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1.
When Richie sits up in his bed that morning, he is hit with a sudden feeling of wrongness. It envelopes his body like a blanket, and gives him a mild floating sensation.
His pale hands touch his face, feeling for it, making sure he's still there, because he doesn't feel very there at the moment.
"What?" He mumbles, barely moving his lips, and he looks around as he stretches. Everything looks just the same; it just doesn't feel the same.
He's pretty sure his mom can help him with that. His dad, even more. Tonight, when he goes to bed, and his bruises are turning an ugly black, he'll feel like everything's the same again.
His mother is on the couch, passed out, her fist gripping a bottle tightly. His dad is God knows where. He doesn't want to know. If anything, he doesn't want him to come back.
He listens to her snore softly for a few seconds, taking in her dishevelled appearance before he gets out of the house, shutting the door quietly.
Once he's outside, he feels fresh. There's more clarity to him. There's still a thought, a person, a somebody with cinnamon hair and a baseball tee, gnawing away at the back of his head, but he tries to ignore it.
He walks to the main store in silence, thinking of his mother, failing not to think of his dad, and is the redhead in his mind stuttering?
He's looking down, barely looking at anybody, when he sees someone standing right in front of the counter. He freezes, his dry lips only part slightly.
It's the baseball tee boy, only he's wearing yellow and not green, which is how Richie had imagined him.
"Yuh-yes, Mr. Kuh-Keene. Thu-that is all." Richie hears him stutter. The boy is wearing the baseball tee and he stutters as well.
He also happens to be a redhead, just like the boy in his head, and that distresses him more than anything.
Richie can't look away. He hears the rustle of the items against the counter when the boy picks up his bag, he hears the boy's thank you. It's more of a stutter than anything else, Richie almost can't figure out what he's saying.
Richie feels himself flush as the boy turns around, and he still can't move, so he looks miserably into the boy's eyes and-
Holy shit. He's in the way but it doesn't matter anymore because the boy has stopped too, his pink lips letting out a soft gasp.
And it doesn't matter that he's been staring because this is Bill. Bill as in Big Bill, the best friend he ever had, the bravest boy he had ever met, and their leader.
"Bill?" Richie can barely say, his body posture changing completely, and his arms spread out.
"Ruh-Ruh-Richie?" Bill says, and he sounds mortified. There's fear in his eyes, disbelief, and he's shaking. His grip on the white bag loosens.
It's just a minute that they spend standing there, their breaths growing louder, their heartbeats going erratic, and their knees feeling weaker, but there's years being weighed on their minds in those moments.
"Oh my God." Richie says, high-pitched, when the train of memories is done navigating through him.
He can't believe Bill, the Bill Denbrough, is in front of him right now. He wishes he could feel terrified, and some part of him still is, but he can't help but feel relief all over.
"Bill." He says again, not a question, just a reassurance to himself that this is actually happening. That Bill Denbrough really is in front of him.
"It's ruh-really muh-me. And it's really yuh-yuh-you." Bill says slowly, and even then he can't improve his stutter.
"I can't believe it." Richie says, taking a step back in awe. "Oh, man. Oh, man."
And then Bill's walking towards him and he wraps his arms around Richie's neck, and pushes himself against him roughly.
Richie is unable to move, faintly aware of the head resting on his shoulder, of the peaceful breath tickling his neck.
"I've missed you." Bill murmurs, his lips and fingers grazing over Richie's skin, leaving fleeting warm spots.
Richie hugs him by the waist, barely so, because Bill is here, here, here, and that notion is taking over Richie's body.
Bill pulls away gently, and looks briefly at the old lady with red lipstick that is staring at them and picking at the shelves simultaneously.
"Suh-so." He says, eyeing the old lady, and she goes back to pretending she's picking out something. "Huh-how have yuh-you buh-buh-been?"
Richie opens his mouth to speak, but Bill has beaten him to it. Again.
"Sh-sh-shit." Bill shakes his head, saliva flying in all directions, and his hands running through his red hair. "I juh-just cuh-can't believe it's yuh-you. I duh-don't nuh-know whu-where to stuh-start."
Richie is at a loss of words, too, and how couldn't he? He hasn't seen Bill in ages. Hell, he hasn't even thought about Bill in who knows how long.
He hadn't even thought that the stuttering red haired boy in his mind was Bill. How did he not? Wasn't it obvious? Bill was the only boy in town with a stutter like that, the only boy that would blush the same color as his hair.
He couldn't even recognize him until Bill turned around. He hadn't been able to recognize him by his voice, a sound that Richie knew better than any other thing in the world.
Oh, God. Had he forgotten Big Bill?
"Ruh-Richie? Ah-are you oh-okay?" Bill asks, squinting and tilting his head, examining Richie's pale face.
Richie realizes his chest is heaving furiously, the blood pumping in his ears, and his heart feeling like it might go through his chest at any moment.
"I haven't thought of you for years, Bill." Richie says, his voice barely there. "What happened? What happened to us, Bill?"
Richie can tell by Bill's expression that he's thinking the same thing.
Bill grimaces, and stretches out his arm to grab Richie's hand firmly. "I duh-don't nuh-know."
Richie can feel himself slipping away. Just like he felt that morning. Everything's turning hazy again, everything is blurry. It's almost as if he was trying to wake up from a dream. Only he doesn't want to.
Even Bill's sweaty hand on his own doesn't feel right. He wonders if Bill feels it too.
They're quiet for a moment, just holding onto each other, and Richie wants to scream You haven't seen him for centuries, say something! but nothing comes out.
"I sh-sh-should get guh-going." Bill says, looking down, almost embarrassed. He starts swinging the white bag.
"Yeah, me too." Richie says. But wait, he thinks, that doesn't sound right. This is not what you say to someone you haven't seen for a long time. You're supposed to catch up, to talk for a while.
This is the conversation you have with a casual acquaintance, certainly not the one you have with your best friend.
"Bye, Richie." Bill says, and Richie watches as he walks out the door and out of his life, without able to do a single thing about it.
That's when Richie notices that something is not right. Bill didn't stutter, and he can at least remember that Bill can't not stutter when he says his name.
But it doesn't matter, because by the time he gets home, he can only remember going out for a walk to stay away from his toxic household for a while.
2.
The second time it happens, Richie can't even remember that there ever was a first, and so he doesn't know how to deal with the sore feeling in his chest.
He's walking around town again, just looking down while there's a hurricane going on in his head, not letting him focus on a single thing.
The smell of popcorn makes him look up, and when he see the striped red-and-white cart, and the man behind it waving a bell to encourage him to buy some, the realization hits Richie.
"Georgie." He says loudly, his eyes wide. He can't remember the kid very well, only remembers eating popcorn with him, and licking their salty fingers, all while Bill was staring at them in disgust.
He knows Georgie is dead, and he's been dead for a while too. He knows this, but it still feels like a punch to the stomach.
He finds himself walking towards the cementery, wanting to see for himself that Georgie really is dead. He doesn't know why he's doing it; it's almost as if it wasn't him controlling his own movements.
Richie's alone, and there's good reason for it. Nobody would go to the cementery on such a cold, gray day.
People can leave flowers any other day, and it's not like anyone cares about the dead enough to come regularly anyway. Richie can tell by the rotting roses and daisies in front of the gravestones.
The autumn leaves crunch under his feet, and the cold wind whistles, and Richie sees how two decaying roses are neatly pulled off from their stems and carried a few feet from him.
He grabs his coat and pulls it tighter around him, blowing air into his hands, and then rubbing them together.
When he sees a boy crouched in front of a big gravestone, he's surprised, and not just because someone is there, but because it's Bill.
The same red haired, stuttering Bill. At first, he can't believe it. What are the odds of finding your best friend at the same time, on the same place?
He walks toward him, and can't refrain himself from saying, "Bill?"
Bill turns around, and he immediately straightens up, as surprised as Richie.
"Ruh-Richie?" He says, shading his narrowed eyes with his hand. "What ah-are you duh-doing here?"
"I don't know." Richie shrugs, secretly relieved at seeing him. He sits down on the blanket Bill brought, and Bill just stares at him.
"Tomorrow's Juh-Juh-Georgie's buh-birthday, you nuh-know?" Bill looks at the ground, picking at a few dried leaves. "He sh-should be huh-here right nuh-now. Yuh-you cuh-can't celebrate your buh-buh-birthday down there."
"I didn't remember that, I just wanted to come see him." Richie says, feeling horrible, and wanting to reach out to touch his friend, but he doesn't know how. Instead he looks at the things Bill brought, which is just a bag of popcorn.
"His favorite, right?" Richie even tries a smile, but when he sees a tear slide down Bill's cheek, he knows this isn't going anywhere.
"Christ, no, of course he shouldn't be there." Richie says, sighing, and putting a hand on Bill's hand as another tear reaches his chin. "But we're here now, okay? And we can do something about it."
Richie grabs the bag of popcorn, and opens it, letting the smell surround them. He feels sick to his stomach, knowing they're doing this without the boy they hold so dear to their hearts.
But he has to do it for Bill, and they both have to do it for Georgie.
So he holds out the bag for Bill, and Bill sticks his hand into it half-heartedly, and pulls out a fistful of popcorn.
Richie does the same, and they both eat it quietly, Bill looking at the gravestone, and Richie trying not to think that this could've been all of them, not just him and Bill.
Bill closes his eyes and holds his head in his hands, his face contorted in a way that makes Richie think he might have a headache.
Bill starts sobbing, his whole body shaking violently, and Richie doesn't know what to do.
"Oh, Bill..." He says, his own lip quivering, and he moves to wrap an arm around Bill's shoulders.
Bill leans into him, hiding his face on Richie's chest, his warm breath going through Richie's shirt, and making his head spin.
"I duh-don't nuh-know what to do." Bill sobs, his voice going high in intervals. "I cuh-can't do it with-without him. I muh-miss him suh-so much. It's not fuh-fair. I miss huh-him so muh-muh-"
Richie holds him, trying hard not to burst into tears himself. "I'm here, Bill. I'm here, okay?"
Bill presses harder against him, as if needing reassurance, and Richie gives it to him. He holds him impossibly tight, rocking him lightly.
They stay like that for a while, until Bill's crying gradually calms down. Bill places a hand on Richie's chest and pulls away gently.
"Suh-sorry ah-about that." Bill says, wiping his nose with his hand. His face is a mess of snot and tears, but Richie can only take in how hurt Bill is in these moments.
Bill puts his fist into his mouth, and bites around it, his face twisting in a manner that tells he's about to break down again.
"You don't ever have to be sorry." Richie says firmly, planting his hand on top of Bill's, and shaking it so Bill has to look at him. "You've done enough of that for ten lifetimes. You hear me?"
Bill looks at him, and Richie sees a stretch of the lips. Not precisely a smile, but it's good enough.
"It's guh-getting luh-late. My muh-mom will huh-huh-have a buh-bird." Bill says, getting up, the flush in his cheeks already dying down. Richie is a little scared of how calm he is.
"I'll be right there." Richie says quickly, and Bill shrugs and starts walking away, his footsteps loud on the dry leaves.
Do it, a voice in his head says. You won't see him for a long time. Trust me, my boy. Do it now. I'll never be able to do this for you again. This is the last time you'll ever see each other until you're all together again.
Richie's lips part slightly. He gets up as a fast as he can, and thank his lucky stars that Bill's red hair is still visible in the dark.
"Wait!" He screams helplessly, and Bill turns around, almost as if he expected Richie to call on him.
Richie runs up to him, and he's the one blushing now. Bill cocks an eyebrow and crosses his arms.
Richie leans in impulsively, and you can't even call it a kiss, because Richie just presses his lips against Bill's cold ones awkwardly.
Bill places his hands on either side of Richie's face, moving his thumbs slowly. Richie hugs him by the waist, and starts moving his mouth gently.
Bill groans, kissing back, and Richie feels so intoxicated by him he can barely keep up. It's a soft and tender kiss, a we-have-all-the-time-in-the-world kiss, which of course they don't have.
But somehow they're making it.
When Bill pulls away, because it's always goddamn Bill who pulls away, he gives Richie a sad smile.
"Tuh-take cuh-care of yourself, alright?" Bill fondly taps him on the chest with his open palm.
Richie puts a hand over his, and they both stare at each other until Richie's head is thick with sadness, and his eyes are thick with tears.
"You tuh-too." Richie says, and he can't take it anymore. He walks away, his vision blurry because of the tears, and his nose feels clogged.
He wills himself not to cry, and he doesn't. He'll cry once he's at home. Otherwise, he'll just run back to Bill, and try to build a future with him that they both know is never going to happen.
You done?, the voice in his head says again. Because this is it, my boy. This is it until next time.
"Yeah." Richie says, not even realizing he's talking to no one.
The rest of the forgetting process occurs as he walks home, and he's only left wondering why there's popcorn flavour in his mouth.
He doesn't figure it out, of course.