#like i expected it to be found in a commercial or smthn not a fucking adult film 💀

[cherrirui-official]

Idk what I expected to wake up to but "everyone knows that" apparently being found in the WILDEST way possible was definitely NOT one of them.

[trash-the-tozier]

Dog Days (5/7)

Title: Dog Days

Length: ~36.6k words (6.3k for this part)

Summary: Richie Tozier is twenty years old, over halfway through a Chemistry degree at the University of Maine, and in love with his best friend and roommate, Stanley Uris. And he figures that it’s fine, with no cause for change, until he finds an injured puppy near his apartment.

Warnings: Explicit language, small amounts of smoking/drinking, mentions of animal abuse (the animal stuff is all about the injured puppy, it’s not like… a recurring theme or smthn, it’s a cute fic I promise)

Pairings: Stan/Richie, background Ben/Beverly

A/N: I know it's been forever, but I promise I'm going to post this whole fic. I've just been sick for like a month. Thank you all so much for supporting this story so far, I'm glad you're enjoying it! Extra warning for this chapter: a tiny amount of violence happens (1 punch is thrown) Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 also posted to ao3 here tagging: @80s-kaspbrak, @sunshinestanley, @tiny-tea (hmu if you want to be tagged!)

As Richie often did when he was in disbelief of his own stupidity, he called Beverly. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, jackass. What’s up?”

“How much does a hitman cost? You can order those over the dark web or something, right?”

“...Richie. What the fuck?”

“I need someone to take me out. End my existence.”

“Just go back to Derry. I'm sure Bowers would love to finish the job.”

The mention of their old tormentor brought things into perspective, at least a little bit, and Richie sighed.

“What happened?” Beverly asked. “What did you do?”

Richie didn't ask why Beverly had assumed it was himself that fucked something up.

“Do you want the long version, or the short version?” He asked, watching Mira sniff a perimeter around the dumpster.

“Short.” Beverly decided.

“I licked Stan’s face.”

“Richie!”

“There was context! I promise!” Richie regretted not grabbing Mira's leash, having to walk close behind her to keep her hidden behind the apartment building. “It… It made sense, sort of. And then I tried to play it off, but I don't think it went well.” He sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, the action interrupted as he had to bend over and pull a stick out of Mira's mouth instead.

“So what, you took something a little bit too far and now you're panicking?” Beverly asked. “That's what you called me about? Richie, it's fine.”

“No, Bev. You didn't see his face.” The complete shock, the stillness, the wide eyes. Had disgust been there too, or was he just imagining it? “And I have to work a shift with him this evening. Goddamnit.”

“Well…” Beverly had a grin in her voice, but there was also a devious edge to it that Richie recognized. “You could just own it and tell him the truth.”

“The truth?”

“You know. That you want actually want to lick every inch of his naked body.”

“Fuck you.” It was the only thing Richie could think to say, because his face was so red that he couldn't really breathe. He bent to pick Mira up, ready to carry her back up the stairs, and heard a voice in the background of the phone call.

“Um, Beverly? Who are you talking to?”

It was Ben, and he was understandably confused, with only his girlfriend's side of the conversation to listen to. Richie was suddenly put on speaker phone.

“Richie licked Stan.” Beverly reported.

“I… What?”

“It's nothing.” Richie said quickly. “Listen, are you guys free tonight?”

He opened the apartment door and set Mira down, where she rushed into the living room and tackled her rabbit toy, growling and wagging her tail.

“I've got to study for a test.” Ben said after a moment's thought. “I think that's it though.”

“Cool. Could you study over here?”

“Doubtful.”

“I won't be here.”

“Oh. Then yeah, probably. Why?”

“Stan and I both have work tonight, and I just don't want to leave Mira alone. Could you guys watch her for us? Just for a couple of hours.”

“Yeah!” Beverly said quickly. “We'll be right over. Sounds great.”

Richie noticed Ben's lack of agreement, but trusted their relationship enough to accept Beverly's answer for the both of them. After taking a deep breath, Richie called out to Stan, who he assumed was hiding away in his room.

“Ben and Beverly are coming over. They agreed to watch Mira.”

“Okay.” Stan's voice was a little quiet; Richie had to strain slightly to hear it. “You should get ready to go.”

A quick glance at the time told Richie that Stan was right. He changed into his work clothes, hearing Ben and Beverly enter just as he pulled his shirt over his head. He yanked it down as he rushed out to greet them, finding once he arrived that his haste was unnecessary; Stan was already in the living room with them.

“Uh… Hi.” He said dumbly. Silence hung awkwardly in the air, broken quickly by Beverly, who crouched down to coo at Mira. Richie could feel Stan looking at him, but he didn't look back.

“Am I crazy, or is she a ton bigger than she was when I first saw her?” Ben asked.

“She looks bigger than she was two days ago, when I met her.” Beverly said.

“Neither would surprise me.” Stan answered with a sigh. They walked the two of them through the simple matter of her feeding and medication, telling them to let her out every couple of hours because she wasn't house trained yet. They nodded, promising they could do it all, and after Richie made them swear to call him if anything happened, Richie and Stan got in Stan's car and went to work.

It was a short drive, the pizza place close enough for Richie to walk back and forth most of the time. Richie didn't want to chance any awkward silences, turning the radio on, the two of them listening to various commercials nearly the entire way there. Richie wondered if he was overreacting, if the avoidance was making it all worse, but whenever he decided to buck up and say something, he chickened out.

Work wasn't any better. He was able to be loud in front of his coworkers, grinning and cracking jokes that were borderline inappropriate, but Stan moved stiffly around him, and Richie couldn't help but react to him the same way. It was near midnight when their shift ended and it was time to go home, and Richie couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't have ruined everything, he told himself; he'd barely even done anything.

Stan pulled up to the apartment complex and put his car in park. He reached up to take the key from the ignition, but Richie's voice stopped him.

“Do you want me to apologize?”

“...what?” Stan looked over at him, confused by the lack of context, though he seemed a bit tense in the shoulders.

“What?” Richie asked back. “Have I been going crazy all day, or have things been weird?”

Stan was quiet for a moment. “Things have been weird.” He admitted.

“I mean... I just don't get it. I've done worse things than lick you before.”

“Yeah.” Stan gave a small laugh, but there wasn't much humor behind it. “I just wasn't expecting it, I guess.”

“Didn't expect it?” Richie asked. “When I promised that I would do it like five minutes beforehand?”

“I just didn't…” Stan trailed off, reaching up to turn his car off and take the key out of the ignition. The engine died, the air dark and quiet and still. “I didn't expect you to actually lick me.”

Richie would have assumed Stan was talking about the action as a whole, if not for the emphasis. The emphasis on lick. Meaning, if Richie’s smitten-swamped brain was right, Stan had expected something else.

“Would you rather I have kissed you?” He asked before he could stop himself. Stan didn’t answer, his eyes wide, and in a moment of tremendous stupidity Richie leaned over, past the gear shift and the empty cup holders on the center console, and kissed Stan on the lips.

It was short, just long enough to register the touch as something, just long enough to send a jolt of nerves up Richie’s chest, just long enough for him to realize just how incredibly terrible this idea had been. He jumped away, muttering out “there,” and escaping the car as fast as he could manage.

If everything hadn't been ruined before, it was now. But Ben and Beverly were up in the living room and Stan was probably coming up behind him, so he couldn't freak out just yet. He was very close to doing so, but as he opened the door and walked through, the sight he was met with did distract his mind.

His friends were on the couch, completely wrapped around each other. They heard Richie close the door and sprang apart like two teenagers caught doing something very indecent in a very public place.

“Well, hey.” Richie raised his eyebrows at Ben and Beverly's extremely red faces, hearing the door open and close again behind him. Stan. But before he could worry about that, he noticed something else. “Where's my dog?”

The living room and the kitchen were both empty.

“She was here a second ago.” Beverly protested, getting to her feet.

“Ben's hands were in your shirt a second ago.” Richie deadpanned, walking around the couch to get further into the room.

“Okay, a minute ago!” The blush hadn't faded from her face, and Ben hadn't even gotten up. Then they heard a familiar playful growl coming from Richie's room, along with a distinct ripping sound. To Richie's surprise Stan pushed past him, going into Richie's room first. They found Mira tearing into one of Richie's shirts, the piece of clothing all but destroyed. She was having the time of her life, Stan saying a very distinct and commanding “no,” and snatching the shirt up.

“Ignore her.” He told them all. “Not giving attention is the best way for a puppy to realize that she's done something wrong.”

“It's just a shirt, Stan.” Richie protested, because Mira, so excited about them being home, had begun leaping up on their legs and whining loudly, and Richie's self control was crumbling. “I don't mind.”

“Look at it.” Stan tossed the shirt to Richie. The neck hole and sleeves were still attached, but there was a huge hole that would expose a large majority of his chest if worn.

“Hey, it's not so bad.” Richie said. “Hashtag free the nipple, right?”

Stan glanced over at him, began to smile, and then began to laugh.

The shunning of Mira Tozier only lasted ten minutes, but in that time Ben and Beverly said their goodbyes, Richie thanking them for their pet sitting services. Then Stan retrieved Mira's chew toy, a rubbery blue bone, and offered it to her. When she took it in her mouth he praised her and petted her, the puppy flopping onto her back for tummy rubs.

“We need to teach her what she can and can't chew on.” Stan explained. “Some dogs will eat a chunk of their couch or something, and then it'll get stuck in some intestine, and they need surgery to get it taken out. We don't want that.”

“Oh.” Richie said. “Yeah. We don't.” It was hard not to stare at Stan, and Richie had to wonder what was happening. Stan was just sitting on the floor with the puppy, talking like everything was normal.

“I looked into it last night, stuff we might want to teach her.” Stan began, getting up to sit on the couch. He paused halfway through the motion, glancing cautiously at Richie. “I can sit down, right? Beverly and Ben, they weren't…”

He left the rest of the question to insinuation, and Richie laughed.

“It's fine! All clothes were on, and stuff.”

Gingerly, Stan sat. Richie busied himself with Mira on the floor, petting her little body all over as she crawled around his lap.

“Not to chew and bite inhibition seem like the most important ones to me.” Stan continued. “For her to only play with her toys, and not to play too rough. Along with making sure she's housebroken of course, but we're already working on that.”

Richie nodded a bit, feeling at a loss for words. His phone buzzed before he could think of something to say, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

From: Lavagirl I'm sorry Richie We did a good job watching her I SWEAR you just happened to walk in the one time we weren't giving her our complete attention

Richie had to laugh a bit. Stan gave him a curious look.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Oh, Bev’s just apologizing, that's all. As if I haven't seen Ben's tongue before.”

Stan laughed too, getting to his feet.

“I'm going to take a shower. Look around the kitchen for something we can have for dinner, would you? I'm really not in the mood for takeout.”

“Yeah, sure.” Richie watched as Stan walked off, still feeling slightly lost. That… That was it? They were pretending like nothing happened? Richie was relieved, sure, but he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, too.

To: Lavagirl It's fine! There aren't any accidents on the rug and she got her food and her meds, and that's all I really care about Though if you ever do get it on in our apartment just tell us what upholstery to wash

From: Lavagirl Oh my god shut up The whole evening was really domestic I promise That was part of the problem actually Ben was being really sweet and talking about a future and buying a house and I just

To: Lavagirl He was talking about mortgage and you got all hot and steamy? Y'all are so weird

From: Lavagirl Speaking of weird, are you alright? Something seemed off.

Nothing slipped past Beverly, apparently. Mira picked up her rabbit toy and ran over to him, Richie wrestling with her as he thought of a way to respond. Finally, he decided that if Stan was going to pretend everything was fine, then so would he.

To: Lavagirl Nah, I'm good. Maybe I just still had my customer service face on or something. Don't worry about me, Bev.

The next day, Richie had to go to class. Though it wasn't his first time being away from Mira, it almost felt that way. Stan sent him a few photos throughout the day of Mira playing or sleeping, one of the pictures even showing a training session, Mira sitting attentively, her eye transfixed on a treat Stan was holding that was just barely in the frame. While adorable, the pictures also made Richie want to go home all the more, and he wondered briefly if this was how parents felt about their children.

That night, curled up in bed with Mira's body splayed across his legs, Richie set up a Craigslist ad for her. He tried to make it as uninteresting as possible, leaving out any pictures and wording everything in a way that was short and to the point. He set the price as 'negotiable’ because truly, he didn't know, and ended up listing Stan’s phone as the number to send inquiries to. He knew that if he got any texts or calls from someone interested in taking Mira away, he wouldn't be able to stand it.

Over the next two weeks, Mira settled into their lives pretty well. Despite everything Richie had read online, she was taking to the training they were giving her. It wasn't really out of a desperation to please though, and more of a desperation for attention, Stan’s shunning method working rather well. Two more of Richie's shirts, along with two and a half pairs of shoes, were sacrificed before Mira's destructive habits were confined to just her toys, though they did still have to reprimand her for mouthing on things every once and awhile. Richie's attempts to get her to play nicer were going more slowly, but once he read up about the method behind it, Mira began getting gentler and gentler with her teeth.

Mira's training attitude seemed rather confined to Richie and Stan though, Stan being the main disciplinary force in the house. Unless they had a treat in hand, Ben and Beverly's attempts to get Mira to do much of anything were pointedly ignored. Richie found it rather funny, and couldn't say it didn't make him feel special. Despite this attitude though, Richie noticed Ben warming up to Mira quite a bit, and that put a smile on his face.

Richie could barely believe how fast Mira was growing. With an increase of size came an increase of everything else, with shedding, energy, and appetite being the ones most noticable. While she tired easily with her leg still on the mend, daily walks became a must. Leaving and re-entering the apartment complex were always stressful moments, Richie murmuring “what dog? I don't have a dog,” to himself like a chant and navigating the stairs as fast as he could. It was always much easier when Stan went with them, acting as lookout during the dog smuggling.

The shedding was what bothered Stan the most. It was a near constant occurrence, and as a result, dust bunnies of dog hair began developing in every corner of every room. Being two college age boys, neither owned a vacuum cleaner.

“It's uncontrollable. Her fur gets everywhere.” Stan complained, a blissfully ignorant Mira asleep in his lap as he sat on the couch. He lifted his hand from where it had been resting next to his thigh, making a face and wiping it on his jeans. “She's drooly, too.”

“She's a dog, Stan.” Richie said, without looking up from his biochemistry homework. “I don't know what you expected.”

Stan took to brushing her every night. At first, the extra attention was cause for excitement, and with Mira running around and nipping at Stan's fingers, the whole operation was incredibly ineffective. But then Stan took to waiting until the evening, when all of Mira's energy had already run its course, and it became a relaxing activity instead. The tension would leave Stan's shoulders as he worked, Mira often even falling asleep halfway through the process. When that happened Stan would stay with her for a little while, petting or cradling her, even once kissing her on the head when he thought Richie wasn't watching. Richie swore he felt his heart explode.

When those two weeks had run their course, April now upon them, it was time to bring Mira back to the animal hospital to get her leg checked up on and her sutures removed. Richie and Stan found a Friday morning when they were both free and scheduled the appointment, bringing her in together. Richie noticed his receptionist friend sitting behind her desk and absolutely beaming at them, and with a sick jolt of fear, realized that she would want to bring up their inside joke again. Except Richie still hadn't told Stan.

“Hey,” Richie said lowly, catching Stan by the jacket sleeve as they walked in. “I have something you need to know.”

“...what?” Stan gave him a quizzical look.

“That receptionist there? The one staring at us? Well…” Richie couldn't think of a good way to say it, so he said it as plainly as he could. “When I came here with Ben, she thought we were dating. You and I, I mean.”

“Okay?”

“And… I didn't correct her.”

“Oh.” Stan was silent for a long moment, Richie waiting for him to get mad, or creeped out, like Ben said he would be. But neither happened. Stan just said “okay,” and walked straight up to the reception desk.

“Okay?” Richie muttered to himself, having no idea what that was supposed to mean, hurrying up behind him.

“Mira Tozier, here for her recheck.” Stan told the receptionist with a smile.

“Oh, of course I know who you are.” She responded, smiling back. “Long time, no see for you!”

“I've been working.”

“Yes, I've heard. The what, backbone of the household?” The receptionist gave Richie a look that meant she was absolutely enjoying herself, but all Richie could manage was a weak smile back. What was happening?

“Well, I wouldn't have to work so much if he picked up extra shifts, like I do.” Stan lied, looking over at Richie with what could only be described as affection, reaching over and mussing up his hair. Richie could feel himself turning beet red, and the receptionist, looking delighted, got from her seat and said she would notify the doctor of their arrival.

“Do you think she bought it?” Stan asked as they went to sit down.

“Bought it?” It took Richie a second to find his voice. “She didn't need to buy anything, I just--”

“Yeah, but did you see how happy she was?” Stan grinned a little, and Richie couldn't help but watch him, feeling hopelessly confused. “I don't mind. Hey, she might even give us a discount or something.”

Dumbfounded, Richie simply nodded. Thankfully, he was able to pull himself out of his surprise by the time the vet technician arrived, and their appointment started. They found out that Mira had grown a full eight pounds since she'd left the hospital, putting her weight in the lower thirties. Her eye had healed up well, the veterinarian delighted by that; the skin had completely sealed, her hair already beginning to grow back. Nothing had disturbed her broken leg either, the bones still all set correctly, being told to return in three weeks time to see if they could take the cast off. All in all, everything was fine. Richie beamed with pride.

“Now that her injuries are healing, it's likely that you'll see an increase in her energy, as she can return to acting like a normal puppy.” The veterinarian told them, and Richie nodded.

“We've definitely seen that.”

“Then it would do no harm to take her on walks. Though, due to her size, it would also be good to begin training her to heel; that is a habit she needs to have by the time she's big enough to pull you off your feet.”

Nodding a bit, Richie thanked them and they were able to go back home. They made it out of the car and halfway up the stairs before a loud voice stopped them.

“Uris! Tozier! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Richie froze, trying to look innocent, trying to keep the wince off his face as he turned to greet their landlord, a short, balding, and angry-looking man standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Good afternoon!” He tried, passing Mira's leash quickly over to Stan.

“Is that a dog?” Their landlord asked.

“It is! It's not our dog though, Mr…” Richie realized in a moment of wild stupidity that he couldn't remember the man's name. Stan, who hadn't yet turned around, gave Richie a grimace that told him he didn't remember the name either, and when the landlord didn't offer it over, Richie simply had to continue on. “...sir. It's my sister's dog. She asked me to watch her for the night. Just for one night! And I figured, since she's not technically living here, it would be--”

“No!” The man looked hopping mad. “Didn't you read the rent agreement? No pet policy! That means no pets!”

“But--”

“No! You bring that dog down these steps now. You'll have to shack it up somewhere else for the night. I don't care where, but it's not staying here.”

The throbbing vein in the man's temple didn't leave them with much room for argument. Unsure of where else to go, they piled back into Stan's car. Richie suggested the nearest fast food place, and they were off.

They ended up at Sonic, somewhere Richie hadn't been since he was a kid. They got two milkshakes, a double order of fries, and a small vanilla ice cream for Mira, who lapped up the new treat eagerly.

“What do we do?” Stan asked. His eyes caught the midday sun as he looked over at Richie, lighting up in beautiful brown and green and gold. Richie cleared his throat loudly and looked away, popping the lid off his milkshake. He took three fries, dunked them all in the drink, then put them all in his mouth.

“We’ll just go back later.” He said, Stan giving him an expression that very clearly said 'don’t talk with your mouth full’. He swallowed. “That guy probably thinks we're dumb, but not so dumb that we'd try to smuggle the same dog into the same apartment twice in one day. He won't be looking out for us.”

“He will for a couple of hours, though.” Stan took a long drink from his milkshake straw. “What do we do until then? I would say walk Mira for a little while, but I don't really feel comfortable doing that along the side of the road.”

“I think we should sit here, and finish up our fries and milkshakes.” Richie began. The word “walk” had suddenly reminded him of something. “Then go back to the apartment. I have something in the woods I need to show you.”

Stan gave him a critical once-over.

“If this is some joke about your dick or something--”

“No!” Richie felt his face turn pink, though he didn't know why he was embarrassed. Dick jokes were nothing new. “It's actually something. It's kinda serious, really.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask any following questions. He turned back to his milkshake, drinking from it again, and suddenly began to laugh.

“What?” Richie asked him.

“I just…” Stan reached over to get some fries, two of them between his fingers as he looked up at Richie, grinning, an incredulous sort of amusement behind his words. “I just can't believe we couldn't remember our landlord's name.”

That had Richie laughing too.

“I know! I seriously have no idea. Mr… Mr. Calver? Clemson? Something like that?”

“Didn't it start with an 'H’?” Stan asked back, and Richie shrugged.

“Probably. Maybe.”

They gave suggestions back and forth, the quality of the guesses slowly devolving into jokes. Richie's suggestion of “Mr. Bulging Neck-Vein” made Stan spit milkshake all over the table, and they had to ask a server for napkins. Finally though they got to their feet, cleaned up their table, and got back in Stan's car. He parked on the opposite side of their apartment building, and the three of them snuck off into the woods.

“How far is it? Stan asked, and Richie didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure he was walking in the right direction; he hadn't really been paying attention while talking to Eddie on the phone. After a few minutes of silence, Stan spoke again.

“Can you at least tell me where we're going? Because this kind of feels like the first five minutes of Law and Order, or something. We're either going to get killed, or find a dead body.”

In spite of himself, that made Richie laugh.

“I think I found where Mira came from.” He said. “The day before I found her, I was on a walk, and I came across something that looked a lot like her. Some fuzzy animal in the creek. I couldn't really tell what it was, though. And I didn't try to get too close, because it was already dead. Maybe it had been for a while.”

The mood had sobered up, Stan watching him. Richie shrugged a little.

“I was talking to Eddie the other day, and walking around this area, and… I kinda stumbled upon something. I think it was a puppy mill.”

There was silence as the words sunk in.

“And Mira's a purebred dog, isn't she?” Stan asked quietly. Richie nodded.

“Yeah. Think so.”

Richie saw Stan nod out of the corner of his eye. They walked in silence, and then Richie heard barking. He followed the sound, Stan right behind him, and again, at the sight of the place, Richie's stomach lurched, an uneasy, queasy feeling setting in.

“Shit.” Stan murmured, while Mira's ears perked up at the sight of other dogs. “Richie… Richie, this is…”

“I know. I when I looked it up, it said that puppy mills are technically legal, but Beverly said that the really bad ones could be shut down. I don't know what to do.”

“There's no way this is okay.” Stan said. He pulled his phone from his pocket, typing quickly, pausing at a realization. “If this is where Mira is from, does that mean that whoever runs this place is the person that tried to kill her?”

“I… I don't know.” Richie hadn't considered that before. “Maybe, yeah.”

“We have to shut this place down.” There was a surprisingly vehemence in Stan's voice as he scrolled through web pages, reading quickly. “We should take pictures, look around… Get evidence and stuff.”

Richie nodded, pulling his own phone out.

“Stay here.” He told Stan, holding Mira's leash out to him when he began to protest. “Stay here with Mira. Don't worry; I'll be in and out before you know it.”

Stan frowned, but didn't argue. As quietly as he could, Richie crept forward.

His presence caused an uproar among the dogs. They all began barking as soon as they saw him, and Richie soon gave up on trying to be discreet, instead taking pictures of as many horrible things as he could, and as quickly as possible. With each step things looked worse and worse, and it wasn't long before he was discovered.

“Hey!” A rough shout made him jump. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing on my property?”

Richie spun, met with the sight of a man, long and thin like himself. This man was older, maybe closer to forty, walking with a slight limp. His face was nearly completely covered with a bushy brown mustache and beard, a baseball cap pulled low over his head.

“Oh, you know.” Richie shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “A little of this, a little of that.”

“This is private property.” The man growled, walking closer. “I will have you arrested for trespassing, you snot-nosed kid!”

There were dark, rust-colored splotches on the man's tan boots, and whether or not the stains were blood, that's what they looked like. Anger flared in Richie's stomach.

“Not if I get you arrested first.” He said, holding up his phone. “I know some people in law enforcement who would be very interested in what's on my camera roll.”

Richie, of course, didn't know anyone, but the words struck a nerve.

“Give me that!” The man yelled, running in Richie's direction. Richie had to dash to the side to avoid him, turning and jumping back, and in the confusion he didn't know what way to run in order to leave the way he came.

In his disoriented state he didn't have time to dodge the arm that flew in his direction; pain blossomed from Richie's mouth as the man's fist connected with his jaw, feeling what seemed like every one of his teeth puncturing his lower lip. His mouth filled with the taste of copper and he spat out red, gasping. Richie wasn't a stranger to being punched in the face, but it hadn't happened in years, stumbling backwards and keeping his head down. The man grabbed at his arm, his grip closing around the wrist of the hand Richie had holding his phone. He twisted, Richie letting out a shout of pain, dropping his cell phone to the ground. He had enough of his wits about him to kick the phone away when it landed near his foot, and that made the man release him. But Richie knew he was faster, scrambling over, falling to his knees to pick the device up.

With a growl, a mass of brown fur came streaking towards them. Richie managed to grab hold of Mira just before she leapt at the man; he didn't want her to bite him. He didn't want her to bite anyone.

Stan was standing at the edge of the trees, white-faced. Richie struggled to get his legs under him, setting Mira down in favor of holding her leash, and they ran full force in Stan's direction. When Richie reached him he didn't slow down, cutting off the beginning of whatever Stan was trying to say by grabbing his hand, and the three of them made a break for it.

The man hurled curses at them, but didn't give chase. Through all of the adrenaline and fear, Richie felt a strange laugh bubble from his mouth, and it did bubble; his rapid breathing was causing the blood behind his lips to froth and blister.

“Richie.” They were out of the trees by the time Stan found his voice. He had tears stinging his eyes, his breathing labored. “Richie, let go of my hand.”

The request took Richie by surprise so much that he followed immediately, releasing him. He didn’t know how to feel about it, but when he saw Stan’s hand, that worry was gone and replaced by a newer, stronger one. Stan’s palm was ripped with rope burn, doubtlessly from Mira’s leash, and Richie had been holding it, pressing into it.

“I’m so sorry.” He gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

Stan just shook the apology off, neither of them speaking again until they were safely inside their apartment. Stan locked the door behind them and Richie sank to his knees, exhausted. Mira was on him instantly, whining and licking at his face, and while the concern was appreciated, it did hurt.

“Richie--” Stan began, about to crouch and help him up, but Richie shook his head.

“No. You go wash your hand off. I’m okay.”

Stan gave him one, long look before going to the kitchen sink. Richie pulled himself to his feet, making it to a kitchen chair before sitting down again.

“Are you okay?” Stan asked, without turning around.

“Yeah.” Richie answered. “I mean, my lip’s a little busted up, but that’s happened before. I’ll live.”

When Stan turned back to him, he was holding a warm washcloth. He approached Richie’s face with it, but when Richie tried to bat him away, Stan grabbed his wrist and forced his arm back down.

“Let me.” He insisted, so Richie did. The washcloth was rough against his swollen, broken skin, but he didn’t say anything. The moment felt too fragile; Richie held his tongue.

When Stan moved away, turning to rinse the bloody washcloth off in the sink, Richie deemed it safe to speak up.

“Is your hand okay? What happened?”

Stan sighed.

“I'll be fine.” He said. “We heard the guy's voice first, and Mira's hackles just instantly went up. I don't know if she remembered him or what, but she didn't like him at all. And then we heard you yell, and there wasn't anything I could do. I didn't expect her to move so fast. I didn't even know she could, honestly, with her leg and everything. I didn't have the handle of the leash around my wrist; I was just holding onto the rope. She ripped it out of my hand.”

“Sorry.”

Stan simply looked at him for a moment, bunching his lips up before straightening them again, as though rolling Richie's apology around in his mouth.

“It's fine.” He said, moving towards the freezer to get ice for Richie's still-swelling lip. “It's not your fault.”

Richie decided to ignore the fact that yeah, it kind of was.

They crowded around Richie's laptop together and tried to find the best way to report what they saw. They ended up finding a form they could submit on the ASPCA website, Stan filling it out while Richie complained about just how cold the ice pack was.

“Of course it's cold. It has ice in it.”

“But what if my mouth goes numb?”

“Then maybe you'll shut up for once.”

“Stan!” He whined, removing the ice from his face. “My lips are freezing! This is your fault. You should warm them up for me.”

If this had been a month ago, Stan would have laughed or rolled his eyes or shoved him off the couch. Now though, Stan went silent and still and Richie regretted saying anything, feeling as though he'd broken their unspoken agreement to not talk about the kiss in the car. Instead of sitting in awkward silence, Richie shifted topics without any ease or eloquence.

“Anyway, I've been meaning to ask you… The Craigslist ad? Has anyone responded to it? I put your name and number for the contact information.”

“Oh, thanks.” Stan said dryly. “I'm so glad that any random person on the internet now has access my phone number. But no, to answer your question. Nobody's called about her.”

“Really?” Richie had been avoiding even thinking about the offer he'd posted to sell Mira away, not wanting to bring it up to Stan for fear that someone wanted to negotiate prices, or something. He'd been a bit surprised that Stan hadn't mentioned it either, but had told himself not to question his luck. A lack of responses explained that, though. He looked over at the puppy in question, who was chasing her tail, becoming confused whenever the tail switched over to her right side and she couldn't see it anymore. She looked hilarious, and Richie's heart ached a little. “Who wouldn't want her?”

“I don't know.” Stan shrugged, returning his eyes to the form on the computer screen. “I mean, it does sort of make sense. She still has a cast on her leg, and we said we would foster her until she was all healed, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Stan looked over him, a little grin growing on his face that made Richie's heart skip a beat or two.

“What?” He had to ask.

“You just…” Stan gestured to his injured face. “You look terrible.”

“How dare you?” Richie drew himself up and puffed out his chest, trying to imitate an overly pompous English gentleman. “You're making a mockery, after I so valiantly defended my lady’s honor?”

“Making a mockery?” Stan asked back, raising an amused eyebrow, obviously surprised by the phrase. “And which one of us is your lady? Me or Mira?

“You, obviously.” Richie said, and Stan laughed. “Mira can hold her own, I think.”