Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The car rolled to a stop in front of a neat two-story house with pale siding and trimmed hedges that framed the walkway like it was out of a picture book.

Stan stared at it through the window, his stomach tightening.

He knew this place. He’d spent hours loitering outside it when they were teens, waiting for Wendy to sneak out. He’d sat awkwardly at her family dinners, tongue-tied and out of place, trying not to spill anything on his lap.

And now he was back—older, bruised, broken down and being dropped off like a stray dog someone felt too guilty to turn away.

Wendy opened her door with a small smile, already half out before the engine cut. She looked… safe here. Comfortable. Like the house softened her edges somehow. She reached back for one of the bags and gave Stan a quiet glance.

He stepped out slowly, stiff from the ride, and followed her up the familiar path.

The door creaked open, and for a second, the scent hit him. Wood polish. Faint laundry detergent. The distant aroma of cinnamon or something baking once upon a time.

Wendy walked in like she belonged.

Stan walked in like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

Her dad lingered near the base of the stairs, arms folded. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

Stan didn’t ask. He already knew.

Second door on the left. Across from the linen closet. Next to Wendy’s room.

He followed him upstairs, the same creak in the fourth step still there, just like he remembered.

The guest room door was already open. Inside was a small but neatly made space—a double bed with fresh white sheets, a dresser, and a window that overlooked the garden. It smelled faintly like lemon fabric softener and wood polish.

Stan stepped in slowly, nodding. “Thanks.”

He bent down to set his bag on the floor, and as he did, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the corner of a crushed cigarette packet sticking out of his back pocket.

Wendy’s dad noticed instantly.

“There’ll be no smoking in this house,” he said flatly.

Stan froze, then stood up straight.

“If you want to smoke, you walk down to the very bottom of the garden. Far corner. Past the shed.”

Stan didn’t argue. “Yeah, okay.”

Her dad didn’t respond. He just nodded once and left the doorway without another word.

The room fell quiet.

Stan stood there alone, eyes lingering on the fresh bedspread, the scuffless carpet, the tiny framed picture of a lighthouse on the wall.

It was nice.

Clean.

But it didn’t feel like it was meant for him.

Wendy pushed her bedroom door open with her hip, dropping her bag onto the bed with a soft thump. The room looked lived-in, but frozen in time, like no one had touched it since she left for university.

Stan followed behind her slowly, eyes scanning the space.

And then it hit him.

It was exactly how he remembered.

The same soft lilac walls, a tall white bookshelf crammed with novels and paperbacks, a desk still cluttered with forgotten pens and an old corkboard filled with photos from high school.

Her bed was made neatly, perfectly—even now—but piled with way too many pillows. Fluffy slippers with little pink bows sat beside the foot of it.

Wendy turned back toward him with a small shrug. “Haven’t really had a chance to… update anything.”

Stan smiled, a warm ache growing in his chest. “You still have way too many pillows on your bed.”

Wendy laughed. “You used to complain about that all the time.”

“They’re excessive,” Stan said, pretending to count them. 

Without another word, she reached for his arm and tugged him toward the bed.

He let her pull him down. They both lay on their backs across the mattress, legs dangling off the edge, staring up at the ceiling like they were sixteen again.

After a moment, Wendy reached up and pulled her hair loose from the messy tie it had been in all day. It spilled down around her shoulders in a dark wave—and across Stan’s face.

He blinked as strands clung to his cheek and lips. “Mmph—”

She snorted. “Oops—sorry.”

Wendy rolled onto her side, sweeping her hair off him in a flurry of laughter.

Stan grinned and pushed it gently back with one hand. “I remember that, too. Your hair used to get in my face all the time.”

“Yeah, and?” she teased.

Stan tilted his head toward her with a grin, “I don’t even mind it anymore.”

Wendy raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded solemnly. “It’s like an itchy little blanket. All natural. Scented. Textured.”

Before she could stop him, he dramatically shoved his face into her hair, making a low, muffled groan like he was diving into some kind of luxurious, overpriced spa treatment.

Wendy laughed, swatting at his arm. “Stan, what the hell —”

“Mmm,” Stan said through the thick mass of hair. “Organic. Hypoallergenic. Slightly aggressive.”

“Get out of my hair, weirdo!”

“No. I’m living here from now on.”

She was laughing so hard her mouth hurt, he felt so ticklish against her neck and face. He peeked up at her, his head still buried against her shoulder, lips twitching.

And then—

“Ahem.”

They both froze.

Wendy turned her head toward the door.

Her dad stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but the sharp arch of his brow said it all. Stan’s face was still half-buried in Wendy’s hair, looking like a man caught doing something wildly inappropriate.

“Mm-hmm,” her dad said dryly.

Stan sat up fast. “Sir—I—I was just—”

Wendy sat up too, her cheeks flushed. “Dad, Jesus —”

Her dad ignored their scrambling and simply said, “Downstairs. Both of you. We’re going over house rules.”

Stan nodded stiffly, voice cracking. “Of course.”

Wendy rolled her eyes, swinging her legs off the bed. “Yeah, yeah. We’re coming.”

As her dad turned and walked off, Wendy looked at Stan and snorted. “Smooth.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “I was just starting to feel comfortable .”

Wendy grinned and leaned in, whispering, “You looked like you were trying to inhale me.”

“Worth it,” Stan whispered back.

They laughed quietly, stealing one last glance at each other before heading downstairs—back to reality, house rules, and a father who clearly wasn’t messing around.

The living room was painfully neat.

Neutral-toned cushions were fluffed to military precision on the couch. A crystal bowl of decorative pinecones sat untouched on the coffee table. Framed family photos lined the walls—Wendy as a kid at the beach, school portraits, reward photos.

Stan lingered awkwardly near the doorway, unsure where to sit. His hands hovered at his sides like he was afraid to touch anything.

Wendy stepped past him and dropped onto the couch, then looked back and patted the cushion beside her. “Come on.”

Stan hesitated for half a beat—then sat. Close. But not too close. He folded his hands and stared at the pinecones like they might bite.

Across from them, Robert and Alexis sat side by side in matching armchairs. Alexis offered a gentle, reassuring smile.

Robert cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, clasping his hands together. “We’ve been talking. Alexis and I. About some… ground rules.”

Wendy groaned quietly, her head falling back against the couch. “Dad…”

Robert raised a brow. “You’re staying under our roof now. And I know you’re both adults, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have expectations. This is still our home.”

Wendy sat up straighter, already defensive. Stan just nodded politely, eyes low.

Robert continued. “First—there’s no smoking in this house. Wendy, I know you don’t smoke—”

Wendy looked away. Stan bit the inside of his cheek.

“—but Stan, if you need one, I’ve already told you where to go.”

“Yeah,” Stan mumbled. “That’s… totally fine.”

“Second,” Robert said, “no guests without permission. I don’t want people showing up here unexpectedly. This isn’t a student house.”

“Dad, literally none of our friends know we’re here,” Wendy said.

“Still,” he said. “Ask first.”

Alexis placed a hand gently on his arm, trying to soften the tension. Robert pressed on.

“Third—keep the shared areas clean. Dishes. Bathroom. No clutter. No messes.”

Stan nodded again, a little too fast. “Of course. Yeah.”

“Fourth—no locking doors. Ever.”

Wendy frowned. “What?”

“You heard me. You can have your privacy, but no locking doors in this house.”

“Fifth—keep the noise down after midnight. We work early.”

“We don’t even do anything after midnight except sleep—” Wendy started.

“I’m not finished.”

She rolled her eyes and slumped deeper into the couch.

“Sixth—you’re both responsible for yourselves. If you finish something, replace it. Groceries, toilet paper, whatever. Alexis and I aren’t here to wait on you.”

Stan looked like he wanted to shrink into the cushions. “Yeah. Totally. Got it.”

“And finally—” Robert’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Separate rooms.”

Wendy’s head snapped toward him. “Why?”

“This isn’t open for debate.”

“Dad, we’re twenty-four .”

“And this is still our house,” Robert replied calmly. “I don’t care where you were sleeping before. You’re not doing that here .”

Wendy’s mouth opened to argue, but Robert raised a hand.

“You’re both safe here. That’s what matters. Let’s keep it that way.”

The room went quiet.

Wendy crossed her arms, visibly unimpressed. Stan sat stiff beside her, caught somewhere between wanting to apologise and wishing he could disappear into the floor.

Alexis gave them both a soft, understanding look. “We just want things to be peaceful while you both heal. That’s all.”

Wendy sighed.

Stan cleared his throat. “Thanks. For letting me stay.”

Robert nodded curtly. “Don’t give us a reason to regret it.”

The silence in the living room lingered a little too long after Robert’s final word. Wendy shifted beside Stan, her arms crossed, still visibly irritated. The atmosphere hung heavy, like dust in still air.

Stan cleared his throat quietly, eyes fixed on the crystal bowl in front of him.

“I, uh…” he started, then paused, nerves catching in his throat. “I just wanna say—look, I know I haven’t exactly made a… great impression in the past.”

Robert didn’t blink. Alexis glanced toward Stan, her expression unreadable.

“I was just a stupid kid,” Stan continued. “Doing stupid sh—”
He caught himself.
“—stuff. I mean… yeah. Stuff.”

Wendy snorted softly beside him. Stan ignored her.

“I didn’t really know what I was doing back then. I just kind of… coasted. And I guess I gave you every reason not to like me. But that’s not who I am anymore.”

He looked up, finally meeting Robert’s hard stare.

“I’m not perfect. But I’m trying. And I’m really grateful that you’re letting me stay here. I don’t take it lightly.”

There was a beat of silence.

Alexis gave him a small nod, her eyes softening just a little. “We can see you’ve been through a lot. Both of you.”

Wendy glanced at her mom with surprise, and a flicker of warmth passed between them.

But Robert?

He didn’t move.

He didn’t nod.

He just said flatly, “We’ll see.”

Stan swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Fair enough.’’

There was a brief pause.

Alexis shifted slightly in her chair. Her tone softened as she looked between the two of them. 

“You’re both welcome to make your own dinner or eat with us,” she said. “I can always cook for more.”

Wendy nodded, her voice more relaxed now. “Thanks, Mom.”

Alexis gave her a faint smile, then looked to Stan—offering a small but meaningful nod. Then she stood and left the room, her footsteps fading toward the kitchen.

Robert followed without a word.

The tension in the room eased just enough.

Stan let out a breath, his shoulders sagging. “God. I feel like I’m on probation.”

“You kinda are,” Wendy muttered, flashing a crooked grin.

He huffed a small laugh. “Still… I’ll take probation over being without you.”

Wendy’s smile faltered just slightly—but only because it was real. Full. She reached over and found his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

“I, uh… I really need a cigarette,” he muttered. “Badly. You think it’s alright if I…?”

Wendy looked at him, amused. “Yeah, you don’t have to ask me.”

She pushed herself up from the couch. “Come on. Back garden’s this way.”

They walked through the hallway and into the kitchen. The warm scent of something cooking—onions maybe, garlic—hung in the air. Alexis was at the stove, humming faintly to herself, a wooden spoon in hand.

Stan kept his head down as they passed through. He was already feeling better just knowing he was heading outside.

But just as Wendy reached for the back door, her father’s voice cut in from behind.

“Where are you going?”

Wendy stopped, her hand on the handle.

She turned casually. “We’re just heading out for a smoke.”

She caught herself.

“Well—Stan is.”

Her tone was breezy, dismissive.

Robert looked at her, unimpressed. “Since when do you go out for a smoke?”

Wendy didn’t flinch. “I just want some air. It’s been a long day.”

Her dad stared at her a moment longer, jaw tight.

Then, finally, he gave a curt nod. “Alright then.”

Wendy opened the door without another word, letting the late-afternoon air wash in.

Stan stepped out first. She followed, pulling the door shut behind them with a quiet click.

The grass was soft underfoot, still a little damp from the afternoon rain. They walked in silence down the narrow path that cut along the fence, past the vegetable patch and rusted lawn chairs, until they reached the far corner of the garden, just behind the shed, out of sight from the kitchen window.

Stan let out a slow breath as he leaned back against the weathered wood of the shed. He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and slid one between his lips, the movement slow, almost ritualistic.

He offered the pack out towards Wendy but stopped himself, pulling it back a little, smirking. “Hmm… I don’t know. You’re meant to be good now. Living under your parents’ roof and all.”

Wendy rolled her eyes, smirking. “You sound like my dad.”

And before he could react, she plucked the cigarette straight from his mouth and tucked it between her own lips.

Stan blinked, clearly surprised.

She lit it with a quick flick, inhaling deeply before exhaling toward the sky. Her posture relaxed instantly, shoulders dropping like someone exhaling a week’s worth of tension.

Stan chuckled under his breath and lit another for himself.

They stood side by side, smoke curling slowly in the space between them, the garden dimming into a soft blue dusk.

Wendy leaned back against the shed, one arm hanging loosely at her side, the other holding her cigarette. Stan watched the way the glow pulsed at the end of it as she breathed in. She looked calmer now, less tight around the eyes.

A beat of silence passed, and then he glanced at her, smirking faintly.

“I kinda forgot how strict your dad is. It’s actually… kinda scary.”

Wendy laughed, short and genuine. “He just has that face. The ‘don’t screw around in my house’ face.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “It’s very convincing.”

Wendy nudged his arm with her elbow. “Don’t worry, he’ll get used to you.”

Stan gave her a look. “You really think so?”

She shrugged, taking another drag. “They just have a bad impression of you, that’s all.”

Stan scoffed, amused. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He gestured vaguely toward himself.

“I show up after years of being the screw-up boyfriend, then disappear with you for a few weeks and reappear in a hospital… and now I’m giving their daughter cigarettes in their garden.”

Wendy laughed, smoke trailing from her nose. “Yeah, you’re not exactly helping your case.”

Stan grinned, tapping ash onto the grass. “I’m winning ‘Son-in-Law of the Year,’ obviously.”

She flicked her ash next to his and leaned a little closer. “Well, you’ve got my vote.”

Stan looked at her, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the one I care about.”

They stood there like that, the laughter fading into quiet again—but it was a comfortable quiet. No pressure. No past. Just air and smoke and the hum of evening insects.

“God,” Wendy muttered, “I needed this.”

Stan glanced at her, his tone light. “You sure you don’t wanna go back in and follow a few more house rules?”

Wendy snorted. “I’ll pass.”

Wendy took another slow drag, letting her head tilt back to watch the smoke dissolve into the dimming sky.

Beside her, Stan shifted his weight against the shed. “I should probably go get my truck,” he said, glancing toward the house. “Feels weird not having it here.”

Wendy looked over at him. “Yeah?”

He paused. “You think it’s okay if I park it in the driveway?”

She smirked. “It’s not a monster truck, Stan. It’ll fit.”

He grinned. “I mean—your dad already thinks I’m a asshole. Didn’t want to push my luck by messing with the lawn aesthetic or somthing.”

Wendy rolled her eyes, grinning. “It’s fine. He’ll live.”

Stan nodded to himself. “It’s kind of a walk back to mine, though.”

“Yeah,” Wendy agreed, her brow lifting. 

Stan tapped the side of his cigarette thoughtfully. “I’ll text Kyle. He did say to message if I needed anything.”

He took another drag, the quiet of the garden wrapping around them again.