Whaaaa How Do These Become Better And Better?

Whaaaa how do these become better and better?

Long time no see!

This was supposed to be a longer post, but my decision to return to my preferred brush and taking a bit more time in how I approached certain panels slowed me down quite a bit - the next pages will be finished next weekend.

(do not repost here or onto any other website - reblogging is encouraged!)

work is boring on Sundays, wrote some Dad Stan Drabble to get through it.

Stan adopts an infant child. I’m crying.

part 2 here

Tw: drugs, overdoses, allusions to suicide

and possible kidnapping. On accident.

Stan adopts an infant child.

Bumfuck nowhere, Nevada-1977

Stan threw all the drugs he had left down the toilet. He flushed 3 times, staring town the swirling water. Some fish was probably about to have the time of its probably quite short life, but that wasn’t his concern right now. His only concern was the screaming baby in the other room, and their dead mother in the bathtub.

Stan had been her dealer. Clara, her name was. She was a street kid, by herself for the past 5 years. Turned 20 last May. Stan had been dealing to her for a while. Watched her tastes shift to harder and harder stuff.

He had told himself that it was just a job. She was a junkie, who probably deserved anything that came to her. Like he was. Now, he reckoned with the fact that he never actually believed that. He just told himself what he wanted to hear, what would make it easier.

He didn’t know she had a child.

A child that would never know their parents. He looked into Clara’s eyes, misty with death. It had only been a few hours. They were getting high together. She hit more than she could handle, and Stan was too far gone to do anything helpful. He just fell asleep on the couch, only to awaken to the baby’s cries 3 hours later, hung over.

Stan knew he should leave. He’s the one who sold her the drugs. The neighbours would notice Clara wasn’t around, and surely they’d hear the baby’s screams. They’d come check, the cops would get involved, and Stan had to leave before they arrived. But somehow, he couldn’t.

Clara was young, so young. Too young to be lying in the bathtub, dead eyed and blue. Too young to be leaving her child all alone, without anyone looking out for them.

And it was all Stan’s fault. He sold her the drugs. He actively benefited from her addiction. He enabled this, and in that he ruined two lives. And the baby was still screaming, for a mother that would never come to comfort them again.

Stan figured someone at least should comfort them. So he crept into the bedroom, and saw the baby. They were tiny, couldn’t be more than a few months old. They were clearly malnourished, skinny and bloated like the babies in charity ads. It was a miracle they’d even survived. The baby’s crying subsided as Stan approached. They looked up at Stan with their wide baby blue eyes, begging for food, or comfort or any sign that they weren’t all alone in the world.

Stan met their eyes, and understood something about himself, something he hadn’t admitted in a long time. He picked up the baby, held them close as he rubbed their back. Stanley pines may be a liar, a crook and an overall asshole, but he was built to protect. And by whatever god looked out for crooks and assholes, he was going to protect this child.

“It’s ok baby” he whispered in their ear, “you’re ok. You’re safe.”

Stan went looking around, first for baby formula. He found a mostly empty box in the kitchen, but no bottle. He mixed some up anyway, and found a syringe without a needle that he didn’t think had been used. He boiled it anyway, and hoped to all hell that it was clean enough. The baby seemed to accept it, and calmed down a little in Stan’s arms.

He then changed the babies diaper, with much difficulty.

“It’s a girl!” He exclaimed, “now, kid. Do you got a name?”

The baby blinked slowly, and Stan noticed a scrap of paper on the bed, right where the baby was lying.

I’m so sorry I can’t take care of you, Lola. You deserved better than a mother like me.

The handwriting was shaky, the paper the back of an old receipt. Stan shoved the paper into his pocket, and looked down at the baby.

“I guess you must be Lola. Nice to meet ya, kid. Now let’s get ya to the hospital.”

Stan took Lola to a hospital in Las Vegas, made up some bullshit story about how his “bitch ex-girlfriend” had “abandoned their baby”. The nurses seemed to buy it, and they took her up to the NICU immediately. That whole week, Stan slept on the uncomfortable chairs in the hospital waiting room. Every time he saw her, Lola seemed a little healthier, and a little less stressed. She looked at Stan, wide eyed, any time the nurses would let him pick her up. Sometimes, he’d even convince himself that he saw a smile.

He thought about leaving often. Actually, that was his original plan. Leave Lola at the hospital. She was in good hands now, they’d find her a home. Doctors wouldn’t just let a baby die. But something kept him glued to that seat. He felt like he owed the kid, for killing her mum and ruining her life before it had even begun. It wasn’t a debt that Stan knew how to pay.

After a week, Lola was healthy enough to ‘go home’. Somehow Stan had stuck around an entire week, pretending to be her Dad. Stan wasn’t sure he wanted to take her. He couldn’t be a dad, he was too immature. He didn’t have a permanent place to live, or any money. He was pretty sure that Rico’s gang would be after him soon. And it’s not even like he knew how to be a Dad! He’d never actually met a decent one. Worst of all, Stan didn’t have any family that actually gave a damn about him. If Stan took her, wouldn’t he just be dooming her to the same lonely fate as himself.

But when Stan went to see Lola one last time, there was a social worker there. He explained that Stan likely wasn’t a fit parent, that Lola had been born addicted to opioids and that she was going to be taken into the system. Stan understood, he really did. He just asked for one last moment alone with Lola to say goodbye.

The next thing he knew, Stan had jumped out the window, Lola strapped to his back with a blanket, and was running to his car. He didn’t completely understand why he did it. Frankly, it wasn’t a stupid thing to do. However, he somehow couldn’t bear to let some stranger take Lola. He’d met kids that grew up in the system, and most of them weren’t particularly happy. So Stan moved Lola to his front as he jumped into his car. He could hear security yelling as he sped out of the parking lot, and out of the city, and out of the state.

5 years later

Forks, Washington -1982

Stan decided a long time ago that Forks was a shit town with nothing to do. He moved around a lot with Lola, having taken numerous part time jobs across the Pacific Northwest under the name “Stanton Pinesly”, but for some reason, Forks was their permanent address. It was where Stan had a cheap apartment, and it was the place Lola had become most familiar with.

Overall, it was a pretty safe town. Not much happened besides the odd rumour about vampires and werewolves or whatever, which was good. Rico would never find them here. Stan was pretty sure Rico couldn’t survive this far up north.

“STAN!” Lola yelled, running out of her room. It was early morning, the sun still hanging low in the sky.

“Morning kid. Isn’t it too early for ya to have that much energy?”

Lola jumped onto Stan’s lap, attacking him with the biggest hug she could manage.

“Nuh-uh. I like morning time, Stan. It’s where adventure happens.”

“Sure, kid.”

Lola had always called Stan ‘Stan’. It was her first word, in fact. Stan never referred to himself as her father, not unless they got something out of it. Nevertheless, Stan had raised her like his own. She held his surname (well, his fake one, but she knew she was a Pines), and he kept her fed and healthy. He taught her to read (badly) and to steal (incredibly well). In all ways besides the one, she was his daughter. But Stan would never let the idea settle in his mind for too long. Somehow, being a father for real was a step too far. Into what, Stan didn’t know, but it was too far nonetheless.

Lola jumped onto Stan’s lap, trying to get his attention.

“Staaaan! What adventures do we have today?!”

The kid loved ‘adventures’. Which usually amounted to whatever odd job Stan was doing, or going to the park. Luckily for Stan, he didn’t have anything to do today. His plan was to just lay on the sofa and watch TV. Lola of course had other plans. “Nothin’ today ” apparently wasn’t good enough for her.

“STAAAAANNNNNN!” She whined. Stan hated when she did that. “I wanna go on adventuuuuuure!”

He picked her up like a sack of rice and looked her in the eyes.

“Tough, kid. Ol’Stan needs a rest day. My bones are old.”

Lola giggled. “You’re not old, Stan!”

“Is that so? How old is old then?”

Lola considered this a moment.

“Uhhh…. 20!”

“HA! Gee kid how young do ya think I am?”

“12”

Stan guffawed. Laughed till he couldn’t stand, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Gee Lola. Ya really think I’m 12?”

Lola nodded her head.

“12 is grown up, but still fun”

Stan’s heart melted a little; as sat her on his lap.

“Sweetie, I am 32 years old.”

Lola gasped in genuine shock.

“Why aren’t you a skeleton then?” She asked. This set Stan off again.

Lola, it turned out, was incredibly funny.

The phone rang, and Lola rushed to pick it up. She was expecting her ‘Gammy’ - Caryn, who called occasionally to speak to her “grandbaby”. She was really the only one who called these days.

“GAMMY” Lola yelled, before she got quiet, and whispered “what are you, a cop?” Into the phone. Stan grew concerned. This can’t have been someone Lola recognised.

“Sweetie, pass me the phone”

Lola did so without a word. Stan stared at the receiver, he could hear faint maniacal laughing and the song “sweet dreams are made of these” on the other end.

“…hello?” Stan asked tentatively.

“HI BROTHER, ITS SIXER!”

“…Ford?”

“I SPOKE TO YOUR CROTCH GOBLIN, IT SOUNDED GROSS AND SNOTTY?”

“Ford, what the fuck?”

“LOOK I CALLED JUST TO LET YOU KNOW, IM JUMPING INTO THE FROZEN LAKE TOMORROW.”

“Wait Ford what’s going-“

“IF YOU NEVER HEAR FROM ME AGAIN, ITS CUS I NEVER LOVED YOU!”

“Ford you can’t just-“

The line cut out. Lola looked up at Stan expectantly. Stan figured that Ford must be having some sort of mental break. But he could leave his Brother in trouble. He knew Ford lived somewhere in Oregon. Not too far. Definitely drivable.

“Hey Lola, I think I might have an adventure for ya.”

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dartann

2 months ago

They are way mor chaotic than baby Ford and mullet Stan