Chapter Text
Fall 2016
“A pen pal program?” Eddie pondered in response to the flyer his therapist had handed him, kind of shocked. The idea felt so … antiquated, like something from a movie his mom would watch.
“Yes, Eddie, it is an anonymous program that we are testing out to help students talk to each other about the problems they share and ask for help without fear of consequence. Does it maybe sound like something you could be interested in? I think you’d be a good candidate, Eddie.” Dr. Fatima explained. Eddie liked her a lot, her voice was always soothing. She was always always calm, even when he was being a fucking ball of panic.
“I … guess? Why do you think that?”
“Because, I think you have a habit of getting too much in your head and writing these things on paper, bouncing them off of another person might be good for you. I know you aren’t quite comfortable doing this with any of your friends yet and while talking to me is probably helpful, I’m sure it would also help to talk to someone your age. Plus, you are very smart and kind and I know you would be very helpful to whoever is assigned to be you partner. I also know that you will take it seriously.”
“Wow… um, thanks, Dr. F. Yeah, if you think it’s a good idea, I’ll definitely do it.” Eddie said. Dr. F looked slightly surprised, but she hid it well. She was a professional after all.
Honestly, Eddie was a little surprised he said yes too. Talking about his sickness and honestly just everything in life was hard enough with Dr. F and he had been seeing her for years. The thought of doing that with a stranger? Literally terrifying… but, there was this random annoying voice in the back of his head that agreed that this would be good for him. That maybe opening up wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
He went through the set-up of his account with Dr. F, making sure the whole time that it would be completely anonymous. Apparently it was unlikely that he would even get matched with someone from this district, let alone the state. There were applicants from all over the Northeast.
When he got the email ([email protected]) and his password, written neatly on a pink post-it note, he left the office, already starting drafts of the letter he was going to write in his head as he ran out to meet his friends.
They knew he had his weekly counseling meetings on Fridays but they were still willing to wait the extra half an hour for him because… well because he had the best fucking friends ever. But he still told them that he only went to these appointments because his mom made him. He still wasn’t able to talk to them about anything.
Because the hypochondriac shit was tolerable in the seventh grade but now that he was practically a senior in high school… he needed to get the fuck over it. And he heard that from himself enough, the thought of hearing it from his friends was… terrifying.
So when Bill asked him how his session went, Eddie just brushed him off and changed the subject to what they were doing that evening, trying to put all of that mental illness stuff to the back of his mind for as long as he could manage.
###
Eddie stared at the blank page for longer than was probably good for his eyes. He just didn’t know how to start. It felt weird just talking about all the things that were wrong with him right off the bat but he also couldn’t really talk about anything else? Saying his grade or his gender or anything about anything he fucking likes to do might give his identity away.
So it takes him awhile to start. But when he does, the words come surprisingly easy.
***
Hello stranger,
I hope you don’t think this is as awkward as I do but I’m going to be upfront and honest when I say I don’t think this will work, actually. I fully, completely, and utterly think I cannot…. Be helped. Which sounds emo and sad but it’s just how I feel. I’m not clinically depressed or in danger of hurting myself or anything, I just don’t think I can be helped. My life is going to be a struggle.
I should probably share that my clinical diagnosis is anxiety and acute hypochondria. So it is literally engrained in my nature to think that something is constantly wrong with me. Given that, I’ve kind of grown accustomed to that fact that my brain is always going to make life… suck.
BUT according to my therapist, that doesn’t mean that high school has to suck. Just because my brain is a pain doesn’t mean I’m forfeiting joy. I have to find a balance. And I am not doing that… at all. Because high school is awful. AWFUL.
I mean, I have friends, really, really great friends, but I don’t like to talk to them about how my lungs are constantly heavy because I just know that just sitting in the cafeteria means I’m breathing in 100000000 germs from my disgusting unhygienic peers, or how I still take the pills my mom gives to me even though I know they’re placeboes, or how sometimes I swear I can feel germs crawling on my skin and no matter how much Purell I scrub on my hands, I can’t change that.
I’ve never talked to them about it because I don’t want them to look at me and see someone that’s broken.
BUT you are across the internet and thus will never look at me so…. I suppose that makes it easier.
Wow, I’m sorry for starting off really heavy. But I guess we might as well get straight to the point, you know? Fuck small talk, honestly, it’s for the birds. Plus, any small talk we might have might lead one of us to figure out who the other is and that kind of defeats every point of this.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Um Idk How to Sign This So I’m Just Gonna Say “Me”
p.s. okay I don’t wanna seem too optimistic or anything but …. Fuck maybe this will work? I do kind of feel better typing some of that out but also I am very afraid to hit send. DILEMMAS. If this makes it to you I am stronger than I currently think I am.
###
Richie stared at the letter he had re-read 8 times in kind of shock. He had been fretting for so long trying to figure out what to say and this kid just beats him to it! And he did such a good job too! Richie read the letter and he laughed, he teared up a little, he really felt an attachment to this person and it was only one letter.
How was Richie supposed to pull off that same level of … talent. Ugh. He just had to do his best.
Whatever that amounted too.
***
Heyooo,
So I don’t know how you managed to make a letter talking about serious problems……. Cute but shit it was cute. I hope that isn’t insulting. I am told I can be insulting sometimes. A lot of the times. I don’t mean to be but… it happens. I’ll try not to let that happen with you.
Also, I totally understand where you’re coming from; I’m not so sure this is going to help fuck all either, but despite what people may think, I do try to be pretty optimistic so I’ll do my best.
I’m sorry you have to struggle. Honest. I know we don’t know each other but you seem good and no good person should have to struggle that much. I mean a little struggle is a part of life, but we already have a little struggle. We’re in high school for fucks sake. Throw a mental illness on top of that and that’s just UNFAIR and UNCALLED FOR, am I right? Yeah, I AM right, thanks for agreeing babe.
Anyway, it’s nice that you have friends. My family moves around a lot, my parents never really able to settle in one place which is just one of the many reasons that friends have never been something that have been easy for me. I’m kind of jealous of you. Really goddamn jealous.
WOW that is not something I would ever admit in person, this online persona thing makes it real easy to be brave? Fuck. Unexpected.
I guess I should also say that MY clinical diagnosis is ADHD and manic depression. That’s also called bipolar disorder but I don’t like calling it that because that one has a negative connotation in my head. Idk why, I know its irrational but I’m pretty sure irrationality is a part of my disease probably maybe so shit’s unavoidable. Anyway, I basically just have some intense mood swings and teachers tend not to jive with that. Let alone my peers. Most people think I’m too much to handle.
Especially my parents.
What are your parents like? They help you with your head stuff? Mine don’t. Sometimes I think they’ve forgotten about me completely but other times I think they remember everything about me and have consciously chosen to pretend I don’t exist. That’s definitely the worse thought.
Hope to hear from you soon,
I Also Don’t Know What the Fuck to Sign This, That’s a Good Point, so I’ll Just Say “Me 2.0” :D
p.s. are you SO sure we’ll never meet? I mean, say all of this goes BEST CASE SCENARIO and we become best-fucking-friends? Could we meet then? Or no. Is this all too soon, should I just default operate on the idea that we will never ever meet?
***
Richie pressed send and felt like a weight had dropped off his shoulders. Writing that letter had actually been pretty cathartic. He really hoped the person would respond back because it felt really really good to actually talk about… real things.
This was honestly the first thing his shitty therapist in this shitty town had ever done for him. Of all the places Richie’s parents had dragged him, he disliked Bloomington, Maryland the most. It may be 2016 everywhere else in America, but here it was still the 1950s. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
He was actually hooking up with the closeted quarterback of the football, who called him a fag once. He was pretty sure there were kids here who had never even seen a person of color.
So getting help from someone in this backwards awful town?
Revolutionary.
Since Richie was desperate for human contact, he proofread his letter probably more times than was necessary before finally deeming it worthy to send at exactly 12AM. When he went to sleep, he actually found himself excited to get a response.
Maybe this would help him get through however long he had to stay here before his parents inevitably decided to move the fuck on from this town.
Or maybe not and Richie would be doomed to never have one fucking friend, never ever ever.
Either one would be fine.
###
Fall 2017
Richie couldn’t stop tapping his foot. He wanted to, his thigh muscles were honestly starting to get sore. But he couldn’t stop. Being at a new school always made him nervous, no matter how many times he experienced the change. He kind of wished someone would put their hand on his leg, smile at him, and hold his hand. Comfort sounded… so nice. Ultimately unrealistic and he had never met her, but it still sounded nice.
“Richie Tozier?” the receptionist called out and he sat up a little straighter in his seat.
“Yeah?”
“We just need you to fill out some paperwork real quick, just some basic questions to help the counselor. Would you mind?” she asked, holding out a clipboard. He nodded and jumped out of his seat, glad for the distraction.
Even if it didn’t make sense, since they had all his files? What could he tell them that they didn’t already know?
He was hyperactive, a poorly-adjusted but intelligent trouble maker with a big mouth and a habit of falling asleep during lectures. Oh and he had at one point been suicidal.
No big deal.
But these weren’t questions like that. They were more along the lines of “How are you adjusting to Derry?” Okay. He went to class, he went home. He did homework. He smoked. He talked to Email Person. He played his guitar. Was there more to do? It was Derry.
“Are you finding classes to be exceedingly difficult?” Not particularly. The actual courses were easy as fuck. Maybe a little too much homework for his taste, but he managed. Thank GOD for Adderall. The number of detentions he had in the past week might make it seem like the teachers struck him the wrong way but honestly, it was just so that he didn’t have to figure out where he would sit at lunch. (He made it all the way to Friday without having to cross that bridge.)
Also, going too long without causing trouble made him feel itchy. It was as if calm was something he didn’t deserve, so turmoil he thus caused.
“Have you considered joining any clubs/teams?” LMAOOO. Did they have a nap club on campus?
“Any troubles you might want to mention that were not included on the rest of this form?” Nah. Richie wasn’t a snitch and that including snitching on his absent parents and his wonky brain. Yeah, maybe he felt tired all the time and maybe he could tell he was heading towards one of those phases where sleep was the only thing he looked forward to and yelling was the only way he could actually hear what he was saying, but who cares? He wasn’t gonna write that on a blue form with a pen with a flower on the tip of it.
That would be silly.
So instead he wrote no and added a little smiley face to acknowledge that he knew and they knew he was lying. And then he stood up to give the clipboard back to the receptionist.
Of course, in doing so he bumped into a boy who had just walked in.
“Hey, Jesus, watch where you’re going, would you?” the boy snapped, kind of breathless. Richie was speechless for a hot sec because this boy was so cute. Pastel blue long sleeve shirt and white shorts that rested just above his knees, not to mention the freckles and soft brown hair that was just growing in to something curly…. Damn he looked so soft.
He wouldn’t have expected sass. Richie’s lips curled into a smile as he apologized.
“Sorry, my bad, cutie, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, well, you were probably given those ugly glasses for a reason so maybe you should use them.” The boy added, making Richie laugh out loud, mostly in shock. People weren’t usually… mean to him. He painted kind of an imposing picture. He was almost six feet tall, always wore his black jean jacket over his flannels, unbuttoned enough to give a hint of the tattoos he’d managed to get on his collarbones. He’d also been told he had kind of a resting bitch face which could turn people off.
ALTHOUGH people also told him that it was sometimes worse when he smiled, that his smile spelt more trouble than just the blank face. So really, nothing he could do was approachable apparently. Or right in general.
The boy sat down with a huff and immediately brought his knees up to his chin, seeming done with Richie completely. Which, yeah, he could respect.
Richie handed the clipboard to the receptionist and then went back to sit down, maybe a little closer to the boy this time. Only one or two chairs closer, nothing obvious. Just enough to make staring a little easier.
Oh fuck he was being so creepy though.
Too much staring would be bad for him in the long run anyway because, honestly, looking at something that beautiful had to be bad for the rods and cones in his eyes, right? Like staring at the sun. Or an eclipse. So Richie pulled out his phone instead and settled on trying to beat his high score in Temple Run (yeah he never stopped playing it… sue him).
He got so into his game that he didn’t notice that the (not) soft boy™ had started to breathe a little heavier. He didn’t notice until it honestly started to sound like hyperventilating.
Richie paused his game and looked up, shocked to see the kid kind of freaking the fuck out.
What was he supposed to do? He checked over at the receptionist’s area and she was gone, of course, so Richie decided to take this into his own… not-so-qualified hands.
“Um… are you okay?”
“What a stupid fucking question, no, obviously I am NOT okay.” The (not) soft boy said from behind the hands that were covering his face, before sitting up straight quickly and shaking an inhaler that came out of nowhere, puffing on it desperately, “And I would really appreciate it if you could just leave me alone.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like me,” Richie said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders and earning a glare from the boy, “Cutest boy I’ve ever seen in my life having a panic attack and I’m just supposed to do nothing? Sounds fake, babe.”
“What?” the boy gawked.
“I get your confusion. I know all about the stereotype that boys aren’t usually in touch with their feelings, that they run away from anything real when it comes to stuff that happens in the brain but, trust me, I am not like other boys. I totally nail emotions. Trust me.”
“Unlikely.”
“That’s fair. It’s hard to trust people. I don’t think I trust… anyone? I don’t know, I’d have to do some serious self-reflection and that’s not supposed to happen in the waiting room of the counselor, it’s supposed to happen in the office of the counselor, so I’ll wait a little until I have to do that, thank you very much. So, again, can I ask what happened? What triggered you? Did you not take the news that I’ve been having sex with your mom well?” The boy scoffed loudly and Richie cheered internally because that derisive smile was so much better than the blank confused stare he had been getting before. It was also better than the hyperventilating, that’s for sure.
“Wow, a mom joke? That’s amazing. I wonder, was it hard to build the time machine that took you fifteen years back so that you could get that joke from 2002 and bring it back here, to me?”
“It was all worth it to see you smile, cutie.” Richie retorted, actually making the boy chuckle, albeit reluctantly.
“You’re ridiculous.” Richie nodded in agreement and stared for probably a moment too long, because now the kid was actually smiling at him.
And it. Was. Disarming.
“What’s your name?” Richie asked. The boy hesitated for a long moment, staring at the laces of his shoes before looking Richie straight in the eyes again.
“I just fucking know that if I tell you, you’re gonna come up with some stupid ass nickname that’s going to drive me even more crazy than you already do.” Richie cracked up laughing and leaned forwards on his knees, getting as close to him as he could.
“That wasn’t my plan before but fuck all if it isn’t my plan now. Please tell me.”
“No.”
“I’m begging you.”
“No.”
“I’m not even that creative, I don’t think I could come up with something all that good!”
“That’s my fear, yes.”
“Pleaaaa-”
“Eddie Kaspbrak?” He was cut off by the counselor’s voice, which was a gift from the Lord above, honestly because there was no one else in the room and Richie’s name wasn’t Eddie Kaspbrak sooo…
“Oh fuck, I was really hoping you’d get called first.” Eddie whispered.
“Awww, Eddie Spaghetti, I think she needs you. I know it’s hard to leave me but…”
“Ooh my God, that’s even worse than I could’ve imagined.” He snapped while he grabbed his bag off the floor and stood up to follow the woman.
“Oh come on, Eds, it isn’t that bad.”
“Don’t call me Eds!” He threw over his shoulder before he disappeared behind the door, giving Richie one last smile.
“UGH, be still my heart.” Richie muttered to himself, collapsing back into the seat behind him. He only got a moment to rest, thinking about his Eddie Spaghetti and how he was going to see him again, before his name was called out as well.
###
“I can’t believe I got partnered with him.” Stanley groaned, slamming his backpack down on the bench across from Eddie, Bill sliding in after him in a much softer manner.
“I was waiting for you to b-bring it up. It did not take l-l-long” Bill laughed.
“What? What happened?” Eddie asked, looking up from his phone where he was not re-reading a certain email he had yet to reply to. It was only Monday and he got it Saturday morning so... he had time.
“Stan got partnered with the new kid in AP Psych.” Bill said around a bite of apple.
“That’s bad? Who’s the new kid?” Eddie asked. He tossed Stan his hand sanitizer, knowing his friend liked to use it before he ate, just like Eddie did. They were kindred spirits in a lot of ways.
“You haven’t heard about him?” Stan asked, incredulous.
“No… it’s a big school, Stan.” Every kid in the county went to Derry High so even though the town may seem at times to be painfully small, Eddie definitely did not know every person. “You’re not talking about Ben, are you? I thought he was nice.”
“No-o. Not Ben,” Bill emphasized, “this guy is newer. And absolutely n-nothing like Ben.”
“Nothing like Ben.” Stan muttered, angrily unwrapping his sandwich.
“Wait, what’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Everything.”
Eddie laughed at his friends’ simultaneous responses.
“I liked him. He w-was a little… out there. But n-nice, I swear.” Bill smiled at Stan who was glaring at him before he rolled his eyes to Eddie, face serious.
“He was a hot mess. Minus the hot part because please. He kept making jokes about my mom.”
“Wait, mom jokes? … Tall, mess of black hair, giant glasses, never stops talking?” Eddie asked, almost choking on his bite of celery. Both Bill and Stan stared at him funny.
“Y-yeah, you know him?” Bill asked, a hint of a smile forming and oh no that isn’t okay he isn’t allowed to know.
Eddie was quiet for a moment.
“… No, I can’t say I’ve met him.” Eddie said, shaking his head and taking another big bite of his food. Bill barked out a laugh and Stan just rolled his eyes fondly.
“You’re r-ridiculous.” Bill said.
“Yeah, but still, let’s assume you’re telling the truth, which you so aren’t for some reason, you probably never will meet him. Because I will most likely murder him at out study session this afternoon.” Stan took an angry bite of his sandwich and he may not have noticed, but Bill tensed up slightly next to him.
“S-study session?” Bill asked, trying to sound casual but pretty much missing that mark one-hundred percent, “just the t-two of you?”
“Yes. I know, it’s very dangerous.” Stan agreed, oblivious as ever. Eddie fought not to roll his eyes.
“Why don’t Bill and I come with you? I have stuff I have to work on and we can stop you from killing each other. Ease the tension a little bit.” Eddie had enough tension between Stan and Bill for a lifetime, he really didn’t need anymore. But he didn’t have to specify to Stan what he was talking about.
Sly was Eddie’s middle name.
Oh also he was not doing this to see The Boy again. No sir. He had not in the past week found himself looking for curly black hair and wide brown eyes wherever he walked at school. Fuck no. He was just helping out Billy, who had a jealous streak a mile wide but for some reason…. Never did anything about it.
“Really? You guys would do that?” Stan sounded pretty touched.
“Of course!” Bill jumped in, “w-we care about your s-sanity, Stan.”
“Sanity? Never met her.”