IT ⇢ ONESHOTS

train tracks - [stanlon]

[angst!stanlon]

tw // suicide discussion

MIKE HANLON HADN'T SPOKEN TO STANLEY URIS IN 27 YEARS. THE FIRST TIME HE WOULD DO SO, AFTER ALL THOSE YEARS, WOULD BE THE LAST.

⇢

mike hanlon hadn't felt as sickeningly giddy and hauntingly terrified at the same time since he was a child.

for 27 years, mike hanlon hadn't felt a fear like he did that late evening when he had finally understood what he needed to do. he had punched in each of their numbers with shaking fingertips and given the same knowledge to each and every one of them: it was back. sure, he'd know it for a while then, but seeing georgie there? seeing his forever still face framed in that ancient photograph just lying there like a juxtaposition? that was the final straw for mike. and so he had called them each up individually, and he'd most definitely garnered responses. most of them had jumped up immediately (by what he could hear on their ends) and begun to pack as they had spoken to him, ready to jump in a plane, taxi, train or boat, whatever it took to get them there, there being back to derry. yes, most of them had said yes without any hesitation.

except stan.

stan had feigned a promise that mike knew, from years and years of knowing as one did, he didn't mean. and mike knew, as he knew and he knew like old friends did, that if he just left stan to his own whims, that the man would never speak to him again. and so as mike had awoken that following morning, still dressed in his pyjamas, he had yet again dialled stan's cell phone number with slightly shaking fingers, padding across the cool linoleum floor of his kitchen to flip the burner on his oven on and place his kettle overtop of it. he propped the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reached up to the cupboard closest to him, hearing the line pick up as he opened up the cupboard door and snatched his favourite dark red mug.

"h...hello?"

the voice on the other end sounded remarkable feminine, likely stanley's wife, mike had thought, though her tone had taken him a bit by surprise. setting his mug on the counter with a gentle [clink], mike cleared his throat.

"good morning, this is mike hanlon speaking. is stanley uris in?"

mike reached back up into the cupboard to grab the package of instant coffee as he spoke. by the time he'd set it down on the counter and begun to pry the lid off of it, he took a moment to pause as the woman on the other end hadn't responded to him. taking his phone away from his ear, mike checked to see that he was still on the line before holding the phone to his ear once more.

"ma'am?"

"i'm sorry..." the woman on the other end spoke up suddenly, her voice low as though she ought to be whispering. mike's hand hovered with the lid of the coffee can in front of him, clutched between his fingers like he couldn't move and listen at the same time all of a sudden.

"you're not ..... you're not some sick reporter, are you?"

something was wrong. something was very, very wrong, and mike's body sensed it before his brain did. as he glanced down at his hands, mike noticed that his fingers were trembling.

"no, ma'am. i'm an, uh... i'm an old friend of stan's" mike spoke up weakly, a soft yet violent ringing slowly growing louder in his ears. something is wrong, his brain screamed. something is wrong. something happened. to stan. something happened. what happened.

"what happened?" mike said almost involuntarily, listening as the other end of the call grew quiet for a moment.

"mr. hanlon—"