Chapter Text
Nebraska
January 1981
The landscape was flat, which was good since a thirteen-year-old car could only handle so much. The weather was cold. Winters were always cold in Nebraska, especially at night, and Stan cursed himself for not preparing better. He'd had the same ratty red jacket for years and here he was, burning up all his gas on keeping the heater going. And finding a place to park for the night. He hoped he'd find somewhere to stop for the night unnoticed, or at least that some business owner would be kind enough to let him use a spot in their parking lot, not that anyone would be stopping by during that time, given the late hour, and he'd likely be up with the sun as always.
Buildings. Stores - maybe he'd be able to get a pack of cigarettes from one - no one aro-
No one around, right?
A lump was curled up on the dirty sidewalk against the wall of a convenience store that had clearly closed for the night. The angle of Stan's headlights didn't hit it directly, but the photons that did hit the lump showed messy hair and unnervingly-wide open eyes. He almost thought he'd stumbled upon a dead body and was deciding what to do next when he noticed the shaking. Not quite dead, was she... well, that certainly made things more complicated. He couldn't just leave her there...
He pulled over. Stopped. Rolled down the window. "Hey!" he called. The girl flinched, immediately scrambling to her feet, unceremoniously slipping and sliding on the icy ground. "Hey, kid! You okay?"
"I'm fine!"
"You need a ride somewhere?"
"Nope!"
"You sure? Can't be safe for you to stay out here in the cold-"
"Gee, I wonder why that is," she said in a tone that was beyond sarcastic, crossing into accusation territory. "Surely, it can't be because of men like you."
"Men like me?" he asked.
"Girls who get into cars with strange men don't leave. They get dumped out and, if they're lucky, buried in shallow graves that'll be gone by spring."
Silence.
"...You think I'm gonna kill you?" Stan asked incredulously. Sure, he was a little scruffy, but he couldn't look that threatening.
"Did it take you that long to figure it out? Y'know, you might be the only adult man driving around in the middle of a winter night talking to teenage girls that won't kill them. Not that you don't want to. I just don't think you have that intellectual capacity, given your density regarding my interpretation of your intents." He wanted to be offended. He really did. But something about this kid being so willing to insult him to his face was just... he couldn't keep himself from laughing. "What?" the girl asked, clearly not understanding what about the situation was so amusing.
"You're a smartass," Stan said. "I like that."
The girl's face barely perceptibly shifted to carry a larger hint of fear. "What?" she asked, her voice wobbling slightly.
"You're a smartass. Like me. Except you're actually smart. Intellectual capacity, huh? Interpretation? Those are some big words."
"And you think I don't understand what they mean?"
"No, I'm just surprised. I don't usually see kids using those types of words." The girl didn't look appeased. Stan couldn't figure out how to go about this but he definitely was not about to leave this teenager out here. "So you're not getting in."
"Absolutely not."
Stan chewed his lip for a few moments. This... was certainly a situation he'd found himself in. "Because you think I want to hurt you."
"You need me to say it again?"
"No, no, I understand. Just making sure I have everything right." He cleared his throat and sat for another few seconds before reaching into his glove box and pulling out a switchblade, flicking it out, and handing it to her. "How about this: if I try anything, which I won't, but clearly, that's not enough to get you to believe me... you can use this on me however you see fit."
The girl stared at the knife for about five seconds, expression calculating, deep in thought about how this could go. Finally, she took the knife. "Fine," she said somewhat reluctantly. "I know where all your major arteries are, by the way."
And that was how Stanley Pines ended up with a teenage girl in his passenger seat, staring out the windshield silently.
"So..." What was he supposed to talk to her about? What do teenage girls talk about? Oh, shit, now she was looking at him. Well, he guessed there was only one way to start. "You got a name?"
"Yeah," she said without elaborating.
"...Well, what is it?"
"Joy."
Wow. Not what he would've guessed from the girl who decided the first fact she should share about herself was her knowledge of the human circulatory system. But he didn't say that. "Joy... last name?"
"Nunya."
Stan snorted. "Okay, smartass."
"What, like you'd tell a stranger your last name?"
"No, guess not."
"Then why are you asking for mine?"
"Because I don't know you and I'm trying to make small talk. I figured this would be a good place to start. Clearly, it's not." More silence. "...Headed anywhere?"
"Nope."
"Any reason why you were outside a closed store this late?"
"Nah."
"Anywhere you could go? Say you got cold? Got anywhere to stay warm? Anyone looking out for you?" Silence. Okay. That explained a whole lot. "There any place open right about now? Y'know, somewhere we could park for the night? Maybe get something to eat?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, mullet man?"
Stan sighed. Oppositional. Good to know. "...So I'm guessing there's no 7-Eleven around here anywhere? Cheap diner? Nothing?"
She released a sound that was somewhere between a sigh, a grumble, and a growl, not that he could tell where between those three it fell. She kept opening and closing the blade as if rehearsing, which definitely made Stan feel good about his personal safety in that moment. She's just a kid, he reminded himself. Just a scared kid, probably just practicing because she thinks I'm gonna hurt her.
They drove semi-aimlessly for another few minutes. Stan tried to talk to Joy. Joy didn't respond often. When she did, it was mostly biting remarks that were far from helpful. Stan made a mental list of things he'd noticed about the kid since meeting her:
- Feisty
- Quiet
- Bad at following orders - or maybe she just didn't want to, which was fair, honestly.
He probably should have called the authorities, reported a lost teenager he found on the side of the road, but she didn't have anyone who would claim her, obviously, and he wasn't sure if they'd be able to help her. So now he was here. In the Stanleymobile. With a teenage girl. A hissy teenage girl who made it abundantly clear that she didn't like him. Fortunately, she had to be around sixteen. Sixteen-year-olds were mostly self-sufficient. How hard could this be?