Heroes - A Farewell by the Sea

by Veurvei

Summary:

At that moment, I thought of something delirious. Maybe in another parallel universe, the attacks never happened. And Stanley was still here, writing our next comic for the Arsenal of Democracy— Planning and drawing out our story. Or perhaps it’s the opposite, and this is just a continuous loop of losing people close to me.

“Hey, Stanley?” I said, dragging my foot across the wet sand slowly as my mind wandered.
“Yeah?” He replied.
“In another life, do you think we’re still friends?”

Notes:

sooo this fic is basically an add-on to the VVV chapter in heroes where stanley is basically doing labour work for the aftermath of pearl harbour. This was written awhile back and it took me about a day to finish it. Apologies for any grammatical errors/weird pacing, again, i wrote it in a day 👍

also BRO THIS IS KINDA CORNY ASF i am NOT used to writing angst to fluff. so pls bear with me.

 

12/12/1941

 

 

         Dear Stanley,

 

 

       Meet me at the beach at 6 pm sharp. Be quick! I’ll be waiting! This is our only chance, so let’s make the most of it.

P.S. Hide this note when you receive this. Other people might see, and I don’t want to get you into any more trouble than necessary.

 

 

 ~ Sincerely, Frank. :-)

 

 

                                                                                                              — — — — — —

 

 

          I waited patiently as I watched the crashing waves swaying back and forth, waiting for Stanley. From afar, it looked endless— Even though I knew better, I still pretended that it stretched on forever. I didn’t like to imagine what the end looked like. Or thinking about the end in general.

 

But as I’m sitting here on the gritty, wet sand, I can’t help it. The waves on Pearl Harbour are slower than usual, and the sun is about to set into its hazy orange glow. It already looked like it was the end. After all that happened five days ago, nothing looks right. 

 

America declared war on Japan the day after, and hundreds of people enlisted. Other people were packing up and heading somewhere else. I couldn’t blame them. Hawaii wasn’t safe. But to be honest, it wasn’t completely safe from the start. There were a few things that were still dangerous— Like eels. But this was by far the worst. Buildings and houses were completely demolished and burnt as I went by. The air still smelled like oil every now and then, and I had to pinch my nose because of how strong it was.

The biggest change, however? The sudden shift in people. Everyone seems on edge, or completely out of it. Others were hard at work, salvaging whatever they could. Jewelry, heirlooms, personal belongings. What was most obvious, however, was how everyone was treating the— My thoughts were cut off when I heard a noticeable voice in the distance.

 

“Frank!” Stanley shouted, wearing his iconic Aloha shirt. He came!

 

Stanley ran towards me, waving happily, as if he had that spark lit in him again. I shot up quickly from the sand to greet him, shaking each other’s hands.

 

“Hey.” I smiled at first until I noticed how calloused and blistered his dirty palms were. He looked tired and worn out, but he still showed up anyway.

 

 

I paused. Of course, he would. Why wouldn’t he?  I told him to come here, even if it was risky. There was just no way we could talk tomorrow. Tomorrow was our final goodbye, and I wanted to at least have one more proper conversation with him before I left.

 

The tides reached up to our ankles, splashing us as Stanley stood there in silence. I looked at him and his tired figure. I couldn’t believe he was cleaning up after Hawaii. He hadn’t done anything. Nobody did. He was too young to be in the VVV digging graves for thousands of people. Seeing him like this didn’t seem right to me at all.

 

Stanley read through my expression. He smiled at me sadly, as if he had no idea either. I kicked the water, splashing the ocean gently. Stanley followed along, splashing with me playfully. We took turns soaking each other and laughing, enjoying the moment. 

 

This  is how things should be. Having fun in the water instead of shovelling dirt. We’re only thirteen, we should be happy and enjoying ourselves. . . Not experiencing this.

 

I winced at the truth, feeling a pang of sorrow. Nothing will take us back to that time when I would write comic books, and Stanley would draw them. It was only two weeks ago, but those days felt like they were from another timeline. It didn’t fit to be a part of reality—  our reality. It hurt knowing that this was one of our last interactions. I always hated moving, but this one sticks out like a sore thumb. 

 

 

Ginny told me how lucky I was to meet Stanley, and she was right. I’ll probably never find someone as confident, laid back and artistic as Stanley when I go to California. He was one in a million, and that made it hurt more. Knowing that he’s special, and that I’ll never find someone like him ever again. 

 

 

I had no idea if Stanley and I would talk after I left,  or if he would even try to talk to me. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Mailing letters to someone you’re never going to see again seems like a waste of time trying to catch up. He’ll probably make new friends and forget about what happened. After all, I only stayed in Pearl Harbour for a year. Stanley would definitely have friendships that lasted longer by then.

 

 

I kicked the water— hard. Stanley looked up at me with a confused look, but I played it off. I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad at  myself. Why does this happen? There’s  always  something that never works out. A dog biting me, kids picking on me, and now it’s an attack. It’s like I can never truly settle down and not be  afraid to. Stanley was one of the only people who really accepted me. Including my fear of flip-flops. And  now I have to say goodbye to him as well.

 

 

At that moment, I thought of something delirious. Maybe in another parallel universe, the attacks never happened. And Stanley was still here, writing our next comic for the Arsenal of Democracy—  Planning and drawing out our story. Or perhaps it’s the opposite, and this is just a continuous loop of losing people close to me. It sounded crazy, but honestly? With everything that's happened. Anything seemed possible.

 

“Hey, Stanley?” I said, dragging my foot across the wet sand slowly as my mind wandered further.

 

“Yeah?” He replied.

 

“In another life, do you think we’re still friends?”

 

He looked at me with a surprised glance, but he spoke with no hesitation.

 

“Definitely!” 

 

I paused and looked at him. Really looked at him. I laughed as I smiled. An actual smile. The one that I haven’t worn in days. Tears of relief glossed over my eyes.

I didn’t understand why, but those words eased me into warmth. Maybe it was because he said it with such confidence that it moved me. Of course, Stanley would say that. He sounded like he was certain things would work out between us, even if I doubted otherwise. But perhaps this time it wouldn’t be bad to hope. Just for a little while, at least.

Stanley fell into silence after he noticed my tears glossing my eyes, but he didn’t mention it. He already knew what I was feeling. He just smiled and understood, which is what I expected. What I didn’t expect was for Stanley to suddenly take a step forward and wrap his arms around my neck gently. He squeezed me softly, but not tightly. Like he filled it with happiness.

 

I felt awkward. Not in embarrassment— but in surprise with the abrupt hug. Stanley didn’t feel awkward whatsoever. His hands may be dirty and calloused, but that didn’t matter to me. He was my best friend— and the best thing I could’ve ever asked for. I widely grinned, trying to refrain from crying right then and there.

 

“I’m sure you’ll be a great writer in California,” Stanley said, pulling his arms away from me.

 

 

“Not without you as my amazing illustrator,” I replied.

 

 

Stanley looked at me with a pained expression in his eyes, realizing I had messed up, my brain scrambled for words I should say to make it up to him.

 

 

“You’ll find someone else,” Stanley said dimly. “Someone who isn’t a Japanese bomber.”

 

 

I stared at him in shock. “You’re not a bomber. . .”

 

 

Stanley's attitude immediately changed. “It doesn't matter.” He bitterly said. "In everyone else’s eyes, that's all I'll ever be. Not some kid who likes comic books, or someone who enjoys being by the shore, or an artist. They never will.”

 

I felt my stomach drop. Was he seriously considering dropping out? Stanley was one of the most passionate people I’ve  met . He couldn’t quit, not now! I was met  with unmatched anger. He didn’t quit because he  wanted to; he quit because he  couldn’t. He was pushed into quitting art to pursue his hobby and passion.  Everything . Stanley continued to stay silent, looking a bit disappointed.

 

He thinks he’s lost all hope . I thought, but I knew that he just had to keep pushing on. He can eventually do it. He just  doesn’t have the motivation. How could I keep him motivated? An idea flickered into my mind as I thought about it.  Perhaps it’ll work .

 

“Hey, when I pack up to leave for California tomorrow, you’ll come right?” I asked abruptly.

 

Stanley stared at me as if I had asked the most stupid question ever.

 

“Of course I am.”

 

“Okay, well... when you’re there, meet me by this beach, in this exact spot. I’ll come over. I have something to give you before I leave.” I said.

 

 

Stanley nodded and looked off into the distance; the sunset's hazy glow was beginning to dim.

 

 

“I have to go now,” Stanley said. ”If people from the VVV found out I was out here talking to you, they’re going to put me in one of those graves.” He joked. It wasn’t funny, but I smiled nonetheless.

 

“See you tomorrow, Stanley.” I extended my arm out to him.

 

“You too, Frank.” He replied, reaching his dirty hands out for mine.

 

We exchanged firm handshakes again, our eyes lingering on each other. It felt significant, yet there was an undeniable sense that this wasn’t the end.

 

 

Notes:

bromance to romance /j

fun fact: this fic was written for my friend (who is basically Frank McCoy irl) because we were switching schools. So i figured this work would've been dedicated to her.