Work Text:
Stan really needed a smoke.
He's been walking down the empty highway for what feels like months now. The blazing midday sun burned down on him relentlessly, blistering his exposed arms and face.
Stan should've just taken his chances with Rico instead of escaping with a cascade of bullets following him. At least his death would've been quicker.
Stan shook his head. No. He was lucky he escaped. He didn't want that bastard to get the satisfaction of killing him. Let him go down in history as the one single motherfucker who managed to pull one over Rico. Stan chuckled and held his side where his left kidney used to be, blood spurting out of the bullet hole with every move of his chest. Stan Pines. The one that got away.
He hoped Rico was crying over a bucket of ice cream right now.
He grinned, cracking his dried up lips in the process. The taste of iron was almost refreshing. He continued to walk.
left foot.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
wipe the sweat off your brow.
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
An engine roared in the distance and came closer at breakneck speed.
Stan turned around and cursed as the biker hopped off his bike and approached him. He was in no condition to deal with that shit right now.
Maybe the blond asshole was just passing by. What need could he possibly have for someone like Stan?
He continued walking and ignored the biker.
"Stanley Pines." The biker said in a deep voice that sent tingles down his spine.
Stan picked up the pace even though his feet hurt like hell and closed his eyes.
With some luck the guy would just magically disappear if he pretended not to notice him for long enough. Or maybe the man was just an illusion created by his dehydrated mind and if he opened his eyes Stan would be alone again.
Nope. Still there. Fuck.
The biker caught up with him again, which given Stan's pace, wasn't very hard.
"Stanley Pines."
Stan groaned inwardly. Did the voice have to be that annoying? Saying his name like that…a name Stan hasn't heard in such a long time. He hated it.
"You've got the wrong guy." Stan said, looking straight ahead at the endless horizon.
"I don't."
"The guy you're looking for is rotting away in his car in that direction." Stan pointed back to where he came from. The biker followed the motion, gazed into the distance and squinted.
Stan took the opportunity to escape once more and hobbled away.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He needed to be faster if he wanted to get rid of the bastard. His legs, however, had a different idea. Too tired from months of walking, his muscles cramping and his feet bleeding, they could not handle a faster pace and collapsed under him.
Stan let out an agonizing scream as his body hit the ground right where one of Rico's men had given it his best shot to turn Stan into Swiss cheese.
Stan rolled around in pain and clutched the side that was turning sticky and wet concernedly fast. He couldn't afford to lose blood and pass out. It would be the end of him, of that Stan was certain. If he closed his eyes and let the exhaustion take him then he would never see his family again. He would never make those millions and he would never get a chance to apologize to Ford and make it right.
Stan gritted his teeth and pressed down on the wound as hard as he could, willing the blood to stay inside by sheer stubbornness. It hurt like a bitch but at least he was still conscious.
"You're in pain." The biker said and looked down on Stan who was still trying to get his bearings.
"What's it to you?" The words were hard fought. Every single one sending new stabbing pain through his abdomen.
The biker hummed and looked back into the distance again. "Nothing much, I suppose."
Stan rolled his eyes and heaved himself up. Just a bit more. Just a bit further. He could do it. He walked for this long already. He wouldn't let a stupid fall or a dumb blond biker stop him.
Stan groaned in pain as he slowly crawled back on his feet.
"Need some help?" The bastard asked and held out his hand. Stan slapped it away. "Don't fucking touch me!"
The biker had the gall to look dejected at Stan's words.
Stan collected what little strength he had left and stood up. He nodded. Good. Time to continue.
left foot.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
ignore the stalker.
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
"If you aren't Stanley Pines, then who are you?"
ignore the stalker.
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
"What's your name then?"
ignore the stalker.
wipe the sweat off your brow.
breathe.
Shit. It was hot.
"I'll tell you if you turn off the sun."
The biker looked directly into the sun and seemed to consider it.
"Not possible." The useless bastard said after a long moment.
"Then leave me alone."
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
ignore the stalker.
continue.
.
.
.
stop.
breathe.
The stalker was still there. How many days has it been? Stan needed a break. Just a short one, just to check if his feet were still there. Turns out your feet can only handle so many bloody puss filled blisters until they started going numb.
Stan plopped down to the ground, surprising the bastard who looked like a lost child when he realized Stan wasn't next to him anymore. Stan chuckled.
"So, where's the rest of your gang?" Stan asked as he took off his shoes and winced at the damage.
"You know me?" The guy asked, astonished. He looked cute that way, not that Stan would ever admit it. Much unlike the stories he's heard of him and his gang.
"I know of you. I've been on the road long enough to have heard the stories. The songs."
The biker sat down next to Stan and leaned forward. Uncomfortably close.
"Do you believe them?" He asked as he stared into Stan's soul with bright hazel eyes, unnatural in their intensity.
Stan gulped and became very interested in his torn up feet again.
"I'd be an idiot not to."
Stan could feel the guy shift beside him.
"Then why aren't you scared?"
Stan snorted and met the man's gaze once more. The biker was searching for something in his face. For what, Stan wasn't sure.
"What? You want me to shake in my boots before you? Sorry to disappoint. I haven't been able to feel my legs in a long time."
The man blinked and the fire around his pupil dimmed.
"Oh, wait. Let me help." The man said and grabbed Stan's right leg before Stan could muster up any sort of reply.
Stan fell right on his back in a thud and decided that this might as well happen.
He felt oddly at peace watching the empty flaming sky sizzling above him as his feet got prodded.
The feelings came back with a barrage of ants crawling over his skin. Stan bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from squirming and alerting his newly appointed nurse to the change. He wanted to enjoy the warm rough hands on his skin just for a little bit longer.
"Hey, you've ever been to Tijuana?"
The prodding stopped and Stan set back up coming face to face with burning eyes.
"Yes." The being in front of him exclaimed. The word's promise resonated in Stan's soul. His heart sped up. His body shook involuntarily, an instinct etched into his very DNA.
"Your legs are able to shake again, I see." The bastard's grin made his mustache lift up and jiggle. Stan shoved the man's face out of the way with the palm of his hand and used the man's shoulders to heave himself up with his other one. The way the scratchy mustache tingled under his hand long after touching it was pointedly ignored by Stan.
"Let's go. There's still a long way ahead of us." Stan said and took a step forward. The sun was stronger than ever, mercilessly burning up his face and neck.
left foot.
right foot.
left foot.
right foot.
breathe.
left foot.
right foot.
.
.
.
breathe.
"You got a name?"
"If I tell you, will you give me yours, Stanley Pines?
"No."
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
left foot.
right foot.
.
.
.
breathe.
wipe the sweat off your brow.
breathe.
Shit, was it just him or was it getting hotter. Stan's companion looked irritatingly unbothered in his black leather jacket and flaming red bandana.
"Aren't you hot?" Stan asked. He could hardly imagine anyone wearing a leather jacket in this weather not keeling over immediately. The man's steps staggered for just a moment before he caught himself and continued to match Stan's strides.
"I thought you knew who I was."
Stan shrugged.
"That doesn't mean you can't feel the sun burning us alive here."
Stan suppressed a shiver when the man's eyes wandered over Stan's sunburned arms and neck and then to his face. Finally he stopped observing Stan and opted out to once again stare directly at the sun. Crazy bastard. Did Stan really look that bad?
"Burning alive is different than this. Hurts more." The man said and looked at Stan with dim flames flickering around his pupil. He looked ancient.
Oh.
Stan's stomach dropped. He needed to sit down.
"You feel that shit?"
"Yes." The man stated as if he hadn't just confessed to something horrid. His eyes met Stan's and he looked away. "I'm used to it and I can tolerate more than you."
"That doesn't mean you should have to. It's not right."
The man just shook his head at Stan's insistence.
"I hurt others, so I must hurt as well. The exchange is just."
"Bullshit." Stan stopped walking. "Is that why you haven't forced me yet?"
"No." The man continued walking and stared up at the sky. "There is no need."
Stan sighed and hurried forward, matching his steps with his travel buddy's. The small impacts of the jog tore into his flesh and he winced as the bullet wound at his side opened up once more.
"You're in pain again." The man noted in a detached voice, but his eyes softened. "Do you need me to help you with that?"
"No. I'll manage."
The man hummed.
Stan continued.
left foot.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
press down on your side.
wipe the sweat off your brow.
continue.
left foot.
.
.
.
right foot.
stop.
breathe.
press down on your side.
press down harder.
harder.
"Fuck!" Stan groaned as he swayed forward clutching his side. He would've hit the ground hard if it wasn't for his companion's quick reflexes. Despite the heat the old rough leather jacket felt nice under Stan's exposed skin. Strong arms held him steady and lowered him gently to the ground.
"Feels nice." Stan mumbled and leaned his head against the leather. Smelled nice too, of burned firewood and gasoline. The world dimmed around him and a hand went through his messy hair. The soft friction tingled and Stan smiled nuzzling closer.
"Rest now." The low rumble of the voice soothed his mind and he was more than happy to obey and rest. To let the strong protective presence surrounding him take the lead and decide what's best for him.
No more walking without direction. No more torn up feet or bullet wounds. No more lonely nights and endless days searching for redemption and a way to buy himself back into his family. Into his brother's heart. Ford. Fuck.
Stan shot up. He pushed the man off him and scrambled back.
"Let go of me you creep!"
The bastard still held his arms open, frozen in place. His mouth downward, his eyes looking up. The tips of his long eyelashes glistered in the sunlight. Or maybe they were just burning embers, ready to turn into a blazing fire at a moment's notice. Stan felt like kicking him.
"You lost too much blood. You need to rest."
"I need to get away from you." Stan hobbled past him and ignored the way his stalker punched the ground.
"I'm just trying to help."
"I won't fall for your tricks anymore."
left foot.
right foot.
don't stop.
continue.
"Stanley!"
left foot.
right foot.
don't stop.
"Stanley!"
"Not my name!"
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
.
.
.
don't stop.
try to breathe.
don't stop.
don't stop.
Don't stop until you’ve fixed your mistakes. Until you're allowed back home. Until you’ve proofed your worth. Found your worth. Have enough money to distract from how worthless you really are.
Stan rubbed his eyes and continued to walk. What little relief he had left disappeared the moment he rejected his stalkers advances.
Good. It must mean he's safe. Or safer from the guy still walking beside him, completely unaffected by the heat and the hours, days, months, years of walking.
Stan knew he was lying to himself
He hasn't been safe since the moment he lost his home and became what everyone already knew he was.
"So…" Stan started and felt awkward for reasons he did not wish to dissect right now. Or ever. The way the biker looked startled at being addressed again didn't help either. Stan stared at his fingers. Still ten. All burned up and cracked. "I know I'm not a good guy, but shouldn't I be way under your pay-grade?"
"You are."
"Then why come after me?"
The bastard grinned.
"I'm after Stanley Pines. Not you."
Stan huffed and rolled his eyes.
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
left foot.
right foot.
breathe.
look back at your companion.
talk.
"Why are you following me then?"
"You're interesting." The man shrugged.
Stan stared blankly at the guy, who only smiled in response.
huff. roll your eyes.
left foot.
right foot.
left foot.
right foot.
breathe.
look at your companion.
talk.
"And how am I interesting?"
"You keep walking."
huff. roll your eyes.
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
.
.
.
talk.
"Shouldn't you get back to work?"
"I am working."
"You're playing hooky aren't you?" Stan joked.
The biker tensed up.
"No!" He exclaimed defensively.
No way.
Stan stopped and grabbed the man by the arm.
"You're actually skipping work?" His laughter was cut off by the man slamming his hand over Stan's mouth.
"Shut up." The man hissed through gritted teeth and looked around frantically. "She might hear you."
"Who?" Stan's voice was muffled and no matter how hard he tried the hand on his face wouldn't budge. Was all that strength really necessary?
"Will you keep quiet?"
Stan nodded. The man lifted his hand.
"My boss. She's scary." Stan's companion looked terrified and shivered.
"Even for you?"
The biker nodded. "Yes."
Stan patted the man's back.
"Let's go. Maybe we can outrun her."
left foot.
right foot.
left foot.
right foot.
run!
.
.
.
stop.
breathe.
breathe.
breathe.
wipe the sweat off your brow and body.
Okay, so running in this heat wasn't as great of an idea as Stan had thought. No matter how good it felt there for a moment, laughing and running with a partner at his side.
Stan bent over and heaved, trying to catch his breath. His face turned red at the exertion. The hand stroking his back in sympathy was of no consequence.
"Sorry. Bad idea." Stan huffed out and let himself get pulled up.
"Continue?"
Stan wobbled a bit and nodded, thankful for the man keeping him steady on his feet.
"Continue."
left foot.
right foot.
.
.
.
breathe.
lean against your companion.
hobble forward.
left foot.
right foot.
wipe the sweat off your brow.
"Are you sure you can't turn the sun off?
"Yes."
"Damn."
"It needs to set by itself."
"Great. So never."
"What makes you say that?"
Stan sighed, frustrated.
"If you haven't noticed yet, buddy, the sun ain't setting anytime soon."
The man just stared at him.
"Look, I've been walking down this road for ages and the sun hasn't moved an inch." Stan explained further to stop the burning gaze.
"Why do you continue then?"
The fire in the beings eyes only grew fiercer.
"Because I haven't reached the end yet."
The man hummed. "Is that all?"
"No." Stan confessed. This wasn't just about reaching the end and giving up. It's about finding a way out. It's about making millions and the ocean that is calling his name. "I need to apologize to my brother."
"Do you think Stanford will forgive you?"
Stan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I don't know."
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
.
.
.
left foot.
right foot.
lean against your companion/make shift walking stick.
judge him for looking directly at the sun again.
breathe.
continue.
left foot.
.
.
.
right foot
stop.
breathe.
wipe the sweat off your brow.
"Maybe there is a way to turn the sun off after all."
Stan dragged the man's arm closer to himself and urged him to continue.
"How?"
"But the burning heat won't stop and neither will the endless road."
"How? Tell me!"
"Give me your name first, Stanley Pines."
Stan took a step back and let go of the arm he was holding as the leather heated up and small flames began to sprout forward. Looking up, Stan was met with two flaming irises staring right into his soul.
huff. roll your eyes.
slap the idiot over the head.
"Ouch." Stan's walking stick winced and rubbed his head. "What was that for?"
"Stop hurting yourself for dramatic effect."
The flames subsided and the idiot had the nerve to pout.
"As if you're any better." The guy mumbled. Stan refused to comment.
"If you want my name, give me yours first."
The man looked away and stayed quiet. They weren't going anywhere like this. Stan grabbed his walking stick’s arm again and continued.
left foot.
right foot.
left -
"I- we don't have names. We're not allowed to."
stop.
Stan narrowed his eyes. His companion looked away. Ashamed. Stan grabbed on tighter.
"What if you had to choose one? What would it be?" The man put his free hand over Stan's arm that was intertwined with his own and gripped tightly as he whispered.
"Jimmy."
"Jimmy?" Stan repeated. The name was ordinary and almost cute.
"It's the name of someone who doesn't need one anymore."
Stan smiled. "Any last name?"
At this Jimmy perked up.
"Snakes!" He exclaimed proudly.
"Snakes?" Stan snorted. And here he thought they were having a moment.
"I like snakes!" Jimmy defended himself.
"I would've never guessed." The snakes embroidered on Jimmy's leather jacket seemed to wink in response.
"So what is your name?"
Stan faced the endless horizon and considered the answer and all that it would entail.
"I don't have one." He finally said and felt Jimmy's body relax.
"If you had to choose one, what would it be?"
Stan had expected the question, knew the answer, but he wasn't quite ready yet. There is still something left at the end of the road that he's been craving.
"I haven't decided yet. Could you wait for me a little longer?"
"Yes. There is no rush."
continue.
left foot.
right foot.
breathe.
.
.
.
"Will your boss be mad?"
"She'll kill us both."
"Fun."
.
.
.
"So what's your gang like?"
"They're a bunch of idiots."
"…"
"Hey!"
"Tell me about them."
.
.
.
"And that's why I'm technically banned from heaven and hell by the Vatican. Not that I believe in that stuff. Will that be a problem?"
"I'll have to check the rule book…"
.
.
.
"It wasn't your fault."
"I wish I could believe you."
.
.
.
"It wasn't your fault either."
.
.
.
continue.
They walked side by side, arm in arm down the endless highway. Stan has long since lost the need for a crutch, but he didn't mind the closeness. He reveled in it. The warm touch and quiet breathing. Two heartbeats beating in tandem, creating a melody that is known only to them. The knowledge that he was not walking down this road alone. The certainty that the other will find their way back to you even if you get separated and the unwillingness to do so.
The scenery not so much changed around them as took on a new redder hue cast in pleasantly warm light and long shadows.
There, in the horizon, the red color almost one with the sky, stood the car that marked the end of the road.
The closer they got to the end the faster Stan's heart began to beat, as if he had just run a marathon. He untangled himself from Jimmy and collapsed against the rear. The metal was still burning hot even in the dimmed light. It was a miracle it didn't melt in the midday sun. His hands ran over the windows and cracks in the pain of the car that he had called home. It would never run again. The sadness gave away to relief as Stan let go and made his way to the front door.
It was still open. The man was still slumped against the steering wheel, just like he left him.
Stan reached in and pushed the poor sod back into his seat. It wasn't a pretty sight and the smell was even worse. To top it all off Stan was forced to press right into the sticky bloody side if he wanted the body to stay upright. He considered asking Jimmy for help but dismissed the thought immediately. This was his mess to deal with.
He wiped the blood off his hands the best he could and pulled the photo of him and Ford out of the glove box. Not exactly what he was looking for but a close second. Stan leaned back again and mentally steeled himself before getting all in into the dead guys business. He just had to wear the extra tight jeans that day hadn't he? Just to impress the cute motel receptionist who probably forgot his name already.
Stan cursed and tried to squeeze his hand back into the man's pants, trying to keep the body steady with his other.
Stan groaned when he finally touched the beautiful crumpled up package.
"Is everything alright?" Jimmy asked.
In response Stan pulled his small piece of salvation out in one swift motion and cheered in triumph. Finally. Sweet relief.
He leaned back against his car and pulled out the least blood soaked cigarette when he noticed Jimmy staring at the driver's seat.
"Jimmy, meet Stanley Pines. Told you he was rotting in his car."
"That you did." Jimmy said and placed the body, that had slumped forward again, gently back on his seat and closed the door. "Have you decided on a name yet?"
"Yeah." Stan said, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. "Was thinking of Stanley. The poor bastard doesn't need it anymore."
"A good name." Jimmy hummed. "Any last names?"
"Well I always liked trees."
"I'm sure."
"So how does Stanley Pines sound?"
Jimmy stepped closer. "Perfect."
The word was merely whispered but it echoed through the empty road regardless. The breath on Stan's ear gave him goosebumps. If he turned his head just a bit to the right their noses would touch. Stan swallowed hard and waved the cigarette halfheartedly.
"Got any fire?"
"Yes." Jimmy hissed and leaned in, closing the distance with lips made of fire. Stan involuntarily winced in pain as the flames licked at his vulnerable skin, but when Jimmy backed away Stan just pulled him closer. No backing out now.
Stan opened his mouth inviting the flames to enter and tear him apart from the inside. The pain was excruciating, but short lived as his nerves burned away and joined his lover's flames.
"More" Stan tried to say, to beg with what little was left of him, but the only thing that could be heard was the crackling of fire. Words weren't needed. The flames of their bodies carried the message through. Jimmy pressed Stan against the car and intertwined their hands lighting up the rest of Stan's body. It was too much. Too much, the sensations, the pain, the pleasure of being willingly destroyed and remade by his partner.
"Shhh relax." Jimmy hushed and Stan obeyed. He let go of his human form and turned into an inferno.
And then the car exploded.
They rolled off each other and laughed with their freshly formed bodies, still sensitive to the touch.
Stan licked the last remaining embers off his lips.
"I meant the cigarette, you know?" Stan waved the little stick in his hand again.
"Ah, sorry." Jimmy snapped his fingers and the cancer stick began to glim. Stan took a long drag and felt his lungs fill with smoke. Fire was more fun, he decided.
"Thanks."
breathe in the smoke.
breathe out.
watch the sky darken in silence.
.
.
.
breathe in.
breathe out.
"Let's continue. It's getting late."
Stan held out his hand and pulled Jimmy up to his feet.
"Yes, your brother must be getting worried."
"My brother?!" Stan yelled. "Stanford?"
Jimmy nodded and whistled.
"Explain yourself, Jimmy!"
Jimmy shrugged.
"There's not much to explain. He summoned me and ordered me to look for you. It was a rather shoddy spell, easy to break. I never meant to hold up my end of the bargain."
"Shoddy? Stanford's work is never shoddy. Are you sure it was my brother?"
"Yes, your souls share an ocean." Unaware of Stan's aching heart, Jimmy carried on. "But he did seem pretty sleep deprived and I think he lost a fist fight with a mailbox?"
Stan would've laughed if his breath wasn't caught in his throat.
"That, on the other hand, sounds just like him." Stan wiped the tears from his face and observed the setting sun. If his brother asked for him he'd always come running. "So how do we get out of here?"
Jimmy procured a pair of sunglasses from somewhere and stood by the road.
"Hop on." He said and before Stan could ask, a flaming motorcycle came speeding down the highway. Big dark clouds of smoke and fire and lightning followed. It stopped right next to Jimmy who leaned on it like the smug bastard that he was.
breathe.
left foot over the bike.
right foot.
fire up the engine.
"Hold on tight!" Jimmy yelled over the thunder. "We're gonna destroy this thing before it disappears."
And off they went, their bodies once more burning as they aimed their bike straight at the setting sun in a cacophony of howls of pain and laughter.
continue.