Chapter Text
A ring cuts through the emptiness of his car, the miles long having made him sick of music, the podcasts he listened to no longer being in his best interest to tune into. In the back of his head, Richie remembers a promise he made to Steve to pick up when he calls. In the front of his mind, Richie thinks if this is Steven I’m blowing someone’s brains out. He will, too, he promises himself while digging for his phone in the passenger seat, attempting to watch the barren highway
“The fuck do you want, Steve?”
“Wow, okay. I can be rude, too, Michael.”
Okay, so It’s not Steve.
“Shit, sorry Jacus. How are you, bud?” asks Richie. Bud?? Really?
“Good. I’m back with my dad.” His voice isn’t as happy as it could be for someone finally out of a hell mouth, as Buffy Summers would say, but Richie knows better than most that the feeling of relief can be a somber thing.
Richie breaths into the phone. “Okay, okay, that must be nice.”
“It’s weird. He grounded me but he keeps hugging me and calling me my childhood nickname. It’s such bullshit.”
“I get it.” Richie says, going for the relatability factor. “I don’t really like being called Peanut either.”
“It’s Żabciu,” Jacus clarifies “but that’s not the problem.”
“My childhood nickname wasn’t actually Peanut.”
“That’s… what’s wrong with you? Nevermind, don’t answer.”
“I got a whole swath of problems, man,” Richie answers with a type of honesty that he usually saves for a joke.
Jacus starts to laugh, well, not laugh, but that voice he does when he tries not to. “I told you not to answer. But I don’t care about being called Żabciu—” Richie would have to google that name later—”I care that he grounded me. Also, he’s suing the school. I don’t know for how much, but he wants them not to be able to open again.”
“What’s the exact thing he’s suing for?” asks Richie (There’s something pretty cool about a father suing a school for his child, to protect them and other kids. It also speaks to Jacus being a rich kid, not that Richie couldn’t figure that out by his entire demeanor.) “Child endangerment seems a little too on the nose.”
“What are you talking about? If it’s on the nose that means it's an actual broken law.”
“Fine. So are you going to have to testify?”
“No, he thinks being in a court case will ruin my future. Anyways he’s suing because the school didn’t disclose the deaths. He didn’t know about them until the news broadcast got big enough to go international.”
“How did he not find out until then?” For a long moment, the line remains silent. “Jacus? Did you not call him?”
“My phone burnt in the fire.” He says it like a confession, as if he couldn’t have found a way to tell him.
“That’s not an. Jacus what the fuck man? Borrow someone else’s phone.”
“Shut up. You sound like him. When was the last time you cal—”
“—Fine, sorry, I’m not your fucking parent. But…” Richie’s voice got quieter. “Is there a reason you can’t call your dad?”
“I mean, he’s busy.” Jacus’ voice was getting louder now. “What am I gonna tell him, come pick me up some random kid killed himself?”
“Jacus, listen to me, if you can’t go home. If—if you aren’t safe there—”
“I’m fine, Mr. Tozier. My dad is a good man. He’s a good father. And you don’t get to judge him. Just because your parents knew and didn’t stop it, doesn’t mean that my dad knew and left me there anyway.” He says it with a controlled voice, something Jacus rarely has the foresight to do.
“Why couldn’t you tell him? I mean seriously, kid. You’re just a kid; people are there to help you.”
“Yeah, and how many times did people help you as a kid?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“It only took my dad fourteen hours to come to me.” Jacus replies as if that seemed in any way soon. “From when he saw the broadcast, I mean. His friend, well, not friend, business partner had to tell him I was on the news. He was so mad.”
“That doesn’t… If you don’t want to go home, or if you think your dad is too busy for you, I have a lot of friends who know ghosts are real and also live in mansions. One of them has a pool and a billiards room.” It was true. Bill and… Okay, maybe it was just Bill who was staying in his own mansion home while the others travelled the world. But, still.
“I already told you. He’s a good dad. I just didn’t want to bother him. All he would know is that the school had a bunch of depressed kids. He wouldn’t know about the ghost or ghoul or whatever it was. I didn’t even know about whatever it was.”
“Kid, I think he would’ve pulled you out anyway. If everyone there was so depressed, he. There’s no way he could know the reason, but he could tell there was a problem that wasn’t being solved. I would’ve taken you out.”
“No. You tried to leave me there so you could go hunt your dead lover.”
“Fuck you. I know you’re a child, but fuck you. You can’t just talk to me like that.”
“And you can’t just talk about my dad like you know him! And I’m not a child!”
“You are when you want to be. What, when you want help, you’re just a kid but when you want to be mean you aren’t? Fine. Go back to your dad if you like him. Give him a fucking hug back because not only am I chasing a dead loved one, who never loved me back by the way, I’m stuck chasing a ghost without my dad.”
There was silence on the line. Finally, Richie realized how slow he was going on the interstate. If any other car was here, he would’ve caused an accident. It took another thirty seconds before there was any noise over his breathing.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t umm.. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“My brother’s gay.”
That got a laugh out of Richie. “Thanks kid. That’s just what I wanted to hear, you outing your brother.”
“I’m not outing him. He brought his boyfriend home for Christmas last year.” Jacus said, offended. “You're a dick, but I still won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks.”
“You probably should tell someone else though. It’s not good for you to keep this a secret. That’s what my brother said.”
“I’m not your brother.”
“I have to go, my dad’s gonna be mad that I’m on the phone.”
It was a worrying sentiment. But, maybe a kid getting grounded was the least of his problems. As he told it, Jacus was safe.
---
When he was 14, Richie would go back to school, just 4 weeks after killing a god. More than that, it would be 4 weeks after Richie was finally able to believe that he would never see Bowers again.
Once, at age 12, he sat on his bed and prayed to both Jesus and God, two religions as a gift from either parent, and asked that in six years he be accepted to a college at least 300 miles away from this shit fest. That was after he sat and watched his mother sob over scrounging up the money to buy another pair of glasses, broken from another run in with Bowers. Maybe if his eyes didn’t hate him, maybe if his body put on muscle, maybe if he wasn’t so distracted looking at Eddie.
At age 14, he no longer had to pray that he would get away from Bowers, and never would he pray for a stronger body to help him win a fight.
Then highschool started after middle school, meaning he had an extra week to play in the arcade like Eddie asked him to. And how could he refuse, who would be there to call him a faggot as he ran out the doors. Except, maybe, himself. So he left the phone off the handle, keeping it busy with nothing and locked the door to his bedroom. He found the best way to stop thinking about how badly he wanted to go to the arcade with Eddie and the best was to start thinking about going again with Connor. Never last name when he thought about Connor. Richie thought, maybe if he just stayed an extra week they could play another game or they could go to the Aladdin and sit in the back of the theater. It would be like his sister described her dates when Richie listened through the walls. Richie could, or better yet! Connor could put a hand on Richie’s knee. And Richie could put his hand atop that, winding his fingers through Connor’s, they wouldn’t even have to look at each other. Except, Richie really wanted to look at him. They could… if it was dark. No one would be able to see them all the way in the back. He could. They could. If it was dark. Richie would look over at Connor, and Connor would look back and then they would both lean in at the same time and kiss.
Then, after that, Connor would go home to another part of Maine, and Connor would still think about Richie from time to time. But, more importantly, Connor would never come back to Derry after that. What reason did he have? Bowers was a murderer all locked up in a cell and Bowers’ dad was dead. Nothing to do in that shit town and no one to see. Richie would be safe.
If Richie so wants, the podcast is there for him to spill this story. There are so many juicy parts to be included. Richie knows he has the comedic timing and crude stylings to make it possible for him to deliver his lines.
“ So that’s when I first started masturbating furiously. Coincientally, my parents came home right at that minute and… yeah fuckin’ nothing happened. Except, oh I came. Hard. Formative experience in getting horny at inappropriate shit. And yes, that does include shit. ”
This story is for him, though. It will always be for him. Most of all the way that he knows Connor looked back at him in that arcade.
Three weeks, then he would see Eddie at school in five of his seven classes. All of a sudden. Richie wants to be 14 again.
Jacus was right. This wasn’t healthy. He needed to tell someone. Hopefully his mother, hopefully her voicemail.
---
“Hi Mom. Delete this after because I’m paranoid. I’m really fucking paranoid. Even of Elizabeth seeing it. Mom. I’m gay. And I’m sorry. I never called you, Mom. I was… I was scared of you. I didn’t know why, and now I’m giving you the chance not to love me. I know. I know you said you would just fucking forever and always. Shit. I mean— whatever you’ve heard me swear before. I guess that’s another thing you’ll get to choose whether to love me for. But, um. Do you believe me? About the podcast. About everything. I really, I just really need someone to believe me, Mom. I. I need that from you. I need my mom to believe me. And I know I’ve never trusted you to do that to me, not past age eleven. And I’m so fucking sorry, Mom. Do you believe me? About everything. About being gay about loving, really loving Eddie even though he was a boy and then a man. I can love people, Mom. Well, I can love men. And I can love you. Even though I, I didn’t talk to you or tell you. I was so scared you didn’t love me, that dad wouldn’t love me. Do you– do you think he would still love me?
I have to. I can’t do this anymore. I, uh. I love you mom. bye.”
---
When he was 41, Richie waits for his mom, shocked and terrified, just months after killing a god. He didn’t pray to God or Jesus, two religions as a gift from either parent, to as, for anything. He just drove and waited and hoped that regardless of her reaction she would delete the voicemail.
Does he know how this works? He never came out to anyone but the guy in The Abbey in Los Angeles bathroom right before he went down on him.
“Yeah,” the guy had said, “I know.”
Even then, he said he was bisexual, which now seems way more terrifying to come out as. Like he said, he needs someone to believe him, and no one would ever believe Richie Tozier could like a woman.
A few clubs later and he realized that everyone would know he was gay just by walking in. A few comedy shows later, and Richie realized they could still smell it on him, hear it from him. He realized this while getting his dick sucked outside in an alley. Two days later, he refined his comedy set to make fun of women. A year later, he decided to make fun of women he dated. A year later, and it was effeminate gay men. Couldn’t be me! he said.
Holy fucking shit, Richie was an asshole. He would think on that for days, weeks, keep driving and roominate. He had to. What else would be penance.
Whatever. It’s not just Richie who’s been cruel but the whole fucking world. He knows this because while he waits for his mother, there's nothing that can stop him from remembering that
When he was 40 years old, Richie lost his best friend. There’s nothing more to say, except, maybe, an entire podcast worth.
---
It’s fucked up, Aars. I feel like sleeping all the time. I don’t do anything but drive, and it’s feeling so hard to drive and. Somehow I don’t even think I’m traumatized. I just. Dude, how come I want to go home? And don’t I mean my house? If you aren’t dead, you should probably answer me. You know I’m getting pretty mad at you. I don’t know how I can manage to be mad at you but. I fucking killed you, and I hate you for that. I killed Pennywise. I’m pretty sure I killed a fucking ghost. I killed Bowers, mullet and everything else. And somewhere in between I fucking killed you. Why did you let me, huh? Everyone thinks your last words were about how you fucked my mom.
Hi, Maggie, if you’re listening! Did Aaron fuck you carnally, or did he fuck you the same way he fucked me? By telling me.. By. Fuck. I’m turning this shit off.
---
When he was… so many ages, Richie sometimes remembered when Mike explained what a haunt was. Not that Derry was haunted, but was a haunt. As a farmer, he knew this was a feeding ground for animals. Growing up, he lived just outside the limits, but IT still found a way to grow then graze on his fears.
Oftentimes, Richie felt like his chest was being pulled out slowly from his body, taken somewhere else, eaten. Sometimes, Richie stared ahead and wanted to be utterly consumed. The same way Mike rode his bike into town to do his business of delivering lambs, Richie could never fully stay out of Derry before he needed to return. The town haunted him, and sometimes he wished it would just eat him whole. In the belly of the beast, all his parts would be reunited.
But, for now, Richie lived. If no one would consume him, then he refused to consume himself. He looks back at the iPad sitting in his passenger seat and thinks, Eddie, I would let you kill me.
---
“Hey Mike? What do you think about gods?” asks Richie with no introduction.
Apparently Mike is used to this by now because instead of trying for the formalities of another hello, he just asks, “What do you mean?”
“Just… What do you think.”
“Old, new?” he asks before waiting a beat. “Is this about Pennywise?”
Richie answers, “If you want it to be.”
Mike laughs, “I really, really don’t.”
“Okay, then uhh..” Richie has to think for a second. How can he get his answers without royally upsetting Mike? Not that he seems all that upset. “Old, new. Surprise me, man.”
“I don’t like Gods with power.”
“Getting profound on me.”
“You asked about gods, Richie. And I’m an ex-bible kid.” There’s no laugh on that when normally there would be from mike, but his voice is still mirthful.
“We’re getting into the ‘ex’ huh.” Richie doesn’t laugh either.
“No, I’m beyond being a kid. Tired of it actually, we’re getting to the now. And no, this isn’t from spending too much time with Bill.”
“I wasn’t gonna say that.”
“Oh? So this isn’t time for jokes.” Mike says it like he’s chuckled once this entire time.
“It’s not. But you’re smart even when I joke.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry I keep interrupting. I, uh, wanna hear what you have to say.”
He’s calm once again as he says, “You don’t have to apologize, Richie.”
“Yeah.” Richie replies, though he knows he does. Just, he can wait a little on the big one.
“Back to what I was saying. So, there’s lots to say about gods but I’m gonna talk about what I know. I know you know this too because you used to go on and on about ghosts in the Bible and that one judge that set bears on a bunch of kids for making fun of him. Balding will do that to a man and all that.”
“Ha, yeah, I remember.”
“But you don’t practice anymore either.”
“No.”
“I don’t because I don’t believe in gods with power. I’ve seen them, and I choose not to believe. The Abrahamic God controls everything, except free will, that’s the copout. If some atheist asshole walks up to a kid on the side of the road and asks, ‘If God is all powerful, then can God create a rock so heavy that he cannot lift it?’ the kid is taught to answer ‘I cannot answer what is real of God…’ or something like that, I don’t really remember. But they don’t answer because They don’t want to think about a God who can put limitations on himself. Maybe that’s what free will is, God’s first freedom in abnegation of control.
“But what I also know is that regardless of what happened he didn’t help. Not us, not my dad dying of cancer, not Eddie who fought for us. Either he chose not to, or he couldn’t. So I don’t believe in a God with power. But then we have Jesus who rose a man from the dead and turned water to wine and died. He died twice and let us kill him. But Judges of Israel performed miracles and no one started a new religion for that one.
“I think maybe what Jesus did for us, son of God, God of man, was say something new. He had to have told us something we needed to know more than he made a lot of fish. Anyone can give another person food as long as they have it. That was the point of the story, not the miracle that made his story flashy. So maybe he was a god, but one who put limitations on himself. Or maybe he was a man who said something. Either way, I think I focus on the words. That make sense, Richie?”
“Ye.. Yeah, dude.” It sounds close to something old Wentworth would’ve said.
Mike asks, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Richie nods his head as if it can be seen. “And Mike?”
“Yeah?...” Mike starts to laugh. “Yes?
“You think there’s a way to forgive a god who forgot you.”
“Maybe. But I think there’s a bigger freedom in choosing not to.”
Richie’s windshield gets hit by a new and relatively big bug, the sound bringing him out of whatever he was in.
“Did that help you?” asks Mike.
“I’m not sure. But it was really nice to hear your voice, man.”
“All you have to do is call.”
“I will.”
“You better.”
Richie laughs at that one.
“But if your calls have a gap in between them, I’m still going to be happy when I get them.”
That’s the natural end of the conversation, but Richie can’t let it end there. He’s still waiting on his mom to choose to love him, and he’s not ready to come out yet, but. His comedy.
“Mike?” he starts. “Was it hard to choose to love me when I was gone?”
Once again, his question is met by Mike with a “What do you mean?”
“My jokes weren’t exactly kind. I mean, you do love me, right?” Richie struggles not to let his voice crack.
“Richie, I love you. How could I not?”
“Easily.” Congrats Richie, your voice cracked.
Mike sighs. “I’m not here to tell you it's all okay. Your comedy, whether you wrote it or not, was cruel. You know that—” Richie sniffs in hard, keeping snot from running down his face— “I’m not the one to give you absolution. One man can’t do that when you attacked the entire group. But I know you to have done more good than bad. Yes, Richie, it is a choice to love you. But it would be a choice to hate you, too. I could never choose to hate you.”
Richie coughs wetly, and Mike continues.
“I think you should apologize to Bev and get her to make you a hat that says, ‘I’m sorry, women’.”
For the first time in what feels like a while but must only have been a few minutes, Richie laughs. “Come on man, no way you read all those Diary of a Wimpy Kid books.”
Mike laughs with him, “I’m a librarian! What’s your excuse?”
“Uhh, they’re good. Duh. Also, I have a nephew.”
“I’ve gotta go because I’m driving, but I love you Richie.”
“Love you, too, Mike.”
“Call me soon. I’ll call you, too.” Mike sounds smug for some reason. “That’s a threat, Rich.” Oh, that’s why. He likes his own joke.
“Ha! I’m shaking in my boots at that!”
“You don’t wear boots, Rich.”
It almost comes out of his mouth, the confession of guilt. But he says nothing.
---
At age 41, Richie waits for a phone call, obsessed with waiting, obsessed with people loving him, obsessed with knowing that people have every right to hate him. Into his podcast, he whispers
---
“I’m not fucking sorry for protecting myself. Not yet, not until I know I didn’t have to protect so much. Maybe tomorrow.”
---
At age 41, Richie gets a phone call. He immediately presses ignore and hopes for a voicemail. Fuck. He hopes his mailbox isn’t full.
---
“Richie, honey, I love you. I believe you, and I love you. I would love you through anything, no matter what you do. It will never be conditional. But I also need you to know this: you being gay isn’t something that I have ever or will ever need to love you through or despite. It’s something I love you for, and I always will. Your ability to love, baby, it’s always been so big and so strong, and your father, he loved that about you.
“When you were little, about 4, you looked him in the eyes and said, ‘I’m not too little. I’m gonna marry Eddie now, and then marry him again when I grow up, too.’ Your dad told me about it that night, big smile on his face because it was the cutest thing he’d ever heard come out of a child's mouth. Richie, he said, ‘I swear to god, Mags. I think that kid’s gonna do it.’
“You probably don’t remember it, you were so small. But me and your dad, we always remembered and we always knew the way that you loved, Richard. I believe you. Not just about that, about everything.
I’m sorry I never asked you what happened that summer. It’s the summer where Eddie broke his arm and you had bruised knuckles, and I thought. I thought that it was the same thing. Your dad was right, and you were gonna marry Eddie some day, and someone didn’t like that. Richie, I didn’t want to say something about it when I knew you couldn’t. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed, and then I assumed farther than that when you didn’t bring it up, and then I. Sometimes you don’t need to talk, you just need a mother. And you didn’t need a mother who was afraid to spook you and it turned into a mother who wouldn’t be close to you. I’m sorry I don’t call you more, baby. I love you. I believe you and I love you.
“I’m hanging up now, but if you need me to fly out, I will. If you need me on the phone I’ll be here. My house is open, your sister’s, too. And baby, if you don’t need me and just want me. I’m here for that too. I really, really love you, Richard. Unconditionally, unquestionably, and with all the knowledge you give me. I’m hanging up now. I just, I love you, baby.”