Stranger things and It/Preferences

Lovebirds // Stan Uris x Reader

Summary: After finding an injured Scarlet Tanager in the forest surrounding Derry, you run to Stan for help though you end up confessing something to him.

Word Count: 2,048

The autumn breeze blew your hair around gently, and you allowed it. It flowed through your hair, through the fabric drawn around your torso and into your warm boots. It stung, though not painful, and you felt the cold bring you back to reality, down to earth from your fleeting thoughts that existed in the clouds above.

The chirps of birds were prevalent around you, creating a background noise that would forever remain just that, unless you were one to listen closely, to pay attention to the earth surrounding you. The leaves and branches of the trees that remained untouched by civilization brushed against each other, creating a warm, welcoming atmosphere; one of tranquillity and peace, though also completely wild and without rules besides those of scientific fact.

The leaves crunched beneath your feet. Destruction of the natural world was unimportant to humans and often went unnoticed. You frowned at the thought.

A stump of a large, unidentified tree sat in the middle of the wooded area, and it was obvious what had done it. It was clean cut, and the rest of the damaged wood was gone. Humans. Your frown deepened and you sat on the stump, laying your backpack next to it.

Focusing in on the sounds, you tried to identify the chirps of individual birds. One was louder and much more desperate than the rest; it sounded like it had come from the sore throat of a Scarlet Tanager. It was pleading for help, for rescue, or even the sweet release of death.

You carefully followed the sound, hoping you could help it in some way. Hoping that maybe the inevitable would be put off until another day. Looking down, a bright red bird lay, looking up frightfully at your imposing figure. Scared.

Having already sanitized your hands, you leant down for a closer look at the damaged bird. Its wing was bloodied and broken, and the bird squawked, calling for help, for sanctity from something that could hurt it further. You gently picked it up in your hands, and the bird looked up at you.

It was a tiny bird, coated in both firefighter red and something much darker, along with wooden brown across its wings, ornamented with yellow splotches over it. Its eyes were black and beady, a glint in its eye of pain, suffering, and fear. Sympathy, guilt washed over your person and consumed you whole.

You had little knowledge of caring for birds, you preferred leaving them be and allowing them the freedom you wish you had. Your knowledge came from books about Southern Maine flora and fauna you checked out at the library, preferring to read and write literature about nature rather than interacting with the beings who carelessly destroyed it.

On your occasional bird watching outings, you would interact with someone who matched your pessimistic view of the world while also appreciating the beauty of it; Stanley Uris. He was one of the few who you would talk to, along with Bill Denbrough and rarely Richie Tozier, though those 'conversations' were often one-sided and always included crude compliments of your appearance. You normally fired back with a sarcastic comment or an eye-roll, but those were the days when you were tolerant of his childish actions.

Most often, people would equate this with being snobbish or rude, but you just happened to merely come out of your shell. When you were with Stan though, you didn't have to hide or pretend to be someone else; you let your whole pessimistic, sarcastic, apathetic personality on show and Stan happened to like it.

Grabbing your backpack from the stump, while gingerly minding the bird with your other hand, you began to venture back into the cruel world where there was no such thing as peace and harmony. You reminded yourself that it was a Saturday morning, therefore Stanley Uris would be where he always was. In a small field near the quarry where he would have binoculars in hand while lazily resting the other on the grass underneath his form.