Chapter Text
Hatchetfield was raining again. There was something in the air, in the rain. Richie wanted to cry but the mask held tight over his eyes stopped that. He was stood on top of a building, he didn't even really know what building it was, watching the destruction he'd just caused below. Smoke billowed into the air, raging fires despite the downfall. Richie's hair obstructed his vision. He was glad it was night and it was raining. It would be a pain to have to dye it back only to put in the non-permanent stuff for his regular life.
Richie sighed as he slowly lowered himself to the edge of the building, legs overhanging the side and pressing against the outer wall. His torso rests on the railing, the only thing stopping him from falling off.
He remembers when he still loved this town, how it was so happy and pleasant. He remembers being a kid, playing soccer and video games. How warm it was. Now the rain is cold and stings against the bruises still there after his big fight with Spectre a few weeks ago. The festival was only last week. Richie had seen Max a few times at work - he thinks Zoey has caught onto what happened over the weekend. Honestly, she was probably worse than Ruth was. At least Ruth had the ability to say it. Zoey just gives him this knowing sad look.
It makes him feel weak.
Thunder cracks overhead and Richie tips back so he's bent backwards over the edge of the building. It's then that he sees Spectre stood behind him. Something tells him that he's been there for a while so Richie just sits back up and lets him do what he wants.
Rain storms around them and Spectre silently moves and sits beside Richie, but facing away from the edge of the building, back against the rails. Richie sees him look at him in his peripheral. He looks back.
Richie gestures half-heartedly to the destruction below. "Aren't you gonna fix that?"
Spectre shrugs. "Technically. I'm supposed to be stopping you."
"So why aren't you?"
"Why haven't you started the fight either?"
Richie doesn't answer, he just turns back to the destruction. Something has felt different in him since the music festival. He still feels so much anger and resentment, but there's a missing fire. Instead it all sits at the bottom of his chest like a thick sludge, something weighing him down.
Eventually, he does speak. "You could end this all. Knock me off the edge. I wouldn't survive the fall." Spectre looks at him with an unreadable expression thanks to the pearly white covering his mouth. The goggles have been ditched though. It feels odd, different.
"I'm not gonna kill you, flow." He shakes his head. "That's not how this works." Richie holds back the urge to scoff. "We push and pull, but that never goes as far as death."
Richie looks at him, and déjà vu hits him as thunder lights up the sky and their surroundings. Spectre's eyes widen slightly; Richie wouldn't have even realized it if they weren't sitting so close. He doesn't mention it. Neither does Spectre about whatever he's noticed.
The rain is starting to come down heavier and Richie figures that this is better time than any to get the usual routine over. He finds the familiar anger within him as he swings his legs back over the edge before standing up and walking a safe distance away.
He spreads his arms and grins at Spectre. "Let's get this over with."
There's something in the way Spectre hesitates that sends a burst of anger through Richie, exploding the lip of the roof to his left with a flick of his wrist. This sends Spectre standing up hastily, though he doesn't approach.
"Why do we have to do this?" He calls through the storm. Wind whistles through Richie's hair. This is new.
He scoffs all the same. "You know why. I cause destruction, you stop me." To prove his point, he explodes a small bundle of trash by snapping his fingers. A small fire starts in the remnant of it.
Spectre flinches and shakes his head, taking a step forward. Richie steps back. "But why do you need to destroy everything?" The smoke of his earlier ruin still billows up behind Spectre, and the new fire grows slightly. It casts an orange light over his legs and hand. Richie laughs slightly.
"Why do you care now?" He gestures around him. "We have been doing this for a fucking year, Spectre. And only now do you care about what my motivation is?" He scoffs. "News flash, man. We don't fucking know each other. You don't get to know that."
A deep ache settles in Richie's chest as he says this. He really doesn't have anything or anyone now. Pete got out, Ruth stopped talking to him once he got angry, and he didn't ever really speak to anyone else. Despite this, Spectre looks like he disagrees with Richie.
"C'mon." Spectre takes a step forward again. Richie feels like a herded animal, scared and alone. He wishes Spectre would just punch him instead. It would hurt less. "You don't need to tell me. You can even go back to destroying the town tomorrow. Just. One night where we can sit and not fight."
Richie hardly hears him over the rushing in his ears. He figures he's allowed to lash out. He takes a step forward. Spectre looks at him, he's looking for something, Richie realizes.
He frowns when he realizes.
Spectre knows who he is.
Richie looks away. He can't do this. His body gets stuck between fight or flight. He lands on fight and sends himself forward, punching at Spectre. He feels himself get pushed back. Why is Spectre not fighting back?!
"Just fucking fight back!" He yells. This seems to spur Spectre on a little bit.
A punch lands on his side, and he responds in turn with a hit to Spectre's jaw. They exchange hits and punches and kicks until Richie's rub hurts and Spectre's slightly limping - scorch marks on his suit. Blood flies and in a short amount of time, Richie doesn't know who's is who's. It's all the same color on his blue gloves.
Spectre knocks his nose, sending it running with blood and Richie cradles it tenderly, stumbling back.
"Fucker…" He manages to get out between panting breaths. Even Spectre's heaving slightly.
Spectre takes a step forward but it hits something in Richie's subconscious that screams at him that if Spectre gets any closer, Richie's going to die.
He watches himself move in slow motion.
The burst of energy flies from his hand, knocking Spectre back enough to fall over the railing.
He manages to catch it in time before he can fall.
But it's not enough to stop the mask covering his lower face from falling.
Richie stares at the face of Max Jägerman and feels so angry and so scared. Conflict rises like the thunder that fills the air. The breath gets caught in Richie's throat and he can't break eye contact with the other.
Max is scared.
It's evident by the look on his face and how tightly he's gripping onto the wrong side of the rails on the roof. His hair whips around his face in the wind and Richie can see the tears filling his eyes. He stands where he is, hands clenching tightly into fists. Fuck. What's he supposed to do?
Everything in his body is screaming to disregard the festival and just push Max off of the roof. He can finally be rid of the hero once and for all. But he feels so broken.
Richie knows that the fall would kill the other instantly. There would be no pain for Max.
Richie's mask feels heavy. He has the upper hand for once.
So why is he hesitating?
Max is the entire reason he's like this. Why he's filled with all this pain and anger and sadness. So why is he hesitating? He considers for a moment.
What is a villain without his hero?
Richie comes back to reality with a sniff and a wipe for the blood collecting on his top lip. It leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. He bites at a cut on his lip, staring at Max plead with his eyes from where he's still hanging on.
"I hate you." Richie says. It feels like the wind steals it from him, rustling his hair and coat as it weaves through rain droplets.
Strained, Max replies, "I know."
Richie scoffs and looks around, helplessly. "No you don’t!" He smiles, disbelieving. Tears are filling his own eyes now. "You don't know. I hate you. More than anyone could ever realize or understand. So why- " a gasp tears its way through his throat as his leg twinges with white hot pain. The railing Max grips almost whines in protest at the weight it's unaccustomed to holding. Richie shakes his head to clear his mind, looking to Max and he feels the hatred shining in his eyes alongside the tears. "You made me like this."
Max stares back at him, he knows. Richie knows he knows, but he needs to make him understand. "I-"
"You don’t get it!" Richie yells. His lungs burn, he's probably more black and blue than pale skin and breathing in rubble and ash never helped his asthma. "You might be better now, but you made me like this! For years and years of my life, I fucking resented the thought of you." Richie spits, face twisting in disgust. He's thankful his mask is still on. Even if they both know, it's given him more confidence than showing himself ever has. "And yet now! I finally get the chance to get rid of you. Once and for all! And I can't!"
Another burst of energy is sent to a pile of rubble on the roof and it explodes in a fiery burst. The flames burn on in the rain. Richie feels the tears fall into his mask as he stares at Max. "And the worst bit. The worst bit, Max. Is that you will never understand what this is like." Richie clutches an aching hand to his aching chest. "You got better. You let go of your fucking anger at the man who hurt you. But I can't do that. I have been trying for years and I can't stop hating you." He laughs bitterly and approaches the railing, lowering himself so he's at the same level as Max's face.
Richie feels his face drop to a blank slate, devoid of feeling. "You could fall from here and you'd not even see my face before you died. Do you think you'd have a restless death not being able to? Half of my face concealed so you don’t even know what I'm really thinking?" Richie's head cocks to the side, staring at the hands gripping onto the railing. He was lucky, really. With all this rain, he would have slipped off if he was any other man. "Or do you want to die? You've not plead for your life, for salvation. None of your hero friends have come to stop this; to stop me." Richie moves forward, cool metal bars of the rail pressing against his cheeks. He stares at Max's face.
"Do you want to die, Max?"
Max doesn't answer, he just stares back at him. Richie can see the cogs turning in his brain. He waits for whatever Max is looking for to be found.
He doesn't expect a question. "Why are you hesitating?"
Richie stands up, staring down at Max. He frowns. "What?"
Max sucks in a breath and tries to pull himself up. He fails. "You're hesitating." His nose wrinkles before a wince of pain shoots through his face, it's probably broken. Richie never did learn to pull his punches. "Why are you hesitating? If you hate me so much, just push me off. You and I both know you don't even need to touch me to do it."
Richie frowns deeper. As he does so, he can feel cuts on his face re-open, bleeding through again. Max is bleeding from his own hairline and it's dripping onto that white mask he wore. Richie has to stop himself before he can fully realize that he thinks the sight of blood on Max's face almost looks beautiful. "Why am I-" He crosses his arms, scoffing. "I'm not- what-"
Max slips and one of his hands falls off the rail. Within an instant, Richie is almost pressed against the railing, hands hovering awkwardly at his waist. There's deep hesitation in his actions. Max is panting quickly, blinking furiously. Richie feels himself panting too. He blinks in confusion. Max is staring up at him. Richie knows why he hesitated; they both do.
A second passes and Richie pushes through everything telling him he shouldn't, gripping Max's wrist with both of his hands and pulling with the remaining energy he has left. Once Max hits the roof, collapsing onto the floor facing Richie, Richie backs off. His hands find root in his hair and he pulls as he begins pacing. Fuck. Why did he do that? He's not meant to save his enemy. That's not what they do.
Is Max even his enemy? Are they friends? Sure they made out at a festival, but they were hardly friends. Definitely not lovers. Richie snarls at himself and his thoughts, tugging harshly at his hair. He can feel the blood dampening his fingers and the cloth mask around his eyes feels itchy. He rips it off and it lands with a wet slap against the concrete roof. He can smell the foul stench of ash and blood and dust clinging to himself.
"Hey-" Max begins. Richie snaps his head to look at him, the suddenness of it cutting him off. He's once again sitting against the railing he was just hanging from. He looks tired, cradling his arms in one another and extending his legs out straight. Richie processes that he's the reason Max looks like that. Max slowly moves a hand down and pats the spot beside him. "Sit. Please. No more fighting."
Richie hesitates, but he huffs as he slumps to the floor. He draws his knees to his chest and rests his head on them, looking away from Max.
"You're right. What I did to you was… fucked up." Max admits, and he sighs. "And if I could take it back, I would. But we have both had this conversation before, and I know I can't. Which is why I'm doing this." Richie doesn't say anything. "You don't want an explanation. I." Max shifts with a poorly concealed groan. "I just want you to know how sorry I am, Richie."
Richie closes his eyes. Fuck. He hesitates again before sitting up and looking at Max. He's immediately hit with how sad Max looks, there are deep bags under his eyes, skin mottled with bruises and stained with blood. Richie can still taste his own blood on his tongue and he knows he's not much better off.
There's a silence that follows Richie turning to look at Max. The pair just sit in silence while the rain slowly lightens. If Richie looks close enough, he can see a million questions run through Max's mind.
Max shifts slightly closer, wincing as he raises his hand again. His palm gently comes to rest on Richie's jaw, the same place he was punched all those weeks ago.
"What happened to you?" The question gets carried into the wind but Richie manages to catch it.
A sad smile finds its place on Richie's lips. "You did."
Max's thumb pushes under Richie's eye, brushing away a tear and coming back bloodstained. Richie raises his own hands to hold Max's wrist, thumbs careful and light against his pressure point.
The wind pushes past them again, breaking the moment. They both remove points of contact, leaning against the wall beside one another. The half foot of distance feels like miles away but all too close. Richie supposes that that's just what the right distance feels like.
---
Everything falls into place over the next few years.
Richie sits at his couch in his apartment. It looks clean, well lived in. There are new photographs on the walls of him and his friends. He looks happy in them. He reconnected with Ruth, told her how sorry he was for how he treated her the last time they saw one another. She'd forgiven him, saying she understood why he'd been so angry. Pete had come back to town none-the-wiser of anything that had happened for Richie, and he had intended on keeping it that way. Until he'd had to explain the thing he had with Max.
This had come at an unlucky moment where Pete had decided to surprise Richie upon his return.
---
The doorbell was ringing and Richie felt a moment of panic shoot through his spine. He sat up from where he was currently sat across Max's hips, face flushed from their slow kissing. He frowned slightly.
"You expecting anyone?" Max asked, also sitting up even though it jogged Richie around a little bit. Richie shook his head.
"Nope." He huffed as the bell rung again, running a hand through his blue hair to organize the mess it had found itself in. He got off of Max's lap and stood up, stretching his arms up as he did so. "I'll get it. You stay here." He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Max's lips before moving away properly.
"Got it." Max smiled.
Richie approaches the door and unlocks it, opening to reveal Peter on his front porch. Surprise immediately floods his brain, followed by confusion.
"Uh-"
Peter surges forward and hugs Richie tightly. "I've missed you, man."
Richie returns the hug. It feels nice. It's been years since he's seen Pete. Which does beg the question.
"What're you doing here?" Richie smiles. He knows, in the back of his head, that Max is sitting in the front room, and that that would be a pain to explain to Peter Spankoffski of all people.
"I came back to town the other day. Had big news and figured it would be better to just. Say in person." Richie can tell that Pete wants to ask if he can come inside but is too worried about being rude to ask. So he bites the bullet. If he's gonna do this, he might as well do it now.
"Yeah. Uh. Sure. Come in. I've got company so. Don't mind him." Richie cringes at how awkward he sounds. Even Pete frowns at him as he walks past him into the apartment.
"I'm sure it's fine. Anyone I would… know…" Pete trails off as he enters the room. Richie winces as he walks in after. Pete puts on a smile, takes Richie's arm and pulls him back into the entryway. "Richard Lipschitz, please tell me that isn't who I think it is."
"Do you want me to lie to you, then…?" He asks. Pete seems shocked. Richie sighs and takes him into the kitchen. "Look, Pete. I know."
"Do you, Richie? Because it looks to me like you have Max Jägerman sitting on your couch like he owns the place." A moment passes and Peter guffaws. "No."
"It was cheaper. Pete. Listen to me." Richie places his hands out placatingly. To his credit, Peter does stop. "A lot has happened since we've seen each other, and trust me. Most of it you wouldn't believe. So I will give you the most basic version of it, okay? Max and I met each other again at a music festival, we cleared some of the air, and then he helped me get out of a dark spot in my life." Richie knows Max can hear from the living room, but Peter needs to understand. "Honestly, if he hadn't helped me then…" he shakes his head. "I don't know. But Pete, you need to understand that I have seen how much he has changed for the better."
Peter takes a minute to take all of this in, clearly not expecting this. He looks to Richie again. "Are you happy?"
Richie hesitates. It's not something he's even asked himself after all this time. He finds the answer isn't that hard to accept. He nods. "Than I've ever been before."
Peter nods and hugs him again. This one is tighter, and Richie responds in stride. "I'm sorry I was so hesitant." Richie snorts.
"Hesitant? I think you'd probably kill him with your bare hands if I'd said I was slightly unhappy." He hits Pete's shoulder gently. "Also don't think you can get out of telling me your big news."
"Oh! Right! Well… Steph and I are getting married…"
---
Later that evening, Max and Richie sit on the couch with the television playing a low volume so they can hear the thunderstorm outside. They're resting against each other and it's warm inside their apartment as they relax.
"Did you mean it when you said you were happy?" Max asks. The question is soft, whispered into the skin behind Richie's ear. Richie hums, smiling as he lifts one of Max's hands to his lips.
"Of course." He whispers in turn to his knuckles. "I'm not trying to take down this town anymore, am I?"
Max laughs softly, and Richie does the same.
As thunder claps and lightning shoots overhead, the two live on to see another day.