Chapter Text
Darkness still painted the sky over the town of Derry. Streetlights spilt an orange glow onto the pavement which sparked like the tail of a firework during Derry’s Halloween annual firework show when Stanley Uris cycled through the puddles. The orange sparks fell back onto the frosty ground, all the heat from the warm day before had been lost over the course of the night time. Birds chirped faintly in the background, Stanley couldn’t distinguish which direction the almost dream-like sounds were coming from - it felt as though they were circling him on his usual bike ride to work.
The warmth and brightness of summer mornings were slowly retreating back into hibernation, much to Stan’s displeasure. Having to start work at six o’clock was enough of a chore without having to cycle in the darkness. Nonetheless, Stanley enjoyed his weekend job as much as one could; the pay was decent, the hours were okay and all of his friends worked alongside him.
Except Richie Tozier.
Thank God.
Derry’s Waterfront Diner was a small venue with a fair amount of traffic. It was built only a few years prior just a mile from Derry’s centre. It’s not by any means in the heart of Derry, it is the only building in the long stretch of road before you enter the town. It was a popular rest-stop for people driving through the town to get to a better, more modern town. It wasn’t often that Stan saw a customer more than once, except maybe on their return back home.
Stan didn’t believe that he had deserved or earned the job as weekend supervisor, not just because he was barely seventeen but more so the fact that he hadn’t had an interview. Or applied for the job. Or even really wanted it. Bill had proposed it was probably because him, Stan, Richie and Eddie were the only regular customers and had gotten to know the staff. They would go to the diner every weekend after whatever shenanigans they had gotten up to in the past four years. Stan had remembered when they brought Georgie out for his birthday several months ago, and the owner - who was a fat, balding man but with a kind face and stubble that wasn’t quite ever shaven right - had brought out a cake along with a badly wrapped box with a gaudy bow sloppily sellotaped to the top. If Stan’s memory was correct - which it usually is - the group were the only ones in the diner that summer evening. Richie turned the vintage jukebox up as loud as it would go and grabbed Georgie out of his chair and danced in a way that wasn’t unlike a seizure. Stan had pointed that out and everyone laughed. Except for Bill, who was thanking the owner off to the side, trying to give him whatever amount of crumpled up dollars he had in his pocket to pay for the cake (and the damages caused by Richie’s dancing).
It was that evening, when Stan had cleaned up and righted all the chairs which had been knocked over and pushed to the side to make a crude imitation of a linoleum dancefloor that the Mr.Denton had offered Stan a job, if he wanted it. Stan had said yes, a decision he hadn’t really spent the appropriate time to think about. The job hadn’t interfered with school work or his hobbies yet so Stan had no reason to quit or go back on the offer. It wasn’t a fortnight later when Bill showed up during one of Stan’s shifts, wearing a white apron and a smile which suggested he was excited and nervous, the feeling Stan recalls having before his first ever shift. Not two days later did Eddie show up, wearing rubber gloves that were probably intended to go half-way up the forearm but hugged Eddie’s elbows and a waterproof apron. The goloshes were overboard, Stan had thought. Eddie bussed like no bus-boy had ever bussed before, the plates were cleaner than they probably were when they were first bought.
Stan pulled up into the diner, the retro design along with the neon sign had Stan feeling a sense of nostalgia for a decade he never lived in. He rode round past the front door into the side, he hopped off his bike and kicked up his stand beside the smoking area, if he parked it anywhere else he feared a careless delivery driver would run it over. Stan unlocked the door to the large gated back entry, which held the large commercial garbage cans were stored to prevent wild animals rummaging for leftovers. Stan carefully side-stepped a garbage bag which had tipped over during the night and spewed mouldy hamburger buns.
Stan continued to do all his morning duties with monotony. He’d been here long enough and done the same thing every weekend where he doesn’t have to think about what he’s doing, it comes naturally. It was almost embedded into his head.
Unlock the back doors. Turn off security. Turn on lights. Turn on fans and dishwasher. Turn on heating. Pre-heat oven for Bill. Move the chairs the table back to the floor. Unlock the front door. Check wastage from the night before. Prep the breakfast food for Bill. Write up next weekend’s rota.
The front of house was small, there was maybe a half a dozen tables and two booths. Stan didn’t mind the horrible bright red and white floor tile, which matched perfectly with red walls and very gaudy 60’s-era decorations which basically covered the wall. It was any wonder that he could tell what colour the wall is at all. Although the decoration was, in Eddie’s words, ‘a fucking nightmare come to life’, the place was always clean, the floor always shone and Stan had never found any chewing gum under tables or seats. He checked every time.
The back of house was much bigger. The were two large benches for prep and cooking beside a large industrial sink and a large oven which was taller than Bill. The top shelf was never used, it was tightly pushed against a large griddle, which is where the magic of Bill’s pancakes were made. Beside the red-circle windowed door which led to the front of house was two fryers which had probably seen better days. There were more steel benches beside the fryers, which ended at a wall about four foot high. On the other side of the half-wall was Eddie’s ‘station’. A pretty clean and spacious area for cleaning dishes and various cooking utensils. It was always immaculate when Eddie left it. The back door was beside the counter where all the clean plates and bowls were stored, about 10 feet from the sink.
Stan had just got his pen and a clean sheet of paper to begin the rota when he could hear the familiar haphazard dismount of Silver. Not moments later he could hear Bill rustling with the fallen garbage. Bill would pick up other people’s garbage, that’s just the kind of guy he was. Stan likes to think of himself as that kind of guy too - but Stan has a good enough sense of self to know he’s not like Bill in that way. He’s like Bill in some ways, but not in the touching mouldy food way.
The back door opened and Stan looked up from the prep bench he was leaning on to greet Bill. Bill was adorning the uniformed white apron and white diner hat. That was where their uniform ended, but it was an unwritten rule to wear a black or grey t-shirt and black bottoms, mainly just to avoid ruining good clothes.
“Hey Bill, I have your prep done. All you have to do this morning is cook them off.”
Bill grinned as he shrugged off his coat and hung it up on the hooks beside the door. “T-thanks Stan. Has M-M-Mike come with the deliveries yet? W-we were out of eggs l-last night.”
Stan shrugged his shoulders. “Not yet, but it’s raining so he’s probably just taking it easy with the precious cargo.”
Bill laughed and walked into the large fridge which was tucked away beside the oven. “It’s w-w-w-warmer in here th-th-than outs-s-ide.” Stan couldn’t see Bill, but if he walked into the fridge he’d imagine he could see his breath. “Eddie coming in at n-n-n-nine?” Bill said, slightly louder than before as he hunted for the items he’d need for breakfast at the back of the fridge.
Stan thought for a second, to try to remember what he had written on the rota before answering Bill. “Yeah, he’s in nine to five today as usual.” Stan’s eye caught a handwritten note which was taped to the wall beside him.
Stanley, I will be conducting interviews for new staff members this week for weekends. They will be starting next weekend, keep this in mind for next weekend’s rota.
Thanks, Louis Denton
“Hey! Did you know we’re getting more people next weekend?” Stan turned to Bill, who was walking out of the fridge with about 6 boxes of bacon and 4 bottles of pre-made pancake batter. Stan pretended not to notice him almost dropping one.
“W-we are? C-cool! We should t-t-tell Richie. Maybe he’ll st-stop asking us for money. I th-think Eddie must give ab-about half his w-w-w-wages to Richie for the Arcade.” Bill dropped the supplies with a large thump onto the bench. Stan stood in horror at what Bill was suggesting. “W-we need someone to work out fr-front, waiting and working the d-drinks and c-cash, R-Richie could do that.”
Stan could literally not think of anything he needed less in his workplace than Richie running about around ovens and boiling oil and knives. “Nope. Absolutely not happening. I can man out front fine on my own.”
Bill smirked. “T-That’s not what you s-said last week when you w-w-were on the verge of a muh-muh-mental breakdown.” Stan rolled his eyes.
“We were busy and Eddie had phoned in sick, you were stressed too, asshole.”
“E-Eddie’s mom, you mean.” Bill corrected.
Stan rolled his eyes lightheartedly in response and continued to write up the rota, bringing one of the evening workers in a longer shift to cover for Stan doing training. He didn’t think Beverley would mind, she always asks for extra shifts. She would probably work every night and day if he asked. He’d make sure to ring her at a more reasonable hour than six-thirty to check, as per routine.
It was afternoon, the eggs had been delivered and the Bill gave Mike a free waffle to eat as he signed delivery papers. Stan thought maybe he should be more professional and not give away free food, but Mike gives them a discount so he thinks it’s fair. Stan was waiting orders, there wasn’t a whole lot, mainly truck drivers and a family of 4 visiting relatives 4 towns over.
It was a calm atmosphere, it was lunch rush and there was only 2 tables filled and 3 men sitting at the long bench where Stan was refilling coffee. Eddie came out with a container full of freshly clean white coffee cups. Sweat was beating down his face and his inhaler was protruding out of his pocket.
“Eddie, it’s not a race, you know? You can slow down before you have an asthma attack.” Stan suggested.
Eddie looked at him as if he called him every incredulous name he could think of. “Do you know how quickly bacteria multiplies? If i slow down a plate might sit for ten minutes. By that time the bacteria has spread tenfold. And what if one of them happens to be freaking… Salmonella or something? Then do you know what happens, Stan?” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth in an overly-panicked habit.
Stan started unloaded the cups from Eddie's arms onto the shelves behind him. “What happens, Eddie?”
Eddie’s eyes blinked about six times as he tried to force the words out of his throat as fast as he possibly could. “Someone eats, I don't know… a slice of freakin apple pie or something and feeds it to their kid. Children’s immune systems can’t handle salmonella, Stan. The kid is dead because I took too long to clean the plate. That’s what will happen.”
Stan took the last of the cups from Eddie, expecting him to walk back to his station, but he didn’t. He stood his ground expecting a confirmation. “Eddie, that’s not going to happen. I mean, it could, but statistically, it’s very improbable.”
Eddie gave Stan an offended look and walked out. Stan heard the trigger of his aspirator through the swing of the door. Stan continued to serve people with a fake smile. The mother from the family at the table had flirted with him, he was flustered but held his cool and continued to be professional. She gave him a $5 tip.
After a few hours it had quietened down, there was only and old Polish lady sitting beside the window drinking coffee, so Bill and Eddie came out front to relieve themselves of boredom. Stan was keeping himself busy polishing the cutlery, Eddie - who had taken off his ridiculous gloves - was messing with the jukebox, trying to play some better music than whatever was drifting through the speakers now.
“Hey! This piece of shit doesn’t even have Raining Men . What kind of bullshit is that? Stan I want this rectified by next week.” Eddie complained from the jukebox. Stan barely lifted his head from cleaning a spoon.
“I d-d-don’t think that Stan has control o-o-over the music.” Bill piped up from a magazine he was flipping through. Stan glanced at it. It was a furniture catalogue.
Eddie laughed, “Yeah, there’d be worse music coming out if it was Stan’s.”
Stan scoffed. “Cyndi Lauper is far better than any of the crap you listen to, Eddie. It’s not my fault your brain’s broken.”
Eddie looked offended. Stan often wonders how Eddie can spend so much time around Richie when he gets defensive about everything. Once Stan commented that Eddie got a haircut and Eddie’s face was red as a tomato by the end of his defensive tangent. “I actually think, that according to the latest Rolling Stones magazine, Clash has been rated one of the best music legends of the 20th century.”
Bill cut in, “One of the b-b-best. Cyndi L-Lauper could be up t-there.” Eddie responded by giving Bill the finger, muttering something about Bill being a shit-stirrer. Bill raised his hands in defensive and smiled out of the side of his mouth at Stan. “I-I’m just st-st-stating an ob-observation, Eddie.”
Stan shook his head and continued polishing spoons. They didn’t really look any different, but it gave his hands something to do.
The front door slammed open with such force that Stan thought that it had shattered. The Polish lady didn’t flinch. She made him feel uneasy.
“What is up fuckers and fuck-lets!?”
Stan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Richie, language. You could get us in trouble.”
He saw what he assumed was Georgie drowning in one of Richie’s hoodies cross the threshold into the diner. “What’s up fuckers?” Georgie beamed.
Bill choked on his own tongue as he tried to say something but could not, for the life of him, get any words out. Eddie, of course, was laughing. “Dude that’s messed up, look-” he gestured to a flabbergasted Bill - “you’ve broken Bill!”
Stan shook his head and deadpanned. “Richie, what the hell?”
Richie, naturally found this hilarious and had a shit-eating grin on his face. Stan wanted to punch it. Georgie was completely oblivious to what was going on, but was happy to see Bill. He ran up to the counter and struggled to get himself onto the tall stools. Richie’s hoodie was shielding his eyes and all Stan could see was his tongue poking out in concentration.
Stan bent over the counter and helped hoist Georgie up. He poured him a glass of milk and set it down onto a coaster. Stan patted Bill on the shoulder and went to go refill napkins.
“Guh-Guh-Georgie, don’t s-say th-that aguh-again or Mom will be c-cross.” Bill managed to force out of his body, he seemed like the words actually physically exhausted him to say. Richie laughed again.
Georgie looked up at Bill or tried to at least. Bill pushed the hood off Georgie’s face to reveal a big frown. “But Richie said it would be funny, Bill.”
Bill reached for a straw from the cylindrical container on the counter and put it in Georgie’s milk. “That word is for grown-ups. It’s a bad word.” Georgie nodded solemnly, taking Bill’s words as gospel.
Richie walked over and took a napkin out of Stan’s hand and blew his nose with it. It was a loud, animal-like sound, or maybe a tuba. Either way it was disgusting. As Richie pulled it away from his face, a long green string kept the napkin and his own nose connected. Eddie, who had turned round after hearing the distressing noise had gagged violently and sprinted out into the back and away from this nonsense. Stan screwed his nose up at Richie, who seemed unfazed by this green string of snot. Richie wiped his nose again with the other side of the napkin and threw it at Stan.
“Dude! What the hell that’s disgusting!” Stan jumped back, his hip clipped the side of the row of shelves behind him. Richie laughed in response. “I’m serious Richie, pick it up.”
“Are you gonna kick lil ol’ me out, Mister Stanley?” Richie spoke in his Southern Belle voice, pouting his lip and fluttering his eyelashes. “All I wanted to do was share fluids, Mister Stanley. Don’t be mad!”
Stan visibly grimaced at Richie, moreso at the terrible accent than the words he was saying. “Actually I can.”
“Share fluids?”
“Kick you out. Out you go. See you at school Richie.”
Stan began pushing Richie to the door while Richie just allowed Stan to manoeuvre him. “You can’t kick me out! I work here!”
Stan stopped in his tracks, hands still touching Richie’s shoulders. He leaned slightly closer to him, maybe only by an inch. “What did you just say?”
Richie grinned at Stan, as if he was showing off a prize. “I have an interview tomorrow. I’ll win him over with my good looks and charm, easy .”
Stan briefly considered quitting. The thought of putting up with Richie Tozier’s mouth and obnoxious touching for now 7 days a week made Stan wonder if he could pull off a homicide.
Richie noticed Stan pausing and wrapped his arm tight around Stan’s shoulders. “I know, Stanny-boy, it’s hard to contain the excitement, but please - don’t cry! I promise that there’s enough of me to go around - and I mean plenty.”
Stan shrugged off Richie’s arm. “I peed beside you in the urinal last week. I know that’s not true.”
“Have you been replaying us peeing together in your head at night? When no one else is around? Say it ain’t so Stan! You like me! You really, really like me!”
Stan took a calming breath and turned back round to go back to work.
“See you next Saturday!” Richie yelled as Stan walked away.
“Mister Denton hates you after you drove your bike through the doors last year. No way he’d hire you.” Stan quipped before disappearing out back.
Bill looked up from Georgie, “I m-mean, he’s n-n-not wrong.”
Richie blew a raspberry at Bill. “Georgie, you do it too.” And as commanded, Georgie blew a raspberry at Bill, who started tickling him.
“Now can I get some actual fucking service around here?” Richie demanded, Bill didn’t even have to ask what he needed. He nodded his head as he went to go make two rounds of pancakes. He ruffled Georgie’s dusty blonde hair and followed Stan’s departure.
Richie didn’t actually think he’d get the job. Mr.Denton actually did hate him. Just because he broke a single window that one time! And then once more after that, but he insists that it was Eddie's fault for daring him to kick a football through an open window and that wasn't actually open. It was worth a shot, Bill never complains and Stan doesn't mind working there. Eddie complains but he complains about everything. Plus, it means he gets to annoy Stan every day.
He smiled. He loved the disgruntled look on Stan's face everytime he said something that irritated him. Or the way that Stan would give him that trademark deadpan look. He was the easiest to get a reaction from, but his reactions were so subtle and that's why Richie loved them.
Georgie started to blow bubbles in his milk. Richie gave Bill’s brother a pat on the back.
He really can't wait to nail this interview. (Or at least that's what he keeps telling himself)