Work Text:
Stan and Bill were going to the beach. Not in a “fun in the sun, summer vacation” kind of way, but in a “having writer's block and maybe the ocean will get rid of it” kind of way. Or at least, that’s why Bill said they were going on a spontaneous trip to a little secluded town in North Carolina. Stan knew the real reason Bill dragged them out here was because his mom was dying.
Stan and Bill were married and had lived together for over 10 years. They both knew each other more than anyone ever had, and they both loved each other more than they thought was possible.
Bill’s father had been dead for 4 years now. He died of liver cancer at the age of 58. Bill’s mother was on a similar track. After George’s death, she had stopped taking care of herself and her now-only child. She had a drinking and drug abuse problem for years that was finally catching up to her. Her heart was failing and her liver was inflamed.
Bill hadn’t had a great relationship with his mother in a long time, and he hadn't been speaking to his dad for years before his death. Him and his mom would go through periods of not speaking to each other, only for her to fall ill and have to move in with Bill. They hadn’t spoken in many years now. When Bill told her that he and Stan were getting married, she had completely lost it, and Bill had cut her off for good. As a result, he had to cut out most of his family members who were judgey about him “abandoning his sick mother for a ‘friend’”.
But now that Bill’s mom was sick for what seemed like the final time, Bill was struggling about whether he should say goodbye or not.
They had rented a small little one-floor beach house for really cheap because it was the middle of November and no one was vacationing. Their bedroom looked out onto a beautiful and windy beach.
It was night time now, and Bill was already in bed. Stan was making two cups of tea for them to have. Stan frowned. Bill didn’t seem like he was doing very great. It seemed that looking at the ocean through the window wasn’t the magical cure to his sadness after all.
He brought the two cups of tea into their room. He set Bill’s on the nightstand, and took his into the bed with him. Being very careful not to spill any on the sheets.
“Th-thank you, S-Stan,” Bill said.
Bill was laying on his back looking up at the ceiling.
“Get any writing done today?” Stan asked, looking down at him.
Bill shrugged. “Nuh-nuh-not really.”
“How about you come down to the beach with me tomorrow, huh?” Stan suggested, not really expecting real enthusiasm from this idea.
“I h-have more wuh-wuh-wuh-work to do.” Bill hadn’t stuttered this much in a while, something was definitely up.
“I thought you weren’t getting any work done.”
Bill looked up at him. “Sorry, I d-” Stan started to say, but Bill cut him off. “N-no, I’m suh-suh-sorry. I j-j-j-j-juh-j-juh-” He made a frustrated sound and scrunched his eyes up. “Juh-juh-just,” He exhaled. “Just nuh-need to k-keep working on i-it.”
Stan set his tea on the bedside table then put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Sit up,” he said gently.
Bill did as he was told. He sat up and looked at Stan.
“Talk to me,” Stan said.
He paused for a moment, then exhaled and started to talk. “I duh-duh-duh-d-duh-don’t know wha-wha-what to d-d-do about my muh-muh-” then, out of nowhere, thunder cracked. Bill jumped. The rain started to fall down on the roof heavily. Bill threw his arms up in exasperation. “Fuh-fuh-fuck!”
After the rainy day of Georgie’s death, Bill couldn’t stand the rain. A rainy day was a ‘getting no work done, and laying in bed’ kind of day, because Bill couldn’t function normally.
Bill looked at his husband frustrated and completely defeated. Tears glimmered in his eyes. He buried his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled.
Stan, who was very experienced in this, came to his aid at once, putting a hand on his back and rubbing small circles into it, going clockwise twice, then going the other way in intervals of two circles. His now-mild ocd giving him some control of the situation. “C’mon. It’s okay, Bill. It’s okay,” he said gently.
“My muh-muh-muh-muh-mom is d-duh-dying,” Bill said quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Bill.” Stan whispered.
“Like, tha-that’s it yuh-you know?” Bill said, looking back up at Stan.
Stan cocked his head at Bill.
“She was nuh-never a great muh-mom, and nuh-nuh-now she wuh-wont have any muh-muh-muh-more chances.”
Stan's heart broke for his husband. “Oh, Bill.”
“I nuh-knew she wuh-wouldn’t ever b-b-be great, but there was a-a-a-always that sliver of huh-huh-hope. Like muh-maybe she’d realize that I duh-didn’t kuh-kuh-kuh-kill juh-juh-juh-Georgie.”
Bill hadn’t spoken about Georgie in a long time. Stan just assumed that it meant he was feeling better about everything, but maybe that wasn’t the case.
“I’m suh-sorry, I nuh-nuh-know that you duh-duh-duh-don’t want to hear a-a-about it anymore but-”
Stan learned a long time ago that it was never helpful to cut Bill off, that it would only make his stuttering and anxiety worse, but Stan couldn’t let this slide.
“Don’t,” he said. “Please don’t, Bill. I can’t stand it when you do this. You know that I’m always here for you, that I’m always here to listen to you. You know that I love you, I love you so fucking much, and that you could talk about literally anything for hours on end and I would never get sick of it. So please don’t torture yourself like that.”
Bill looked at Stan with wide eyes. Stan softened a little. “I don’t mean to be harsh. I’m sorry.”
To Stan’s surprise, Bill smiled. “Yuh-you swore.”
“What?” Stan asked in surprise, this was not the reaction he expected.
“You said fuh-fuck. You never s-swear.”
Though tears were still spilling, and he was still trembling, Bill was smiling at his husband.
Stan felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He swore sometimes. “Just say you love me too, idiot,” Stan said with a pout.
Bill layed down a little more and put his head on Stan’s chest.
“I love you,” he said, no stutter at all. “I love you so fucking much, too.”
Stan ran his fingers through Bill’s hair. They both stayed like this for a while. Stan tried to match up his breath to Bill’s.
“You think you’ll miss her at all?” Stan asked quietly.
“No, I duh-don’t think so. I mean, I huh-huh-haven’t seen her in a ruh-ruh-really long time.” Bill was silent for a moment. “I duh-don’t think I luh-luh-love her.”
“That’s okay, Bill,” Stan said softly.
“And I duh-don’t think she uh-ever luh-luh-loved me.”
Though he thought that probably wasn’t true, Stan decided not to say anything.
“My duh-dad never luh-loved me e-e-either,” Bill said in a quiet, but matter-of-fact voice. “It’s wuh-wuh-wuh-weird, right?” Bill looked up at Stan. “Like, why huh-have kids if yuh-yuh-you won't luh-love them?”
Stan sighed. “I have no idea. I really don’t.”
They fell silent again. It was a comfortable silence. They just laid together deep in thought.
“You thu-think I should go suh-see her? One luh-luh-last time before she duh-duh-duh-dies?”
“I don’t know, Bill.”
“Yuh-you think she wuh-would even wuh-wuh-want to see me?” Bill asked quietly.
Stan didn’t know how to answer this, because he genuinely didn’t know. He would assume that a dying mother would like to see her only child before she dies, but Sharon Denbrough was a different story. Sure Stan’s parents could be judgy and rude sometimes, but he always felt sure that they loved him. And they would definitely want to see him if they were dying.
Stan’s silence let Bill know that he was unsure. So Bill didn’t press further. Only nuzzled his head back into Stan’s chest.
Stan put his arm around his husband. Bill spoke, “We nuh-never really got along. Not a-a-after juh-juh-juh-juh-Georgie duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-” Bill exhaled sharply with frustration. “Duh-duh-died.”
Stan was about to comfort him, when thunder sounded so loud that even Stan jumped. It shook the house. The wind was picking up too.
“Wow,” Stan said in amazement.
Bill didn’t panic, only curled up tighter in bed. “Sounds luh-like the fuh-fuh-fucking apocalypse out there.”
Stan chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be the cherry on top of everything.”
Bill laughed at this. “Definitely.” They linked hands. “H-hey, Stan,” Bill said.
“How about I cuh-cuh-come down to the buh-beach with you tomorrow?” He said. “As long as the wuh-wuh-world isn’t duh-destroyed by this a-apocalypse.”
Stan smiled.
“If the world is still here tomorrow, I would be honored to go to the beach with you.”