan's wings were burnt to a crisp within seconds. Another time, all of the items in the Denbrough living room began to smoke when Beverly was telling the others of her run-in with Gretta Bowie.

Beverly takes another swig of her Coke in hopes to soothe her sizzling nerves.

Stan nods. "Exactly. And I think it's all happening again."

Silence.

There is a visible drop in everyone's expression.

Ben crosses his arms and looks down at his lap. It would make sense for all of this to be happening... a cycle, maybe? Ben nods to himself.

"Then what's been going on with you?" Mike asks. Stan looks up from his thin hands to look at his friend.

Talking about each other's abilities has never been difficult for any of them. They are the only ones of their kind, they like to say, and it isn't something they should be insecure about.

Stanley neatly tucks a few stray curls behind his ear and sets his hands back into his lap. He tells the others about what happened to him in the locker room only last week, and the others listen intently. Bill does the occasional "look around" to make sure that the seven of them remain alone.

"Were you bleeding?" Eddie asks, leaning forward on his crossed legs. Stan shakes his head, remembering the handful of times that he did bleed from not allowing his wings out for a while.

"It felt like," he kicks his legs out in front of him and leans back, relaxing, "If I kept it in any longer, I would have burst."

"Well, it probably wasn't the best idea to keep them in for two weeks," Ben chimes.

"Yeah," Bill and Mike agree.

"But that doesn't change the fact that he can usually control it and couldn't this time," Eddie adds. Stan nods in agreement.

Bill drums his fingers against the side of his Coke can and says, "Anyone else?"

"I mean," Richie says, "My thing a few days ago with the itching. I told you about that, right?"

"Too much," Eddie grumbles, rolling his eyes in the process. There is a small chuckle between everyone, then quiet once again.

All of the Losers take a look at the others.

Richie leans forward with his shoulders slumped and puts his glasses back on.

Bill reaches his "feelers" out and snakes them through his friend's heads. Beverly's head is a raging ocean.

"Me too," is all she says aloud, but Bill hears much more. Her fear, her hate, her embarrassment.

"What happened?" Richie asks curiously, taking his glasses off and setting them on his knee. He plops his chin into his hand.

"Had a bad dream and set my hands on fire," she says simply, "And I feel like I have a constant fever and sometimes I breathe smoke."

Richie just nods and leans back, sticking his cigarette back between his lips. Just us fucked up supers! One of the voices in his head hollers. Bill must've heard it too, because he snickers.

Another period of silence falls on the group, filled with cigarette smoke and sips from Coke cans.

Stan's grey eyes drop to his lap where he fiddles with his fingers and his well-manicured nails. He feels the pulsing of his wings in his back. His spine aches and his shoulder blades warm with pain. But they cannot risk it. There's only one place where he can let his wings free without fear of getting caught.

Bill flicks his eyes to Stan, who sits next to him, and spreads his brain's hungry hands into Stan's head. Through the curls, through the scalp, and into his mind.

Stan perks up and turns to Bill when he feels the tickle in the back of his head, meaning Bill is poking around in there.

Bill flushes red at the fact of getting caught, and Stan flushes red because Bill does.

"So, what does this mean?" Eddie asks, breaking the silence in the autumn air. He knows the answer.

The others look up. They all know what it means.

Richie leans back and drapes his arms back over the side of the truck and lets his cigarette hang from his lips.

"Round fuckin' two, baby."

✨

The words repeat over and over again in Mike's mind.

Round fuckin' two, baby.

Mike tucks his head into the crook of his elbow as he lies in bed.

This can't really be happening, can it? We all did it once, we got it over with, now again? Again?

He throws his blanket onto the floor and swings his legs over the side as well with the thought of fresh air on his mind. He grabs his zip-up jacket and slides his muscle-corded arms through the sleeves, then zips it up as he slides out of his bedroom and makes his way to the door to his porch.

He steps out into the chilled, black air of the night and gently shuts the door behind himself. His nerves are already starting to cool off. That is one thing all of the Losers have in common. All of them have a happy place. A sweet spot. The natural world is Mike's.

He takes a whiff of the air and allows it to fill his lungs. Good.

Mike sits down on the wooden steps and digs his toes into the dirt below him.

Beverly is igniting, Stanley is flying, Richie is itching. It's only a matter of time until someone else loses control.

Mike prays:

Please, God, not me. Not me. Not again.

Oh, but too bad, Mikey, too bad.

Round Two is happening and it's going to bring the thunder.

✨

Stanley Uris lays in bed on his stomach, his bare back facing the ceiling fan, which spins at its fastest speed to cool off his searing back. It feels as though Beverly had lain her hand on his spine and lit him up. His eyes are wide open and his ears listen intently for the familiar thhhwink of his parent's door closing. The sound of safety.

It couldn't come soon enough. Stan flicks his eyes to the clock across his room. Nine fifty-eight. They would be in bed by ten.

Stan continues to clench his fists and tries not to fidget. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could see little flames dancing.

Thhhwink!

"Thank goodness," Stan whispers against his pillow. He relaxes his rigid body, his stomach unclenches and he feels like he can finally breathe again.

He feels the tips of his wings tickle the underside of his skin, asking, begging to be let out. Stan's shoulder blades open up, less painful than last time, and the massive feathered beauties extend outwards, falling against his back.

He smiles. He loves his wings. He loves how they feel against his skin. They're beautiful.

They flutter once, then relax again, testing the air around them.

Stanley Uris is relieved. Every wound up muscle, bone, and tendon in his body loosens and for the first time in days he feels... amazing. Stan gets to his feet and rolls his shoulders back, then forward, then back again.

Oh, boy, does this feel good.

Stan slept the best he'd ever slept that night. Just him, his bed, and his wings.

He slept well, blissfully unaware of the thunder that was rolling in.

a//n : wow... hi? i'm alive? i'm so so sorry for my break! i had (and still have) a lot going on with School right now, and I needed a bit of a break. but this girl is back & (hopefully) better than ever!