Roleplay

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*FLOPS ON POST*

RESERVED

FOR REASONS

Exhaustion had become the norm for Stan, a quiet sort of weight in his every movement as he shuffled around his small kitchen. His neck and back were sore from sleeping on the couch in what was really more of a nap. He couldn't remember the last time that he had gotten a full night's sleep, between the work he needed to do to finally finish up his GED and the night shift he took right after his other two jobs, Stan figured that he was lucky to catch the few zz's that he did.

The man reached through the cupboards to unearth the last of his flour, making a mental note to go shopping since it was his day off and they were running low on food. (If Pi had let Mabel try to 'cook' again he was going to be putting locks on all the doors- except not really, he knew that several of his kids took comfort from being able to get food whenever they wanted to and he wasn't going to take that from them. ...he would ground her *ss though, teen or no teen) He had to leave the teens in charge most of the time anyways.

Within minutes he had several pans sizzling in front of him with several different foods to feed the small army that he had somehow acquired. A flick of his finger and the old radio in the room was sending soft drifting music out of its speakers, quiet enough not to disturb the bedrooms that were just down the hall. Two-bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, a kitchen, and a basement for the laundry machines. Stan had honestly thought he wouldn't need more than that when he first rented-and then bought- the place.

Stan started a countdown in his head, setting a stack of plates and silverware on the table before focusing back on the food. His lips twitched up at the shuffling feet that came from the boys' room, and he hit zero at the exact same time that Soo's voice piped up, "Good morning, Mr. Pines! Is there anything I can-?"

"Plates are on the table, kid," Stan said like he did every time he could afford to take a day off, whenever he stopped feeling like a single wrong move would end up with everything going belly up.

Soos grinned at his back, and set out to set a placement for every one of his siblings friends that lived with him. The kitchen fell into a silent warmth as they moved around each other to set things up before the rest of the household awoke. Stan smirked and ruffled the kid's hair as he set out the eggs and bacon that he had made next to the cereal that Soos had pulled out, and Soos beamed up at him, shuffling closer to the touch.

Stan fully expected at least Soos to stick to his side the entire day, the rest of the kids would depend on their moods and attitudes. If it was a good day all around, maybe Stan could take them out somewhere, he'd scrounged up enough money for it and gotten all of his classwork done early so he literally had a day completely off for once.


@Kattata @Gedhyr @ImpossibleJedi4

A bark echoed throughout the house, followed by a quick skitter of paws tapping across the floorboards. A black German Shepherd popped into the kitchen, tail wagging wildly and tongue lolling out of his mouth as he went up to Stan and Soos, nuzzling their sides in greeting. He barked one more time before skittering off again, stopping by the doorway.

"Geez, Sigh. Your dog sure is a bundle of energy - ep! Loose board there."

"...I know, Pi. I can say I have the floor memorized by now."

"Then why'd you almost trip last night?"

"Because you were pulling me along."

"...oh yeah. Rift!"

The dog responded almost instantly, disappearing out the doorway only to come back leading a teenaged male into the kitchen. Behind him followed another teen, her hands shoved into her pockets.

"Good morning, Stan," he greeted and Rift let out a series of barks, making him frown in thought. "And Soos. I hope Rift hadn't bothered you much."

The guide dog barked again, seemingly accusing.

"Hey, old man," Pi called, casually reaching up to pick her nose. "The heck's for breakfast? Do we got bacon?"

Then she threw her head back to shout, making Sigh wince.

"Kiiids! Stan has bacon!"

He was running.

Bill liked to run, liked to feel the wind threading its fingers through his hair, his muscles warming as they slid beneath his skin, every joint and sinew and thrumming heartbeat converging like the cogwheels of a clock, a sleek machine functioning at the height of mechanical perfection.

He liked to feel his lungs flexing in his chest, although he didn't have the words to describe the sensation. Bill knew a lot of words, but he was better at talking people into doing things that they didn't really want to do than describing his feelings, or the things that were happening to him, or what he thought.

But now Bill was running for his life, in a body that fought him at every turn. The wounds inflicted by the man in the suit dragged at his skin, making him gasp with pain as the scabs tore and wept a clear, yellowish, red-tinged fluid. The freshest hurt the worst, and stank foully, like bad meat—pockmark burns across his shoulders and the nape of his neck (he had smelled the fine, downy hairs there crisping beneath the head of the man’s cigarette but he hadn’t made a peep, because it made the man happy to hear Bill cry, and Bill had wished with every fiber of his being that he was a dog, a mountain lion, so he could rip out the man’s throat with his teeth but he wasn’t, he was just a little boy, and there wasn’t a thing he could do but go away in his mind until it was over).

He stumbled, almost falling, the breath searing in his throat, in his chest. But he wanted to live, more than anything else in the world; by sheer force of will Bill kept on and on and on, not knowing how much further he could go but knowing that if he stopped if he fell they’d be on him they’d eat him up—

Bill jerked awake with a snort, staring up at the ceiling in silent, searching panic. His heart raced, his chest burned, and he gradually became aware that he was breathing hard, as though he had been running. Something stank, making him swallow thickly as his gorge rose; it smelled like bad meat, like burning hair, an all-pervasive odor that slunk through his mind like a grinning jackal.

“Kiiids! Stan has bacon!”

Bill closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. Bacon. Stan. We’re still here, it’s okay … The boy’s yellow eyes snapped open again and, reminded, he patted frantically at the other half of the mattress he shared with the only other person in the world he trusted—other than himself, and other than the ghost of the man in the suit, that hunched and ruffled on his shoulder like an unquiet vulture—not to be gone when he woke up.

“Dot?” he hissed, sotto voce. “Hey, Dot?” His voice rose an octave, growing shriller with the panic that roiled like boiling water beneath his otherwise sardonic, unruffled exterior.

Bill couldn't find Dot right away because the smaller boy had slipped halfway off the bed. Only the fists bunched in the sheets kept him clinging to the bed, otherwise he'd have slid right off to end up belly down on the floor.

His face, already wrinkled in response to some sort of bad dream, crumpled even further when he received a smack upside the head from Bill.

"Ah!" he said in a tiny voice as he accidentally let go and folded onto the floor. His shirt had ridden up, and the wood was cool against his belly. It growled as he got to his knees and clambered back onto the bed.

"Did you have a bad dream and panic again?" he whispered. He knew what Bill's dreams were about, though the specifics changed all the time. He knew what had happened to Bill before the golden haired boy, his same age, had saved him.

Bill, too, knew what had happened to Dot. Once, they had compared scars. Both children had them on their backs and shoulders and the nape of their neck. Burns mostly. Dot's had come from his foster parents mostly. They had involved gasoline, though he'd only ever told Bill that.

"I had one too. There was lots of fire. I was crawling through tight spaces and I couldn't escape. I think... I think I might have died in the end." He fiddled with his pajama shirt, recalling the blackness and the searing surface the pressed in on his back and knees and palms, and how right at the end he had half fallen out of the darkness that was revealed to be over a big volcano caldera. It was inaccurate as to real life but little Dot didn't know that.

He'd fallen right in the end, unable to breathe.

But still... Nightmares with fire were better than nightmares with Them and fire.

"My back hurts..." he said quietly. "But it's your turn. If you wanna tell me. It's okay if you don't." He said this every time just to make sure. Sometimes Bill talked, sometimes he didn't. But Dot always presented both options.

He slipped one hand into Bill's and used the other to rub at the back of his neck where his scars began. His cool fingers helped a little. He'd ask Stan for some ice.

"Or we can go get whatever's cooking for breakfast first?" he offered.

Stan ran a hand over Rift’s head before the dog bound off once more as he narrowed his eyes at their coffee maker. “Fleabag,” he greeted, then pressed a couple of buttons on the machine, listening to it whirl painfully to life. It gave a few pained coughs, weakly protesting the work when it was dying but Stan ignored it. He would die, or at least kneel over if he didn’t get something to wake him up so they’d both have to suck things up until they could afford a new coffee maker.

(Which was….somewhere below the rattling noise the AC had been making lately, buying more food, buying new clothes, paying his tuition... f*ck Stan felt tired and a headache beginning to form just thinking about it.)

Soos giggled at Rift’s greeting, giving the dog a more through scratching before he boud back to Sigh. He smiled at Sigh and Pi giving them both a wave before ducking his head and trying to scramble up onto one of their chairs. “Morning dudes, naw Rift and I are tight.”

Between the barks from Rift and Pi’s shout Stan winced, resisting the urge to rub at his temples and the ever present low throb from sleep deprivation. He still smirked at them from the counter, leaning back against it as he waited for his coffee. “I thought teens were supposed to sleep in and be night owls,” he shot back at Pi, “Oh wait, you’re barely one. Breakfast is whatever you manage to devour before the rest of the gremlins arrive. And yes there is bacon, what sort of heathen do you take me for?”

He pointed a finger at her, “I’m not old. You can’t start calling me that until I hit my fifties and I can lie to people about having a senior discount.” A part of him ached at the way she called for the rest of the kids, she was one herself; she shouldn’t have to worry about things like that. He should be the one taking care of them, and he was trying, but there was only so far he could stretch himself before he started to tear.

And if he tore then they would have nowhere to go or stay or eat and that thought made him want to hit something. Preferably whatever f*cking adults had taken care of half of these kids before the came to him. (Carla was the exception, she’d get yelled at and he’d murder Thistle. Ford would-

Well, Ford was a different mess altogether.)

Which reminded him, he grinned at Sigh making sure the expression bled into his voice so that the teen knew it was there, “Morning Sigh, where’s the tag along?”

"Still asleep," Sigh replied, letting Rift guide him to a chair. "She and the twins really stayed up late to sit through the rest of last night's movie. I think they'll be into superheroes for a while."

He had a vague idea of what the movie had been about, relying only on what he could hear from the TV and how the younger residents of the household had reacted. A little more than halfway through and he had found himself nodding off, unable to keep up with their excitement.

But it had been nice to hear Pacifica and the young ones laugh and just enjoy themselves. He could tell their elders had felt that, too.

"Maybe I can go and wake them up," Pi offered, helping Soos to his seat, grinning at the chubby kid, "then make a break for it so I can at least have some bacon before they gobble it all up. I need my freakin' meat."

She turned to Stan then, her lips pressing together in a smirk.

"We can powder up your hair, ya know? Maybe even have the kiddies do your make-up and add more wrinkles and then voila! You're a grandma who needs someone to help her across the street. Add Sigh in and you two can get enough attention while Bill and I snag your volunteers' wallets."

That comment made Sigh sputter, his honey brown eyes widening a bit. He had no need for his shades this early in the day, so he had left them on the bedside table.

"P-Pi! What kind of convoluted idea is that? I am not signing up for that."

"It's not convoluted, hun. Just ingenious."

She had pulled back a chair but not had not bothered to sit in it. She was saving it for someone else.

She shot that someone another smirk.

"Don'tcha got work today? I'll whip up some lunch for everyone later. I think I've cooked enough to know what not to put in an omelette."

Rift's resounding bark masked his owner's disbelieving snort. She sent the dog a withering glare.

"Don't judge my cooking, mutt. You have no say on what you get to eat here."

“Ah thank you Miss Pi,” Soos said with a grin, reaching for the food closest to him, taking the plate of hashbrowns and piling some onto this plate before turning to the other teen next to him. (He looked young for his age, he knew he did. If it let him spend more time with Mr. Pines then he’d be ok with it. No one ever looked at him funny for playing with the other kids which was awesome!) “Hashbrowns this morning Mr. Sigh?”

“Ha!” Stan barked, throwing his head back before winking at her. “Who says I’d need you or Bill to take the wallets for me? This old granny lost her walker don’t mind me as I put my arm around you for support what you’re wallet went missing oh no let me help you look for it.” He blinked and then vaguely and half-heartedly reminded, “Do as I say not as I do kid. I’m not going to post bail for you.”

Soos grinned down at his plate of food, offering everything he grabbed for himself to Sigh and knew that Mr. Pines was lying with his last sentence. The man always did his best to look out for all of them. (Not that Soos knew just how much of a lie it was. It was a running joke between Stan and Pi, him not posting bail because he had already done it. She would know just how much he cared and Stan could safely hide behind his usual gruff facade. Because the bail he had paid had been more than just for one type of jail.)

“Don’t got work,” Stan added, wondering if he should be doing more as a so called parent. There were so many lines that he had to draw between him and the kids in order to earn their trust, lines that got drawn and redrawn and drawn again until a part of him was longing for one of his jobs because at least those were simple. And didn’t make him wonder if he needed to murder some of his fellow men for what they did to children.

He filled his mug up with the coffee that was finally filling the pot. “So you gremlins are stuck with me today. I might go on a grocery run though, we’re running low on most everything right now.”

Shuffling steps interrupt his train of thoughts and a head of blonde hair moved past them all, clambered up onto the chair that Pi had dragged out, struggling for a second before managing it and reaching out to the dark haired teen. Pacifica’s pajamas hung off of her like bags, having been Wendy’s before they were given to her. Her hands reached out and in a commanding tone told Sigh, “Up.”

Sigh chuckled, knowing full well who owned the voice that had echoed closest to him. It seems that the princess was awake.

"Thanks, Soos. Hashbrowns sound good," he addressed the preteen, moving from his seat so he could pick his sister up in his arms. "Look who's gotten out of bed."

He made sure to put on his best grin for the little girl. To him, she was like a ray of sunlight he could feel on his skin, warming him up and making him relax. It was like he could do no wrong, especially with her.

(She was there. Always there. On the other side of the locked door, keeping his ringing ears on her as she babbled away and kept his panic at bay. Appearing by his side whenever she pleased, quietly slipping her small hand in his when Sir and Ma'am paid no attention to them.)

Tucking her a little closer to his form, he inclined his head in a slight bow.

"How was your sleep, Hime-chan? Did you have good dreams?"

At his feet, Rift barked in greeting. The German Shepherd was especially fond of the little girl.

Pi snorted a little at the display between the two adoptive siblings. One could easily tell that Sigh was always happiest with Paz, both having grown in a household that cared very little of what they felt. She huffed her amusement before turning back to Stan.

"Why'd you need to post bail when I can get out on my own just fine?" she followed to his light-hearted jab. "I know just how to steal those keys well enough, thank you very much."

(Of course, she did. But she knew just how much she needed Stan's presence in her life, knew that she could depend on him when it was getting to rough for her and the razor just looked a little more inviting to take. Her gratitude for what he had done for her was unspoken, never needed to be made verbal. He knew just as much as she herself did.

And that goes for how much she cared for him, too.)

"Grocery, you say?" she questioned, plopping down on the seat Pacifica had been vacated from, easily snagging a strip of bacon to crunch on. "Need a helping hand? I've been practicing my German accent lately, and I think I've got it down."

She cleared her throat, swallowing the meat in her mouth before proceeding.

"Ah, ja. You has zis sample of vonderful vool from New Zealand? Und maybe alpaca hair from Sous America?"