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Richie could tell that Bill was just putting on a brave face after they left Neibolt. Well, maybe he couldn’t tell exactly, but Richie knew he must have been. There was no way after shooting his fake brother in the head and finding his coat with a tear and blood on the arm that had clearly been torn off, that Bill was going to walk out of there after a cry and hug session good as new. Even just thinking about it made Richie almost start crying and Georgie hadn’t been his brother. Although, if he had had a brother, he would have hoped he’d be exactly like Georgie was.
But they all left the sewer and parted ways, everyone needing to clean up, to get home, to rest. They figured they could wait until the next day before they needed to tell anyone about the bodies. Bill insisted everyone needed to know, to have the closure, and the losers all agreed. They’d seen how tormented Bill was, not sure if Georgie would ever come back, but not being able to give up the hope that he’d see his brother again. Hell, it was the whole reason Richie and Bill had gotten into their fight in the first place.
This was all Richie could think about once he got home, pacing around his room. Bill was probably alone, in his house, crying. And he knew Bill’s parents had been neglecting him, that Bill had been fighting with them. Richie hoped that the answers Bill had found about Georgie would help mend fences. But he knew all too well how much it hurt to be ignored or forgotten by the people who brought you into the goddamn world.
Richie felt a familiar pain as his nails dug into his palm, pulling back just before he pierced the skin. Bill didn’t deserve this. Richie was an asshole, he knew. He had a loud, foul mouth, he was reckless, and could be tactless, so his parents might not have been wrong when they said he deserved what he got, or worse. But he knew stuttering Bill didn’t deserve it at all. He was a damned hero and deserved to be treated like one.
And that was it, the final straw that broke Richie out of his pacing loop and pushed him out the door and onto his bike. He sped as fast as he could, almost fleeing Neibolt speed, and got to the Denbrough’s in record time.
Richie fell more than pushed his way into Bill’s room, earning an immediate soft gasp from somewhere in front of him. When he righted his perspective and direction, Richie saw Bill. He was sitting on his bed, clutching Georgie’s raincoat for dear life, eyes glassy from tears that had halted with Richie’s dramatic entrance. Richie smiled sheepishly, picking up things he had knocked off of Bill’s desk with his grand entrance, before turning back to his friend.
“I know you’ll have to take some points off my score for the landing, but I’m hoping to still bring a medal home for my country’s honor,” Richie joked in his British accent, bowing as he finished.
When he didn’t hear a response, Richie stood up straight, or as straight as he usually did even if according to Stanley Perfect Uris it wasn’t straight, and looked at his broken friend. Bill’s gaze had fallen back to the coat, no laugh or hint of a smile on the horizon. Richie watched as a tear rained down from Bill’s face, landing on the coat, but continuing its journey, sliding off the slick fabric. At least it was still doing its job.
Clearly accents and physical comedy weren’t going to work. The guilt of leaving Bill alone was gone, Richie having predicted exactly this situation. But now, Richie was overwhelmed with a new feeling of desolation. It hurt so much to see someone he loved in so much pain. He was the first to hug Bill when he found Georgie’s coat in the sewers, hoping in some small way, it would ease some of the heartbreak Richie could see written all over his friend’s face, could hear in his sobs.
Seeing someone else shatter really made the observer feel helpless. And, as soon as the thought entered his head, Richie felt terrible for being focused on his stupid, worthless feelings instead of Bill’s pain that Richie couldn’t even understand. He had never loved anyone like Bill loved Georgie, so that level of loss felt above him, inaccessible. Like a vase that had fallen from a high shelf, Bill’s heart had fractured into pieces, some large, some small, others infinitesimal.
And there was no way they could be put back together, not how they were before. This summer had changed them all, but Bill the most, in ways that meant they could never revert to their former selves.
But there was something that didn’t have to change. Richie could still be there to support Bill, to follow him into disgusting sewers and to be the first to hold him when he cried.
So, after standing and watching for what felt like centuries, Richie finally made his way over to Bill’s bed, climbing on slowly, and sat next to his best friend, wrapping his arms around him. His brow furrowed, as the expectant feeling of Bill relaxing into his arms, giving into the comforting embrace, didn’t come. His friend remained stiff, almost as if he was resisting any comfort, like Bill felt he didn’t deserve it.
Richie almost let go, assuming Bill would rather be left alone. But Richie buckled down on his resolve. Fuck Bill not being worthy of comfort. He was and he needed it and that’s what friends were for. So Richie doubled his efforts, bringing Bill even closer and rubbing his back with hand in circular motions.
After a few minutes, Richie felt Bill relaxing into him, the rhythmic motions of hand on Bill’s back lulling Bill into letting his guard down. Richie smiled as he felt Bill melt into his chest, proud that he could help his friend, even if it was nothing compared to the behemoth of grief Bill had to overcome. Richie felt Bill reach up and grab Richie’s shirt in his hand, leaning into him even more, silently begging for more comfort. Richie could feel his sobs now on his chest, a wet spot pooling on his shirt from Bill’s tears.
Halting the backrub Richie had been giving, he moved his arms to encircle Bill, his head naturally falling on top of the taller boy’s. Bill had grown quieter, his cries falling silent, if he even was still crying at all. Bill turned, cheek resting on Richie’s chest. He wondered if Bill could hear his heartbeat, if it was fast or slowing down. Bill’s had been so forceful and overwhelming that it was all Richie noticed. Or maybe his own heart had stepped into the same tempo as Bill’s, joining him for a duet, right behind him as always. All Richie cared about was that he could feel Bill’s heartbeat slowing, every additional millisecond between beats a tiny victory.
Bill straightened up, arms wrapping around Richie, clinging to him instead of the coat, which he carefully placed on the bed near them. On instinct and to commemorate the triumph, Richie lifted his own head from atop Bill’s, his lips landing on Bill’s part, a soft kiss placed in his auburn hair. It was brief, but Richie felt Bill leaning into it, so he continued, lips traveling down his forehead to his temple to his cheek, all the way down to his jaw.
As Richie traveled down his face, Bill rotated slightly with each touch, making it easier for Richie to access the next location. He stopped after Bill’s chin, running out of face to lay his lips on. Richie’s face, however, stayed close to Bill’s, trading air with him, as he tried to think of something else to do to make his friend feel better. Maybe now would be a good time to talk?
“Bill, I know…” Richie started, but was cut off by Bill’s lips resting on his. They didn’t linger, barely enough time for Richie to register what was happening. But after a short break, just enough time for Richie to take a breath, Bill’s lips connected to his again, this time with more force, more desperation.
These kisses, if they could be called that, weren’t sexual or romantic even. Richie had always loved Bill as his friend and had a crush on him for years, in the background of his mind more than an obsessive one at the forefront, real and strong, but not all consuming.
And when he pictured kissing Bill, this was not how it went. It didn’t have the passion, the need that Richie always pictured. There was no heat, no pulse to the exchange. It wasn’t progressing towards anything more. If anything, it was dying away, each kiss less energetic, until their lips were brushing more than kissing, just hovering together.
What was important, though, was not what the kisses between them weren’t, but what they were. When Bill first reached up to kiss him, Richie was surprised, but unbothered, the touch as comforting to him as he hoped it was to his friend. It was intimate, a connection he wasn’t expecting. It was vulnerable and raw, but delicate and unassuming. It was wanting, but not asking for anything more.
Richie’s heart didn’t race, his cheeks didn’t flush. He didn’t push it, try to deepen the kiss. He did little, but close his eyes, respond with each new connection, and wait to see what it would bring. But Richie felt a warmth in his chest, blooming inside for perhaps the first time. It was definitely the first time he could remember. It was true peace overtaking him, like Richie was suspended in a pool, weightless, warm and calm. If home was a feeling, he was pretty sure this was it.
After Bill’s lips fell away and didn’t return a few seconds later, Richie sighed, eyes still closed, and breathed out, “Bill.”
When he didn’t hear anything back, Richie opened his eyes and realized that Bill was asleep, eyes closed and dry. He was no longer clutching onto the raincoat or Richie, his hand simply resting on Richie’s stomach. All the lines and creases on his face had smoothed; the worry, the grief, and the agony had all retreated. Bill’s mouth even lifted on one side, an imperceptible smile to anyone who wasn’t observing from the close distance Richie was.
He was at peace. Richie was sure this wouldn’t fix everything, couldn’t fix much even. He knew that when Bill woke up the next day, he’d see the raincoat and cry again. Whenever he thought of Georgie, he’d feel like someone had yanked on his heartstrings. Or had taken his whole heart into their hand and squeezed, the pressure sudden and harsh.
But, for this beautiful moment, Richie had been able to help him sleep, to give him some relief. He smiled to himself and moved the hair out of Bill’s face lazily, suppressing a yawn of his own, as the lullaby of warmth and serenity weighed his eyelids down. Richie gave in, finding a comfortable place to lay his head and settle in, knowing his parents wouldn’t miss him, but if he left now, Bill would.
Bill would still be grieving tomorrow, he’d still miss his brother, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.