Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stanley Pines was a man who got around.

This is by no means an overstatement - he literally has been all over the U.S and then some. 

But when you hear about a guy who 'gets around' are you really thinking about how many tourist attractions the guy has visited?

No, probably not.

Unless you call your ladies tourist traps, you're on the right track.

"A man sow's, so let him reap" - Oscar Wilde

__

[STANLEY POV]

How she even found me I have no god damned idea.

It's like I'm Satan's favorite jester and this is my next big joke.

.

It was already a pretty shit day. 

Whatever higher power decided today should be a low of 98° deserves a demotion.

The Stanmobile was barely purrin' anymore - it was closer to a sickly gurgle if anything.

The poor girl was overheating so badly I was certain she could see the mirages of water on the road with me. 

When we rolled into the most hillbilly town I've ever laid eyes on it was like spotting an oasis in the Sahara. A Shell gas station appeared in a similar fashion to how a waterfall would I imagine.

I felt a spark of will within the El Diablo's motor as she hauled the ramp up to a pump and came to a stuttering halt. She braved the final stretch.

I clambered out about as gracefully as you're imagining and peered out at the rest of the town down the road. I swore I saw a tumbleweed.

I squinted up at the number of my pump. It was pretty simple. It was number one. As in, it was the only pump here. Probably the only pump in this whole town.

Still, I repeated the number over and over again as I paced towards the convenience store entrance. 

A ding announced my arrival, to the numerous patrons of course (there were none) as I stepped within. 

I stood in the doorway long enough to have the door hit me from behind, ushering me inside. Stumbling, I made my way to the front desk and leaned against it.

I took note of the displays around me, food, cigs, snacks, you name it. Everything was just out in the open, no clerk in sight.

So, faking a yawn, I took the opportunity to look for a surveillance camera within the store. Couldn't see one and figured they hadn't made their way into this towns culture yet. 

I snagged a Babe Ruth bar, a packet of cigarettes, a Big Leauge chew, and a 20 dollar bill from the tip jar, shoving it all into my pockets

Only then did I ring the shiny bell atop the counter. 

I rang it again for good measure.

.

.

It was a long moment before an older woman strolled out of the back, looking pretty astonished at the sight of me. She simply walked up and stared at me from behind the counter.

"Devilishly handsome, I know." I tried to break the awkwardness forming between us.

No response.

I brought out the wrinkled 20 from my pocket and placed it on the counter. 

"Pump one. Uhh,, gimme lotto with the change. Number five looks good." I said, tapping on the glass where the number 5 lotto ticket was displayed.

Snapped out of her haze, she began to ring me up.

I looked over my shoulder at the aisles behind me. 

"Got anything cold?" I asked, not looking back to her.

"There's a cooler in the back." She said slowly, typing in the price of the lotto into her register. 

"Thanks." 

__

Maybe the day wasn't so shitty afterall.

I managed to snag a pack of cigs, a Babe Ruth, a Big Leauge Chew, and an Ice-cream sandwich in one stop. It was the only thing that could fit in my pocket. 

And on top of that, $8.75 of change. Score.

.

I pet the dashboard lovingly as I drove through the town, chewing a quickly melting ice-cream sandwhich. 

The sun began to set, making everything the color of gold. I imagined selling every brick of some sun-stained building before I realized something.

It was a motel.

A bright LED sign in the window read in bold red letters: Air Conditioning. As if I had been blessed by some higher power. 

I pulled into the parking lot as the sun began to dip below the horizon. 

.

Some haggling later and I got a room. It wasn't the Ritz, but it was a room. It might as well be the Ritz with how welcoming the AC was, like it was part of the staff itself.

I spent longer than I'd like to admit just sitting in front of the AC vent. For dinner I had a Babe Ruth and a cigarette, but even then I felt good.

I laid on the bed, making out shapes in the popcorn ceiling to fall asleep that night. The first decent day in a long list of horrible ones. Maybe this day was as good as it gets.

.

.

__

BANG BANG BANG 

It was the door. I shot up facing the clock on my night stand, the back numbers plastered against a white background. 

[11:28pm]

I couldn't have one good day.

__

Chapter Text

Do I believe in Storks? 

If I did, this definitely Isn't how I'd picture it.

___

[STANLEY POV]

"Alright, alright!" Stanley scrubbed a hand down his face, scratching at his neck as he got up from his bed.

One back popping stretch later and he was making his way to the door, grumbling all the while. He slid on his boots quickly as he approached the door.

He cant make out anything through the peep hole due to his bleary state, so he reaches for the bolt lock and handle. "And here I thought housekeeping was-"

He opens the door. "- ... discreet." 

.

.

There's.. a woman standing there. She's furious. A familiar expression, especially on her face for some reason.

Stanley's gaze drifts downwards, following the length of the woman's arm.

She's holding the hand of a small girl. The girl doesn't look to thrilled to be here, a tired pout on her lips as she tries her hardest not to lean on what he presumes to be her mothers leg.

Her head is a mess of thick brown curls, that's the most Stanley can discern from above.

"I knew it was you!" The woman barked out suddenly jabbing a finger at Stanley.

"I could recognize that god forsaken car anywhere!" The sudden yelling surprised both Stanley and you.

"Thought you'd never see me again, huh? Thought I wouldn't-" 

Stanley was quick to cut the woman off, holding his hands up.

"Woah woah woah lady, easy," he started, rubbing an eye in exhaustion. "Ya probably got the wrong guy. Happens to the best of us." He began, remaining passive.

That only seemed to enrage her further.

"Are. You. Kidding me?!" She exclaimed, getting all up in Stanley's face. "You don't even remember me that's how stupid you are." She hissed, words like venom. "You have no idea how long I've been looking for you after what you did you son of a bitch." Her voice dropped into somewhat of a snarl.

Stanley looked a little shocked. "Eh.. listen toots.. I really don't know what you're gettin' at, but, I'm sure we could work this out-" 

"-Work this out? Please, don't make me laugh." She said, dripping with sarcasm as she cut him off.

"News flash, Stan, Not everything works out!" She was quick to start talking hysterically again. 

Stanley watched  with a stunned expression, mouth opening and closing in hopes a chance to speak his mind would come. 

It never did.

"You fucked around and never had to deal with it! But I did!" At that, she yanked on the small girls arm and pulled the kid infront of her, in-between Stanley and her.

"Look at her, Stan." She reached down and tilted the girls head up with a tight hold on her chin. The little girls eyes were red and puffy, glassy with tears as she sniffled.

Stanleys face dropped at the sight, for reasons he didn't know quite yet. He figured he just didn't like seeing the poor thing upset. "Look, lady-"

"-Look at your daughter." 

.

.

Okay what the fuck.

.

.

"Now is it clicking? Making sense in that thick skull of yours?!" The rest of the woman's words drowned out with the ringing in Stanley's ears.

Daughter?

This had to be some sick joke.

Deep down he knew it wasn't. 

Oh god dammit, Stanley, what did you do. 

He can hear his mother now, chastising him for being so reckless.

'How could you do this to some poor girl you knew and run off, Lee?' He hears his mother say. 'Didn't I raise you better?'

'First of all, Ma',  I don't know her, and secondly, sure, I get a little trigger happy someti-' His imaginary self is smacked upside the head by his mother before he can finish that sentence. Well deserved.

Its not like he recognized the lady or anything. Hell, he couldn't guess her name if he tried. But he knew a Pines when he saw one. 

That girl was his.

The girl was crying in her mothers hold. Not like before- but full on crying now. Fat tears rolled down her reddened cheeks as she sobbed. He watched her little hands try and pry her way out of her mothers grip. 

He glanced up to the lady, she was mouthing something he couldn't hear. The ringing in his ears was so loud.

He was so stiff, what did he do? What did he say? How did he- 

thud.

.

The mother had pushed his daughter away from her, and the girl stumbled into Stanley's leg.

She stumbled and plopped onto the ground with a hiccup and sob, crying louder and louder the more the lady spoke to Stanley. He could hear her again.

"-So take her! She's yours anyway." The lady took a step back as the girl tried to grab onto the hem of her dress, crying all the while.

Stanley, previously frozen, looked up in shock. "What?! You can't be serious-" 

"Do something good for once Stan and take her off my hands." She scowled at the both of you. She took a step back, almost reaching the pavement of the parking lot. The girl was still crying in a labored manner, mostly saying versions of 'mama' and 'mommy'. 

"Listen ah.. Becky-? Sarah? uh, Jessy-? Toots- listen toots, you gotta listen to me: I can't-" 

"Can't what, Stan? I had to carry that little shit for nine months, then had to care for her for four years. What can you not do?" She looked down at their daughter regrettably. "What a waste of time." She murmured.

"I- I don't- you can't-" Stanley was at a loss, what did he do? What could he do?

"Do what you want, Stan, but don't make it my problem." She said sternly before turning and making a mad dash for her car.

"HEY!" Stanley barked out. the girls cries only got worse the farther her mother practically ran away.

Stanley moved after her, leaving the girl at the door sobbing on the sidewalk outside of the room.

He got to the hood of her car when she began to reverse.

He kicked it just as she pulled out of reach. "Some stork you are!" He yelled after her. 

"Fuck!" He kicked the ground, sending a few stray pebbles flying.

She sped out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

He stood in the parking lot under a street lamp, chest heaving as he spiraled. 

oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

.

The girl's cries filled the quiet night air, the sound of her mothers car getting more and more distant by the second. 

He slowly turned around, seeing the yellow light spill from his doorway and illuminate the little girl crying on his doorstep.

He started moving without forethought, slow and long strides being made towards her. 

He stepped up onto the side walk.

she was crying for her mama.

her sobs were broken and crackly in her throat as she wheezed out some of them. 

He watched, stunned.

He didn't have experience with this.

He didn't want experience with this! Him and Ford were the babies of the family not Shermie!

He dropped carefully to his knees, like approaching a stray animal.

Her cries were getting weaker by the second. She was hunched in a little ball, facing the pavement.

"Hey.." He started when she was sniffling between cries. His hand twitched at his side, wanting to move as he shifted to sit criss cross. 

She stopped sniffling for a moment, poking her head out from the cover of her forearms to peer at him.

Hot tears still streamed down her face, and she was still hiccuping out sobs, but now she was looking at him.

"It'll.. uh. It'll be okay." Stanley started awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck to busy his hands.

She watched him, rubbing her long pajama shirt sleeve over her wet and snotty face as she shook with cries. 

Stanley watched her with a small crinkle of his nose but otherwise remained indifferent. Nobody was a pretty crier.

He felt small under her gaze. It was funny almost.

What caught him off gaurd the most was when she tried to talk through her sobs.

"Is- is momma coming ba-ck?" Her voice cracked and paused as she sucked in air the best she could to talk. Her efforts weren't futile, but Stanley barely understood her.

She didn't even consider who he was, she just wanted her mom.

.

.

"I don't know." He admitted, feeling about as lost as she looked.

She began to cry harder.

Stanley panicked, watching her with dread. He feared he did something wrong, said the wrong thing, it was a talent almost.

"Hey hey- it's okay, it's okay I promise." Stanley began to quickly blurt out nonsense. Was he actually promising something? To a child nonetheless?

"Im sorry- I didn't mean to, I shouldn't have- forget I said anything okay?" Stanley tried to reason desperately with a four year old.

She still cried, but made an effort to listen to him. She was getting quieter again.

.

Stanley decided in this moment, he needed to distract her.

"Your mo- ahem.." Distract, not distraught!

"I heard you were four.." He started awkwardly. "That's, uh.. a big one, huh?" 

She drew her knees close to her chest, sniffling into them. Your nodded against them slowly, hiding your face.

"...When's your birthday?" He asked.

.

You looked up and blinked at him, then looked down and started toying with a weed growing through a crack in the pavement.

"December.." She murmured quietly, muffled between her knees. "one, five." She added quietly, and he assumed she meant the fifteenth. Isn't that freaky. 

"Oh, so you're.. not four yet?" He said, thoughtfully. "almost, though." 

She made a sound of agreement.

.

"Ya got a name?" He pried gently.

She propped her chin on her knees, hugging them close. She regarded him skeptically, but so far stranger danger really hadn't clicked with her. However, the question of her name made her closed off for a moment.

She said nothing.

"..Allllright then, no name." He said quietly, looking outrageously uncomfortable and out of his element, but he was trying so hard.

She seemed pretty calm now, so it was time to pop the big question.

Something in him needed to get her inside. Wanted to make sure she was somewhere safe - or, safer than out here. 

But, could she really be safe if she was with him? 

He felt conflicted. Never once had he felt a responsibility like this before. He could lie, cheat, and manipulate for hours on end, but what did that mean in the face of caring for a little girl?

"It's hot out here, huh?" He started, voice rough unintentionally.

She hummed in agreement.

"Wanna come inside? There's AC. Uh- it's cooler." He nodded behind the both of them, waiting for her answer. 

She regarded him quietly, sniffling and rubbing her nose before nodding.

Stanley looked relieved, for a moment. When he got up, however, she didn't follow.

"You uh. You alright there?" He asked her, stepping behind her to get closer to the door.

She didn't answer, just hummed in acknowledgment.

He stared at her for a long moment in response.

.

.

"It's uhm. Right behind you." 

.

.

"Uh-huh." She hummed.

.

"Soo... what's up then?" He asked, looking downright confused.

She looked away, shuffling her shoes together on the sidewalk.

Stanley arched a brow. "I'm a little rough on my mind reading, so I'd like a little help." He gestured to her. She felt like a puzzle.

"..." 

"I'm scared" She whispered quickly, speaking quietly into her knees. Stanley didn't hear you.

"Huh?" He encouraged you to speak up.

She looked up at him, the small frown on her face that has been there since they met has turned into a half pout. She curled up impossibly tighter, glancing at him wearily. She looked exhausted.

"I'm scared," She said, stating it louder this time.

Stanley sorta stared for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Oh.. ya are?" He rubbed the back of his neck. Of course she was, her mother just dropped her off with some random guy and, for all she knows, isn't coming back.

"Mhm.." She hummed, looking on the verge of tears again - not that she really had stopped, but, she had calmed down exponentially in the past minute or so.

Stanley glanced between her and the open door, running a hand through his greasy hair as his face flickered between many different emotions.

His eyes settled on her when he lowered himself once more. Letting out a soft grunt as he settled at her side. 

"..I'm scared too." He admitted, looking a little out of place even saying that. "Ehh.. maybe not the same way but ya get the gist." He said, mostly to himself.

"Me being scared is, like, you being scared just... Totally different..

   ..N' all that jazz." 

Man that was bad.

.

.

She didn't show any signs of comfortability after his words.

"-Look." Stanley started quickly. "What I'm trying to say is- it's.. it's okay to be scared." He really hoped his words would work. "And, and- If I'm scared too, then we can be scared together."

At that she pivoted around, facing him in the light.

"..you mean it?" She asked quietly. 

He got a better look at her now, the golden light illuminated her damp cheeks and red nose.

He looked at the other characteristics about her - 

  Curly brown hair, like his

  Brown eyes, like his too

  Her eyebrows were thick

  She had a few freckles as well

It was a little unnerving, seeing so much of him in this girl. He could see her mom too, sure, but seeing a spitting image of himself in a child he met just moments ago was captivating almost. 

"Yea.. yea I mean it, kiddo." He said, bracing a hand on his knee as he heaved himself up with a grunt.

He watched as she pulled herself up. She really was a little thing, it made his heart ache remembering how she looked just seconds ago, crying.

.

.

"Uhhmmm..." She rocked on her heels as you glanced behind him, giving the room a curious look. She looked up at him, regarding him differently now - he hoped.

"Can you carry me?" She asked, smally.

He stared at her, startled. "Carry..?"

"Uh-huh" She said, looking up at him.

"Aren't you.. a little old for that?" He asked, awkwardly. 

"No..!" She said with sudden insistence.

"Okay, well, I'm not.. uh, an expert or anything." He said when she lifted her arms up and he sorta just stood there cluelessly.

"Its easy," She said, totally reassuringly.

"Right, easy." 

He reached down and grabbed her under the armpits, hoisting her up onto his chest with ease. She had a tough time wrapping around him securely though, her little legs didn't do much but her arms wrapped around his neck fine.

He supported her with a forearm under her and a hand across her back.

"You good..?" He asked hesitantly.

"Yea, m'good." She muttered into his shoulder, propping her chin up on it.

"thanks,"

"Ah, yea, no problem." He grunted before pivoting and walking tentatively inside, closing the door behind him by kicking it with his foot.

Chapter Text

Why the rizz is no one reading this it's literally peak

Stanley is used to leaving things behind.

Obligations, problems, family. 

But who in their right mind would leave you?

Well.. your mother I guess.

__

[STANLEY POV]

She weighed nothing to him really.

It was easy to compare her weight to how he felt hauling his duffle bag around school for boxing when he was younger.

It was a comforting thought.

He stepped inside his motel room just enough to kick the door closed behind him. 

He turned to lock it once more, unintentionally giving her a moment to peek at the motel room. 

When he turned around, he let out a long breath he didn't know he was holding. The silence of the room enveloped the two of them - only the AC and her occasional sniffle could be heard.

"Welp, here we are." He patted her back and all you did was sigh.

"Not the Ritz, I know." He chuckled for his own sake. 

"But.. Mi casa, es su casa." He trailed off, trying to ease his nerves with a tentative and tight smile.

He peered around the room, suddenly getting hit with a wave of self-consciousness. 

Did she like the room?

How different was it from when she lived with her mother?

Did she make more money than him? Well that wasn't really hard - 

.

  Was he seriously thinking about this?

"Don't worry, kid." He started moving his way over to the queen sized bed in the middle of the room. He made a little 'hup' sound when he set her down on it, her legs dangling over the edge. "It's.. only temporary." 

She laid her hands in her lap and slumped, looking up at him with a head tilt. 

Of course, she probably didn't know what that meant.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. He wasn't the English teacher type. "Oh, uhm, it means I- we won't be here for- ah.. forever." Stanley straightened up, moving a step back as if to take everything in.

Maybe if he got far enough away she'd disappear. He ended up just bumping into the dining table.

She idly kicked her legs against the mattress. He just now noticed her little color-block sneakers, they looked a little silly with her pajama set.

Suddenly Stanley was aware of the fact she only had pajama clothes with her.

"Not forever?" She asked, looking around curiously. Her eyes caught on a couple bags of his own before dragging back to him.

.

He dragged a chair out from the dining table that came with the room and faced the back of it towards her. He straddled it to sit down, crossing his arms on the top of the chair and resting his chin there.

"Why? You wanna stay?" He asked, his voice a bit lighter as he regarded her. 

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, looking around again. "Uhhmmm," 

"I.. think it's okay to stay" She responded finally, looking like she misunderstood the question.

It was probably the most words she's spoken together to him in a sentence. She looked at him with an almost guilty look, for reasons he didn't know. "You don' gotta go from your home if you don' wanna." 

.

Oh.

She thought he lived here, of course.

Did you think he wanted to leave now? Because she arrived?

"Oh, kid- I don't live here. It's a motel." He said gruffly, suppressing a look of amusement, instead wearing a sad lopsided smile.

Again, she looked confused. "A.. Motel?" She questioned.

God damn how did his Ma do this?

"Oh, well, it's a place..." He sighed, scrubbing his face tiredly.

  "It's a place where guys go when there's,, nowhere else to go. A place to rest." He said slowly.

Moses, with the way she was looking at him he might as well have invented the damn thing.

"It's home for now." He finished quietly.

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding along like a profound scholar. "I think Momma has a motel. Lots of motels!" She commented, looking lost in thought before turning back to him "How long is it home?" She asked curiously.

He watched her look past him, then around herself, taking everything in. He couldn't help but watch. He also couldn't help but wonder what she meant, her mom? having a motel? Maybe she meant plural motel rooms, and maybe she wasn't as well off as he thought she was. He had a feeling he knew what the kid was implying, however. 

"Not long, kid." He assured. 

Her face was like a tiny mirror, he saw too much of himself there. It terrified him. Reminded him that this was reality, and right here infront of him wasn't just a responsibility.

It was his daughter.

.

The AC and mattress kicking filled silence stretched on for what felt like forever. 

The taunting of the vents sounded like a challenge to get one of them to speak up first. Maybe he was just paranoid.

Surprisingly enough.. it was her. She decided to speak first.

.

"Momma said y'ure my dad." She blurted out, her voice just loud enough to be heard.

.

She seemed to have a permanent frown on her face, and for some reason Stanley found that deeply upsetting. He tried to imagine what she'd look like smiling, using himself as a reference. He couldn't think of anything.

Stanley blinked at her, leaning back on the creaky chair and rubbing his neck. His eyes averted from her.

"Uh yea. She said that, yea." Stanley responded in a sigh, bringing his hands back infront of him to mess with his fingers.

.

"Soo.. Are you?" She asked in such a quiet way it was enough to drag his gaze back to her.

He felt his jaw clench at the sight of her sitting on the bed, disheveled, exhausted and confused, her eyes searching him for any signs that he could give her solace.

Sadly, he wasn't the type to carry solace on him.

He was the type to leave someone high and dry. No matter who they were to him. She probably wasn't an exception to this little talent either.

He could imagine it now, persuading himself that she was Ford's kid and driving her back to his folks place, forging a letter to his parents in his brothers handwriting, begging them to take his child. He saw himself dropping her off on their doorstep and running, leaving them convinced that their golden grandchild was a reality - 

But part of him was extremely against the idea. He wasn't going to make more problems for his family, he did enough of that already.

.

"..Yea. I am." He said, looking away in guilt.

Maybe it was the fact that he knew his old man would be the father figure in her life if he did do that to her.

Maybe it was a inner longing to prove something to his family, to anyone, that he could be just as good as the man his father wanted him to be, and maybe even better. And what's a better way to prove your capable than raising a child?

So maybe it was pride that made him decide in that moment that she was now his probl- responsibility. 

He was not about to start this off by calling her a problem.

"I.. never had a dad before." She said in innocence.

He smiled sadly, shaking his head as he cleared his previous thoughts of getting rid of her. They didn't leave completely. "Nah, kid. You've had a dad for a long time.. he just.." he trailed off, looking at her expectant expression with a tight frown.

He sighed again, looking away.

"He just didn't know he was one." His voice was small.

"Oh." She looked to be pondering his words.

.

"M'sorry nobody said y'ure my dad." She concluded, looking a little put off by his cryptic tone. And honestly he couldn't blame her for it.

"..No worries, kid." He said curtly, growing increasingly uncomfortable by the second.

This whole night felt like a blur. 

How did this even happen in the span of what, 25 minutes? Longest damn 25 minutes of his life.

Fuck the guy that said 'time flies when you're having fun'. He shoulda said 'time slows when your daughter who you didn't know existed 30 minutes ago is placed into your lap by a one-night stand'. 

Okay it's a mouthful but he knows if he made it a bumpersticker atleast one poor sucker would buy it.

[...]

Her dad had been zoned out for a long moment as the night caught up to him, leaving her in a tense silence.

She managed to slide yourself off the bed, taking slow and careful steps toward him with a concentrated look. She was worried that he was upset now. Was it her fault?

She tapped his forearm atop the back of the chair, wanting his attention.

"...dad?" 

He blinked, focusing in on her with a sudden seriousness that startled her.

"Don't-" He started sternly, and a bit loud, looking at her in a way that had her wondering whether he was angry or scared. Either way, it made her snatch her hand back when he began to stand, putting distance between the two of them. 

He sighed loudly, pinching his nose. "You shouldn't.. call me that." He said, stepping away from the chair and pushing it back under the dining table.

He looked anywhere but at her, the walls suddenly capturing his interest.

She looked down to the floor. "M'sorry." She murmured.

"You-" He started again, but stopped himself.

He looked down to her, his hand hesitating at his side to reach out, instead forming a fist to keep in place. "It's.. no biggie," he restarted.

Did he want to hit her?

She watched him kneel down to her, in response she lowered her chin further and inched herself back.

.

"Hey.. don't do that, kid." He said, his gruff voice breaking into something soft that sounded unnatural whenever he used it.

"Come on.." He sounded awkward. 

"I'm sorry for gettin' loud. Don't make me feel worse -" His voice was quiet and pleading, it made her look up to him.

He looked hurt, it made her feel bad because she made him feel bad. 

she blinked, struggling with holding his gaze.

"I'm sorry." He said again.

"I'm.. not good at this." 

She remained silent, a little sniffle leaving her that she tried to disguise.

"Oh jeez-" looks like it didn't work. "I can't make you cry again," he looked down and shook his head, slapping his palm against his face and rubbing it downwards. 

"Man I'm just on a roll, huh?" He asked her, but it sounded like it was directed elsewhere.

She took a shuddering breath. "M'sorry for, for crying," She managed to say shakily, fighting a sob that wanted to escape her.

She really didn't want him to be mad at her, or upset with her, or hurt her, she just wanted everybody to be okay.

"Wh-what? No- no, don't be sorry." He insisted, his voice pleading. His hands reached out to hold her shoulders quicker than his head could tell him not to touch her, encasing them. 

She blinked rapidly at the contact, tensing but remaining still. 

"Don't be sorry about this- this is my fault. I really don't know what to do here, kid, but- but I really don't want to make you cry. It makes me feel like shhh-" He draw out the 'h', looking considerably panicked for a moment.

 "Hhhtupid. Makes me feel stupid. And uhm. Bad."

.

She wiped a sleeve under her nose, keeping her eyes lowered. "..Y'ure not stupid.." She said smally.

"Mm.. I dunno. You'd be surprised." He let out a self-deprecating chuckle, but looked relieved when she finally looked up at him. Baby steps.

"I don' think so," She said, with a little more insistence. She was distracted from her previous sorrows enough to bring up both of their moods.

"Whatever you say, kiddo." He held up both of his hands in defeat, giving her a half-assed shrug and a small smirk. 

.

"Hmph," She crossed her little arms, tilting her nose up and away, looking like that admission wasn't enough for her. 

"What? Whaddya want me to say?" He asked, a small chuckle leaving him at her display.

She looked back to him with narrowed eyes before declaring her reply. "I wan you to say, 'My name is..' uhm.."

"..Stan Pines." He offered his name hidden in a cough to help her out which earned him a huff.

"-'that, and I am not stupid.' " She looked at him expectantly, lips pressed into a thin line and hands moving to her hips.

"Ya' serious?" He asked, actually looking a little put off.

"Mhm." She hummed.

"C'mon- what?" He let out a nervous airy chuckle, looking around like there was a crowd.

"If you do it.. I will never ever cry..

  ever.. in forever.. again.

     But you hafta mean it."  She insisted.

[...]

Stan looked at her desperately when she pointed a commanding finger at him.

He sighed, defeatedly. "..Promise?" He had a feeling that wasn't possible, but his fatherly urges wanted to humor you.

She nodded vigorously. "Promisse."

He opened his mouth to begin when she reached out and moved his hand to rest over his heart. "Wait!" It was like he was taking the pledge in school. "You can go now." She said proudly.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, looking away from her as he spoke. "My name is Stan Pines.." 

He trailed off, peeking down at her. She nodded encouragingly "uh-huh.." Her voice raised expectantly.

"...and I'm not.." He looked down at her again, pleading her with his eyes.

   "Do I really have to do-?"

"Yes! You do, or you don' mean it..!" She said with grave urgency.

He grumbled.

   "...and I'm not stupid." 

.

  "Happy?" He asked with a flat look.

His daughter, on the other hand, smiled. Like, genuinely.

She looked pleased for the first time tonight.

"Yep!" She looked proud of herself.

And God if that wasn't a heart-melting sight.

His expression dissolved at the sight, his furrowed eyebrows relaxing and his jaw releasing its tightness. 

   When he imagined her smiling, it was nothing like this. It didn't make him feel like this at all. What was this?

He simply reached out and ruffled her hair.

"Good." 

.

Chapter Text

How do parents do this whole bed time thing?

I mean, with this one I feel like chloroform would have a better effect than anything I plan to do. 

___

[STANLEY POV]

This little girl was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it. 

Or, at least, the ruin to his perfect sleep schedule. (C'mon bro we know that's a lie)

Either way, Stanley knew the topic of sleeping was approaching for the both of them, but surprisingly, he was mostly worried about her lack of a bed more than anything else. 

He tried to imagine asking her where she wanted to sleep. He'd take the couch if he had to.

Now, he knew nothing about kids, but he knew stereotypes, and he remembered vaguely what he was like as a boy. Him and Ford would do anything to get out of bedtime, and even with a low success rate, they'd do it anytime they thought they had to.

Maybe she would be like him in that way too.

Like she and him didn't have enough similarities. Honestly, he didn't want to have to deal with that if the time came. He didn't think he'd handle it as gracefully as Ma'.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, ball to heel, rubbing a hand over the expanse of his neck under his hair.

He found his hair was damp there, drawing his hand back with a grimace and wiping it subtly on his already beaten and battered shirt. He was sweating - chasing a car will do that to you.

But, inwardly, he was aware the situation in itself was making him sweat.

   Situation as in her.

       She and her connection to him.

            It was making him sweat.

He felt grossly overwhelmed.

He looked down at her, in which he found she had been looking up at him for probably most of the time he had been up in his head.

Before she could let any little word out from her mouth, he felt the sudden urge to rid himself of his awkward humidity and moved past her - further into the room - approaching the AC unit.

It was nothing shmancy.

But damn if it didn't feel like heaven itself.

It was just a little rattling white box sitting in the motel rooms only window. It rested between the wall and the bed, making the fit a little tight but not one he couldn't get used to. It was nothing like previous spaces he had to fit into.

Stanley held a hand out to feel the cool wind first, making a sound of approval before beginning to lower himself down to the ground. He propped himself up against the wall the window was on happening to sit at the perfect height to where his neck received the onslaught of air leaving the small vent.

He reached a hand behind his head, holding up his hair as he let's it chill his neck.

He kept his legs bent at the knee with a satisfied sigh, closing his eyes slowly as he trys to regain composure. 

He heard the distinct sound of her approach, opening an eye when he heard her stop.

There she was, at his side, looking at him almost the same exact way - now a little curious herself.

"What're you doing?" She asked, peeking at his hair. Seeing her at the same height as him was a bit weird, even if he was sitting. It Didn't feel natural at all. Hell- what about this night was natural?

". . Coolin' down." Stanley grunted, closing his eye again. Just close your eyes and it will all go away. 

Now, Stanley was a grown man, but sometimes convincing yourself everything was just a bad dream isn't that bad of an idea.

Sleep was tugging at him, and as far as he was concerned, sleeping on the floor wasn't below him.

He could feel her eyes on him, it made him tense. He felt like he was being scrutinized by a four year old.

"Okay," She answered blandly, it was surprising. She sounded like she had made up her mind about something. He refused to put in the effort to open his eyes.

Was his temperature the deal breaker?

   Was she leaving? Where would she go?

He couldn't just let her walk out the door, she was a little kid, his little kid, how could he know she'd be okay-

He took a moment to reel himself back in.

"Okay..?" He mimicked, panicked enough to open an eye again. Instead of being met with the sight of her walking to the door and reaching for the handle - she was shuffling to sit down next to him. 

She braced herself with a hand on his knee, plopping herself down unceremoniously against his side and letting her head hang.

She sighed like it was some great effort, sitting against him like it was practiced. 

He felt himself stiffen, his breaths instantly staggered as he looked down to her with widened eyes. He forced his eyebrows to lower as he swallowed nervously. His hand faltered, letting his hair fall back on his neck as he refused to make any alternative movements beyond breathing and dropping his hand to his side.

.

.

"What.. what's up?" He asked, bravely.

She said nothing for a long moment, all he could see of her from above were her shoes tapping against eachother, swaying back and forth on their heels upon the carpet floor.

"I wanta cool down too." She admitted, trying to act casual with a shrug. It was hard from her position he imagined. 

Her head lolled to rest between where his arm met his body, just under his bicep. She sighed again, looking to be trying to copy the way he was sitting, she brought her knees to her chest to mimic him.

Okay now he couldn't breathe. 

   He could disturb this moment! Disturb her more importantly.

.

"Well-" He swallowed thickly, clearing his throat. "-your not gonna get any air down there, kid." He chuckled, experimentally. He didn't like how much his chest moved her head when he did.

She shifted, shoulders slumping. "What?? why?" Her arms flew up to display her exasperation. He watched her turn to face him, pivoting in place, looking up him for answers. 

An awkward smile broke out on his face, a little chuckle leaving him as he moved aside to reveal the AC unit behind his head, resulting in cold air beginning to assault the side of his face. "Ya' need this thingy." 

He tapped it with a finger. It rattled in response.

She stared at him, watching his hair be annoyingly blown into his face by the air leaving the machine. 

She looked astounded for a second, before her eyes narrowed again. She pulled herself up with a curious air about her, peering up at the box off to the side of his head. She was just tall enough to where the curls atop her head were being blasted by the cool air. She tried getting on her tiptoes, using Stanley's shoulder as a balancer with her hand. Even then, only her forehead was receiving the onslaught of air.

She dropped back down to the heels of her feet, a pout forming on her face.

Stanley felt his awkwardness simmer slightly, invoking an amused smile to form on his face. He hid it quickly when she looked up to him.

" ..Want some help?" He asked when she refused to meet his gaze.

He watched her little arms sway at her sides, and if it wasn't for the buoyancy of her curls, he would've missed her little nod.

Stanley suppressed a laugh, shaking his head to try and discourage it from leaving him.

"Okay, let's see-" 

Stanley shifted, turning around in place on the floor with a series of effort filled grunts.

Now he was up against the bed, still crammed between the wall but now she was looking at him with great interest.

He had to get innovative! 

"C'mere," He held out his hand, gesturing for her to move over with him.

She took the step over, giving him a tentative glance but still remained trusting.

He made sure his knees were down as far as they could be in the small space, pressed against the wall, then reached out to her with his other hand aswell.

"I need ta' uh, pick you up." He said, giving her a hopeful look - as much as he could anyway. "s'that okay?" He kept his hands out, reaching for her but not advancing any further.

She gave him a quick look over before nodding. He quickly contained his relief and tried to remain nonchalant. 

Okay here it goes - 

  Stanley's hands moved to her underarms, quickly hoisting her up with a 'hup' sound. Her legs lifted up, assisting him as he lifted her infront of his knees to rest up against his calves. Her feet were placed upon his, basically standing on his shoes if it weren't for her sitting back on his knees. Now all he could see of her was her back and above.

He made sure to leave his hands at her sides to asure she keep her balance. 

"Ah!" She let out a sound of surprise as the air began to hit her face, her hands raising to try and.. attack it away? He had no clue but her head was turned to the side and her face was scrunched up.

Stanley began to laugh at the sight infront of him, his laugher bubbling into a warm chuckle.

"Hang on, hang on-" 

Stanley moved a hand from her side, leaning up, and placed it a few inches infront of her face, blocking the air with the expanse of it. 

"There-"

She refused to turn her head back, her expression remaining scrunched and taught.

"You okay?" Stanley asked slowly. She soon gave him a stiff nod.

Great, he tries to do something nice and it backfires - typical.

He felt his lips press into a thin line, his eyes scanning the expanse of her face, trying to come up with something.

"..You still want to cool down?" At her reluctant hum of agreement, he leaned to the side to look at his hand, then her face, trying to get a good read on her. "I won't let too much air hit you, 'kay?" 

She opened your eyes just a smidgen to give him a glance behind her, her face still scrunched up. Her arms came down to brace herself on his knees as she thought it over. "..okay." She said slowly.

She turned her head back to face his palm, it looked like a great effort from back here.

Stanley let out a breath of air he didn't know he was holding, relief flooding through him. He really felt like anything with her was be like walking on thin ice. The thought of receiving contempt from her was enough to scare the ever loving out of him. 

"Okay," he drew in a steeling breath, one hand of his still remaining as an anchor for her at her side. He began to move his other hand, the one infront of her face, slowly opening up his fingers in order to let some of the air come through the gaps.

He felt her stiffen but she remained brave, welcoming the feeling tentatively.

As the air whisked through his fingers,  traveling along her face and through her curls, she began to tremor.

Stanley immediately closed his fingers up, internally and externally panicking. "Hey, hey, you okay?" He asked quickly. God he had a talent for screwing the pooch.

.

She began to giggle. 

"It tickles.." She said softly, bringing a hand up to scrub it across her face and berid herself of goosebumps.

.

  Her 'tremors' were giggles. But only now did she decide to make them audible. She was gonna give him a heart attack.

He sighed, feeling as if tonight had given him too many emotions already.

"Yea?" He asked, his voice gaining a new air of exhaustion as he let his head loll back against the side of the bed he was propped against. The mattress felt like heaven.

He slowly opened his fingers once more, just slivers between the digits, letting the air flow through them again.

She started to giggle again, more pronounced this time. 

He watched her turn her head left and right, up and down to feel the air all over. He listened to the sound of her laughs whenever he'd close his fingers some more and the air would get ticklish again.

He felt himself chuckling along with her a couple times.

  He was entranced.

By you?

By how natural this felt?

Or how this even managed to be happening?

      Maybe it was one, or maybe it was all three.

.

.

This continued on for some time, and only the numbness from the cold coursing through Stanleys hand was enough to snap him out of his occasional bout of dozing off.

When enough felt like enough, he let out a loud yawn, smacking his lips.

"It's gettin' late, kiddo." He said, beginning to turn around again, her still atop of him. Once the air was ensured not to hit her again, he put his hand down. He relished in the feeling of blood returning to it. The sacrifices of parenting. 

"Wuh? Noo.. no it's not." She insisted, shooting looks behind herself as he hoisted her off of him, setting her beside him. Instead of using her legs, she let him set her down on her arse, her arms crossed.

"It is, kid, it was late when.." He stopped a moment, rephrasing. "-It's late now. And I need 'ta sleep." He emphasized this with a big stretch, arms trembling as he moved them over his head.

"I think you do too." He said, giving her a look.

"M'not tired." She said immediately.

"Mhm. Tell it to the judge." Stanley was well aware of the little droop to her eyes and the sluggish movements of her body - how she refused to stand too. He was impeccable at reading people.

" M'not!" She raised her voice a little, trying to get her point across.

.

.

Stanley simply ruffled her hair.

"..You're a bad liar. And I know you didn't get it from me." 

He grabbed onto the windowsill to push himself up, relishing in the way his bones popped to accommodate the movement.

He watched her fall back dramatically, an angry exhale leaving her as she laid splayed out over the carpet.

"Uh.. M'kay then." Stanley stepped over her, unbothered. (I have to write him as a bad dad at first yall I'm sorry)

"Not really comfy but, whatever floats your boat." He shrugged, walking around the bed to sit on the edge of it at the other side, leaning over himself to pull his shoes off. He wasn't the pajama type, so typically his clothes worked just fine.

[...]

Not receiving the attention she deserved caught her attention. 

She had been laying on the ground for a full three minutes. Three! 

With determination, she pulled herself off the ground and heaved her body up onto the bed. Crawling over to tap on her dad's shoulder with what she hoped was a convincing frown on her face.

But he didn't even turn around.

"You want the bed?" He asked her, keeping his back to her. 

She couldn't form a reply.

"You can have it, I'll make due." She watched him shrug, then heave his way off of the bed. He held the small of his back to stretch again, tossing his shoes haphazardly across the room before making his way past the dinning table to the little couch in the room.

He yanked the throw blanket off of the top of it, settling down ungracefully with a lot of noises. In her time with her dad, she learned dads are really noisy. 

She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him quietly with slow blinks as she tried to fight sleep - wait. She wasn't tired! Right? 

.

"Hey, could 'ya switch the light?" She's snapped back to the present when her dad throws a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the lamp on the bedside table.

She follows the gesture, but make no effort to move.

.

He notices this and flips around on the couch, facing her. 

He looks from her, to the light, then back to her.

He holds his face in his palm, propping his head up on the armrest of the way too small couch. "What?" He asks, rasing a brow in her direction.

She does her best to keep a firm look about herself.

"Is it the light?" He ponders aloud. "Cos if it is, I get it. You can leave it on if you want. I'm not- I'm not too big on the dark either." He said softly, rubbing his face down as he looks off somewhere behind her.

That caught her attention. She'd never heard of a grown-up not liking the dark before. She thought they all did. If he didn't like it.. why did he sleep with it?

Even as that revelation took over her, still, she remained quiet, keeping that look on her face. The one you hoped was intimidating and convicing at the same time.

"Uh.. whaddya want like a, story or something? Cos I don't really do bedtime stories." He looked anywhere but her, a weird confused frown on his face. He looked like that a lot.

.

"I don't wanna go to bed." She said, breaking the silence.

She watched his face fall flat. "Trust me, you do." He said in a gruff way, more gruffy than usual.

"But I don't-" She tried again. She felt this nagging feeling like putting her head down would feel really good but she didn't know what it was.

"Tough luck, I guess." He said dismissively, flipping around again to prop his head on a throw pillow on the armrest. 

  "Night," 

.

.

She felt ignored. 

She didnt like it, she never liked it.

She crossed her arms atop the matress and let her face sink into them, suppressing a sniffle.

.

Chapter Text

If you squint, my child looks like a grocery bag, so you should let me walk out of here with her and all of the food totally not stuffed into her pockets.

__

[STANLEY POV]

Stanley was planning on sleeping in -

Typically that's what his nights spent at motels were for. Some much needed TLC for a man who received nothing of the sort in his day-to-day life.

However, instead of waking at a reasonable such time as 12 in the afternoon, he was woken at 7 in the morning. Not ideal. Especially when it was his daughter that awoke him.

Wait what? 

Stanley blinked open his eyes groggily, faintly aware of the tugging on his wrist. He drew in a sharp breath, momentarily stalling in panic to try and recall his surroundings.

The hold on his wrist was encompassing, but not irritating like a binding of rope or the striking coolness of cuffs. It was warm, and fragile - carrying urgency but no will to move his wrist any more than a few centimeters. 

Stripes of sunlight shine across his closed eyelids as he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He shifts on the couch, testing the longevity of his limbs.

He shifts, turning on his side and bringing his hand with him to feel what was holding his wrist. Hands - small ones at that - attached to a blurry figure inches from his face. He blinks the sleep-induced haze from his eyes as she slowly clears into his vision.

"..dad?" 

It was her - his daughter.

Events from last night come crashing down onto him like a terrible hangover, somehow still carrying the same level of sickness settling in his gut. Atleast that's what it felt like - all he knew is that it got worse the more he focused on it.

So he tried to focus on her instead.

Her face is twisted in a pout that he swore hasn't left her since last night. Her hair is scruffy and tangled in a mess of thick curls that he compares to how he looked as a boy in the family scrapbooks - it almost shields her eyes from him. Speaking of, they're rounded in urgency, but glazed over from the sleep she had gotten, evidence of it left as crusties in her tear ducts. 

"..What?" He grumbles, the morning making his voice more raspier than before if possible.

"..." She looked scared almost. "You.. you were talking." Her face shifts into sheepishness as she regarded him carefully, worry still etched into your brow. A young thing like her shouldn't be wearing a face like that he thought. "I- were.. you up..?" 

He regards her back, looking out of it, unable to voice his thoughts other than a curt, "I wasn't-" He rasps.

He moves his hand over hers, engulfing them over his own wrist. As subtly as he can, he begins to pry them away so he can move. She gets the idea faster than provoked and tuck them behind her back, still staring at him. He feels something else settle in his gut, just as unpleasant as the first feeling.

"What time s'it?" He asks grumbly, squinting at the bedside clock on the nightstand. From the couch it looked like a white and black blur. Damn, he should've really pushed for those glasses when he was younger.

She followz his gaze and scrunches her nose contemplatively "..one, one, two." She says, lacking confidence.

"The helll- ...ck? Heck." Nice save.

Either it was was really bright for one in the morning or it was really dark for 1 in the afternoon. He takes it upon himself to groan loudly as he heaves himself up, shuffling her out of the way as he picks up the black box and peers at it with scrutiny. 

"Kid, that's a seven." He turns it to her, pointing out the difference between a one and a seven on the clock. The white flap that displayed the '2' on the '7:12' flips to a three while he faces it to her. She gives him a clueless expression as he sets it down with a shrug.

Her math skills were not his problem he concluded in a grumpy manner.

Stanley instead moves a whopping foot to collapse on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge and feet planted on the ground. He grumbles to himself as he speaks inaudibly into his hands. 

He didn't want to be up at all. 

He also was fairly convinced that last night was a nightmare until he woke up. 

He feels grouchy and devastated at this revelation.

[...]

She watched her dad fall back on the bed, worry finding it's way back into the forefront of her mind.

She followed suit, climbing up onto the matress with a few noises of effort as she raised herself up by his waist line. She crawls up next to him, stopping by his head as she peers at his face which he was covering with his hands. 

She'd seen her mom wake up like this before, regard her the same way too. She didn't want her dad to be like her mom.

"Dad..?" She asked, laying a hand atop of his that covered his face, listening as he grumbled under her. He scrubs his hands down his face to give her a bothered look, and she's reminded of what she learned last night.

She fixes your wording. "..Stan?.." 

His face contorts a bit, surprised almost, like that's not what he wanted her to do, but he doesn't voice otherwise after a silent realization crosses him.

She was a little confused from that reaction. What was the face for?

She paused a moment, thinking. Last night she remembered calling for her mom. She didn't use her name. Maybe that's why she didn't look back. She felt her eyes water; a feeling she pushed down with much vigor.

"What?" He asks in a softer tone, still looking a little guarded. Okay, a lot guarded, but his eyes were taking her in a little differently than his body language.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, her stomach spoke for you.

A gurgle filled the silence between the two of you. 

"Oh." He voiced.

It was a sound that had her pushing herself away from him in a sudden bout of panic, trying to lower herself off the bed frantically.

He was quick to raise after her, snagging her arm in a firm grip, but nothing crazy. She could slip away if she wanted to, but she found herself frozen. 

"It's okay, kiddo," he spoke instantaneously, looking at her display with a dazed expression.

She watched his eyes trail over her face before he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a defeated sigh, letting go of her. She remained stiff. "Y'ure hungry aren't cha?" He speaks into his palm. 

He peeks at her. She nodded after a momemt, put on the spotlight. "Crap- crud. I mean crud." Your dad, or, stan says. 

She mentally marks down crap and crud into her vocabulary through her startled haze.

"M'sorry kiddo." He speaks with a rough sincerity she has quickly associated with him. 

Her shoulders release their previous tension, watching him with a concentrated frown.

"I don't have much of anything." He gives her a long look, an earnest one, before a light passes over his face and he digs into his pocket, taking out three green pieces of paper and a few coins that she's seen her mom with a lot. 

She scoots closer to him, stopping a few inches away as he stares at the contents in his palm with knitted brows and narrowed eyes. She can see his brain working something out you can't quite make sense of.

[...]

He stares at the three dollars and seventy five cents in his hand, then drags his gaze to his daughter. She looked nervous, giving him the same look when he had woke up and she told him he was talking in his sleep. He'd hate to know what kind of incriminating shit he was saying.

His brain was blocking out the fact that there was a slight tremor to her hands and her eyes betrayed the fear she was trying way too hard to hide. He was too busy thinking about the obvious - feeding her.

Maybe a bit about feeding himself too.

He pockets the money with a suddenness that leaves her blinking at the new expression he's wearing. He flashes her a signature smile that's he hopes will pique her interest. 

"You've been shoppin' before?" He asks, expecting the obvious - a yes.

What he doesn't expect is to watch her earnestly shake her head in a no. 

What? 

   "Wait, what? - never?" He asks, blatantly stunned out of his previous plans. 

Again, she shakes her head. Totally not weird. 

"Well. Uhrm. Okay then, uh. I guess that makes you a blank slate." Easy to be influenced - and in his eyes, that was terrifying knowing he was the influencer. 

He clears his throat into a balled up fist and slips off the bed with an obvious lack of grace. He pops his back with his hands on his hips and gestures for her to come down with an outstretched hand, offering his help. She takes it with reluctance, shrugging herself off the bed with a 'hup' and plant her feet on the ground, still holding his hand.

He's about to take his hand away when she looks up to his face, and immediately do it instead, looking away again. He feels a gut wrenching sensation that he clears with a cough as he wrings the sweat from his clammy palm with the hem of his shirt.

"We're gonna go shopping." He states into the tense air of the room, and starts a brisk walk to the door which she speedily follows.

He opens the door for her, the morning light brightening the doorway with pinkish purple hues that fade into orange as the sun peaks over the buildings of the town. He shields his eyes, but she's too short to notice or receive the onslaught. 

He watches her take in the surroundings, looking bubbly all the sudden. She's quick to make her way from the sidewalk pavement to a curb that lined a handicap parking spot, balancing on the blue slope with attentive focus, arms out. 

He turns quickly to the lock the door behind him, giving her antics a lopsided smile before beckoning her over with a short whistle. "Hey, kid, stay close, kay?" He still didn't know how friendly this town would be, and he wasn't going to be open enough to find out, definitely not with her in the mix now. Goddamn he was too much trouble for this. 

She looked up to him at the whistle, taking his words in and hopping off of the curb to rejoin him with a brightness about her he couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh to. It wasn't so bad seeing her like this. 

Don't get attached.

Stanley makes his down to where his car was parked, somewhat far away out of habit so anyone looking for him wouldn't suspect what room he was really staying in. He grimaced when he realized he did it out of habit. Makes him think about how her mother found him, must've known him that well or went to the front desk. He presses the ball of his palm to his forehead to wrack his memory on anything about her.

She trails behind, sometimes bolting ahead, then quickly remembering herself and back-tracking to his side, or slightly behind him. She was a wild thing - still clad in her pajamas and colorful sneakers. He considering stopping by a clothing store too to snag her something.

Don't get attached. Don't get attached.

Every time he sees her, she's just as radiant. His beautiful El Diablo waits loyaly parked in her spot in which he approaches with a loving pet to her hood before rounding the drivers side. She follows him cluelessly, but silently entranced. There's a dip in her face where her smile slowly falters and from above he can notice her brow furrow in skepticism.

He gives her a head tilt, his mouth crooking up into an amused smirk. "Other side, kid." 

She looked up at him, snapping out of whatever daze his car had left her in and scramble to his words, rounding the front of the car as he fumbles with the key in the lock of the door handle.

He opens it and the car responds with a vintage creak as he settles within her. He reaches across the bench to pop open the door lock and waits for her to join him. 

"..

  .

    Stan??" She calls out.

He shakes his head, her antics more amusing than he cared to admit. "The handle, honey. Pull the handle.." He rolls down the window with a lever to speak with her, in which she lifts herself on her tippy toes to peer inside.

    Honey? He let that one slip out.

She does as instructed, letting out a triumphant sound as she opens the door just enough to squeeze inside, plopping herself unceremoniously on the passenger side of the bench.

Suddenly, he's nervous.

  He forgot how he planned to go about this.

      Oh right, he didn't.

.

"Seatbelt?" He asks idly, a hand fumbling for his own. He never wears his but for godsakes he needed to make a good influential choice at some point in his life.

(IM AWARE A 1965 MODEL WOULDN'T HAVE ONE BUT PLEASE PRETEND WITH ME)

She watches him, taking the hint and looking up and to her right for hers, grabbing it and tugging down to wrap herself in it. She only gets halfway before she can't tug anymore, her cheeriness dissipating as quickly as it came, even if just for a short moment.

He clicks his tongue, feeling restrained, looking over at her. He softens more than he'd like to say. "I gotcha," He reaches to her, doing the rest of the work wordlessly, tucking her into place with an affirmative grunt. 

He tugs on it to tighten the fastening until it's to his liking. He felt outrageously out of his element, but he was braving through it. "Too tight?" He asks, leaning away.

"Uh-uh" She shakes her head, shuffling in her seat. He feels a bit worried with her size and with her being in the front, something instinctively telling him this could go wrong, but he pushes that down. He was an excellent driver, and this would only take a few minutes at best. 

"Good- good." He nods, straightening in his seat and checking his already perfect mirrors to busy himself. "Okay then.. we're off." He turns the ignition and takes the time to angle his torso to look behind him before white-knuckling the clutch. He shifts to the left and up, reversing out of the lot as slowly as he's ever done and then shifting into drive as carefully as ever recalled. 

.

He drives... fairly good in the beginning.

Barely any speeding or sharp, unnecessary, turns. 

But as he gets used to it, his brain slowly blocks out the fact that she's in the car with him. He starts slipping into old habits such as speeding up when the light turns yellow, or disregarding stop signs if no one else is at the intersection with him. There wasn't that many people on the road anyhow - so he was practically left to his own devices, which was bad.

Occasionally he would flit his eyes over to her, rolling down his window to mirror yours as she tried to lift herself in her seat to peer out the window - to no avail. Her hair tumbled in the cool morning air, which was quickly rising with the sun. If didn't know any better, he'd guess this was her first time in a car - but that couldn't be right, her mom brought her here in a car.

He gets lost in thought for a long while staring at her.

So lost that when he finally tears his gaze away he learns that he's been speeding towards an intersection with a lead foot - and a car is currently taking its sweet ass time turning right infront of him into the intersection. Not to mention the glaringly red light. 

"Shit-!" He brings his foot down on the break hard and fast, sending his tires into a screeching protest.

Faster than he can realize, his arm has flown across her and gripped onto the far side of the seat, in which she flies forward into his forearm, clutching it with a yelp as her eyes skrew shut. So much for helpful seatbelts.

He faces away as his car stops a mere foot from the offending car. His breaths are labored and intense, drying his mouth with shock-induced pants. He sits like this for a long moment, too startled to even offer the driver the bird before looking down to her in a slow, swooping, head turn.

He gives a few extra pants for good measure.

"..You okay?" Stanley asks breathily, giving her a long, wide-eyed, look. He releases his grip on the seat, but she doesn't let up on clutching his arm. Her face is scrunched with the effort, eyes still screwed shut as she breathes quickly and shallowly through her nose. 

She starts shaking her head in a curt no in which he let's out an puff of air through his nose.

"Hey, kid, it's okay now- we're okay." He says, voice softening. He tugs his hand lightly in her grip, but not really trying to dislodge it, he just wanted her attention. 

After a moment she opens her left eye to cast him a sideways glance. He now notices the fear plastered on her face as you regarded him. Her eyes look glassy - Oh no.

She gives a quick sniffle, breaking eye contact. 

"M'sorry - I don, I don' wanna g-o." Her words are broken by a choked sob that clenches his heart and further enduces the apologetic panic seeping through him. "Please- I don't-" She takes a shuddering breath, cutting off whatever she was going to say. 

Then she cries into his arm.

"Woa, woah, woah- hey, hey, lookit me." He pleaded, panicing.

When she finally met his eyes she looked terrified. She was still holding his arm as if he'd disappear if she let go. There was a wet spot in his jacket sleeve - not like that was new in the long life his jacket has lived.

It didn't look like she was terrified of the car - not completely at least. 

No, she was staring right at him with that fear. Fear of what he was going to do? Why? Why was she scared of going? He saw her skepticism before but he thought nothing of it, why would she - 

Oh. 

     oh. 

It wasn't the car or him specifically - 

     It was what happened last night, he bet. 

"Hey.." He says slowly, looking over her face with a pained grimace. "I know." He starts, looking unsure of his efforts, but trying nonetheless. "..I know." 

His voice isn't trained for this, the softness mixed with his natural gruffness sounds forced when he wants it to be genuine. 

He imagines how her mother must've led her to her car last night after spotting him earlier. Maybe promising her something in order to keep her interested - like a shopping trip for example.

She must've been scared he was going to do the same thing, abandon her.

He feels another weight settle in him for the third time today. He considers the fact that it may be the same weight multiplying. He doesn't remember a time he's felt anything like this. 

"Lookit me when I tell you this, kid," He started again, filling the sniffle and sob riddled silence. "I'm not gonna leave ya', capisce?" 

She gives him a glassy wide-eyed look, absorbing his words with an expression he can't quite make sense of. 

He takes a small pause. 

  "... I promise." 

Don't get attached. Don't get attached. Don't get- 

Faster than he can register, she's crawled across the bench over to him, settling against him with his arm in tow, wrapping it around herself as she hugs herself to his side. She's hiding her face against the side of his chest, but he can still feel the tremors of her cries wracking her little body. 

He freezes upon contact - short-circuiting for a moment. 

He takes this opportunity to realize he's practically parked at a stop light and thanks his lucky stars that there's barely any driving population in this town. The light has long since turned green and cycled back to red - but that's far from his mind at the moment.

He's wondering what to do now. 

   He wants to console her. He really, really does.

    But how?

He thinks back to how he was when he was younger. He wasn't a big cryer when he was hurt physically, but his emotions were something else entirely. He went to his Ma' mostly, and she'd card her fingers through his hair to soothe him while he laid in her lap.

He gives her u a contemplative look, his hand flexing thoughtfully over her back as he gives her an unsure tug into his side. She holds on tighter in response, still crying all the while.

He clears his throat to try and get rid of the lump in it as he reaches out with his hand to quickly shift into park before returning it to your side. 

"Shh.. sh.. it's- It's okay." He ventures, the soothing role coming to him rather slowly. He rubs his arm up and down her back, cooing gently the best he could in his awkward 'must remain manly' state.

Once he figures she's settled, he tentatively raises his hand into her hair, petting down the curly length of it, avoiding knots and tangles. Her hair probably needed a wash more than his did. 

She stills, taking a moment to lean into the touch, sighing gently against him after some time passes. Now she's only sniffling, which he deems as a huge accomplishment for a first time dad.

He looks out at the road again, then to the dice hanging on his rear view mirror and ultimately back to her. He knew you two would have to get a move on eventually, but he wasn't exactly keen on moving her back into the passenger seat. And from what he could tell, she wasn't to keen on leaving him either.

So, he reaches around her with his free hand and unbuckles himself, letting it retract back as he shifts in his seat. She looks up at him with skeptical curiousness, watching his movements with a tilted head. He pats his hand on her back to signal he was moving.

"C'mere," He gives a grunt before reaching under her arms with both hands, not yet hoisting her up, giving you time to deny. She doesn't, just looks at him contemplatively.

He sighs in relief, lifting her with ease as he moves her to his lap. She brings her knees to her chest and place her hands out on the steering wheel to balance herself with a squeak of surprise. The pressure isn't enough to trigger the horn but he still chuckles.

He settles her on his thighs, her legs dangling over his knees as she peaks behind her at his face. He makes sure she has settled against his front before reaching behind him to tug at the seatbelt. "I'm uh - gonna keep you here. So. You don't get hurt." He explains awkwardly.

He holds out the seatbelt, waiting for her confirmation. All she does is nod, offering a meek okay as she wipes a hand under her nose. 

He grunts, accepting this, and moves the seatbelt to strap over the both of you, making himself into a makeshift car seat. He places his arms next to your head, gripping the wheel at a textbook 10 and 2 to try and look good, giving her a look. "Comfy?" He asks. 

She squirms a bit, laying her head back on his collarbone and giving a few nods. 

He sighs in relief, reaching for the clutch to shift back into drive, taking a steeling breath before starting to drive.

He didn't get the chance to forget about safe driving and repeat what happened mere minutes ago with her sitting right there. Sometimes when he'd have to make a turn, he'd give her a gruff 'duck' in which she'd lean down to avoid his forearm shifting where her head was moments ago.

At some point in time, he lost the will to keep his arms on 10 and 2, instead shifting them to their sister spots on the bottom of the wheel. In turn, she draped her own arms over his, using him as leverage to peek out of the window. The gasp she let out was enough to crack a smile on his face as he watched her eye the landscape while the hot air assaulted her hair. She seemed less peeved by this onslaught of air than she did last night with the AC unit. 

He chuckles at the display, shifting his knees up to give you a boost so she can eye the landscape better. It's barren, and desert like, with what they could see through the buildings of this towns downtown area, but she still seemed enthralled. 

As time passed, Stanley started focusing on the road signs, looking for directions to a diner or super store once entering the more populated area of town.

He spotted a sign for Safeway and H-E-B, quickly deciphering that the H-E-B was closer and settling on that. 

The rest of the ride was silent between the two of them as he cast the back of her head the occasional glance while pulling into the grocery stores parking lot. The store was.. actually more populated than he would've figured seeing the rest of the town, even though the further into town he drove the more people he saw. 

What day was it? Some sort of holiday? This congestion was outrageous.

He parked with a sigh, carding a hand through his greasy hair and grimacing at the feeling. He parked a ways away from the front entrance, giving the place a skeptical,  narrowed glance as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel nervously. 

He reaches to unbuckle the two of them, opening the door and kicking it open gently to set her down first, the sun immediately beating down on her hair, highlighting it in a pretty chestnut color. She let out an audible 'aww..' when leaving him, casting him a wary glance. 

He follows after her, stepping out in a stiff manor that displayed his anxious reservations. 

"Alright kiddo, we'll be in'n'out, no sweat." He said, patting her head with a bend at the knee as he began to make his way around the El Diablo and to the store entrance, beckoning her to follow. She reached out to take his hand before changing her mind, opting to hold the hem of his unzipped jacket instead.

Immediately after stepping inside the establishment and getting blasted with cool air, he feels out of place. 

Turns out today must be Sunday. 

Seeing as, everyone was dressed in their Sunday best, coming to or going from church. 

He swallowed thickly, spotting shopping carts lined up along the inside of the establishment, snagging a loose one as she trailed behind him. For only walking a few minutes, she didn't seem to carry any efficency anymore, following behind in a tumble of trips and skidded shoes on the floor. 

He pauses, pulling off to the side of an aisle and glancing behind himself at her as she catches up. 

"Need a ride?" He asks in a tone that an adult would laugh at - some sleazy guy trying to give a hitchhiker an equally as sleazy ride. But she simply stares and nods, the contents of what could've been a joke flying over her head as she reaches up to him. 

He sighs at his failed attempt, instead scooping her up from her underarms and setting her down on the little ledge by the handle of the cart meant for children and/or smaller products. He figures four year olds should have much more experience walking but doesn't press his brain to think about that any further.

He was vaugely aware of the many sideways glances he, or, the both of them were receiving, and tried his best to keep any snark to himself. 

They must look like quite the pair anyway. 

Stanley begins a slow stroll, keeping an eye on her as he talks with you down the aisle. 

"So, kiddo, whatcha feeling?" He drums his palms on the handle of the cart idly, giving her an arched brow. 

Now, Stanley typically strayed from pocketing things from larger stores such as this, but, he felt this would be necessary. And he could purchase a good amount of the food he bet. His last scam had saved him a good extra dollars that he was carelessly wasting the day before - not nearly as money conscious bareky 24 hours ago as he is now. 

He grimaces when reminded of the unscathed lotto ticket taking residence in his back pocket.

She gives him a wondrous look that he can't help but smile at as she takes her time eyeing the shelves with blatant awe. While she's turned away, he snags a bag of toffee peanuts and shoves them into his coat, zipping it up quicker than anyone would notice. Peace of cake.

He watches her gaze fall back to him and she scratches her jaw while she thinks, eyes drifting up and away. "Mmm.. maybe uhh.." she trails off.

     "I dunno." 

  Great. That was loads of help.

"Alrighty then. You're havin' what I'm havin'. Don't come cryin' if ya don't like it." He gives her a playful look, one reserved for when he was trying to charm his way through a situation - except this one lacked the typical contempt swimming beneath. 

"Okay," She flashed him a quick grin in return. She seemed to like it whenever he was happy - or acted as such - and in turn, he found he wanted to remain that way to keep that look on her face. 

He raises a hand and goes to ruffle her hair, but she doesn't seem to like that, ducking at the motion before his finger pads can graze any of her curls. He pauses, hand in mid-air before lowering it back to the handle with a mild air of confusion. He pretends like it didn't happen and presses onward.

.

Nearing the end of their little trip, he's stocked the cart with essentials - milk, cereal, bread, cheese and meat. All in which he took careful measures to pick the cheapest option and still scoff at the price. 

He'd turn the offender in question to her, pointing at it with an eyeroll, affirming if she saw the same thing he was, giving her a show of how much he wasn't happy with the label and how this contributed to inflation. He was sure she understood very little of what he was saying, but giggled anyways at his show of annoyance with the inanimate object as if it had the nerve to offend his eyes with such an unorthodox pricing. 

He found it much easier to appear relaxed and inconspicuous when he had only one person to focus on appeasing instead of the entire store itself.

He was a showman at heart - always having a knack for a distracting performance to shield any unlucky patron from the real deal. And, currently, that audience was still the store, but he found all he had to do was keep interacting with you the whole time - which he could do just fine - especially when she appreciated his humor so much. 

The time came when his jacket pockets were running out of space and the shopping cart was only filled with items too big or too cold to stash. His jacket appeared puffier in a way that he hoped flattered his build. 

He swerves the cart into an empty line, in which he chuckles when she impersonates that she's driving said cart. 

He makes quick work of stiffly unloading the few items onto the moving tread-mill-like counter to ensure that nothing falls out from under his clothes. That would be awkward. 

He approaches the register in which a woman is manning, and she coos at the sight of his daughter.

He's reaching for his wallet when she does, and feels himself stiffen, subtly stepping between his girl(in the cart) and her(behind the counter)

"Isn't she adorable!" The woman says cheerily, completely disregarding any questions about him not being a local instead completely and utterly entranced by his daughter.

He looks behind himself to see the girl pushing her hand into her pajama pocket and casting him a sideways look, before her attention is stolen by the register lady.

"How old is she?" She asks as he peers at his kid questioningly. 

He tears his gaze away from her and back to the lady, in which he glances down at her name tag, Maddie. She looks older than him by a bit, but he doubted she was looking at him and thinking the same. He knew he looked like shit. 

He clears his throat, a hand instantly going to the back of his neck to rub under his overgrown mullet. "Oh- er. Four." He says gruffly.

Maddie gives him a look with raised brows before speaking "Four? But she's so small." 

Before he can think up an answer to that, Maddie starts to speak again as if remembering the question may have been a bit intruding. "Excuse me - I'm just thinking about my own kids when they were her age. Gosh, they couldn't seem to stop growing." Maddie says wistfully. 

"Oh goodness, here I am rambling on, and I haven't even asked: what are your name's?" She begins to ring up his minuscule amount of items.

Stanley freezes on the spot, feeling an instant sweat find home on his brow as his mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. As far as he knew, you didn't have a name. 

He had to cough to get his lungs working again. 

   Fuck - 

"Uhh.. my name's Andrew." He blurted dumbly.

"And this is.." he looks over his shoulder to stare at his daughter for a long moment. She makes no move to cover his ass so he simply forces a chuckle, trying to keep the conversation rolling and give himself time to think.

"Sorry, she's a little shy." Not too far from the truth. 

Maddie laughs, nodding.

    Think, Stan, think!

It's just a name, how hard could it be? Make it up for Christ's sake-

      "Caryn!" He damn near shouted, quickly catching himself and grimacing at the look on Maddie's face.

       "Her name is Caryn." He says calmly this time around. 

Maddie relaxes and gives a soft smile. "That's a lovely name." 

His shoulders sag in obvious relief. 

Maddie finishes ringing up his items very quickly, humming along to a song being played over the speakers within the store. 

"Well, Andrew. You're very lucky." Maddie says, not breaking eye contact with the register as she manually calculates the price. 

Stanley finds himself chuckling dryly. "How so?" 

Maddie looks up at him, then to his daughter. "For one, she's a dream, a very well behaved and polite young thing." Maddie starts before giving him a kind look.

"And two, she looks just like you. I'm sure her mother is pleased with that, too." Maddie suppresses a friendly giggle, a light in her eyes that Stanley is sure he's not reciprocating. 

He shuffles awkwardly, grabbing up his bags of groceries and looking away as his hands itch to hide in his pockets. "Yep. She sure is." He returns quietly, a long pause ringing out between the two of them that he's quick to break with a hand on the cart handle. 

"Welp. Gotta run. Nice chatting with you." Is all he says as a goodbye as he places the groceries in the cart and quickly wheels the both of them out of the store and into the dramatic heat of the parking lot towards his car.

Chapter Text

I just thought Caryn would be a nice name. Don't think too much about it, kid.

__

[STANLEY POV]

The shopping cart is quickly discarded as Stanley unloads his daughter and the rest of the groceries into the car silently, rushing as if he needed to get out of that parking lot as fast as possible. 

He slips inside the drivers seat, cautious to do so slowly and methodically as he hears the crinkle of a chip bag under his zipper. He makes quick work of his jacket, unzipping it and cradling the contents he managed to snag. 

Toffee Peanuts, potatoe chips, a number of snack/finger foods and pretzels. 

He glances at her, aware that she's staring at him, giving the foods a curious gaze. He watches as a thought passes through her expression and she immediately digs a hand into her pocket, pulling out - 

    A Twix chocolate bar. That she stole.

     Oh perfect, nice goin' Stan. Real influential 

She reaches over, brightly placing it atop of his pile with an air about her that said 'I'm contributing!'

He stares at the bar, unknowing if he should reprimand her, let it go unnoticed, or praise her efforts. He gives her one last side glance, feeling utterly torn due to thr fact she's still wearing that expectant smile, looking all too pleased with herself. 

He let's out a breath, scrubbing a hand down his face as he thinks over his response. When he looks to her again her smile has disappeared and is instead replaced with a frown that he's all too familiar with, waiting for a reaction from him.

His lips press into a thin line and his brows furrow, his gaze flitting between her and the Twix bar on his lap. He takes a long moment.

"Uh... G'job, kid." He says slowly, shifting uncomfortably as he avoids eye contact with her. Eventually, he manages to look at her again and she's beaming. He feels bad for lacking the responsibility to encourage her against this - but she looked so pleased. 

He wasn't going to be like his father, he decided.

     Even if that may have been for the best.

After a few moments he beckons her over to him again as he places the food on the passenger side of the bench, trading it's spot with her in his lap again as he secures the both of them with more ease than previously, still holding onto some of that awkward tension. 

He pulls out of the parking lot and makes a steady exit compared to how he usually would after stealing, and turns onto the main road, searching street signs and plazas for a clothing store.

.

.

"You're Andrew?" She asks all the sudden, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Huh?? Oh- uh, no. No I'm not." Stanley replies awkwardly.

"But you said-" She tries to butt in.

"It doesn't matter what I said- your dad was just. Uh.. playing pretend. With that nice lady." Stanley says, growing defensive before taking a calming breath, exhaling loudly.

"..oh." She murmured. "I liked her." She concluded, taping her hands on her knees.

"Yea. Me too." Stanley agreed.

.

.

Silence stretches between the two of her as Stanley works up the courage to say something. 

She's leaned back into his chest at this point, having reached for the pile of food a few minutes prior to snag her Twix bar - tearing it open and finishing it quicker than he would've expected and with much vigor. He winces upon thinking of how hungry she must've been. 

He feels the steady rise and fall of her smaller torso against his chest, recognizing her size in actuality. He thinks back to what that Maddie girl said at the store - he didn't know the first thing about how children were supposed to grow. Was she really that small for her age? Or was she just a late bloomer? He didn't even know if the ladder was possible, this was not his field of expertise - not that he had very many of those. 

While his brain flits from thought to thought, his grip on the steering wheel gets firmer and firmer, his foot presses the gas further to the floor, and his breathing gains an air of shallowness to it. 

He's glaring at the double yellow line on the road, like it'll help him make sense of what's going on. 

It's only when she shifts in his lap to reach for the food pile again is his concentration broken.

He takes a deep inhale as he resurfaces from his subconscious, eyeing her with an arched brow, gaze flicking from the road to her as he watches the scene of her struggling against the seatbelt with barely contained amusement. A smirk cracks across his face as an airy chuckle leaves him.

"Still hungry?" He asks when her hand barely slaps across the nearest bag, which is his toffee peanuts. She tugs it back with her, and he helps situate her on his lap again while she fumbles with the bag, trying to rip it open. 

"Here, lemme see it." His hands leave the steering wheel, instead replaced with a confident knee at the bottom, holding the wheel steady as his places his hands infront of her, beckoning her to place the snack in his hand.

She's quite possessive of it at first, so he pushes her with his words a little more. "I'll open it for ya." 

She stares at his hands for a long moment, long enough that Stanley's interest was almost completely back on the road before she tentatively placed the bag in his hands. 

He glances back at her, remaining silent as he makes quick work of the bag, ripping it open at the top seam from both sides. She's quick to snatch it back and he let's out an awkward huff of amusement. "Easy, easy, s'not going no where." 

She doesn't quite seem to hear him, chewing away. He didn't suspect a kid as young as her to even like toffee peanuts. Maybe she didn't, he knew the hardships of being hungry.

He puts one hand back on the wheel while the other scratches underneath his jaw. He tilts his head to subtly watch her eat them. 

He hasnt had them in years. He quit them around a decade back actually. He swallows the lump in his throat as he tries to find the courage to ask her for one. 

It was humorous really, a grown ass man trying to toughen up enough to ask his own daughter to share a snack. That last bit still seemed all too surreal to him. 

"Could I have one?" He asks quickly, words stringing together in a panicked manner. 

Hell, he was hungry himself and the worst she could say was no. 

She stiffened, movements stalling. All he can see of her is the back of her head as she ponders his question. There's no response for a good amount of time that gives him the inkling he should speak up.

"Just one- and, and if you don't want to do it again I won't ask." This felt a lot like getting his brother to share when they were younger, of course with a little extra experience and flare.

He knew the basis of a good deal - give them a choice that makes them feel in control of the whole ordeal. But, this wasn't supposed to be one of his many manipulative schemes, this was supposed to be genuine. And in comparison to all the other deals he's made in his life, he'd actually honor this one. 

He found that amusing atleast, that the only deal he could honor was one over something so small. However, in the moment, it felt much larger than that. 

She takes another tense moment to herself before she dug an arm into the bag again and pulled out one of the peanuts, promptly holding it up and over her head like she needed this to be over with. Food aggression- completely understandable in his case, but for her? He couldn't picture why. 

He hesitates, like this could be an trap, and looks at the offering carefully before taking it with his free hand, giving it a look before popping it in his mouth. He chews it appreciatively. 

"Thanks, kiddo." He says around the bite. 

They say silence speaks volumes but hers isn't giving him jack shit.

.

Time to get to talking. 

     It was his best talent.

"Sooo..   don't suppose ya' heard any of the other stuff, huh?" Stanley inquires, looking back to the road.

She's too busy stuffing her face with peanuts to give a proper response.

"..eh.. back at the store?" He gives her a stray glance and after a moment she paused, reaching back into the Toffee Peanut bag and pulling out one for him. She held it above her head again, as if it was a token of permission for him to continue with whatever he was about to tell her.

He refrains from acting too surprised as she seemed pretty reluctant to offer - but the fact she did anyhow is pretty exciting.

He clears his throat awkwardly and takes it again, giving an appreciative grunt. 

"Thanks again," He chews around his words. 

He takes a moment to finish before starting up again.

"That lady behind the counter asked you y'ure name, 'member?" He pried, trying to be as gentle and approachable as he could.

She gives a slow nod. Progress is progress. 

"I- uh.. had to come up with somethin' on the spot." He swallows, fidgeting with the worn leather strands on his steering wheel as he regards the road in new-found interst. "Cus, i can't keep callin' ya kid n' kiddo."

.

"Are you really... are you sure that you don't have a name?" He asks carefully. 

.

She paused and stiffened at that, put off almost immediately. She unceremoniously shoved a group of peanuts in her mouth to chew away her feelings.

"No." Is all she gave him.

Stanley tries to remain intact after this curt response. "No? No nickname, no nothin'?" He tries again.

"No." She said yet again, her head ducked down between her shoulders as she crinkled the bag in her small hands. 

He gives a small sigh, trying to think.

After a few tense moments, he rolls his shoulders back and releases the tension knitting his brows together. Seems he's thought of something. A small smirk graces his face as he drums his fingers on the wheel idly. 

"Then, we gotta give you a name, girl." He says, surprisingly brightly, giving her a small nudge.

She faltered for a moment, then turned around the best she could to give him a look he couldnt quite read, but she looked interested enough to give him the green light to keep going.

 "But, I don't want this to be a one-guy kinda' decision, y'know?" He continues, looking as earnest as ever with what he could manage. "It's y'ure name, so, you just give me the O-K and I'll see what I can come up with." 

"Unless.." He tries to look disinterested, looking back to the road.

 "No-!" She's quick to speak up, and he glances down to notice the crumbs lining the bottom half of her face and her blatantly interested expression now.

"No?" He repeats feigning confusion.

 "No I... that sounds good. M'name." She looked sheepish all of the sudden and turned back to face the steering wheel as she fidgeted with her hands.

Stanley smiles brightly when she turned away, but quickly gets it under control. "Okay then, any suggestions?" He asks, playfully getting all buisnessman-y on her.

"Uhm.." Her voice is small, like usual. She mustn't have gotten that from him. "..I like the one at the store." 

Stanley takes a moment to think. The one at the store? What was she talking about? Did he-

  Oh, he remembers now.

He gave her his mother's name.

He brings a hand behind his neck to rub at the muscles there, letting out a puff of air. "Ya' do?" He asks, almost in a scared manner. "Cayrn?" 

"Mhm." She responded simply. She held up another peanut for him.

He looks immensely uncomfortable and takes a moment to scrub a hand all over his face - trying to rub away his expression. "Well- uh. That name is kinda' taken- or, well, I'm sure she'd.. but I don't.. uh." 

The hand holding up his peanut slowly lowers again.

Even though he's behind her, he knows she's clueless. Stanley didn't think he could just give her his mother's name. Not without permission from her of course - but that's kind of hard to get when you've cut contact. And anyways, he had no idea what his mother thought of him now. So, he'd have to come up with something else.

Something his Ma' would be proud of.

"Look ah.. we can make it your middle name. If you like it that much." He offers, giving her a fond look from behind. "Sound good?" 

She took her time, but eventually held up the peanut again and he takes it willingly. Peanut for yes, no peanut for no, he can work with that.

"Good. All the best people in our family get middle names anyhow." He tells her.

"Okay, we're half-way there." He starts, looking dreadfully in thought. "Somethin' Cayrn Pines." He drags his hand through the front of his scalp, tugging the strands to get some thoughts flowing.

She deserved a good name, a pretty name - one her mother never gave her? 

He didn't even know what to say to that. He knew he felt angry about it, doing something like that to a kid just because of how they showed up there. Atleast thats why he thinks she did that to her. It wasn't her fault and she deserved to know that.

So he needed to prove that to her with a good name. A name that would totally break his 'Don't Get Attached' rule - yay!!! 

.

He asks her to give him some time to think as he drives aimlessly. He knows he's going in the general direction of a clothing store but his mind is elsewhere. 

He thinks back to his upbringing - how his parents would push Yiddish onto him and his brother so they could understand their prayers better. 

He seemed to really like the idea of giving her a Yiddish name, connecting her to his family in more ways than just being his outcome of a one-night stand, and probably in the only way he could. 

He skims through his mind's fairly small Yiddish vocabulary, stumbling through words that could be names. He's having little to no luck when his mind subconsciously pieces together perhaps the perfect name.

.

  Shayna. He remembers it means beauty.

.

He takes a shuddering breath when his mind picks that for him.

He regards her from behind. He's picturing her face. 

He didn't want to admit it, but, she was probably the prettiest thing he's ever seen. He found it insane how quickly he came to accept that. He vaugely wonders if this was fatherhood - and vaugely considers fighting the feeling.

He didn't know why but, emotionally, he felt himself well up at the thought of giving her such a fitting name. 

"Whaddya think of Shayna?" He says the name almost reverently, feeling immensely hopeful that she'd take to it.

"Shayna?" She repeated, he can imagine her expression. She was trying it out on her tongue when she says, "I like it."

Her simple acceptance was enough to cue a loud exhale from him as his tension dissipates. He didn't realize how nervous her approval was making him. 

"Shayna.." He looks relieved. "Well lookat that, you just got yourself a name:

    Shayna Cayrn Pines." He says her full title with a smile on his face. "Now I got something to tell folks itchin' to know your name. N' so do you." 

She seemed to share his excitement, giving her own little giggle as she slowly simmered from gorging herself on peanuts. He hopes she's as pleased with the naming as he is.

He doesn't feel the need to tell her the details about her first name, and doubts she'd understand the emotion behind it any better than he could, so he doesn't.

However, she seemed to feel the need to ask him, "Stan... why d'you call me Caryn?" 

His smile falters at the use of his name even if he requested it, and falls even more so at the question. He knows what he said last night but, he's starting to regret it already.

As for her question, he doesn't know what to say or how to approach it at all. He could outright tell her, but, that would spark so many paths of conversation and personal questions. Some of which led to 'why don't you talk with them anymore?' questions that he wasn't willing to answer yet.

Stan, in a moment of self-preservation, realizes what he's doing here.

For a man so focused on keeping things shallow and distant, he doesn't realize how easily he gets caught up in the moment. Doesn't realize how much of a hypocrite he can be. 

He told himself last night he wouldn't be getting attached to her - he couldn't afford getting attached to her. And here he was, about to spew on about his mother and justify it with the fact that she was his daughter. Maybe if she was his daughter in a different, better scenario, this would be different. A scenario where he was a providing husband and a loving father who gave his family a roof over their heads. 

But alas, he wasn't. And he wasn't about to pretend for the sake of selfishness. Not again - not ever.

"I dunno.. I just- I knew a nice lady that went by Caryn. It means something I'm sure." He responds slowly and awkwardly, giving her no share of his gaze. 

She seemed, okay with this answer for the most part and shruged.

Her hand finds it's way back into the toffee peanut bag, but she doesn't eat the first bite, she holds it above her head for him. 

He takes it, fighting the lump in his throat. He needs to pull himself together.

"Thanks, Stan." She said, and he wishes he could see her face to understand what she was feeling. 

He didn't wish the same for the other way around though, he was fighting his own emotions and barely succeeding.

He decides to ignore her, for the most part, instead humoring his thoughts as he follows street signs and directions to a clothing store.

Chapter Text

I think the rest of this fic might just be Stanley POV I'm not sure but I'll tell y'all anyway.

__

[STANLEY POV]

Stanley is well aware of the uncomfortable silence stretching between the two of them as he pulls into a rather secluded outlet mall parking lot - much like the rest of this town. 

The longer he drove, the more Shayna slowed down her eating fiasco and starting offering all of the Toffee Peanuts to him instead of eating them. 

Honestly by the time he parked she looked pretty sick of even seeing them. He figures she just ate and ate until she couldn't. In the face of food, he learned first-hand how powerless people really are.

It makes his heart clench in a way that wishes he hardened it better.

He pretends that the tension the two of them are sharing doesn't bother him as he preps her to exit the car once he parks. 

He unbuckles himself slowly, his movements lackluster while Shayna seemed pretty giddy.

He knows it must be quite the departure for him from an outside perspective, and he tries to justify it with the fact that he's planning to.. 

   He wants to say he's planning to give Shayna away to someone better. But even then, something in him urges him not to. Maybe the fact he doesn't know anyone better. Maybe it's still that selfish pride from last night that made him keep her in the first place.

Whatever it is, he doesn't let it occupy his mind much longer. He guides Shayna out of the car, his hand enveloping the juncture between her forearm and elbow as he supports her departure.

She gathered her bearings, bouncing out with renewed energy that leaves him reeling, frozen in the drivers seat. He pretends not to hear the little murmurs under her breath that very closely resemble variations of 'I'm Shayna' . 

He pulled himself out of the car, a stark difference from her display as he places two hands on his hips and squints at the sky.

What started as a dappled cloudy morning has developed into a greying overcast sky, a scene that contrasted the barren desert surrounding this dump. 

Rain? Out here? Now things really were getting weird.

He groans, rolling his neck from shoulder to shoulder as he sets of silently, beckoning for Shayna to follow. 

She grabs his jacket hem again, and he doesn't have to the heart to deter her.

. 

This store is a little more desolate than the previous, but a lot more intimidating. On top of this, they lack an AC unit, which immediately brings him to shove off his jacket and tie it snug around his waist. He's not typically keen on going around without it on, but he didn't want to sweat in it anymore than he already had. So, he sacrifices one comfort for the other and let's his greasy offwhite T-shirt grace the eyes of the very few patrons. 

Shayna immediately looked overwhelmed with the expanse of this place. Her little legs were already showing their trouble today, and Stanley didnt want to have to traverse this place at negative mph. So, with no shopping carts - only baskets - Stanley finds a plan B.

He scoots the two of them off to the side and takes a knee beside her. She's glancing warily off to the side at the rest of the store and he snaps his fingers infront of her face to get her attention. "Hey, Shayna, lookit me, kid," 

There's a tug at his heartstrings when he sees the eagerness in which she responded to her name, even if the situation is all but ideal in her eyes. She took him in, her brown eyes wide and mirroring his as she fidgeted with her hands.

"I know you're not uh.. the best walker, and, and erm. There's no carts so." Stanley brings a hand under his hair to lift it from his neck before talking again.

"Uh look, I was thinking, I could carry y'around - for most of it - while we kinda shop this whole thing out." He's pretty bad at suggesting things (used to taking charge completely for his own sake) so he's making a big effort here. "You'd be on my shoulders." 

.

She stared up at him.

"Is. Uhm. S'that okay?" He asks looking away. He spots a few stray glances flung at the two of them and tries his best to pay them no mind.

Shayna took a moment to give him what he thinks is a grateful nod. 

"Okay- okay, cool, good, yeah." He's quick to pivot Shayna around so she's facing away from him as he gets up from his kneel, instead opting to crouch, his hands sliding under her arms. "I want you ta lift y'ure knees and put y'ure legs 'round my neck, okay?" He instructs, and she nods again, giving an apprehensive 'okay'. Good enough.

"Alright, one, two -" While saying three, he lifts her up with a 'hup!', quickly placing her behind his head, her legs draping over his shoulders and across his collarbone while her arms wrapped around his head in fear. She effectively shielded his sight, leaving him standing up with a clueless chuckle as she clutched him in terror. He can imagine her eyes closed and her face all screwed up as she breathed heavily into his hair. 

What a sight this must be - he begs any higher power that no one is witnessing this.

"Shayna?" His hands wrap over both of her knees like holding the harness of a backpack as he pats them gently. He can't see much of nothing with her forearms wrapped over his eyes but he'll be damned if thats gonna deter him. "Kid it's okay,

   I won't let anything happen to ya, capisce?Y'ure not gonna fall." 

When she doesn't let up and he still feels her ragged inhales against the back of his head and the nape of his neck, he thinks to himself. 

"Hey, y'know, I'm scared of heights too." He starts, warily. "Start shakin' like a leaf, just like you." He chuckles as subtly as he could, not wanting to jostle her any further. He felt a little silly saying this out-loud, but he's learned with Shayna that he's willing to say just about anything to appease her - even make stupid promises.

"But I promise nothings gonna happen to ya, kay? Not while.. not while you're with me." She seemed to be straining to listen to him as she forced her trembles to subside. 

These promises are getting out of hand all too fast for his liking. Theres only so many promises a man like him could keep. But, with Shayna in question, they seemed feasible enough.

She seemed to think so too, slowing her breath and drawing her arms from his eyes to drape loosely around his neck, her chin propped on the top of his head. She sighed at the exertion, he chuckles in turn.

"Ya good, kiddo?" He pats her knees again, making sure she's secure atop of him.

"M'yea." She tucked herself further around the nape of his neck, trying to remain as close as possible.

"Okay, I'm gonna move now, just holler if you think y'ure slippin'." He says, taking slow and calculated steps to the rack of baskets for customer taking. 

She stiffened, but ultimately relaxed once he'd gone far enough. He figures he'll get her two outfits, max, as he skims the signs above each clothing aisle, looking for kids stuff. 

He places one hand on her knee and the other dangles at his side clutching the basket. He's definitely aware that the two of them must look like an oddity, but, he's more so focused on getting in and getting out than anything else. 

When he reaches the junior section, he's overwhelmed by the number of tot's clothes that have been designed according to the season.

Orange and black colorblock silhouette designs of pumpkins and black cats make themselves glaringly known upon every kid's clothing rack as far as he can see, accompanied by a display reminding him of the time of year.

"Sheesh, Halloween already?" He says, going to scrub behind his neck put instead patting Shayna's back, in which she jolts forward on his shoulders. 

He can't remember the last time he celebrated - his folks weren't that keen on the holiday. But what got him the most was how out of touch it made him feel. He hadn't really prioritized knowing the time of day or date for.. a while now, and this revelation made him feel guilty almost. 

He scrunches his face, thinking.

Seeing as - quite litterally - ALL of the clothes have been transformed to fit the season, it looks like Shayna's wardrobe is going to be that of a Scarecrow's

He sets the basket down and pats her knees to gain her attention. 

"Hey kiddo, m'gonna put you down again, okay?" He says, bracing himself.

"...m'okay" She replied. readying herself for her departure from his shoulders.

He makes quick work of setting her down on the colorblocked floor, making sure she was situated before looking around.

"Woah.." She muttered, glancing around at the racks that must seem towering to her.

"Yea kid, this is a 'woah' alright." He places his hands on his hips, his fingers worming under where he tied his jacket around his waist as he let's out a loud puff. 

"How's about we take a look around, huh? Pick out some things ya like." He suggests, peeking down at her.

"Okay!!" She gave an almost immediate bounce of approval, making a quick pace down to the end of the aisle, pausing to stare at certain shirts she must've liked before taking off again. Stanley finds himself chuckling softly in amusement as he trails behind much slower. 

He's not really paying the shirts around him any particular attention, just watching Shayna hop excitedly from one display to another, ecstatic at the concept of having her own clothes. 

He gives that thought a sad smile, not amusing it too much.

He digs into his pockets, feeling the cash there. Already this trip has depleted a good amount of the funds he made on his latest scam, and he feels himself getting money possessive again. 

Before his mind can start convincing himself to start being money smart, his eye catches something amongst the racks of orange and black. 

It's sparklier than the rest of the shirts, but not offensively so. It's small, Shayna's size definitely, and orange. It has a little haunted house backdrop in black and a arched Halloween cat silhouette on a fence. 

Above the picture there's text in bold decorated lettering spelling out:

I'M 

BOO - TI - FUL

With the two O's of the 'BOO' being spooky white eyes

It's pretty corny but -

He's frozen staring at the shirt, imagining Shayna in it. Everything around him seems to mirror his frozen state as he reaches out to hold the fabric between his index finger and thumb. He laughs lightly at how seriously he's regarding it. Still, he doesn't let up, twisting the fabric between his fingers. 

Would she like it? Honestly he thinks it would really suit her either way.

It takes a moment for him to break out of this trance, taking the shirt off of the hanger and placing it in his basket. When he does, he notices that on the back of the hanger it comes with a matching set of black capri's that he willingly places in as well.

In that same moment he realizes his daughter has vanished from the asile, no where in sight.

"Wuh- Shayna?" He says immediately, feeling anxiety grip him almost instantaneously. 

He approaches the end of the aisle, peeking out left and right for her.

"Shayna?" His eyes flit over the circle racks lining this area.

 "Where'd you run off to?" He calls out, his voice bordering on a yell but not quite there yet. 

This area of the store was pretty desolate, no one else wandering back here to shop in the retail section. He feels a cold sweat form on his brow and he's about to call out again when he hears something shuffling in a clothing rack. He takes a few steps into the maze like area, closer to the sound and calls out again, a bit more skeptical this time around.

"Where are you, girl?" He says, approaching the rack he has labeled the culprit of the sound.

This time around he hears a giggle, one very clearly resembling hers.

oh- he sees how it is.

He let's out a loud inquisitive hum at that, avoiding her assumed rack this time around, turning away dramatically on his heel.

"Where did she go?" He asks himself playfully, ignoring her louder bout of giggles in favor of letting her continue to play. 

He hears the hangers shift on the rack he's now facing away from, and vaugely pictures the sight of Shayna clambering out in favor of ducking into a new rack.

He picks the perfect time to turn around, catching her right in-between two circle racks with a wide-eyed, caught-red-handed look on her face.

"There y'are!" He states, straightening up.

She let out a loud screech like laugh, the sound lighting her face in a 100-wat smile as she ducked into the rack she had set her eyes on. He approaches in a manner that makes sure she'll still get away, and she does.

Shayna ducked into the clothes, tucking herself behind the clothes with a large burst of giggles. A few hangers fall atop her, shrouding her in colors.

Stanley pauses right where he was, playfully acting astonished. "What? I swear I just saw her!" He says to himself, holding his forehead and tapping his foot on the ground. It's taking a good effort from him not to laugh knowingly as well.

He starts to walk away, glancing down at his boots. They weren't the best for sneaking seeing as they were fairly bulky work shoes, but he'd have to make due. 

He rounds the rack opposite of her, popping a squat as he waits for her to emerge again. 

He spots Shayna poke her head out, and takes it as his chance to get behind his rack and round hers to get behind her as she crawls out, looking around wildly. She's managed to tangle herself in a much too big for her retail shirt with a pumpkin silhouette on it, tripping over it as she tried to stand and make her way to the next rack.

He watches her tumble and fall, arms stuck in the oversized shirt, unable to prevent the inevitable face plant.

He stiffens, staring at her.

She was quiet laying on the floor and he was going to give her a few seconds before doing anything - it's what his folks did - it was a way to discern whether or not it was serious enough to fuss about.

Only a few seconds later to she begin to start trembling on the ground and cry. 

Shit- 

Stanley is quick to rize and approach her, sitting down on his knees beside her as she starts to cry harder.

"That was a heck of a fall." He starts. Shayna only sniffles, face burrowed into the floor. "The floor never saw it comin'." 

She doesn't share his amusement, continuing to softly cry.

"Aww, kiddo, C'mon." He reaches under her arms and lifts her up to her knees, having to refrain from laughing at how ridiculous she looked in her pumpkin get up. 

"You're fine, you're okay, " he says, rubbing her arms up and down with his palms, catching the sleeves of the big orange shirt, pushing them up and letting them fall.

She rubbed a fist under her nose to wipe away the snot accumulating there as he checks her over. He pats down her arms and peers at her face. "Y'ure not hurt, are ya?" 

It takes a while but she eventually shakes her head in a 'no'.

A smile he can't keep down cracks his face when he looks at her giant dress-like pumpkin T-shirt that she's found yourself in and can't help but chuckle.

Shayna's gaze still avoids him, rubbing her tear stained face with her small hands. That won't do.

"C'mon, Pumpkin, y'ure okay." He says, his hands engulfing her shoulders as he holds her steady and tugs her to her feet.

He seems to like that nickname on her, finding it fitting. Her round face and the apples of her cheeks only proved to support the name, even if they were wet with tears.

Shayna didn't seem to oppose the nickname either, even a little smile peeking it's way onto her face when he dotes on her. She sniffles.

He smiles softly, reaching for the hem of that pumpkin shirt. "Here, let's get that off o' ya'." He moves to pull it up, but her little hands catch his wrists and stare at him intensely all of the sudden. It's drastic enough to leave him reeling.

He tilts his head. "What? Y'ure not telling me ya' wanna keep it on do ya'?" He forces out an airy chuckle. 

Shayna immediately shook her head, shifting to tug the oversized shirt down further on her stiffly. "No.. I jus' don wanna do it." He listens as she explained what she wanted rather vaugely. It's not like he was going to rip off her under shirt too but hey, he didn't want to make her uncomfortable - so he figures she meant a dressing room.

"You wanna go to a dressin' room, pumpkin?" He asks as gently as he could, still looking at her rather curiously. She gave him a deadpanned look and a head tilt at his words.

He sighs, standing up and reaching down for her. "Here, I'll show ya'."

She prepared herself and raised up her arms to him, opening and closing her hands. He takes her invite and lifts her up. Instead of putting her over his head like before, he holds her to the side of his chest with one arm, while the rest of her body is tucked against his ribs, his forearm supporting her bottom. He starts to look around for a sign to a dressing room and spots one a few paces away. He snatches up his basket with the outfit in it and makes his way over.

When he walks up to it, he spots a few women sitting on the waiting chairs, reading magazines. The moment he approaches they snap their heads up simultaneously and shoot him inquisitive glares. He swallows nervously and ducks into where the stalls are and sets her down infront of an unoccupied one.

He ushers her inside and hands her the shirt and the matching capri's.

"Here, go and take that thing off and put these on instead." He says, and Shayna shoots him a nervous look. 

"Stan- I'm- I.." She can't find the will to finish, glancing around the bland stall warily. 

He fixes her with a soft look and pets a hand over her arm still covered in the large pumpkin shirt and long-sleeved pajamas. "Hey, it'll be okay pumpkin, I'll be right out here. Just holler if you need me." 

He says, watching as she stares him down intensely, looking for any falter in his genuineness. When she finds nothing, she slowly shuts the door and clicks it closed.

He sighs and rubs a hand down his face as he makes his way to the waiting couches, sitting down with a sigh and man spreading as he holds his face. 

When he let's his face go and looks at the women sitting to his left he fixes them what he hopes isn't too much of a tired smile, giving a half assed wave. "Hey, howsit goin'?" 

The greeting, even though it shouldn't be rhetorical, is treated as such. He's given blank stares for a long thirty seconds until he looks away.

What, is it that rare to see a dad taking his daughter clothes shopping?

How often did Dads get the kids in divorce again?

It stays quiet and uncomfortable like this for a while until one of the women speak up.

.

"Is she yours?" One of the women fixed him with an unreadable look.

He turns to her and gives her a narrowed look, trying to make a light comment. "Nah, I picked her up off the street 'n brought here here." He laughs lightly at his own joke.

   It didn't land.

The woman looks at him in slight surprise - like he was serious. 

He sputters and coughs, pounding a fist on his chest lightly to regain himself. "Uh, yea, she's mine." 

She seems to relax, and so do the women to her side who weren't to engrossed in their magazines anymore. 

"Getting her ready for Halloween?" She says, a lightness in her voice that gives it's efforts on easing the tension between the group. 

Stanley offers a casual 'yup'.

The woman hums, coming up with a response.

"I wish I could say the same for my husband, he never comes with me and my daughter to shop like this." She says wistfully, and her group of gals agree with 'mhm's and nods.

She gives Stanley a sideways look, regarding him with a soft smile. "But you? You're here instead of her mother. She must be a very lucky lady." The woman says kindly, staring at him with an overly friendly glint in her eyes.

Stanley winces, wishing that her words gave him her desired effect, but alas, they didn't. 

Stanley wishes he was that man this woman was talking about, the one he wishes he was when giving Shayna her name.

Stanley doesn't deserve to make a persona around Shayna, he knows that, no matter how much better it makes him feel in the moment he knows that it will drag him down we eventually. Like every other persona he makes out of lies.

"Ehh.. yea. I'm sure she feels that way. The er- missus, and what not." He says. 

And yet it just comes to him so comfortably.

  What was he supposed to do? Tell them everything and hope they don't call the cops?

No sir, that is not happening. 

The lady simply nods, probably noticing his awkward response considering his sputtering.

Another moment later, a different lady speaks up, seemily addressing her group of gals but still talking about him. 

"I mean, it's a very attractive trait. A husband willing to actually get up once and a while, take the kids out, let us girls rest. I'd kill for a man that would do a thing like that." She says, creating a heat in Stanley's cheeks.

Her gaze was firmly planted on him, raking her eyes down his form. She wasn't being subtle at all.

 Stanley wasn't an idiot, he knew an advance when he heard, and saw, one, but - wasn't this a married woman? Not that he's never been with one.

  He checks her hand and sees a glint on her fingers from what he can make out from this far away. Yep, definitely married.

But was she serious? 

Stanley shot her a look, and she played it off as if she was just chatting it up with her girlfriends, sparing him a fair amount of attention.

He's about to speak up again when Shayna calls out from your stall.

"Stann!! I can't reach!!" He hears the struggle in her voice and immediately gets up.

The women share an odd glance or two at the use of his name from her mouth and he cringes inwardly.

"X'cuse me ladies," he says, patting his pants down when he stands, walking around the corner to her door to open it.

When he does he's met with the sight of Shayna on her tiptoes, stumbling back at the sight of him. She cranes her neck up and offers him a bright smile. Her eyes are still puffy from her little bout earlier but otherwise she looked fine. "Hi," Shayna says, cherrily, twisting her hips to and fro to give him a better look at her outfit. 

It was adorable on her - even if her shoes didn't match. 

He finds himself chuckling as he kneels down to take her in better. She's quick to give him a uncoordinated twirl. 

"Lookat yew, pumpkin.." he says, trailing off as he watches Shayna admire herself in the dressing mirror, gawking at her ability to see the entirety of her reflection. He feels the tension melt from his shoulders as he watches her move about, a peaceful sigh leaving him. 

Stanley feels a bit too sentimental for his liking, changing up his emotions with a little bit of playfulness to distract himself.

"Looks like I'mgonna have to skip my trip to the ol' patch this year," he pretends to sound sorrowful, cracking the beginnings of a joke at Shayna, in which she turns around and approaches him.

"Why?" She pries, eyebrows tilted up in confusion.

"Cus' I already got the cutest pumpkin right here..!" He exclaims with his own laugh as he reaches out to take hold of her, hauling her up with him as he stands.

"Noo!!" She's cut off by a giggle fit of her own as one of his hands come down on her side, effectively tickling her - even if unintentionally - as he settles her on his hip, just how he was holding her before.

He laughs along with her until something catches his eye in the mirrors reflection.

Oh god what was he doing. 

He found himself smiling a little too hard in the mirror when Shayna laughed, found himself spot the crows feet forming next to his eyes when he did. 

His laughter quickly died down as he stared at his reflection. He was standing far back enough that he was looking at his full standing reflection, Shayna in his arms, following his gaze. 

.

"You have one too!" Shayna exclaims, pointing towards the mirror with an elated laugh at the discovery.

"Hehe.. heh, Stan..?" She looks into his eyes through the reflection, her expression dropping to join his.

      "Whacha doin?" Shayna placed a hand on his chest, fisting his shirt to steady herself as she turned back to get a better look at him. The real him.

He snaps out of it, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again and looking down at her.

"Ah, urm. Nothing, pumpkin, just-" He shifts her in his grip so she's facing away again. "-hold still." He takes the tag out from under the neckline of her shirt with his free hand and puts the plastic between his teeth where he rips it off. 

Shayna gives a squeak of surprise.

He places the barcode in his fist, leaning down to bundle her discarded pajamas into the basket, and begins to walk back into the lounge area where the women are.

He's immediately met with coos at her expense, and they request him to step closer to get a better look at her, but protectively, he finds himself turning her towards his chest and giving a curt 'she's shy.'

Shayna gives an annoyed huff into his chest and he realizes he just broke off her first chance at introducing herself.

He pats her back in a silent apology, but inwardly is quite glad she's not taking to these ladies.

The women aren't deterred and the one from earlier even steps up to get closer to him, asking him if he 'happened to be a Mr. Mom?' Which he was fairly certain meant 'are you single'. 

He offered her no time and quickly restated he was married, making his way to the checkout to get Shayna's outfit with the barcode in his hand. 

.

It takes a few minutes, but soon Shayna anf him are back in the car and getting ready to head out when she asks him - 

"What does married mean?" 

He has seated her back in his lap, buckling the two of them in when she asks that, and he has to swallow the lump in his throat and look away to answer. 

"Married is.. 

     It's uhm." 

He takes a breath, glancing at her. She's pivoted in her spot in his lap, turning to face him with a curious air about her.

He didn't really want to say the real definition, cause then she'd be asking who he was married to - and it was definitely not her mom. 

"Married is when.. it's when a guy can't talk to other girls cus. He uh. Made a promise - to another girl." Worst case scenario is Shayna pushes him further, but she doesn't, giving a thoughtful nod to his words.

He wonders if he dodged a bullet there and wound up safe, or dodged a bullet and instead got hit by a canon ball.

Chapter Text

How has she gone her whole life so isolated from the world?

She didn't deserve to be raised like that.

She didn't deserve her mother, and she definitely didn't deserve him.

But right now, he was all she had. And to him, she was the most constant thing he's ever experienced. He had to get a grip.

__

Stanley was shocked when he saw a stand of lightning crack through the darkening sky, drawing with it a loud booming roll of thunder.

It was definitely going to rain soon. He rolled up the windows at the notion.

Shayna, on the otherhand, wasn't a fan of the noise at all.

She jumped at the crackle, whipping her head wildly. He vaugely thought to himself how her hair already looked as if lighting had struck it - seriously he was going to have to do something about that soon.

But when the thunder rolled, she seemed to be less concerned about her hair than he was.

She thrashed against the seat belt until she could turn around and hide herself in his chest. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and shielded her face in his sternum, trembling.

His hand reacted quicker than his brain, coming to hold the back of her head. He cradled it gently, more gentle than he thought he could cradle anything, and held her still.

It took him a moment to start petting his large palm down her hair, waiting to make sure she was comfortable with the touch - and still uncertian of his movements himself. 

"S'okay pumpkin, just a'lil thunder." He said softly, his rasp struggling with the tender tone he was speaking in. 

"I don' like it." Shayna murmured.

He's able to make out her words spoken into his chest, and sighs, disguising a laugh that wanted to bubble out of this throat. "I know. It'll be over soon." He assures.

Stanley drives quietly for a while, idly petting Shayna's hair and humming some distant tune to himself while he thinks the day over, silently pondering expenses.

It take a full body shiver from her for his attention to be regained.

"You okay?" He asks, rubbing Shayna's back slowly.

"M'cold" She responded into his sternum, and he's just barely able to discern what she said.

He knows he has a reputation of being a human radiator, or atleast thats what the ladies said, so the fact she was cold is beyond him.

Dispite that, he takes a moment to scan his eyes over what he could use to warm her up.

He's reminded of the fact that he's sitting on his jacket which had been tied around his waist earlier and was now loosened. His mind focuses and recognizes further that the zipper is digging uncomfortably into this thigh.

"Here we go," he says, fishing underneath Shayna for a way to yank it out while still driving. What a multi-tasker.

He lifts up his hips, and in turn her, promptly ripping the jacket out from underneath his arse with a triumphant sound as he sits himself back down. She gave a little jolt at the movement but relaxed once more.

He props his knee on the wheel again and focuses on diligently wrapping her like a burrito in his jacket, fluffing the faux fur lining the hood around her head. "How's that?" He asks looking proud of himself. Before she could respond he follows it up with, "I was sitting on it so it's nice n' warm, y'ure welcome." 

He laughs at the face she makes.

"Eww.." She says, the end of the drawn out 'w' quickly shifting into light giggles.

Stanley feigns shock, and clutches his invisible pearls.

"Ew? I just saved ya' from a horrible bout of frostbite, n' I dont even get a 'thank you'?" He can barely keep the humor out of his voice to mess with her, but damn if he isn't trying.

When she looked up at him with a slightly agape mouth and wide pouty eyes he speaks again, all in good humor.

"Nope, ya' can't look like that now, it's too late; I'm distraught, disgruntled, " He holds up a finger for every word he lists. "Probably another 'dis-' word that I don't even know-" 

Before he can finish his good-humored ramble, Shayna took him up in a small hug, her arms trying very hard to wrap around his chest efficiently. He gets a little worried and starts to babble again. "Hey, hey, I was just-" 

"Thank you," she said, just loud enough to cut him off.

He stills and snaps his jaw closed as she shifts and struggles to hug him properly, in which he approaches the situation with newfound hesitance.

He spares Shayna one arm to hug her close with a quick squeeze while the other moves his hand to the wheel, gripping it tightly.

"Yea, y'ure welcome, pumpkin." 

.

.

.

.

When he pulls into his designated 'park-too-far-away-so-the-ops-dont-get-you-spot' just a few misty drops had begun to fall against the windshield, trickling down in shivering lines. 

He gives Shayna's back a few curt pats to announce their arrival back at the motel in which she grumbled irritability against his chest. She had taken a little power nap after the initial storm scare and were softly breathing against him.

"We're h- uhm. We're back." He drums a little rhythm on her back just long enough to annoy her into consciousness. His hood falls further into her face when she stirs and he brings a hand to lift it just enough to see her face.

"Mornin' sunshine." He says with a lopsided smile.

When she does finally cast him a look, she's not all that thrilled. He stiffles a laugh in his cheeks before flashing her a more empathetic look.

"C'mon, up, up, up," He urges, trying to rub energy back into her with his hands. "We gotta beat the rain pumpkin-"

A distant roll of thunder accentuates his point. It'd be getting heavy soon. She looks a little more lively at the sound, giving the window a tentative glance before nodding. "M'okay." 

Stanley is quick to act, wrapping one arm around Shayna and reaching for the door handle with the other. He pushes it open and holds it steady with his foot, climbing out with her in his arm, propped on his hip.

He dashes under the awning covering the downstairs section of the motel, setting her down unceremoniously before ducking back out into the sprinkling rain again. He opens the passenger door, retrieving the groceries and Shayna's discarded clothes before kicking it closed again.

He returns to her, flicking his dew-damp hair out of his face with a shake of his head and nodding for her to follow.

His shoulders were lightly dusted with sodden spots of rain and his hands were full so he couldn't pick her up again. He watches as she struggles to hold his jacket around herself in a manner that kept it off of the ground.

"C'mon, kiddo" He starts the brisk walk to their shared room, beckoning her to follow.

He listens to her foot steps patter in a quick pace behind him to keep up with his longer strides and keeps a chuckle to himself. 

In just the short walk to the door the rain has already settled on a steady downpour, dripping down the awning as he fumbles for the key. 

"Here kid, hold these." He reaches down with her pajamas and waits for her to snag them before turning to face the door and dig in his pocket.

Shayna fumbled to keep her clothes from grazing the ground as she watched Stan work at the door with a slew of familiar grumbles and not so familiar colorful words muttered under his breath. 

Soon, of course, that gets boring and the sound behind her gets interesting. 

She pivots, facing the uneven wall formed by water streaming down from the lip of the awning. 

The sight is surprising enough to encourage her to take a few steps back. She had never experienced.. this.. whatever it was, up close. The most she's seen of a thunderstorm was from a window and rarely at that. 

Her mouth falls open slightly at the riveting sight, her eyebrows shooting up on her forehead.

She vaugely registers Stan letting out a triumphant 'Aha!' as he pushes the door open with his body and moves to enter. She's still backing up, away from the unfamiliar phenomena until her back meets one of Stanley's legs. 

He let's out a quiet 'oof', exaggerated sure, turning his head just enough to cast her a look.

"What's the big idea?" Theres no real malice in Stan's voice, especially not when he sees the look on Shayna's face. When she doesn't reply, he reaches inside the room just enough to place down the groceries on the kitchen counter - which lined the entry way - and steps back out to face her.

"...what's the holdup?" He asks gruffly, voice straining to remain gentle. He scratches underneath his jaw unconsciously, following her gaze to the sheen of water spilling from the awning that created a makeshift wall of sorts. It breaks at times, showcasing the puddle-ridden parking lot before it's shrouded again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tutting, lowing himself in a crouch next to her side. She looks to him for a split second, as if she couldn't risk looking away from the display for too long. "Scared?" He pries, nodding in the direction of what has stolen her attention.

Shayna nodded slowly, keeping her eyes forward. "I don'.." she started, then paused, leaving a heavy silence to linger in place of her response to be.

In the silence, he takes her pajamas from her and tosses them haphazardly inside, hopefully on the counter.

He let's out a loud exhale, placing his palms on his knees as he stands again. "Well, it's nuthin' ta be afraid of, pumpkin." He says, nodding along with his own words as he surveys the surroundings with a swoop of his gaze. 

   "A lil' rain never hurt nobody." He concludes.

.

Now, Shayna keeps hearing him call it that, and she has half the mind to correct him! - it's not rain, it's water, duh. 

"...why do y'keep callin it that?" She asked smally, but curiously nonetheless.

"Wha?" He blinks down at her. She's still hesitant to tear her gaze away from the downpour.

 "What, y'mean rain?" He asks her with a head tilt, wanting to make sure the two of them were on the same page. 

"Yea. Its water not rain." She answers with an air of obliviousnes.

.

"Sweetheart, that ain't called water." He says almost deadpan.

What??! Shayna exclaims internally. She turns to look up at him, whipping her head in a way that spoke: I'm here to defend my opinion! 

"Yea it is!" She said instantaneously.

Upon seeing this, Stan's deadpan look falters almost immediately and his eyes dart away to look for his reply along the grooves of the sidewalk.

"Well- yea, it is but it's not like.. it's not.. er." 

.

   "Its like water in a way.. but not anymore- like water that went through.. a process y'know.."

  "Mama greenery or something did her thing, or whatever.. and.." 

.

He stops himself painfully.

He stares at her for a long moment as he tries to piece together something.

"Look ah- when water falls from the sky it's not called water no more." He rubs his forehead with his palm. "S'called rain." 

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. 

"N'when it is rain, it's not able to hurt ya." He finishs up quickly, hoping that was convincing enough. 

When her gaze remains hard he concludes with: "I'm an adult so I know all about this."  

With that she shoots the rain a softening look, still skeptical. 

"It's still kinda scary.." she admits quietly, almost lost to the sound of drumming rainwater.

"Nah kid, ya got it all backwards." Stan is quick to speak against her skepticism. "Rain is fun." He speaks like he's trying to sell it to her.

Shayna watches as he clicks the door closed behind him when he steps to the edge of the sidewalk, not bothering to lock it.

He stops just shy of the cascading rainwater, looking behind himself and bending at the knee, lowering to her height again. He drops to sit on his calves, holding out a hand towards her, palm up, beckoning her over.

"C'mere, pumpkin. Lemme show you." His eyes are soft but shining as he invites her over. Some water droplets from earlier drip from his hair and onto his nose, falling off and down to the sidewalk below.

She takes a slow step.

   Then another. Willing herself to approach him.

The.. rain .. seems less scary with him next to it. 

She stops just behind him and a lopsided smirk finds itself on his face. He gives her a quick once over. "Ready?"

She gives a slow nod. 

He accepts this just fine, looking at her a moment longer to figure out how he was going to do this. "Hold out y'ure arm." He instructs, moving to take his oversized jacket off of her and throw it at the door to be retrieved later.

She does as told, balling her fist tight and tensing her arm as she held it out. He laughs outloud when she scrunches her face and shuts her eyes in preparation, leaning back as if she was playing limbo.

"Yeesh kid, not so serious! It ain't gonna jump out n'bite ya." He says in a bubbling chuckle.

Her lips press together in a thin line at that, not looking entirely convinced as she opens one eye to give him a glance. 

He notices and dies his laughter down, placing his hand on her forearm, trailing it to her wrist, then to her hand, stopping when his fingerpads graze her knuckles.

She gives him a wary look.

"I promise. It won't hurt ya, especially not if I'm here." He says earnestly, then leans in as if to tell her a secret, placing a hand on the side of his mouth facing the rain water to block it. "Me n' rain got history y'know, it wouldn't wanna mess with me."

Cracking jokes to ease tension was his specialty, so that's what he was going to do.

At that she lets out a light giggle, some tension leaving her fist to which Stan sighs appreciatively. "There we go," he helps her open up her hand, holding it upright, palm facing the water-wall.  He places his hand behind her own, his palm pressed against the top of her hand as he shifts to sit behind her, guiding her more efficiently.

He instructs her to do the same with her other arm.

.

He notices Shayna getting nervous again, watching her composure slip.

   As many jokes as it takes, he tells himself.

He decides to rest his arms atop her own lightly, dwarfing them, but not crushing them. Still, he let's out a surprised sound.

"Whuh?" She looks up and behind herself at him nervously, and he gives her the most shocked look he can muster.

"Y'ure a tank pumpkin, seriously, I mean I must weigh nuthin to you!" He says, nodding at his arms overtop of her own, skin barely grazing skin. 

But it was enough for her to look back and crack a smile. She even starts to laugh when she flexes her arms upwards and he moves his to limply follow suit, creating the illusion she really was supporting him.

"Yeesh, y'don't gotta rub it in." He says, in exaggerated defeat.

   "Not my fault you're freakishly strong." 

He leans forward when she laughs harder, his chest grazing her back and his chin atop her head as he offers a little more weight. "Light as a feather, right?" He let's out an overdramatic sigh as he let's his chin sink into her hair and his weight settle a little more, feeling her hunch to accommodate him.

  "Hey this is pretty comfy, I could get used to this," he fakes a snore.

She lets out a shriek-like laugh, trying to dislodge him through a fit of giggles. 

He feigns grumpiness, continuing. "Hey, I'm tryna take a nap here." He shifts to get comfortable again.

"Stannn!" She drawls and he puts in a hefty amount of effort to not laugh with her. 

"Alright alright, I'll quit," he let's up, leaning back up again. "Serious this time, you okay?" 

Now, much more at ease, she nods. "Yea," 

"Good." 

He scoots forward with her, bringing her fingers to graze the wall of water, gently urging her to reach out further. When she does, the initial shock of the cool water makes her rip them backwards, but Stanley remains patient. 

"Thats okay, it's okay. We'll do it again." 

He sets up the same position again, and this time she's holding her breath. His hands behind her own act as support while she rakes her fingers through the water, then curiously shove her entire hands through, giggling at the sensation. 

As Stanley watches, he can't help but wonder why this was so new to her.

A kid who's never been shopping, has never seen rain close enough to touch it, and on top of that didn't have a name until just a few hours ago? He had half the mind to go find her mother and beat the living hell out of her but convinced himself against it. 

He had no idea why she hadn't been able to have exposure to any of these things. And as much as he loved assuming, he couldn't do it just for the hell of it, not if she was in the picture now. He'd stick to what he knew, which wasn't much. 

He had a daughter to look after now, he wasn't going to allow himself to carelessly find scores to settle. And even though he already had some looking over him, he'd put them off as long as needbe, run from them as long as he could.

Until she was out of the picture. 

.

To clear his head, he shifts from behind her, letting her explore the water at her own pace as the initial downpour slows down, leaving sprinkling droplets and puddles galore. Still, she's very much enamored with the left over water spilling from the lip of the awning. 

He gets up, with a signature groan, and steps through the water threshold and into the parking lot. The cool water drumming against his thick hair for that split second was enough to clear his unruly thoughts. He brings his hands up to wring out his mullet, making eye contact with her just a few feet away. Shayna is giving him a starstruck stare, attention stolen from the slowly draining waterfall infront of her.

He could read her expression, 'did he just do that willingly?' 

He wordlessly beckons her to follow suit, and with hesitance, she does, avoiding the main stream of water, shaking her head and hair wildly when she feels a few drops fall into her scalp. Amusement bubbles in him at the sight when she's made herself dizzy, still trying to approach him.

What he doesn't expect is for her to lose her footing and stumble right into a pothole-turned-puddle, falling ass first into it with a rather impressive splash.

He actually gasps, taking the two strides needed towards her, immediately hooking her up underneath her arms to pull her up and out of the pothole.

The sight shouldn't be as amusing as it was.

Curly hair sopping wet and clothes muddled with muddy water has him snickering like an idiot. He sets Shayna down on her feet, lowering to his knees, reminding hef over and over again that she was okay, probably just to keep talking so his body doesn't substitute it with laugher - even if he's already chuckling 

She didn't cry when she fell this time, probably too shook with the outcome of this particular fall, and her dad's rather rude reaction. 

Shayna's brows furrow when his head ducks down as he holds her by the shoulders, shaking with obviously restrained laughter. He tries to speak, ultimately deciding against it when he snorts.

She looks back behind her again, looking for payback.

Hey, that pothole still had some water in it.

In an instant she's hopped backwards and back into the pothole, creating an expert splash.

So expert in fact, Stan is in the perfect position to receive the onslaught right in the face. His downturned head and hunched over posture do not do him any good in this situation.

In what can only be described as glee Shayna laughs and laughs and laughs at the sight of Stan slowly lifting his head up, face and hair dripping just like her own as he repeatedly wipes a hand down his face. He takes the hem of his shirt up and wipes his face with it, grumbling all the while.

Shayna continues to giggle, still ankle deep in the pothole with a triumphant look on her face.

"I got youu" She drags out the 'you' knowingly. Just what he gets for laughing.

Still, he can't look at her angrily - honestly he deserved that - but it's not like he couldn't play along. 

"Alright, alright, yuk it up." He stands up, hands on his hips. "Get outta there before you get a disease or somethin'." He tries to appear unphased, but he can admit he probably looks ridiculous.

Taking advantage of her back turned as she steps out with your head held high, a knowing smirk passes over his face.

When her shoe-clad foot leaves the puddle, he replaces it with his own, stomping down into the water and creating probably the most satisfying splash he's ever seen. It's only that satisfying because it quite literally covers the expanse of her entire backside in murky water, soaking in instantly. 

He barks a loud boisterous laugh as she pivots on her heal with a squeal. 

When he hovers his foot above the almost drained pothole again she takes off instantly, a slew of adrenaline filled giggles leaving her, a few 'No!'s in there too. She rounds his car and he spots her taking purchace behind his tire, unable to keep herself quiet. 

As he starts to trail after her, a playful air about him, the motel room door infront of his car flies open. He stiffens for a moment.

Out steps a man, dressed in jeans and a wife beater, immediately looking at what Stanley can only presume is Shayna hiding behind the El Diablo. He is unaware of Stanley, shaking the newspaper in her direction.

"Its you making all that fucking noise!" The man claims instantly and moves to approach her. At once Stanley is on the move towards the situation.

Shayna screeched. Unlike the other playful ones, this one is of pure terror. She rounds Stanley's car, the man trailing behind her barking out a slew of colorful words about how she needed to stay put so he could whack her upside the head. 

She spotted Stanley instantly and broke into a mad dash for him from around the bumper, ducking instantly behind his legs.

"Stan-" she started.

"Its okay, pumpkin." He finishes. 

The neighbor is quick to follow, slowing down however at the sight of Stanley. Both men's gazes harden at the sight of eachother.

Soon the man comes to a halt, a couple yards from Stanley, and they just stare at eachother.

"Hey pal, is there a problem here?" Stanley starts up first, slicking his wet hair back with a hand to get it out of his face.

As crazy as he may look, he was still able to recognise his intimidation factor hadn't been ruined by Shayna's puddle splash. This guy suddenly seemed very okay staying a good distance away from the two of you. 

"..Nah man, nah..." The guy looks curiously over the two of you, like it was a sight to behold. He takes a moment. "..Just keep your damn kid under control, eh? Could hear her from the next town over." The man replies sourly.

Stanley feels an eye twitch but he focuses himself on squeezing his fists tighter instead of acting irrational.

"Yea, man, 'course" Stanley says through gritted teeth. "Just don't cuss at my daughter, alright?" He says, a bit of a warning in his tone.

The man, from what Stanley can see this far away, scowls. "I'll say what I want to who I want, just tell the fucking brat to shut up once n' a while." 

Stanley's jaw clenches. This was quite literally her first time outside, the fuck did he mean 'once n' a while'?

Stanley knows he has a short temper, hell, it's the one quality of his he can't seem to fake however many persona's he has. And even though his better judgment is telling him not to engage, he can't help it.

Stanley bends at the knee and pats Shayna's sodden hair, "Go to the door pumpkin, inside if you can reach the handle." He mumbles, keeping his gaze trained at the man and instantly she scrambled away behind him.

Stanley begins his approach, fists balled at his side. He stops a good two feet from the man and quirks a fake smile. "I said don't cuss at my daughter." He restated, voice hardened.

"And I said I'll say what I want." The guy widens his stance not so subtly. The man wasn't as big as him, and Stanley couldn't see anything outright impressive in his standards under his tank top.

"Listen here you son of a-" He takes one big step closer, seizing him by the collar of his shirt and tugging them face to face. This close, with Stanley seething into his face, something about the guy seemed to click.

That familiarity of his face was enough to render Stanley silent. This wasn't some random guy with an affinity for hating children - he knew this guy - and he didnt like what memories his mind were picturing him in. Stanley blinked rapidly, still holding onto his collar, now looking pale. "You - " Stanley was hesitant to release him.

"What?" The man barked, clearly acting as if he didnt know Stanley. And maybe he didn't, maybe Stanley was picturing some other goon. Shayna's presence was keeping him from beating the tar out of some random guy to prove a point - even if he was a complete and utter asshole. Something was unnerving him about this. This guy looked too damn familiar, sounded too familiar. 

So he shoves the guy away, sending him stumbling an impressive amount of feet back.

"Go inside." He instructs, nowhere near a suggestion. He takes a step towards him and In that moment, the guys eyes sharpen with knowing and disdain before he gathers himself up and makes quick work of the distance to his room. He's gone in a blink, the door slamming shut behind him.

Stanley spits onto the pavement as he watches him leave, shaking his head and rubbing his temples with one hand.

Something was wrong.

He makes his way over to Shayna and spots her up against the motel door, squishing herself to it.

When he settles himself down to get a look at her, she shrinks into herself, and he feels himself wince. 

"Hey, hey pumpkin it's okay. He's gone." He assures, and she looks a little less anxious when Stanley wills his face to relax and soften. "You hurt?" 

She shook her head, but the action is quickly dislodged when a sneeze wracks her body, and Stanley is quickly reminded of their shared state.

He offers her a lopsided smile, though faint, and reaches down to grab his jacket, and her. She let's him after a moment, feeling stiff. "C'mon, let's get you inside." 

.

Chapter Text

How hard could it be?

__

[STANLEY POV]

Stanley feels goosebumps form along his arms when he steps inside, the humidity from the rain dissipating in the heavily air conditioned room. 

He pulls the door closed behind the two of you, shifting her weight into one of his arms. He scrapes his boots of their mud on the welcome mat and shuffles into the kitchen, a heavy silence falling over the both of you. He slowly rounds the kitchen counter, entering the threshold with hesitance, casting a glance over the groceries.

He moves to sit Shayna down on the far end of the counter, grumbling out a, "sorry 'bout that, pumpkin," he makes sure she's situated, feet dangling over the edge when he turns to focus on the groceries already placed upon the counter. In a last second move he tosses his jacket onto her lap blindly, facing away.

He was very obviously trying to busy himself, haphazardly de-bagging groceries and placing them in the mini-fridge that came with the motel. He leaves the the snacks and dry foods out while focusing on keeping the chilled foods, well, chilled.

.

He casts her a quick look, followed by another, and a few more after that, each one gaining a measly bigger margin of confidence than the last until he speaks up.

"Your dad ain't exactly.. er. Chummy most times." He doesn't look at her, appearing to be discussing this with himself as he crouches to peer into the fridge, his voice becoming muffled.

"But hey, I'd be lying if I say I didn't try." Whatever helps you sleep at night Stanley. He finishes with a half-assed chuckle.

.

"Mm," Shayna hummed in simple acknowledgment, offering him nothing more. It was a small sound, her previous excitement and whimsy towards things currently drained from the experience.

Stanley becomes impossibly more guilty then he thought was previously capable, shoulders raised to his ears. However, he can't find it within himself to pester her with hollow sorry's in hopes you'd pity him. Sure, they weren't hollow entirely, but after the 20th apology he was certain she'd think so.

He becomes aware of the water droplets coating the floor and inner fridge from his hair and shirt, leaning back enough to shake his head to rid his hair of the more prominent drops, drizzling the floor. 

And Shayna too, apparently, judging by the yelp she let out.

He turns, blindly chucking the milk into the minifridge and shutting the door before it has a chance to fall out. He takes a hand over his dampened face and pushes his hair back, facing her with a grimace.

She utilized his jacket as a makeshift shield, holding it up and infront of her to save herself from the onslaught of water droplets that were shed from his hair. He sees the little dark spots on the maroon backdrop from the few she managed to catch.

An amused exhale leaves his nose as he takes in the sight of her peeking up from behind the hood when she judged the unintentional attack was over. He gives her an arched eyebrow before furrowing the both of them and mumbling a quiet sorry in her direction, barely audible over the insistent AC unit.

So much for no more apologies.

She drags the jacket down and back into her lap with hesitance.

She's fiddling with her hands, fingers picking at eachother as she limply drums the back of her heels against the cabinet below her with weak kicks. She's draped his jacket further around herself, the faux fur hood tucked inbetween her arms. The look she's giving him is entirely more pitiful than he imagined he could ever express himself.

Stanley casts the pile of snacks by the sink a desperate look, approaching with one big stride and propping his hip against the counter edge, a few feet from her side. He props a foot up, crossing it over the other to effectively lean. 

He clears his throat gruffly, reaching over to snag a chip bag and tear it open, offering it to her first, giving it a quick wave infront of her face. "Hungry?" His voice quirks up hopefully.

She turns him down silently, a mere shake of her head sending water droplets from the back of her hair dripping onto the counter.

Stanley regards her silently as he brings the chips back, opening it with a pull between his hands and popping a handful into his mouth. The Toffee Peanuts weren't enough!!

He chews.. as modestly as you'd expect from a fine young gentleman such as himself. Meaning, a heafty amount of crumbs have found purchace on his shirt.

He's not very practiced in this field, but it's not like he's being graded.

Her kicking stops at some point, and she just sits staring at the tile below. She's shifted a few times, uncomfortably if he knew how to judge, which he does.

.

.

Eventually he can't take it anymore.

"Y'ure a hot mess, pumpkin." He huffs out, placing the chips down and crossing his arms, broadening his lean if possible. Though, as far as intimidation was concerned, even if playful, the grin on his face gave any semblance of seriousness away.

It was all worth the look she shoot his way, though. Perplexed, a little offended, but engaged. 

That's all a dad really needed to cheer his daughter up.

"I mean, look, ya' come into a real nice place," He takes it upon himself to gesture to the surroundings. He almost cracks right then and there.

"Muck around," He takes a hand and ghosts it over the junction of Shayna's neck and shoulders. It's enough to make her raise them to her ears and disguise a laugh in a loud exhale through her nose. "No sense of decency,"

"Leave a puddle on the counter," he moves his hand to brush over her hair, spraying the water off of it in similar ways to water on a ducks back. It drips down onto the back of her shirt and she let a giggle slip.

"And expect zero repercussions?" He can't help but laugh here, maybe that word was a little too big based on her furrowed brow but her smile is all the same.

"Noo.." She drags on innocently, rewarding him with a few clicks of her heels against the cabinets below. For not knowing what the word meant she plays the part pretty well.

"Is that right?" He asks with an arched brow, bringing his hand back to fold his arms over his chest. Her smile is now brimming on a grin.

"Yea," She offers proudly, straightening her posture and propping her hands on her knees to further accentuate this.

He laughs outwardly, shaking his head as he lets the gig fall. The sound is affectionate yet deep, equal parts condescending and paternal.

She's distracted enough with her own fit of giggles that he takes the hood of his jacket in a hand and flips it up and over her head, effectively covering her vision with the back of it.

He laughs louder when she tries to shake it off, spraying more water from her hair.

When she finally tugs it down, she shot him a glare filled with mirth, unable to keep up her own act. Shayna made a show of rolling her eyes, crossing her own arms to mimic him.

"What? What did I do?" He asks in mock cluelessness, she simply 'hmph'ed, a grin pushing her cheeks to her eyes and forcing them to squint, which she plays off horribly yet endearingly as a pondering expression.

He huffs, taking a kneel onto the tiled floor below followed with a tired grunt. He's now eye level with her stomach, looking up at her with a soft, contemplative look as he weighs his options.

He looks at her muddled disgruntled self with a light chuckle. He brings a thumb to his mouth, licking it as he reached up to wipe a smear of gunk from her face, something he remembers his Ma' doing.

Shayna responded with a high pitched ‘eww!’ and a giggle, swatting his hand away with no real effort.

"Sorry pumpkin," he said, untruthfully.

. 

.

He takes a long moment to pause and take in the situation, sighing at the content look flitting onto her face through micro expressions. 

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” He asks no one in particular, earning a soft look from her. He taps his fingers on her knees, trying to give the illusion this was taking a lot of forethought.

She doesn't respond, just fixes him with an odd look, expectant of.. something. Instead you two just hold eye contact, awaiting the next move of the other.

He glances behind her at the bathroom a few paces away from where you two were situated in the kitchen. 

“Well, I know one thing I can do.” He nods behind her and she follows his gaze slowly, eyeing the shadowed room. “I can tell ya' ta get y'ure butt in there and take a bath.” He says with a chuckle, giving her a nudge. 

"Ya' stink." He follows up, expecting playful protest. 

But nothing comes.

She makes no move to respond, still turned away from him to face the room. His face falls ever so slightly and he pauses, thinking, a light panic overtaking him. “Do you.. take ‘em alone yet?” 

She continued to stare behind herself, offering a small shoulder shrug and a meek “Sorta..” 

“Huh.. okay.” Stanley rubs behind his neck.

“Do ya'.. want my help?” He asks slowly, rising from his position on the floor with a pop from his knee. God he's getting old. Says the 28 year old man.

Shayna refused to look at him still, offering a stiff nod that makes him even more uncomfortable.

He looks beyond her, taking a long inhale and holding it until his shoulders are squared to his liking and he feels confident enough to release it. "Okay then,"

He pats her back for her attention, she casted him a sideways look. "Wanna just see how this goes? Work from there?" He offers, getting ready to take her down and off the counter. 

Her smile has dissipated, leaving behind a distant expression he was unfamiliar with on her face. She takes a long moment, her hands lacing and unlacing together, fidgeting restlessly until finally she nods. It's small at first, before she decides to reiterate with more intensity.

He silently obliged, lifting her up and into his arms once more and starting the treck into the bathroom, nervous for both of your sakes.

.

He flicks on the light, opting to leave the bathroom door open behind him as his boots tap against the white tile floor. 

To his relief, the bath is filled with basic amenities, soaps, shampoo, conditioner. All in little tiny bottles that surely wouldn't last.

He takes his free hand, holding her against him with the other arm, grabbing the toilet seat and starting to pull the lid down for as a seat for her before stopping.

He feels something akin to pure unadulterated fear wash through him, followed closely by embarrassment.

"Hey kid, uhm." He starts, voice gruffer than usual as he avoids any and all forms of unnecessary eye contact.

"Are you.. er.." 

He pauses, setting her down to stand on the floor, looking between Shayna and the toilet.

"How do I put this.." 

"Ya' trained?" He tries, making a wide gesture between the toilet and Shayna as if they should know eachother. He was approaching this the only way he knew how, buisness casual. 

Hell maybe he'll start trying to sell it to her.

He wants to slap his palm into his forehead at the look she gives him, glancing between her and the porcelain in question.

Luckily enough, she nods. "Yeah.. mh-hm." Just that little affirmation and Stanley just barely refrains from wiping the sweat from his brow. 

"Okay, good. Yea." He chokes out, giving her a tentative glance.

"Do you wanna.." insert gesture.

     "before we..?" He hopes his silence will speak for him.

Again, luckily, she seems to know what he's talking about. He was incredibly grateful. "Can I?" She perks up.

He grimaces, Moses, how could he have forgotten about something like this.

It's almost three in the afternoon and he's seen her every waking minute since midnight, and never once did he see her go to the bathroom. He prays she did while he was asleep, but he's skeptical considering she's asking him for permission now. God he felt like an idiot. A neglectful one at that.

Wait- she asked to use the bathroom? What the fu-

"Yea- yeah! Of course, yep, absolutely, I'll just uh-" He starts backing up, bumping into the doorway. "I'll just be out here waitin', you just holler when you're ready - if you're still willin' for me to help or uh, y'know, let a guy know." 

And with that, he pulls the door closed infront of him, shielding himself from Shayna's perplexed expression, restraining the urge to let his head smack against the door in defeat. 

Instead, he rolls away from the door, in favor of leaning against it's frame and facing the rest of the motel room again. He sighs loudly.

.

.

Soon enough the sound of water on water dissipates, the toilet flushes, and Stanley finishes up his prayers above before tapping his knuckles on the door. "Ya' good in there,  pumpkin?" He asks through the door, his other hand coming to hold the handle.

A muffled 'yea' comes from her end, just loud enough to be made out through the wood.

He twists his wrist enough to unlatch the door but kept it closed. "Okay, want me to come in?" 

She offers him the same affirmation, leaving him a shaky mess at the lack of elaboration. He makes a mad dash into the kitchen, grabbing a cup for the water he would (hopefully) pour over her head, returning soon after.

He pushes open the door, gripping the handle like a vice.

.

He steps through, standing in the doorway and glancing down at her. She's not looking back at him, respectfully so - he was being an idiot, probably freaking her out just as much as he was. 

He takes in her appearance, still dirty and muddled, and he realized he was going to have to grow a pair or she'd be covered in muddy water until her dying days. 

He crouches down, not before popping the cup by the sink, moving to sit back on his knees with a grunt, finding his jacket discarded to the floor and using it as padding for them.

"How you feelin'?" He inquires, trying to appear unbothered for both of their sakes.

"Good," She says simply, wringing the hem of her shirt in her hands as she stares at the ground.

"Thats good." Stanley nods, looking at the tub behind her thoughtfully. He trys to avoid this question, but seriously how else could this be done.

"You're gonna have to take off-" 

Her hands are quick to move to his face, pushing against cheek bones and effectively shielding his eyes. The suddenness forces an awkward chuckle from his throat, coming out in short gusts.

"Hey, hey- I'll close my eyes, okay?" He says, hands coming up to envelope Shayna's wrists and hold them there. Only when she lets up does he tug them away, showcasing his closed eyes. 

"See? No lies over here, pumpkin." He says, wishing he could see her face in order to understand what she was feeling. He takes his index finger to draw an 'X' over his heart instead. "Cross my heart." 

.

.

"Ehh.." he peeks open one eye just barely a slit, peering through his lashes at the tub behind her. "I will have to keep em open to turn on the tub though, so there's that." 

Shayna looked discoruaged.

"You can do it behind me while I get the bath ready okay? Then I'll close my eyes when you get in." He offers, still only peeking at her.

"Sound good?" 

She visibly weighed her options, giving him an intense, almost frightened look. He figures it was just nerves. "Okay," she offered, smally. 

He's quick to scoot forward on his knees, guiding her behind him with a slow swoop of his arm, pushing her out of sight. "Alrighty then," and with that, he tucks himself close to the far corner of the tub, up against the rim, staring at the spout quizzically. 

While he's figuring out which way to turn the valve he hears her fumbling behind him, but no rustling of clothes. He takes initiative and turns the water on to fill the silence, the pressure pouring out a loud stream of water into the tub below, one he places his hand underneath to feel the temperature.

By busying himself and appearing disinterested, she begins to undress, he silently celebrates.

He awkwardly finds a good medium temperature, just warm enough to be enjoyable, before putting the plug into the drain below, allowing the water to steadily fill up the tub. A split instant thought pops into his head and he scours the rims of the bathtub, looking for soap.

He finds a small bottle of body soap and pauses when he grabs a hold of it. "Ya' want bubbles?" He asks over his shoulder, fondly remembering the bubble baths his Ma' would draw for him and Ford.

Actually, he was remembering the pictures of said occasions, now glued up in some scrapbook somewhere.

He hears her kick a shoe off, listening to the thud of it against the wall, and he shakes his head in amusement. 

To his surprise Shayna asked back, "whas'at?" 

He blinks, resisting the urge to turn and give her the most judgemental look he could muster. 

"Y'know.. big white foamy stuff," He gestures to the tub quickly filling up, it'd be harder to make bubbles the more water there is, make up ya mind kid! "Hides ya in the water n' all." 

"Oh uhhhh..." She drawled on, the wait making his head hang in parental annoyance.

.

.

"Yea." She finished finally.

Hes quick to pop open the soap and pour a hefty dollop into the water, quickly whisking his hand through the water to foam it up before it got too full. 

.

A heady layer begins to form along the surface of the water when she tapped him on his shoulder. He takes a hand to the valve, shutting it off, admiring his work obviously yet quickly.

"Ready, pumpkin?" 

He asks, diligently remaining faced away from her.

"Mhm.." she murmured, making the newfound silence all the more loud.

"Okay then, eyes are closed." He says, scrunching up his face to further accentuate this. "Need help getting in?" 

Theres a silence, it feels expectant.

"Pumpkin, I can't see you shake your head if my eyes are closed." Lucky guess.

"Oh." She mustered.

"So, need help?" He asks again, as gently as his voice allowed.

"Yea.." The word is spoken like it's terrifying to her.

"Here, use my shoulder, one foot after the other," He instructs, shifting his shoulder down at an angle towards her, making the other side pop up. "Don't rush it." He said patiently.

And so, he feels her little hand press her weight onto his shoulder, and a little sound of effort as she hauled herself up and over the rim. He had his hand on idle standby, twitching with readiness incase he heard her fall.

"Woah.." She mumbled, probably having just seen his little bubbly oasis he prepared for her.

"Impressive, I know. Y'ure very welcome." He says in a certain cocky tone that never seems to have left him despite all it's done to get his ass handed to him in one way or another. If his eyes were open they'd be glimmering with mirth.

Soon enough, he hears Shyna plop into the water, making little to no noise at all verbally. 

He could practically feel her nerves drifting through the air, and the fact he'd have to brave the storm is becoming more and more evident.

"Can I open my eyes now?" He asks into the stillness, listening to the disturbed water lap against the porcelain.

.

Chapter Text

Okay, in and out, remember to breathe.

This is normal, parents do this all the time, and if this whole dad thing is going to be around much longer, I might as well learn what to do by ear.

__

[STANLEY POV]

. 

Stanley blinks open his eyes, squinting, having grown used to the darkness underneath his eyelids.

The pale off-whites of the motel bathroom greet him, followed closely by the sight of you up to your neck in bubbles.

"Lookin' good." He manages to say without cracking up.

A grin cracks itself open upon his face as he watches you blow a chunk of bubbles away from your mouth, tongue sticking out irritably as your nose scrunches.

Some bubbles have already managed to clump themselves in your frizzed curls, creating quite the sight.

"How's the temp?" He inquires, the fan accompanied with the bathroom light droning out into an intimidating white noise. "Not too hot? Cold?"

"Its good," you say quietly, cupping your hands together to curiously pat the bubbles surrounding you. There was an enamored expression on your face that made his chest puff out in what he could only imagine was fatherly pride.

He scoots forward to lean an elbow on the rim, dipping his other arm through the bubbles and into the water to feel for himself.

You instantly scoot back against the lip of the bathtub end, shooting him a wide-eyed look like a cat backed into a corner.

He barely was able to submurge his hand in the water when he noticed your reaction, quickly pulling back his sud-covered forearm in favor of resting it on the lip of the tub. 

He watches your tension unwind at his retreat, casting him wary looks, burying yourself further in the suds.

"What's up?" He pries.

"Nuthin." You answer quickly, seemingly much more interested in the bubbles below you than anything else. However, you do cast him a few glances.

He returns every glance with an apologetic grimace of his own. 

He leans back on his heels, looking to the ceiling and sighing when he brings his soapy hand to his neck, relishing in the warmth. He closes his eyes for a moment to mentally prepare, looking back down at you with a more relaxed air about him.

"Do ya' know how to do any o'this?" He inquires, genuinely curious.

You take a moment to eye the unfamiliar bottles surrounding you, something like remembrance flashing in your gaze, but nothing big enough to celebrate.

"Uhm.. yea," you respond distantly, caught up in your own little head.

"Properly?" He adds.

You're silent in return, only looking at him tentatively. 

He brings his hand from the back of his neck to the side of his throat, idly rubbing there as he regards you. "M'only gonna clean ya." He tries to speak confidently.

"But.. if there's somthin' uh.. yer not telling me, I won't know, unless- well, ya' tell me." He explains, moving his hands to his bent legs, resting them on his thighs to lean in. "Make sense?" 

You nod in understanding, to which he sighs gratefully. 

"Okay. So. Anything you wanna say?" He waits for you, and all you do is shake your head.

    "Do you still want me to do this?" He asks instead, his voice a deep rumble in the humid atmosphere.

He feels like a broken record having asked you the same question so many times.

But, you seem to appreciate it. He watches your face contort through your thoughts, finally nodding.

"Alrighty then," he says, sighing loudly.

He looks around for a place to start, his eyes catching on a small washcloth hanging up on a bar above the both of you. That'd have to do in replace of a loofah.

He reaches across the tub to the lip up against the wall, grabbing a small bottle of - "shampoo,

   I think we start with this..?" He looks to you, expecting the bathing process to be extremely different for little girls then that of a little boy. He wouldn't know, all he knew we're brothers. And for any lucky gals he'd ever been with, they definitely didn't let him stay around long enough to bathe together. 

He lowers the small bottle down closer to your face for you to inspect. "Yea," you murmur.

"Oh, neat." 

He wordlessly turns around to grab the cup he had placed on the counter previously, then goes back to leaning over the tub. He pauses before dipping it under the suds and into the water to fill it up. Once again you stiffen and he gives you a look.

"I gotta get yer hair wet, pumpkin." He explains. "Would you rather I dunk you under?" He adds with a chuckle that you don't seem to share, other than a huff and a head shake.

"Kidding, kidding." He follows up with a gruff apology.

He raises the bottle up, moving closer to you and sucking in a deep breath. He places his hand above your brow to block it from your eyes.

"Tilt your head back," he instructs.

You slowly do so and he begins to pour the warm water into your curls. You had a thick head of hair, that was for sure, so he did this just a few more times until your hair was sopping.

The bubbles around you began to disperse the more water he poured onto you, making you more and more visible. You hastily pull the bubbles closer to you, but your collarbone and up is now visible.

He haphazardly tosses the cup into the water before coating his hands minimally in shampoo. He reaches into your hair and you flinch away before relaxing once more. He hated to see you reduced from the bubbly kid just hourse ago to something like this just from a bath, so he decides he's going to try and distract you.

As he works his hands into your hair he begins to talk.

"Y'know, yer hair is just like mine." He scrubs your scalp cluelessly until suds begin to form there. "Except the length n'whatnot but ya get the gist." 

.

"Pretty, uh, pretty impressive if you ask me." He clears his throat when his tone begins to waver. "Though, I guess it's just those strong Pines genes at work. Made you a spitting image o'me." He knows he's senselessly rambling, but he can tell your focusing on his words the more time passes because your shoulders start to drop from your ears. 

.

.

"Pines?" You murmur out the word as a question. 

"...My last name, Shayna." He replies slowly, thoroughly scrubbing your hair full of bubbles until he's satisfied with it. "Could be yers too.. if you, uhm. If you'll take it."

.

"It's pretty." You concluded. 

"More like dashing, but I'll take a compliment when I can get it. It can be pretty in your situation, though." Stanley says in a chuckle as he starts to shape your soap ridden hair however he pleased. 

What starts as a soapy up-do merges into a sudsy mohawk that has him full on laughing at the sight. "There we go- perfect."

He wheezed as your hands came up to pat the sides of your upright hair. "Honestly I say we leave it like this, whatddya think? Maybe send you off to a biker gang." 

Stanley reminisces for a moment. "Mention my name and you might just get a jacket. Studs n'all."

Before he could continue your hands were in your hair, wildly un-doing your up-do. "Hey-! That took alotta work y'know," he says in a laugh as a few stray clumps of bubbles are flung onto his shirt. "Bubbles, sweat, and tears, pumpkin-" 

"I don' wanna be in a- in a gang!" You exclaimed with fervor. He doubted you even knew what it meant, but maybe it was just the prospect of him 'sending you off'. 

"Woah-hoah okay, okay. I'll wash it out, just hold still." He says, placing a hand on your soap covered shoulder while he reaches blindly for the cup in the tub. He makes quick work of rinsing your hair, telling you to close your eyes. 

The muck and mud flows from your hair and sits underneath the bubbles in a way that urges Stanley to get a move on.

Once your hair is rinsed, flattened against your face and dripping water, he reaches for the next little bottle labeled conditioner and stares at it inquisitively. "Okay, what about this one?" He asks you.

Your hands grab at the strands of hair blinding you and pull them back to stare at the bottle. "That stays.. for like.. alotta seconds." You explain helpfully. 

He does just that, throughly coating your hair just as before, making sure to keep it away from the water below. His tongue peeks out between his lips as he focuses, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Once finished, he casts the hand towel above him a long look.

Then you.

Then the body wash.

Then back to the towel.

"I.. need to wash you now, alright?" He asks you, not quite meeting your eyes. He clutches the cup a little tighter.

You hum in a shaky sort of way.

"..I'll be gentle." He insists after a few long moments. "If there's anything ya' don't want me to do, all you gotta do is say the word." He makes sure you're looking at him when he draws a sudsy cross over his heart with his finger.

You stare at him, your big eyes swimming with doubt, but willingness. They were deep with emotion, experience he couldn't pinpoint, but it upset him nonetheless. He wanted you to be comfortable with him, even if that was an unrealistic request. He was known to be selfish, and this was no different.

.

.

"Okay." You murmur, eyes cast downward. 

An exhale of loud proportion leaves him in a satisfying sort of way, his lips upturning into a grateful smile before dropping once more with seriousness.

He reaches above you both to snag the washcloth, dunking it quickly into the water while simultaneously grabbing the body soap bar and scrubbing it incessantly into the rag. When it foamed up he grunted in approval and brought it to your shoulder, holding the weight of his hand there, unmoving.

"Say the word." He reminds you, then slowly begins to coat your shoulders in soap, cleaning you carefully.

You're tense, even more so when he lowers the towel down your back breaching the areas covered by bubbles. You're uncomfortable, he can tell, but presses on, feeling worse and worse the higher your shoulders raise like the hackles of a stray. It's only when you wince wordlessly and flinch away that he stops, worry etching his features. 

He curiously scoops his hand into the bubbles, clearing the view to your back to see the source of the issue. 

And there it was, yellowish blotting around your midsection. 

He freezes, hand hesitating before clearing the rest from your back, pushing the bubbles away.

"Oh, shit- shoot. Is this from today?" He asks, breaching on terrified as he takes in the multitude of color on your lower back.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, taking a long look at the damage.

At your slow and hesitant head shake his brows furrow.

With the more he clears away, the marks appear to more red than yellow. Old bruising, or irritation.

"...What is this from?" His hand drifts away from your lower back, resting between your shoulder blades idly. The bubbles file in once more, sheilding you away from him. His tone raises in question.

Your head ducks further down, body language very, very closed off. 

"Shayna," His tone suggested he was angry - but it was more so aggressive concern. But you must've thought his 'anger' was directed towards you. 

"...a friend." You said smally.

Stanley felt his other hand clench and unclench the rim of the tub as he tried to take in the information being layed out before him. "A friend did this?" He breathed out, clearly in disbelief.

"...mom's friend." You added on, practically shaking. 

Stanley's jaw clenched as he drew in a shuddering breath, shaking his head as he lowered it. There was no god damn way, he didnt want to believe the implications.

"He was.. he said- he was.." Your own tremors cutoff anything you were going to tell him.

Stanley didn't say anything as you lost yourself in silent, hiccuping cries.

He placed his hand over the bottom of his face, dragging it downwards as he looked up and away towards the ceiling. His eyes flickered over the pattern there, taking shallow breaths as he unpacked what was just layed on the table. He felt the scowl on his face, his expression twisted something fierce. Fierce enough to end a fight before it started. That's why he angled it at the ceiling, to spare you as a witness to such hatred. 

He didn't want these cards at all - didn't need them.

His hand was getting worse and worse the more this game stretched on. Enough to the point he considered calling it quits just hours ago. He'd drop you off somewhere; with his parents, at foster, who the hell knows - just not with him. 

But now he couldn't, or rather, wouldn't let himself. For a man with little to be proud of, his pride proceeded him. He was tired of being selfish, even now he found himself wishing you hadn't revealed this. What kind of a father - what kind of a man thinks like that? Instead of wishing it hadn't happened, his first instinct was to wish he didn't have to deal with it. He was disgusted with himself and furious with the man at fault, which could easily be him in both ways. In his deprecated opinion, he was at fault for every little bad thing that's ever graced your short life. And now this. If he had just been there, or, if he had just been more careful all those years ago..

Going down a path of endless 'if's' will drive you mad, he knew this, he spent everyday going over if's. So he stopped, and recognized his new roll. His responsibility.

His rage at himself subsided when something new within him decided it needed to become prominent. The Obligation to care for you seemed to be taking the back-burner while the willingness to shelter you was stepping up.

He was letting it ride, all on the idea that he could provide something better for you. Not that 'provide' and him had ever had been buddy-buddy. 

Stanley looks back down to you, to his daughter, and his thoughts dissipate, replaced with what was happening right now, right in front of him. He takes one look at you and can picture himself pushing all of his chips into the center of the table. 

"Let's get you out of there." He says simply.

.

.

It's not long before you're out of the tub, hair rinsed, and wrapped in an all too big towel. Stanley pulls the plug, watching the dirtied water swirl down the drain.

He turns to you, noting your silence since your admission. You don't move away when he rubs the towel over your shoulders, moving to your hair. He ruffles it how he would with his own, knowing how much water it holds.

He also noticed when putting the towel over you how visible your ribs were. He knew he was way in over his head. 

But then he'd look down to you after pulling the towel away from your eyes and he'd feel a pang in his chest. You had no idea what was going on in his head. You had no idea how much your dad was struggling just with the prospect of keeping you. He didnt think he'd ever let you know.

.

Chapter Text

As a girl who has never been in the position of a man with a 4 year old daughter who just showed physical signs of abuse, I'm going to handle this about as well as the next guy.

Get me a gun.

___

[STANLEY POV] it's all gonna be Stanley pov from now on but I will mix in internal thoughts for a better understanding of events <3

The reminisces of the bubble bath swirl down the drain, leaving clumps of foam to dissipate at their own pace.

The fan above drones on in a condescending rattle that only serves to thicken the tension being contained in the bathroom.

Stanley moves slowly as he drys you down, careful to avoid spots he had noticed in the bath, and discovering new ones in the process from hisses you'd let out whenever he trailed over an undiscovered area.

He winced along with you, brow furrowing as he'd murmur almost soundless apologies, frowning deeply.

During the repetitive action he thought back to moments throughout the day, mundane moments he had let slip his mind and didn't humor with a second glance.

At any touch he'd recall you jolting forward, especially your moment on his shoulders when he touched your back, which he now knows is painted in bruising.

He recals how you'd stiffen upon any new contact, never giving himself enough time to care about why you'd do so, playing it off as your timid nature.

You weren't timid, you were terrified. Even more so to admit why. Now he knew.

And he excused his lack of previous observation with the fact that he shouldn't get attached to you for his own good. Knowing too much about you, willingly or not, meant that he cared about you. In the grand scheme of things he didn't have a choice. He knew this the moment he laid eyes on you. And yet, he still tried to fight it. A mistake on his part that will probably still fester even now.

He knows how much attachments have come back to bite him in the ass, just look at your mother. And still, he's insatiable. An insatiable man that only wants a single constant in his life that he's sure won't leave him, and has no desire to. 

That's why he didn't want to drag you down with him; use you for his own comfort. He knows children are reliant things, anything but self-sufficient, and deep down that's exactly what he wanted. To be needed in an irreplaceable way. But now that he is, he feels sick to his core.

During his whirlwind of thoughts, he managed to wrap you in a towel burrito on autopilot, carry you out of the bathroom wordlessly, and set you down on the motel bed where he soon followed suit. He sat next to you wearing a blank expression, one that indicates deep thought in the eyes of an adult, but instilled fear in the eyes of you.

He'd been in hundreds, hundreds, of high-stake scenarios. But suddenly, none of them compared to what was going on here. None of them compared to the panic searing through his veins right now, not Tijuana, not any of them. And he couldn't understand why.

It was so intense, his body had to shut him down. This hadn't happened enough times for him to grow familiar with it. As of late, panic had become a numb ache to the man, it wasn't supposed to effect him anymore, and yet you seamlessly changed that in a matter of minutes.

.

It was like his vision was being clouded around the edges, as if someone was dragging him deep inside of his own body, only being able to see through his eyes from a distance. 

Remaining unblinking, they began to swell with tears, leaving his eyes glassy and stinging.

The tension in his shoulders that was seeping down into the rest of his body through his spine became a dull ache he couldn't quite place. It infected the rest of him in a stagnant pain that left his mind reeling.

I can't move, I need to move, I need to get away.

His legs lost all semblance of life, frozen in place, filled with a buzz that felt like contained adrenaline; ready to spike into action but unwilling to move.

It's too much - 

His mouth fell open to draw in deeper breaths that began to burn more and more with each and every inhale.

I'm running out of air, there isn't enough air.

His arms prickled with the will to move. They were heavy, their effort seemed to drag him down into the bed below, dipping deeper and deeper with the strain. They sat at his sides, twitching. 

My wrists are tied - I'm in the trunk. I need to move. I need to get out.

His eyes were trained ahead on nothing, on everything, on anything. Blurred with tears, he clamped them shut, his cheeks flooded as he shrouded himself in darkness.

It's dark. I can't see. They're taking me to kill me. They're gonna kill me.

His hands moved to grip his shirt where his chest lay, registering his heart.

It was fast, erratic, beating against his ribs that felt like it should be knocking him forwards. It echoed in his skull, making him lightheaded. It drummed on like the timed beating on a punching bag. Like the pace in which a car would drive over a pothole, jostling its cargo. Every beat brought the walls closer, made his ears ring just a little louder, made his body tremble just that much more.

His mind was unable to tell him where he was, if he was tied up, or if he could run.

But, he was breathing hard, he could feel that.

Theres no more air.

One hand clutched the fabric of his shirt, tearing it away from his erratic lungs. He felt suffocated. His shirt was soaked through with the blood oozing down his neck from his battered face.

I'll be dead before we get there. 

The other hand moved to his hair, digging itself into the grease ridden locks and tugging in abandon, like his body was trying to resurface his mind.

I never said goodbye.

His breath, hot and humid, panted out into the air around him.

he felt it accumulate on his face, he felt it cling to his clothes, seep through his skin, and settle heavy in his bones.

It choked him, leaving his lungs gasping for more no matter how much it pained him.

.

.

.

.

You, clad in nothing but a towel, watched your father in a fear-stricken panic.

He was a sight to behold, breaking down before you in tears, shaking uncontrollably and frozen despite his hands tearing at his body.

Your first instinct was to call out to him, voice cracking. "Stan?" It faded out near the end.

You were too quiet, he couldn't hear you.

.

You call out again, voice wavering. 

Still nothing. 

.

Your eyes begin to water. He was upset with you, clearly, thats why he was ignoring you.

Crying, you shifted forward, pulling your arms out of the towel and reaching out for him, grabbing him by the shirt and tugging in desperation.

"Sta-n I'm, hic I'm sorr-y.." sobs attacked your sentence, threatening to make it unintelligible. But you powered through, you wanted him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

You pulled again and again and again, gaining vigor as time passed, tears streaming down your face, mirroring his. Eventually he had tucked over himself, looking small.

You used his shirt to tug yourself closer to him, burying yourself to his side, holding yourself tightly against him as you cried and repeated the same pleas for him to acknowledge you over and over again into his sleeve.

.

.

.

.

The contact against his side first registered as more pressure from his tight confines, striking him with more fear as the trunk closed in around him.

He feared it would swallow him whole.

. 

But it didn't.

It was just, present.

Nagging against his side, tugging at his shirt. He could feel his shirt.

The side of his body felt flooded with warmth, like the feeling of your leg coming to after it falls asleep.

It spread through him, igniting his body in that same livelihood, bringing sensation back into his arms, into his wrists, his fingertips.

His hands were free.

His panting subsided slowly, replaced by shuddering breaths as he dared to open his eyes and flex his hands. The darkness faded as his vision remained blurred against the light. He took a deep breath of the stark cool air.

They opened the trunk.

He looked down to his shirt. The wetness his hand had registered wasn't blood that had smeared from his beaten face, it was tears and sweat that had spilled down onto his neckline.

His other hand dropped from his hair and trailed over his face, tracing over his nose. Instead of finding it broken and bleeding, he found it healed and crooked, tracing the scar at the bridge with his fingerpad.

He looked up and around as his vision cleared. He was in a motel room, not a car trunk. 

He had bought the room to treat himself, to relax a little as he passed through Texas.

And.. something had happened. Something that cut his well deserved vacation short.

His eyes trailed to his shoulder, down his arm, finding you sobbing a wet patch into his sleeve.

He almost jumped back before his mind flooded him back into the present. 

His daughter, his Shayna, was with him.

He looked down to you, closing his eyes for a moment. He felt you shakily breathing up against him.

He felt the matress under his hand when he squeezed it.

He felt the towel fold under his grip when he enveloped you in a sudden hug, tears staining his face.

He felt the shift of your head when you'd rub your tear and snot stained face harder against him in a desperate attempt to.. do.. something? 

His eyes fluttered open again when he heard you were actually talking into his body: Mumbles here and there he could barely hear.

He felt your hands flex in the material of his shirt, tugging him as if you had the strength to move him.

A puff of air left his nose as he regarded the scene before him, feeling guilty that his panic attack had caused a chain reaction. One of his hands shifted up to cup the back of your head, encasing it gently. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm okay." 

At once you ripped your head back, looking up at him and boy - were you a mess. Your face was practically dripping with tears, followed by the droplets of bath water from your hair, and snot had trailed down your nose, past your lips and stopping just above your chin.

Upon looking at him, fresh tears spilled onto your cheeks as you tried to blink them away. You, so lost in your own desperation, failed to recognize when he had came to.

"Oh sweetie," 

He leaned back enough to face at you, his expression contorting into something careful yet gratuitous. "Hey, pumpkin.." He started, one of his hands splaying across your towel covered back and rubbing up and down while the other supported the back of your head.

You blinked, staring at him as your eyes swam with questions, guilt, and sadness. He felt himself shrink underneath those eyes, posture slumping. He felt like he should thank you, he knows your roll in what just happened was important but.. didn't know how to put it.

Staring down at you, a soft smile breached his face, filled with pained affection. He ruffled the back of your hair lightly.

"..M'sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya'."

You looked up at him with worry, taking his other hand that had now dropped to your side and holding one of his fingers with your whole hand. You pouted in concern, little eyebrows furrowed.

You wanted to make sure your dad was okay.

"Hey.. don't lookit me like that kiddo, makes a guy think somethin's wrong with 'em." he voiced the plea gently, smoothing your damp hair. He felt a littlw demasculated.

You didn't seem to take this for an answer, instead lunging yourself forward and enveloping him back, tightly squeezing what you could of him.

It was his turn to stiffen, finding himself at a loss. "You don't- have.. I..." He paused, looking down at your little frame tucked against him, feeling himself soften after everything that had just transpired.

.

"..Thank you." He hugged you closer at that, arms wrapping around you entirely.

 .

.

Soon, Stanley became aware of your towel ridden state and your lack of clean clothes. Your pajamas were the only option he could think of, and not all that dirty to his knowledge, so they'd have to do.

"Eh- Sorry pumpkin.. let's get you dressed." 

He pulled back and away from you, heaving himself up with a stretch that left a few things popping from his uncomfortable panic attack.

"Ughhh.. your pops is gettin' old." He said, heaving a grunt at the effort it took to stand up.

He felt a little lighter when your face went from concerned to bubbly in seconds. You laughed softly at the display as he maneuvered to your pajamas previously discarded onto the kitchen counter. He inspected them by flipping them around in his hands and ultimately shrugging.

He approached you slowly, holding the pajamas a little harder, knuckles whitening as he regarded you carefully.

He held them out silently, looking away.

"I know you know yer way around the, uh, whole getting changed ordeal, so I'm just gonna turn around or- or go to the bathroom," He began to turn around already, arm still outstretched with your clothes.

Your little hand came out and skipped past the clothes being held out to you, instead going for his wrist. You held it firm enough to stop his babbling and get him to look at you. 

"Huh?" He voiced, looking at you warily.

In return, you squirmed inside of your towel burrito, only being able to move your upper half efficiently. You pointed to the towel in question, then the culprit at hand, being him. 

"Er.. Oh! Uh, sorry bout that." He grumbled, staying still. He placed the pajamas on the bed next to you.

It took him a moment to realize what he had to do before inching forward, reaching out for your towel. At the same time, he spotted your face, and could see you were tentative, maybe even more so, and felt inclined to do something.

"Man, who wrapped this thing?" He voiced, fumbling with his previous efforts that he can't quite remember. 

While looking down he can feel your gaze, clearing his throat. "Oh right," 

He takes a moment to find out where the right place to start would be, and purposefully avoided that area in order to find a way to ease you into the process.

"Not looking," He looked up and away from you, reaching out against you, prodding gently. 

"Okay, let's see here, uh.." His hands patted where the towel wrapped under your arms, following up your neck and to your face. "Is this it?" He patted your cheeks, earning a strained giggle. "Nope, that's a face, alright.."

His hands patted back down, patting just below your ribs. "Ehh.. I dunno about this one.." You squirmed away from his hands weakly, a stronger giggle leaving you at his antics, and probably from being tickled. He noted that.

Clicking the roof of his mouth with his tongue, he moved on. "No? Well it's gotta be here somewhere..." You laughed at his feigned confusion. 

His hands patted back up, finding the lip of the towel just above your sternum. "Ahh.. here we go." He followed it around till he found the area to tug at in order to loosen it. "Okay, you good?" He asked, and you affirmed with a small hum. 

He pulled the towel off of you, still looking respectfully away and at the ceiling. Once it was loose he wrapped it up in his arms, took a step back, and turned around completely. "Okay, you're all set." He said aloud, rocking on his heels as he heard the tell tale sounds of you getting dressed behind him. 

After a while of nothing he spoke up. "Y'all dressed, pumpkin? At your quiet 'yea' he found himself pivoting to face you again, taking in your not very snazzy pajama set, watching as you kicked your legs idly against the mattress. You were watching him expectantly, face still tear stained with the occasional dribble of snot or drool. That cry had really wracked you into hysterics. 

"Yeesh, lookit ya," he tutted, stepping forward and wiping his thumb like he remembered his Ma' would. He reached down and swiped it across your cheeks and under your nose, collecting the gunk and wiping it without a second thought on his fairly disgusting shirt.

You wrinkled you nose but otherwise remained still. You were mostly curious about the action, watching him through wide eyes. 

"There, right as rain." He remarked, quoting his mother after she would do the same to him. Although his face would be covered in sand.

You two just looked at eachother for a long moment before Stanley grumbled distastefully at the sentimental feeling, moving around to crawl up onto the bed, lying flat on his stomach, laying horizontally. He stayed like this for a long moment, huffing irritably into the matress until he found it hard to breath and then rolling over onto his back, hand falling onto his stomach with a groan.

He lifted his head to glance at you, noting you had turned around and were facing him, on your knees. You were wearing this sympathetic look, or maybe he was imagining it, he didn't know. All he knew is that he really didn't want to be undermined for what just happened, especially from his own daughter. He looked up to the ceiling again, a frown settling further onto his face the longer the silence stretched on. 

Eventually he felt the bed dipping ever so slightly when you began to move, the pivots getting closer and closer to him as you crawled over to him on your hands and knees. You stopped at his side, still out of sight from how he had his gaze aimed at the ceiling. 

"Hey you," he murmured, still looking at the ceiling, hands coming up to lace together and lay on his stomach.

"..Hi," You replied, leaving another moment of silence between the two of you. But it didn't last long. 

He felt you shift to sit down next to him, curling yourself up to his side and making yourself impossibly smaller. You tentatively laid your chin down on his stomach above where his hands lay, and he felt himself grow rigid. Your hands moved so deliberately slow that he thought you mustve believed he wouldn't notice if you moved slow enough. One rested atop of him while the other laid at his side, giving the left side of his torso a half hug. 

"K-kid?" He sputters, lifting his head to look down at you, somewhat thrown off. 

In response you coil yourself closer to him, your chin creating a small divot with the weight of your head on his stomach.

He looks back up to the ceiling, trying his hardest to worm an arm out from underneath you, movements stiff and uncertain. He manages to free it, in turn giving you more room against his side, and then bringing it down to ghost over your back. It hovered just above where your bruise lay and after flinching away momentarily, you ease into the touch, relaxing the both of you to a level neither of you feel the need to voice. 

.

.

Stanley isn't an emotional man.

That was a lie.

He's extremely emotional. In every sense of the word, maybe even emotionally intelligent. However, that wasn't the point. The point is, it makes him feel so little in the grand scheme of things; out of control of his own mind, the one thing he thought he actually did have power over. 

So after he deems your little moment had drawn on too long , after he feels he's grown too comfortable rubbing circles into your back, he moves away. For the sale of masculinity. He shifts himself up and away from you, scooching towards the center of the bed.

Before you could act, before you could voice your displeasure, he reaches forward and snatches you towards him with an exclaimed: "C'mere you!" 

In an instant he reached out and grabbed you, playfully hauling you back to the bed with gentle rough housing to get your spirits up. You exploded in laugher as he tickled your sides, which he just discoverd while bringing you away from the edge of the bed.

He lightly swats away your feeble attempts to wrestle him off, making sure to stay aware on whether or not you were having a good or bad time.

"And it's a close fight! It's ugly! Shayna is cornered! Nowhere to go!" At this he crowds you against the pillows at the top of the bed. You reach behind you, trying and grab one.

"Stan is tickling them, if it's llegal, he doesn't care!" He announced your play fight like a sports announcer, laughing along with you all the while. You managed to snag a throw pillow that you disturbed with all your antics, launching it at his side.

Stan plays up the dramatics, clutching his side in feigned pain as he drew out a long groan. "And a hard blow from Shayna-!" He exclaimed, falling back when you press your hands to his collarbone in a feeble effort. 

He collapses on his back with a bounce, and you're quick to scramble in top of him. "The tables have turned!" He shields his face with a laugh as you crawl over top of his chest, but you don't attack back, and he has to peer through his fingers to see what you are doing.

You're simply staring down at him with a proud grin, smiling like a Cheshire.

"I got you!" You proclaimed.

Stanley looks up at you as he drops his hands, simply staring as he pants away his slight exertion. A small smile broke out on his face.

"You got me." 

.

Chapter Text

The night was ending by the time Stanley stepped inside the shower.

He had made you a sandwich and a bottle of water from the stuff he threw in the fridge after play wrestling his way out from under you, and promised he'd be 'back in a jiffy'. It was simple, and if anything, American. Judging by the first ravenous bite you took, however, you made it look like heaven.

He watched you eat for a minute or two, made sure you drank after exerting yourself with so many tears in one day, and popped himself in the shower.

He gathered your dirty clothes and shoes from across the floor and bundled them in the sink, along with his own after he stripped. He was left in nothing but his gold chain and earrings. 

He didnt recal a laundry room being mentioned by the motel manager, so a laundromat would have to suffice. It usually did in his.. situation but part of him was hoping he could keep you in luxury for just a second longer. It was wishful thinking. 

His actions brought his attention to the mirror, gazing upon himself with a tight grimace that only seemed to deepen the longer he stared. His discriminatory gaze started at the top and made its excruciatingly judgemental decent down until the counter obscured him. 

His hair was tangled beyond belief, curls lying flat with grease that he was about to scrub out of his scalp in a few moments. His brows have formed creases in his forehead, laced in shadows that encouraged his expression to relax into something.. far more depressing. His hands reached up in an attempt to stretch his forehead flat and smooth. An attempt that ended in vain and grumbles.

His hands trailed down his face, dragging his skin with it and disrupting his bushy eyebrows until he reached his eye bags. He stretched them dramatically before letting his skin fall back into place with a huff. They were dark and circled his eyes like they were trying to drive them back into his skull. His eyes in question were, low and behold, brown as yours were. The white had become more of a milkly color with red leading to the ducts. 

As his fingers pulled aside his eyelids to get a closer look, his attention was grabbed by his hands. He took them down and turned them over, palms down, glancing at his battered knuckles. His left hand came to his right while shaking and encapsulated his wrist, rubbing there soothingly as he felt the ghost of a pressure. He stayed like this for a moment before shaking his head and turning on the nozzle to the shower. 

Once inside he let the steaming water beat down on his head, feeling the grime flow out down his back from the murky playtime he had with you in the rain and his unwashed state from before. He sighed in relief as he followed the same steps he used for you in the bath, vigorously foaming up the shampoo in his scalp until he felt hair that had fallen out gather in his fingers. 

He was in a pretty blissed state when he rinsed it out and put the conditioner in, before he reached and turned the nozzle below warm and teetering into freezing. He gasped despite the intentional action, feeling his brain shock back from tranquility, into reality, then back into the past.

He grabbed a complimentary bar of soap and started cleaning himself in a distracted manner, caught up in his mind.

.

.

He thought of his position, the potential danger he's in every time he rounds a corner.

He met a guy named Rico a while back. Stanley gave him a pitch, asked for a loan after he did a few deals for the man, and got tied up in his shit. 

Stanley was well aware of how Rico got his money, but at the time, he didn't care who spit, bled on or died for the cash, he just wanted it. Dirty money is still money, and they both bought the same food.

After some time with the man, he began to become a favorite of Rico's, the guy even called him his brother at some point. However, he was unaware that Stanley's repeated withdrawals from Rico's account weren't doubling despite how he had promised.

Rico began to involve Stanley, personally. Stanley would be invited to his parties, drive around with Rico to talk buisness, then broads. Eventually he got involved in the product Rico was selling too. 

Stanley plummeted, below rock bottom. Becoming an addict booted him out of his good ties, becoming somewhat of an embarrassment to Rico. 

He was so out of it half the time, he forgot to keep up with his facade that he was making bank, when in actuality, he could put a bank out of buisness.

Rico found out eventually, but Stan had already vanished by then, aware of the mark and award hovering above him by the time he hit the road. 

Thinking back, this must've been a year after you were born. He couldn't even imagine how different it would've been if he was who he was now. It felt so long ago. 

He walked back under the thundering cold water, visibly tense. He wonders if at some point he'd have to explain to you that in public sometimes dad doesn't go by Stan. How awkward would that be?

His shower lasted to the point where he could feel his hands growing pruned.

After he toweled himself down, he gave his mirror another long look. 

It was time to make a deal. One with himself. One that he wouldn't allow himself to walk out on. 

.