When Stan met Rick

by SUITOFSKIN

Boston 1974: Ex-boxer, salesman and occasional thief Stan Pines is down on his luck, when he sees a skinny scientist, Rick Sanchez start a bar fight, and finish it with fire. And for the first time in a long time, Stanford Pines laughs. Then runs, because the cops are coming and they might have warrant out for him.

11. Life in Arkham

~Chapter 11: Life in Arkham~~~~~

Stan found that selling cars suited him down to the ground. Mostly it was about telling people what they wanted to hear, garnished by a few…lies and half-truths, aided by his own charm and the occasional joke. Geez, people around here were some of the dumbest people he'd ever met. A few of them had honest-to-christ lobotomy scars. His days fell into a routine: get up, eat breakfast with Rick and a little irish in his coffee and cereal. He wasn't a drunk like Rick, it just helped to smooth the rough edges of the day out. Off to work selling lemons to the unsuspecting and the apathetic. He had lunch with Mr. Sargent, usually going to some chowder house and grabbing a beer. After that, back to selling cars. He'd clock out go home, and if Rick came back early, they'd do something: fuck, watch tv, smoke some grass, or do a few lines of whatever Rick wanted. On the nights when Rick wasn't home (and there were lots of those), he'd do the dope on his own, watch TV on the nod. Then Rick would come back, muttering some bullshit about having to work late, but reeking of cooze. And Stan told himself it didn't matter. Most of the time, he was too high to care. And it didn't hurt him. Like Rick said, they weren't married or anything.

It was the last week of August, and he had gotten home, just taken off his shoes, and put his feet up when the phone started to ring. Rick was not home yet. Sighing, Stan got to his feet and trudged over to it.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hi, Stan." It was Stanley. "Sorry I haven't been in touch. Things have gotten busy over here, what with this project and the kids. I realized I didn't have your number, so I asked Rick and, well…"

"Yeah, alright, if that's your excuse for not visiting." Stan grumbled in a good-natured way.

"Well, about that. I was wondering what you are doing this Sunday?" Stanley asked.

"Nothin'," Stan shrugged. "Why?"

"I was thinking of having you over for a cook out and inviting you. Rick too, if he wants to come," Stanley said.

"I don't know about Rick, but I'll be there," Stan said. "Just gimme your address, Lee."

"Great! Lemme tell you where we are," Stanley said.

Stan found a pencil and notepad and scribbled down the directions to his brother's house.

"And what time?" Stan said.

"About 3 or 4," Stanley said. "I really want you meet the rest of my family. Hope to see you there."

"You can count on it," Stan said. "Bye."

"Bye."

And Stan hung up the phone.

An hour later Rick came home. Rick said nothing as he crossed the room and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then looked back at Stan: "You're not high yet, are ya?"

"Nope," Stan paused. "Look Rick, my brother is having a cookout on Sunday. He was wondering if you wanted to come too."

"Naw. The thing is Stan, I'm not a family person, I don't really like kids or wives or all that bullshit," Rick said, took a swallow from his beer, belched, and replied, "I'm a lone wolf."

He sat down on the couch next to Stan and began to watch the television. "Don't you have a sister?"

"Yeah, but she stopped writing me years ago," Rick said. "I wasn't answering the letters, so she got the idea to fuck off."

"So… you don't care about her?" Stan began slowly.

"Caring only leads to pain, Stan," Rick sighed. "Mental and physical. Eh, she's happy. Or least was happy, last I h-heard. "

"You read the letters, then." Stan said.

"I had nothing better to do, Punchy." Rick said. "Me and her, we're so different anyhow. I'm not talking about this."

"Fine," Stan replied. He remembered that night back in June when Rick came tripping his brains out, and everything Rick said… everything that Stan could understand of it. So he didn't want to talk his shit childhood or family. Stan could accept that. He sipped his own beer, and went back to watching tv.

The next day was mostly uneventful. Stan noticed his stash was running low. He finished it off after work and spent the evening high as a kite, laying on the sofa. It made up for the fact he was alone. He was on the nod, drifting in and out of sleep. He didn't remember when Rick came in, or the sunset. But sometime when it was dark, he heard a scuttling in the walls and woke up. He saw a shape on the coffee table. There was a large rat, its teeth gleaming, sitting on its haunches, looking at him and grinning. He startled, rubbed his sore eyes, and looked back. The thing, if it had even been there, was gone. Must have been a dream.

He didn't care… he'd been high anyhow. But he felt a slight shudder in his stomach. He sat up, stretched, and got to his feet, still yawning. He wandered over to the bedroom and saw the sleeping form of Rick huddled under the covers. A fan was going, providing a cooling breeze. Stan took off his rumpled suit and slipped into bed next to Rick. The noise of the fan covered the other sounds of the night, and soon he was asleep again.

He woke up to the sounds of clacking dishes and water being splashed around. He got out of bed, put in his contacts, and moseyed over to the kitchen. Rick was doing the dishes in his underpants.

"It was g-gg-getting disgusting, ya know. Don't you ever wash up, Punchy?" Rick said with a glare.

"Why should I, when you get pissed and do it?" Stan replied, laughing.

Rick 'hmmphed' and went back to doing the dishes sullenly. "Asshole." he muttered.

"Hey, why didn't you make any coffee?" Stan asked, getting a clean mug from the dish rack.

With that, Rick balled up the sodden dish rag and chucked it at Stan, hitting him square in the face. As the sopping cloth covered his face, smelling of soap and dirty dishes, listening to Rick cackle, Stan felt his temper rise.

"WHY YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Stan yelled, as he tore the dish rag off his face.

"Uh-oh," Rick said. "Y-Y— You feelin' a bit wet Punchy?"

And Rick sprinted across the kitchen. Stan lunged caught him by the back and almost tackled Rick, if Rick hadn't elbowed him in the gut.

"FUCK YOU, YOU SKINNY FREAK!" Stan thundered, rubbing his stomach.

"I wish you w-w-would, it's been a while!" Rick called from in the living room, doing a sassy little dance.

Stan watched and felt his anger start to dissipate, and arousal start. He laughed. "I'm gonna get you, Sanchez!"

He grabbed Rick and pushed him down on the couch. Rick then countered with flailing hands and elbows. Stan found Rick was pinning him down now, Stan's left arm pinned to his back, the other wrapped around his neck and was tightening. As he slammed Stan's face into the cushions, for a moment, Stan wondered what the landlord thought of this thumping around. But the noises they had to put up at night from downstairs... Stan decided, they were getting even.

"SAY IT!" barked Rick.

"NO!" Stan said and began to gag. "NO-NO…. aaccck!"

He felt Rick's hard-on pressed against his ass. It just made Stan hornier.

"This turning you on, Sanchez?" he said in a choked voice.

"Y-y-you know it," Rick growled.

"Fine, I'll say it…" Stan said. "Uncle…"

And Rick released him.

"You want me to fuck you?" Stan asked hopefully. He reached up and rubbed his neck, trying to get the soreness out.

"Naw, I wanna f-f-f-fuck you, Take one for the team, Punchy." Rick said. "Team Rick Is Getting Bored."

Stan looked at him suspiciously, but part of his brain was saying maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, and his cock was agreeing. "Alright. If it hurts too much, I'm gonna sock you, Rick."

"Trust me, Stan," Rick said with a grin, "Y-y-you'll like it."

"Yeah, sure," Stan said sarcastically.

"C'mon P-P-Punchy. Have I ev-ev-ever lead you astray?" Rick smirked.

Stan smiled back. "Yep, that's why I like you."

"Then drop trou and lemme me fuck you, Stan," Rick said.

Stan, sighing, unzipped his pants and let them and his boxers fall to the floor. He was still bent over the sofa.

"Whoa, your ass is hairy as fuck," Rick commented.

"Yeah yeah, I'm a gorilla, get K-Y and get on with it, before I change my mind," Stan commented.

"Naw, I like hairy asses, and it was in one of the milk crates in front of the TV," Rick said.

Stan thought about how fucking gross that was, but they were both pretty gross guys.

Stan could hear Rick whistling a bit as he slathered on the lube. It felt cold and wet on his naked asshole.

"So you gonna fuck around, or fuck me?" Stan asked.

"L-l-listen Palooka, it isn't that simple… Your ass isn't used to to having stuff shoved up it," Rick said. "First you gotta relax, like… relax your butt hole."

"Uhhh right…" Stan wondered how the hell a person could just relax their butt hole.

He felt something probing the edges of his asshole, and he automatically clenched up.

"It's just a finger, geez," Rick said. "Besides, it feels good, doesn't it?"

Stan could feel the finger gently tracing the outside of his… and yeah, it did feel pretty okay. He let out a sigh.

"Now let it in…" Rick said.

The finger was at the entrance, so Stan tried to relax and started to unclench… The finger was soon inside of him, slick and probing. He felt it stroke something inside of him, and nearly let out a moan of pleasure at the feeling. Then it was joined by another finger, slick and stroking. Stan didn't… hate it.. In fact, it felt fucking amazing. He wanted to be filled by something bigger, more substantial. Rick's cock.

"Okay," Stan said. "Do it."

"R-r-right," Rick replied. "Let's get you fucked."

And he he felt the cock slip in. It hurt, but not as much as he thought it would, nothing like the doctors', in fact. As Rick's cock moved inside of him, there were nuggets of pleasure that kept getting closer and closer. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, and he wanted more, he could feel it build and build… He tried to stifle any noises, he didn't want Rick to get a big head. Then Rick's hand wrapped around his cock, and it was getting too intense, too overwhelming, Rick's thrusts were getting deeper, harder, faster and Stan craved it. As he was being jacked off, he couldn't think, he found himself making noises… noises that didn't sound like anything intelligible, just random babbling and moaning. Then it was too much, he knew he was going to come and there was no stopping it. With a grunt and a groan, his orgasm overtook him. If getting fucked in the ass felt this good, no wonder people did it! Then Rick came with a drawn out sigh, collapsing on top of Stan. Rick had withdrawn, but still lay on top of him. They stayed like that for what seemed like a long time.

"Welp, the couch is ruined," Stan said, and they both began to laugh. Rick rolled off of him and stared into his eyes. Rick's eyes were grey, and his were brown. They were laughing, and in that moment it everything seemed perfect. But that could be the sex chemicals talking.
***

Sunday rolled around, brilliant and clear. Stan and Rick, of course, spent it as they had the day before: inside, fucking each other's brains out, and smoking pot. And then Stan glanced at the clock near the bed. It was 3: 01.

"Oh SHIT! I GOTTA SHOWER AND GET OUTTA HERE!" Stan yelled as he sprang out of the mutual bed.

"Awww, really? N-n-now?" Rick commented lazily.

"Yeah, I can't show up at Lee's stinkin' like weed and sex." Stan added as he rushed towards the bathroom. "I have to find my contacts, damn!"

Rick watched with an amused expression on his face as Stan crashed into the bathroom and began to wash up. He had hardly moved when Stan ran back into the bedroom in a towel, trying to find clean clothes. Rick took a swig from a bottle of vodka on the nightstand and itched his armpit when Stan (now dressed) was frantically smoothing his hair back and running a comb through it.

"Go have f-f-fun pretending you like your family," Rick said.

"Hey! I do!" Stan said. "Are you sure you don't wanna come?"

"I see your brother every day at work. Don't wanna see him on the weekends, Stan," Rick said.

"Fine," Stan said. "Bye."

Stanford Pines then drove the toothpaste colored pinto through the town to his brother's small rented house. The house was brick, with one of those barn-like roofs, barely two stories tall. Stan could tell there were kids living there before he pulled in. The driveway was covered in chalk scribblings, and there were discarded toys scattered around: a trike, roller skates, jump rope, and a whiffle bat. So he parked on the street. He could hear his nieces and nephews in the backyard, screaming, and under it, maybe Debra, telling them to quiet down. Stan walked carefully across the square of green that was the lawn, up the front steps and rang the doorbell. Stanley answered, wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He looked tired, but he smiled at Stan.

"Glad you could make it, Stan," he said. "Come in. It's a mess in here, but with three kids, it's hard not to be."

Stan followed his brother through the house, over more toys, kids' shoes, and a half-ruined blanket fort through the open rear door to the back yard. Debra was in a long paisley sundress, her curly hair up in a sloppy bun. For a moment, Stan realized once again that Lee had married a real knock-out. Then his attention was stolen by a dirty naked screaming toddler rolling in a mud puddle.

"NO SHOWWA! NO SHOWWA! NO SHOWWA! NO SHOWWA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" The child was screaming and flailing in the mud.

"'C'mon Jason, If you're not clean you can't have dinner. We're having franks and hamburgers. Also your uncle Stanford is here. Don't you wanna show him what a good, clean boy you are?" Debra was bending over to address the mud-caked boy.

"I DUNNO WANNA TAKE SHOWWA!" Jason wailed.

"Okay then, how about a bath?" asked Derba.

Jason looked at her with big blue eyes, considered, sucked his thumb, then said calmly: "Kay Mommy."

Debra took his hand and led him, still buck-naked, to a nearby garden hose and began washing him down.

She looked up at Stan. "Meet your nephew." She rolled her eyes after she led the now sopping Jason into the house, presumably to a bathtub.

Stan chuckled. "Hey, I don't blame him."

"Who are you?" asked a high piping voice.

Two wet little girls in swimsuits were sitting in the crooked branches of a old tree, watching. One them had a green swimsuit and short hair, the other had wet pigtails and blue swimsuit. The blue swimsuited little girl hid her face. The one in the green swimsuit had asked. Stan tried to recall her name….

"I'm your Uncle Stan, Sarah!"

"Did you bring us presents?" she asked.

"Sorry, kiddo, not this time," Stan replied.

The other girl had curled into a ball with her palms over her face.

"What's up with your sister?" Stan asked.

"Marni's bein' shy," Sarah said.

"Why are you two in the tree?" asked Stanley.

"We're squirrels, Daddy," Sarah said.

Marni looked up from her hands at her sister and added: "I'm a squirrel princess and Sarah's a kung-fu squirrel."

"So you're gonna stay up there?" Stanley said, hands on his hips.

"Yep. Squirrels live in trees," Sarah said.

"Squirrels also don't get any ice cream." Stanley added.

Marni looked at her twin sister and Sarah looked back at her. They moved next to each other and whispered back and forth. "Okay, then we're not squirrels," Sarah added.

She and Marni climbed down the tree a little ways to a large branch nearer to the ground and JUMPED off, then ran inside.

"Get cleaned up, and put on some dry clothes!" Lee called after his girls.

Marni scampered inside, but Sarah stopped, looking at both of them and grinning. "Hey! Your Daddy's twin, Uncle Stan!"

"Yep!" Stan answered. Lee winked at his girls.

"MARRRNIIII!" Sarah squealed as she ran in the house: "DADDY'S A TWIIIN, LIKE US!"

After the kids ran into the cool darkness of the house, Stanley began to clean off the picnic table, with Stan's help. As they worked, they talked.

"So, what have you been doing?" Lee asked. "Nothing illegal?"

"I'm not always doing something illegal. I have a real job. I'm selling used cars over at Sargent's car lot," replied Stan.

"From what I've heard about that place, I don't know if it counts as legitimate. Did you get the Pinto there?" asked Lee, giving him a cheeky smile.

"No. Rick bought that thing," Stan said, rolling his eyes. "Still got the Stanley mobile?"

"Yep, she's under a tarp in storage. Debra thinks it's not safe for the kids, so she got a station wagon..." Lee sighed.

"Ooooh," Stan shook his head. "You're becoming a total nerd! But I already knew you were, Poindexter."

Stanley shook his head and smiled. "You know I'm the 'good' one."

"Yep. Teacher's pet, college, met a nice Jewish girl and married her," Stan said with only a hint of bitterness.

"One of had to be. You were always breaking Ma's heart," said Lee. "Besides, I can still have fun if I want to. Remember the fight in San Juan?"

"Yep. You still got the scar where that guy knifed you?" Stan asked. "We showed him, kicked his ass and his friend's asses!"

"If you hadn't been flirting with his girlfriend, he wouldn't have gotten so mad," Lee sighed.

"Heh. Heh. Yeah," Stan chuckled.

Stan noticed that in the time they were talking, they had cleaned the backyard.

"Welp, I'd better get the grill started. Go in the kitchen and ask Debs for the Hebrew nationals and hamburger patties," Lee said.

"Okay," Stan nodded.

"Stan, I only get in trouble when you're around," Lee said. "It's good you're back. You keep me from getting too boring."

The house was dark and cool inside. But there was a commotion coming from the lighted kitchen. It wasn't a large room, and the pink walls with the teal trim meant it had last been renovated was in the 50s. Stan entered. Debra was rinsing some salad greens over the sink while the kids dangled their legs at the kitchen table. Jason and Sarah were playing with toy dinosaurs, and Marni was brushing the hair of a doll. Debra looked up when she heard his footsteps.

"Hey," he said. "Lee wanted me to get the hot dogs and hamburgers."

"Oh," Debra said, smiling, her heel eyes twinkling but tired. "They are on the middle shelf of the fridge. Get yourself and Lee a beer, too."

Stan shrugged. "Thanks."

Stan got out the burgers, hot dogs, and two beers. As he walked by the kids, he heard a small clattering on the floor. Right by his feet was a red plastic T-rex.

"Oh no, Johnny Roar fell in the lava!" Jason cried.

Stan moved the beers on top of the hamburger patties, reached down, plucked the toy up.

"Here ya go, kid." Stan said, placing the toy dinosaur on the table. Jason eagerly took his toy and smiled. "You saved him from the lava, Uncle Stan! You're a hero!"

"Uh, thanks." Stan said, and went out to get his brother the food. Lee smiled. He had already set up the grill. They talked as the kids swarmed out and Debra set up the table. As Lee cooked up the hot dogs, Stan was spread out on a deck chair, listening to the kids play. It was pleasant hearing the yelling, giggling and screaming mostly. (He could do with out the screaming.)
Sarah was chasing Jason and Marni around the yard. There was the smell of cooking meat, Debra and Lee chatting. That's when Jason and Marni ran behind Stan's chair.

"Hey kids, what are you doin'?" Stan asked casually.

"I'm a fairy and Jason's a stegosaurus. We're hiding from Sarah. She's a T-rex," Marni whispered.

Jason nodded, looking serious as Sarah stumped nearer.

"Dinosaurs eat fairies?" Stan asked.

"Yep, bad ones gobble 'um up." nodded Marni.

"And I'm gonna eat all of them, crunch their bones!" Sarah yelled, smiling.

"Well I'm a Stan—saurous!" Stan roared, got to his feet, and began to play chase Sarah as the other two cheered him on.

"Go Uncle Stan!" Marni chanted.

"Get da bad guy!" Jason said.

"Wait… who said I was on your side?" Stan grinned.

The other two giggled, shrieked, and ran. He played tag (more or less) with his nieces and nephew for about ten minutes, until Debra called: "Dinnertime!"

The odd thing was, Stan actually had fun. They were his family. As he took the twin girls' hands, with Jason bringing up the rear, he felt a warmth settle inside him. He liked this, being an uncle. The kids insisted on sitting on his side of the picnic table, even Jason, who usually wanted to be next to his mommy. They had hot dogs, hambugers, tossed salad, potato salad, and knishes which where almost as good as Ma's. He drank his beer and talked with Lee as the mosquitoes showed up. The sun was setting, the kids were drowsing, cuddled up to Debra, Sara lazily itching her elbow. Jason was fast asleep on his Mom's lap. Marni was picking petals off some wilting flowers she held in her hands. They only protested a little when Debra herded them into the house for bedtime. As Stan sat with his brother watching the sunset, he hoped something like this would happen again.

"Remember that day Ma told us that her friend's niece was coming down to visit. And you made me volunteer to show her around?" Lee said.

"Yep," Stan shrugged. "That was Debra, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Lee grinned. "Funny how things turn out. What if there's a Stanley in another reality… that didn't do that?"

Stan looked sideways at his brother. "Not this again, Poindexter."

"It's sorta what I'm doing at Miskatonic, right now. It's ground breaking, really," said Lee. "Looking into different worlds, different… dimensions."

"You always were a nerd," Stan shrugged.

"Hey, you were just as bad," Lee chuckled.

"Yep, but I outgrew it," Stan said.

Debra joined them, beer in her hand. "I got them to bed," she sighed happily. She slid in next to her husband and looped his arm around her. "What were you two talking about?"

"About how lucky I am," Stanley said.

They talked some more, mostly bullshit. Debra was going to go back to school when Jason was older and become a teacher or something. Small talk. Comfortable talk.

It was after the sun had set, the crickets were out, and tree frogs were calling, that Stan left them. He began to drive home.

Somehow he found himself driving down the road to his dealer's house. It wasn't that he needed it, it was just... it would really top off the day to get good and high right now. He made his way up the long winding driveway, to the rambling, dilapidated mansiom that Boaz Marsh called home. He rang the doorbell, and Mrs. Marsh started howling, like always. Eventually, Boaz opened the door, the stench of smoke and B.O wafting over Stan as he banged on the ceiling with a broom handle to get his mother to be quiet.

"Hey, Stan, come in. You got money?" Boaz said with a sleazy smile.

"Yeah," Stan said. "I would have called."

"Yeah well, you're lucky. It's been in high demand tonight. I have some left, though," Boaz said. Stan made his way through the winding stacks of of rubbish to the living room.

"Right, fine," Stan mumbled. "I have the money."

There was a girl passed out the couch. Well, a woman. In a green dress, with long dark hair falling over her face. She was clearly on the nod, so Stan sat on the very end. Her feet were bare, her pale toes had webbing in between them.

Boaz came back with the drugs. He looked at the couch and gave the girl a nudge. "Hey, wake up, sleepyhead."

And the girl stirred and groaned, sitting up and stretching. She pushed back her hair. It was Malahath Sargent. She was wearing a matching choker with the dress. When she saw Stan, a smile curved her lips.

"Hey there, Stan," she said dreamily. "Looks like we got something in common."

"Heh," Stan chuckled. "I guess we do."

Boaz had weighed out the drugs and was packing them up. Stan paid him.

"Hey Stan, I still got some left," Malahath said. "You wanna do a line or two with me?"

Stan shrugged, why not? "Sure."

"It's cool with me," Boaz said, an lit up a discarded joint he'd found in a ashtray.

Stan watched her cut lines as the TV babbled. Getting high with the bosses' daughter... Eh, why not? It wasn't like Rick would bewaiting up for him. Besides, she liked to have fun. He could use some of that right now.