childhood trauma has nothing on the losers club--- but after battling a killer clown twice in one lifetime, stan decides enough is enough and wills the universe to let them get some goddamn rest for once.
immediately after IT’s demise, and the collapse of neibolt, the group refuses to let each other out of their sight, and winds up staying together in a nearby motel, sharing one room made up of a handful of beds, and one futon eddie almost immediately claims for himself.
there are plenty of places to sleep regardless of this fact, but many of the group find themselves doubling up that evening. richie winds up crammed on the futon, limbs tangled with eddie’s, both mouths agape with the peaceful rumble of sleep.
bill and mike are propped up against each other, looking like two marionettes with cut strings -- and bev is curled up under mike’s shoulder, her expression finally one of relief rather than the usual concerned frown.
stan observes the other losers with a tired grin before remembering his own mattress-mate. the sleeping form curled up next to him is breathing gently, soft brown hair flopping down over his eyes as he finally finds some reprieve from the hell that’s been their lives. ben looks so-- relaxed for once. stress free. and the thought leaves a warm feeling in stan’s chest.
carding a hand through his own dark curls, stan wishes he could join the others - tries everything he can to will himself into unconsciousness--
his brain is moving a mile a minute despite the world outside remaining completely still and stan can’t help but accept his fate, standing guard over the others instead as sleep tugs at his eyelids but his brain remains cranked up to eleven.
suddenly ben stirs and stan subconsciously folds his arms over his chest, making himself smaller in a feeble attempt to disrupt the other’s rest as little as possible. but stan makes the wrong choice to glance down and suddenly brown eyes are meeting his own.
‘ fuck! -- aw, jesus, ben- you scared the shit outta me. i thought you were asleep. ’
