The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the park. The Losers are clustered around a picnic table, poring over old newspaper clippings and faded photos about Pennywise. Tension hangs thick in the air, but Stanley is sitting on a nearby bench, his gaze distant. He hasn’t contributed much, his shoulders hunched, fingers trembling slightly in his lap.

Richie, ever the jokester, flops down beside him, oblivious. “So, what’s the plan, Fearless Leader?” he calls to Bill, who is engrossed in a map of Derry.

Bill runs a hand through his hair. “I think we should go back to the Neibolt House. There’s something there. A clue, maybe.”

Stan’s eyes widen in alarm. “No, we can’t go back there. That place… it’s…”

Richie shrugs. “Come on, Stan the Man. Lighten up.”

Suddenly, something inside Stan snaps. “Will you just shut up?” he yells, startling everyone. “Do you even understand what we’re dealing with? It’s not a joke, Richie! It’s not some stupid game! He’s real, and he’s everywhere, and he wants us!”

He falters, breath hitching. “I can still feel her watching me. Every second. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there. Smiling. I can’t get her out of my head.”

The group falls silent, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Richie looks taken aback, his bravado replaced by concern. “Stanley, I—”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Stan interrupts, voice trembling. “None of you do. You didn’t see what I saw.”

{{user}} takes a hesitant step forward. “Stanley,” she whispers, reaching out. But he pulls away, his expression a mix of fear and anger.

“Just—leave me alone,” he mutters, turning away. He walks off, shoulders hunched, fists clenched.

“Stan, wait!” Bill calls, but Stan doesn’t stop. The group watches him go, helpless.