Chapter Text
It started on Halloween, as most things in Derry, Maine usually do. The night dedicated to fear was a town favorite amongst the civilians within Derry, as the self titled ‘Most Haunted City in the Continental United States’ it seemed only fitting for the townsfolk to go all out for their designated favorite holiday. The Halloween spirit made it’s way into Derry High School without fail, every single year. While the teens outgrew trick or treating years ago, that didn’t stop them from finding ways to entertain themselves in the spirit of the spooky month of October. Namely, the Monster Mash Ball that took place the moment the sun set on October 31st every year. The students would dress in their most horrifying costumes, which were usually fairly hoaky, and show up to the dance to drink the blood colored fruit punch that was almost certainly spiked.
Richie Tozier could say with absolute certainty, that he never once cared for attending one of those dances. As lame as it may sound, and boy did it sound lame, Richie always preferred the Halloween tradition he and his friends had. Which was a simple trip to their clubhouse in the Barrens, dressing up in the most ridiculous costumes they could find and eating enough candy to send the Losers’ straight to Dr. Wentworth Tozier to have their cavities filled.
None of the lucky seven were all that fond of Halloween, it was a mutual understanding they all had that didn’t really make a lot of sense if Richie thought hard about it.
There were always instances, usually in mid October, where Big Bill would get a distant and extremely sad look in his usually stoic blue eyes. Where Richie would gently bump his shoulder and ask, “What’s up, Doc?” in his silliest of Bugs Bunny voices because he got concerned when Bill would stare into nothingness as if he wished that’s where he were, and humor was all that Richie could offer.
Every year, Bill would just sigh - raggedly, and tiredly. “S-Suh-Seven years.” Is all he said in October of 1964, only a month after Richie’s eighteenth birthday. Richie wasn’t an idiot, forgetful perhaps, but stupid he wasn’t.
He couldn’t remember the Denbrough boy’s name and he honestly couldn’t remember what happened to him, which was troublesome all on it’s own, but he could remember the wide blue eyes that mirrored his older brother’s and the oversized and worn raincoat that looked so bright and yellow in the small dreary town of Derry. So maybe it did make sense, that the Losers’ hated Halloween, when Richie really thought about it. Regardless, he tried to avoid thinking about it.
On the evening of October 31st, Richie Tozier’s bike flew across the pavement as he made his way towards the Barrens. He had made this trip hundreds - hell, thousands of times. It was second nature at this point, peddling in the center of the empty road and keeping the Kenduskeag in his peripheral as he followed the stream that led into the Barrens. The only people who were out and about at this time of night were elementary schoolers in plastic masks holding huge bags that would surely be stuffed with candy by the end of the night.
He slowed his bike down as he passed by a particularly large group of kids, all huddled around a storm drain taking turns dropping pieces of candy corn.
“Oi!” Richie crowed in his impression of Officer Nell. The group of children startled, and turned around with wide fearful eyes at the sound of what they immediately assumed was the town’s police chief. Richie grinned, the faux fangs he wore rested alongside his oversized front teeth. “Buncha kiddos like yew needta stay away from tha sewers, what would yer parents think?”
“Why should we listen to you?” A kid, wearing a Frankenstein mask too large for his head, challenged. And oh man, he was glad this kid wasn’t around during the reign of Henry Bowers. Richie remembered a time when his smart ass mouth would get him in trouble with the older kids - he supposed it still would if Henry and his goons weren’t either locked up in Juniper, dead, or pretending Henry Bowers’ never existed in the first place.
“None of you kids are afraid of werewolves?” Richie asked, holding up a clawed hand that was covered in fake hair as representation. The kids expressions were hidden behind their masks, but Richie liked to imagine he was terrifying them.
“Werewolves are for babies.” A kid dressed in a Creature from the Black Lagoon mask spoke up. A murmur of agreement rose amongst the children.
“Yowza… kids have no fucking respect for their elders these days.” Richie shook his head sadly, he started slowly peddling his bike again with red Converse clad feet. He pointed a finger at the kids, “Stay away from the sewers, there are monsters lurking around in there. Seen ‘em myself.”
“Monsters like you?” A kid piped up, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
“Oh, you betcha.” The teen shot a wolfish grin towards the group, before he was riding away with his eyes still trained on the Canal. With a boisterous laugh, Richie threw his head back and howled at the moon. From the sidewalk, all the kids could see was the letterman jacket that had ‘Richie Tozier’ written in big white block letters and the head of dark curls thrown back with his face angled towards the full moon.
The kid in the Frankenstein mask cast a glance downwards towards the storm drain - the slow and steady plop of water was all that could be heard from inside the pitch black opening. He decided to step further back on the sidewalk. “C’mon, I heard Dennis say they’re giving out full sized candy bars on Witcham.”
The trail down to the Barrens would be considered treacherous by anyone who didn’t regularly walk it, there were tree roots and jagged rocks sticking out of the dirt in every direction and finding proper footing down the slope of land that was covered with trees and bushes was extremely difficult. Lucky for Richie Tozier, he knew the trail like he knew the back of his own hand. He threw a foot out to stop his bike when he caught sight of a silver glint from underneath one of the nannyberry bushes.
Richie walked his bike by the handles into the shrubs and dropped it atop the other four bicycles already hidden under the tangle of branches and leaves.
The Losers’ never had to worry about their unattended bikes, after all, no one ever came down to the Barrens except for them. The townsfolk of Derry didn’t want to splash around in the murky waters of the Kenduskeag stream that contained traces from the sewer. Richie didn’t blame them, of course, but the lucky seven never did a lot of splashing around.
As he made his way down the slope (with practiced ease) and bypassed the stream altogether, he came to a stop in front of a patch of leaves and dirt - a patch that if you looked at closely enough, you would see that it wasn’t placed as naturally as the rest of the land around it. He crouched down and brushed some of the leaves away to see the wooden boards obscured by the dirt.
He rapped his knuckles to the beat of Peggy Sue, and within seconds the door leading into the ground opened and displayed the agitated faces of his six favorite people.
In between the circle of Losers’ was an oil lantern, lighting the entire underground clubhouse up with a dull orange glow. Surrounding the lantern was piles of sweetarts, m&m’s, dum dum pops and pixy stix. Richie could already feel the future cavities, and he could definitely hear his Pops groaning about eating too much junk food.
“Move it Losers’ move it.” Richie crowed in the Jersey impression he picked up when his Uncle Roger visited Derry. “The party’s here baaaaby.”
“More like the fleas are here.” Stan Uris - who looked completely different with his brown curls slicked back to mimic Dracula’s hair - deadpanned, but he shifted to the left so Richie could cram in between himself and Eddie Kaspbrak.
“Aw Richie.” Eddie complained as a bony elbow jammed it’s way into his side, he swatted at the tangle of lanky limbs trying to squeeze their way into the circle of seven. “I get a new bruise every time I’m around you.”
“Baby, if you can’t take the heat…” Richie leaned over and pinched Eddie’s side, which resulted in the smaller teen squeaking in annoyance and swatting at the dirt covered fingers trying to tickle his ribs. The asthmatic was wearing a navy sweater that seemed several sizes too big for him on top of a button up, Richie scanned the outfit with an arched brow. “God damn Eds, that’s the most realistic Eddie Kaspbrak costume I’ve ever seen.”
The brunet’s upper lip curled in disgust, and he smacked Richie’s letterman jacket covered shoulder. “I’m Norman Bates, ding-bat.”
“And these wouldn’t happen to be clothes you already owned?” Richie asked, lifting up the sleeve of Eddie’s sweater with the ends of his fingertips. Eddie yanked his arm back so it was held against his chest.
“No.” Then he frowned and stared down at the sweater. “It was my dad’s.”
Guiltily, Richie averted his focus back onto the other five Losers’ who were calmly eating candy and tossing wrappers wherever there was an empty spot on the ground. Aside from Stan, who neatly stacked the wrappers on the ground next to his crossed legs. Beverly, dressed as Holly Golighty, in a black dress and pearls, was a sight for sore eyes - her head was rested on Mike Hanlon’s shoulder, who had on a eccentric rockstar outfit. “Little Richard?” Richie asked, pointing to his outfit.
“You know it, Trashmouth.” Mike immediately reciprocated the high five Richie sent his way.
Bill Denbrough had his orange hair parted, a Riverdale high tee shirt hidden behind a jacket that was so big it clearly belonged to Ben Hanscom. Richie supposed Bill hadn’t planned for the chilly weather in his Archie Andrews get up - and Ben Hanscom always had coats to spare.
Speaking of Ben Hanscom, the boy was bashfully sitting between Bill and Stan, he wore a pair of overalls with a chain that clearly belonged on Will Hanlon’s farm draped around his neck. In between his fingers was a dum dum pop, one that was still in the wrapper that Ben didn’t look like he had any plans of actually eating. Richie placed his chin on his opened palm, and leaned forward so that his elbow rested on top of his knee. “I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Haystack Calhoun.”
Ben’s cheeks reddened, but a smile graced his features. “You bet your fern it is.”
“Get over here Benny, I needta smack one on you.” Richie started to crawl over Stan, who grabbed him by the collar of his letterman jacket and pushed him back into his spot.
“You’re such a smartass, T-Tuh-Tozier.” Bill huffed, he was emptying out Pixy Stix sugar into his opened mouth as he said it - which only served to muffle his voice. With the door to the clubhouse shut behind them, Richie could barely make out the smirk on Bill’s face - the oil lantern seemed to be slowly fading from a bright orange to a much darker red color. The atmosphere was perfectly spooky, for Halloween night.
“Better a smartass than a dumbass.” The bespectacled teen shrugged, he pushed his glasses up his nose with the tip of his finger.
As the candy was devoured throughout the hour, Richie found that his motormouth was far more occupied with the array of sweets that had mostly been provided by Ben and Bill than it was with talking. He knew his silence would wear off the minute the candy disappeared. Sugar always gave Richie an extra buzz, that he knew he didn’t really need - as hyperactive as he was by nature. But hell, it wasn’t like he was going home tonight. His hyperactivity would be the problem of the lucky seven and Bill Denbrough’s less than enthusiastic parents alone.
The glow from the lantern was a deep, barely visible red by the time the treats disappeared. It was so dark in the fort that Richie couldn’t see his own hands in front of him when he slapped them together to get the Losers’ attention. “So…” The eighteen year old started, his hair covered palms rubbed together in front of his magnified blue eyes. “How’s about we blow this popsicle stand and see if we can find any foxy vampires hanging around Big Bill’s place?”
“Beep beep, Richie.” Bill spoke, but he lifted the door to the fort anyways - letting in a stream of moonlight that seemed so bright compared to the lantern that slowly diminished with every second.
“Like any foxy vampires would make a move on you, Tozier.” Beverly giggled, as she stood she made sure to lean over and flick the top of Richie’s curly hair covered forehead. Richie hopped up, instinctually holding his hand out for Eddie Kaspbrak to grab ahold of to lift the smaller teen to his feet.
“Ahn the contraire, Miss Marsh.” Richie gruffed out in his Foghorn Leghorn voice. Eddie’s hand was still clasped in his, and the warmth radiating from the small palm was enough to have the bespectacled teen entwining their fingers together. Eddie huffed, it was a flustered sound, but he didn’t move to yank his palm from Richie’s as they stepped back onto the mud covered banks of the Barrens. “Draculah ov’r there,” Richie used his thumb, with a bright red band aid on the end of it, to jerk it in the direction of Stan Uris. “Fo’ shore has eyes for this dawg. Ol’ boy can’t keep ‘is eyes awf me!”
He fully expected the smack Stan directed to the back of his head.
It killed Ben to leave the mess inside of the clubhouse he did most of the building on, but none of them were keen on shoving three hundred candy wrappers into their pockets and down their shirts when they could wait until tomorrow to smuggle a garbage bag from the Denbrough’s and clean up the mess during the light of day.
So the door was shut, and Richie let go of Eddie’s hand to help Ben kick dirt and leaves over the wood to obscure it from sight once again.
After many Halloweens of the same repeated routine, the Losers’ had a fairly good idea of how to avoid the obstacles that may have confronted them throughout the night. For starters, they always made sure to keep a spare change of clothes at Bill’s house - so when they had a sleepover, they weren’t stuck in the uncomfortable clothes (or in this case, costume) they wore all day. Another recurring issue, were Alvin Marsh and Sonia Kaspbrak.
Beverly, over the years, convinced her parents that she studied with a girl named Deborah Johnson. Since the Johnson’s lived on the other side of town, the Marsh’s never had the chance to question Deborah’s family about it. But, Alvin was still suspicious of his daughter. If it weren’t for Elfrida Marsh, Richie supposed there would be many days where the Losers’ didn’t get to see Beverly. The thought made him shiver.
Every year on Halloween, Beverly told her parents she was going to the Monster Mash Ball with Deborah - and would spend the night at her house afterwards. The lie came so naturally after all of these years, that her parents either didn’t have the mind to - or didn’t care enough to question it.
Sonia Kaspbrak, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.
It didn’t quite matter what Eddie told Sonia, she didn’t want her precious Eddie Bear leaving the house on Halloween night. Which, Richie guessed was a valid concern, if Mrs. Kaspbrak weren’t completely batshit he might even think she had her son’s best intentions in mind. So - Eddie snuck out of his house, every Halloween night and walked to the Barrens.
This always left two of the Losers’ without bikes. Beverly, because her parents’ couldn’t afford a bicycle and didn’t see a reason for a teenage girl to have one anyways and Eddie, because Sonia would immediately notice his absence if his bike was missing from the front yard. Luckily for Bev, she didn’t mind riding on the handlebars of one of the boys’ bikes. She usually opted to ride on Stan’s, because in her words ‘his handles have the most padding.’
It made sense to Richie.
Eddie wasn’t keen on riding handlebar style - he insisted that he would rather walk home alone than sit on the handles of any of their bikes. Of course, none of the Losers made him walk home by himself.
“Is it my turn to walk Spaghetti Man home?” Richie asked as he untangled his bicycle from the bushes and set it flat against the pavement. Eddie rolled his eyes, but stayed close to the teenager dressed as a werewolf.
“You walk with me every year.”
“Well Eds, I have to make sure the cutest boy in Derry gets home safe.” The teen smiled slyly, and dodged the punch the brunet aimed at his arm. If Richie didn’t think he was cute before, the flustered pink on his pale cheeks made him all the more adorable.
“Could you start calling me by my name, you wet end.”
“Oh baby, I’ll show you a wet end.”
It didn’t take long after that for the other five Losers to mount their bikes and book it down the road towards the Denbrough home. Beverly hopped on Stan’s handlebars with ease and shot Richie a knowing look, and a flying kiss that he caught from the air before Stan started to peddle away - not without an added grumble under his breath about being so glad he wouldn’t have to walk home with Richie and Eddie bickering the whole way.
Richie couldn’t be fooled by Eddie’s false aggravation about the arrangement, they walked home together every year. And if Eddie didn’t want Richie to walk with him, he would have made it known years ago.
“I’m starting to feel like an actual fucking pooch.” Richie complained, with one hand scratching the irritated skin under his faux sideburns. His other hand was positioned on the handle of his bike that he was slowly walking to keep pace with Eddie, who had his thin arms wrapped around his chest as he meandered down the street. “This hair is making me itch like hell. No wonder Michael Landon always acted like he had a pair of drawers shoved up his asscrack.”
Eddie snorted, which he quickly tried to cover up with a cough. But Richie saw the crinkles by his eyes and the amused tilt to his lips - it always made him feel a bit lightheaded when he made Eddie laugh. The brunet wasn’t as talkative as Richie (Richie wasn’t sure anyone was as talkative as he was) but he wasn’t ever quiet.
That’s the first thing Richie noticed about his friend on this particular Halloween, Eddie was being extremely quiet. He scoffed and rolled his eyes when necessary, but for the most part - he seemed distracted.
“You feelin’ okay, Spaghetti?” Richie asked awkwardly, they were just approaching the more suburban area of Derry that Bill lived in - and despite the fact that it was too late for the elementary school trick or treaters to be out, it wasn’t too late for the high schoolers coming home from the Mash. The last thing Richie Tozier needed was a group of wannabe Bowers calling him a queer for walking Eddie Kaspbrak home.
“Yeah.” Eddie’s nose wrinkled as he glanced up at Richie, his shoulder brushed against the teen’s. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“For starters, you let me call you Spaghetti.”
“You call me Spaghetti no matter what I do.” Eddie grumbled, his hand slipped into the front pocket of his jeans - and Richie knew from years of experience that he was feeling for his inhaler. At this point, it was more of a nervous habit than an indication that Eddie was having an asthma attack. The brunet huffed through his nose and then looked up at Richie again with the kind of agitation on his face that wasn’t inherently directed towards the taller teen. “Do you think I act like Norman Bates?”
Richie blinked, stopping in the middle of the street with his bike still in his hands. Confused, the bespectacled teen slowly shook his head, “Eds, is this about the sweater because-.”
“It’s not just that.” Eddie interrupted, he swiped a hand through his styled brown hair - which immediately caused it to fall from it’s perfectly kept gelled back state and land in random strands on his forehead. “It’s… didn’t you watch the movie, Rich?”
He did. At the Aladdin with the Losers on Ben’s 14th birthday, halfway through October of 1960. From what he remembered, Norman Bates was a complete fucking creep. Staring down at Eddie Kaspbrak, his honey eyes that were a beautiful mix of vulnerability and strength… he didn’t understand the comparison at all. “Yeah…” He started, his eyebrows - still heavy with the fake werewolf hair he glued into them, furrowed. “That’s why I’m not catching the reference, my love.”
“I hated that movie.” Eddie said, as if that was an explanation. He gingerly rubbed his arms over his sleeves, and Richie wondered if the hypochondriac was cold. “The way Norman’s mom treated him… it felt so much like…” The brunet’s breath caught and he looked up at Richie with sad brown eyes. “You understand? Don’t you? You’re afraid of that dumb werewolf.”
Eddie gingerly grabbed the sleeve of Richie’s letterman jacket and he felt his face redden. Either from the contact or Eddie’s words - he wasn’t too sure. “It’s not really the werewolf I’m afraid of.” He coughed, and Eddie’s arm dropped back to his side.
“Richie, I know you better than you think I do.” Richie knew that. He knew that his friends knew him well, he knew that Eddie knew him well. He didn’t need to be told.
“Okay Eds, then let’s make a deal.” Richie leaned against the handles of his bike as he looked over at Eddie with a sly grin. The asthmatic was staring at him with an unhindered look of curiosity. “Both of us will get over our dumb fears of hoaky movie monsters through the magic of friendship.” A crooked toothed grin spread across Richie’s face, and Eddie grinned back - gently shoving at his shoulder so he stumbled against the bike.
“Don’t be a jackass.”
“I’m being serious!” Richie gasped, shoving Eddie’s shoulder right back. He leaned forward, one finger pointed outwards towards Eddie. “Think about it this way Eds, would Norman Bates ever have a friend like me?”
Eddie was smiling. “No.”
“And would Norman ever tell his mom off when she tries to stop him from seeing his incredibly badass friends?”
”Definitely not.”
“Then there you go!” Richie crowed enthusiastically, he wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulled the smaller teen into his side. “That’s what the Losers are here for Eddie Spaghetti, to remind you that you’re better than you think you are.”
Eddie’s dark eyes seemed brighter, the street light directly above them lit up his face and in that moment - he wasn’t just the cutest boy in Derry. He was the most beautiful boy in Maine too. He always had been pretty beautiful, Richie supposed. Braver and stronger than he gave himself credit for, and with a smile that could make anyone feel better. And maybe, Richie just liked looking at him.
“Didn’t know you were such a softie, Tozier.” Eddie laughed, and his breath smelled like lollipops and those gross mints he kept in his pockets at all times. “Ben might have competition.”
“Ahm only a sawftie fa’ you baby.” Richie leaned down and planted a kiss on Eddie’s cheek, his nose brushed against the teen’s earlobe and he could hear the sharp intake of breath from his best friend. Richie felt a small hand wrap around the front of his letterman jacket and push, too quickly for him to regain his balance whenever he was playfully shoved. He fell in a heap on top of his bicycle, a peddle digging into his spine and his head clunking against the pavement. His glasses, which were already broken anyways, flew onto the concrete next to him and one of the lenses shattered against the ground.
It was hard to make out Eddie standing over him while his vision was spiraling, stars in his eyes, but he managed to reach a hand behind his own head and rub at it, croaking out a confused; “Ow.”
“Oh jeez Richie I’m so sorry!” The asthmatic’s face appeared in the center of his swirling vision, his honey brown eyes which were full of happiness only minutes ago had concern shining in them. It would have almost been cute, if this hadn’t been the boy that just knocked him down into the center of the road. “I-I just got startled I didn’t mean to… Oh golly are you bleeding?”
Eddie reached a hand around to delicately feel at the spot on the back of Richie’s head that he was currently prodding at.
The teen relaxed as he brought his hand back and saw there wasn’t any blood on it. “Good. It’s just a bump.”
“Jussa bump…?” Richie slurred out, tilting his head back and squinting his eyes to get a better look at the boy in front of him. “Why dontchu knock yuur head on the ground ‘n see how it feels.”
Eddie looked like he was about to cry, and really, that would be a disaster. If there was anything worse than an injured Richie Tozier sat in the middle of the street on Halloween night, it was a crying and delirious Eddie Kaspbrak hovering right over him. “I-I didn’t want to hurt you I would never purposefully hurt…” He fumbled around in his pocket, and yanked out his inhaler.
“Blasting off in three… two…” Richie croaked out just as Eddie took a few puffs from his aspirator. The black dots in his vision were starting to disappear and he sat up straight - his back no longer on the peddle of his bike and his face directly in front of Eddie’s. “Can I get a hit off that señor?”
Eddie looked awful, his shoulders were shaking and his breath was wheezing and if Richie hadn’t known Eddie since they were in preschool he wouldn’t have noticed the tip of his nose turning red, indicating the tears he was definitely about to spill. “Hey c’mon Eddie, it’s okay.” Richie picked his glasses, with one lense still visibly cracked, up off of the ground and placed them on the bridge of his nose. “I’m still kicking. Despite your greatest attempts.”
“Richie, you probably have a concussion.” The asthmatic’s voice cracked on the word concussion.
“I’ll consider it payback for all those times I threw you in the Kenduskeag when we were kids.” Richie slowly, started to stand - with the help of Eddie who quickly offered a hand. His vision tunneled as soon as he stood up, and a pair of arms wrapped around his waist to stop him from toppling back to ground.
“Your glasses are cracked.” Eddie noted, when Richie’s vision cleared. He reached a thin (and cold) hand up to pull the specs off of Richie’s nose, and dug his hand around in his pocket before pulling out an older, more outdated pair that he used to wear when he was fifteen. The prescription was also old, but it was much better than the spiderweb crack that covered the lenses of his newer glasses.
Richie didn’t question it, that’s just how Eddie was. When Ben couldn’t find the pencil he had tucked away in his notebook, Eddie had one that was sharper. When Beverly snapped the rubberband she used in her hair, Eddie had a spare one with more elasticity.
“You know Spaghetti,” The bespectacled teen pulled himself out of Eddie’s grip to pick up his bicycle off of the ground. “You could have just told me you don’t like the kisses.”
“It’s not…” Eddie looked around then, and his eyes were nervous as he glanced across the neighborhood they stood in the middle of. “Aren’t you afraid of what people would say? If they saw you doing that?”
“No.” Richie spoke, perhaps too quickly. “What’s weird about kissing your cheek? You’re Eddie.”
The teen became quiet again after that, and they started walking - this time much slower than before, and with Eddie’s presence by his side much more demanding, as if he was afraid Richie might pass out. The sounds of teenagers yelling and screaming ecstatically could be heard echoing throughout the neighborhood, the Monster Mash was over and as expected after every Halloween dance - the high schoolers were out and about, ready to trash the neighborhood.
They were on Jackson when Eddie said, “You don’t have to stop kissing my cheeks or calling me nicknames Richie, I know that’s just who you are and… and after everything you said to me tonight I would hate it if you didn’t feel comfortable around me anymore.”
Richie stopped again, he glanced over at Eddie, who was doing his best to look unaffected by the injured boy’s intense stare. “You think way too much Eds.”
The brunet, offended, looked up at Richie with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll always be comfortable around you.” The teen glanced both ways down the street to make sure there were no cars coming, before he planted a gentle kiss on Eddie’s forehead. He let his bike lean against his hip as he started to peel off his letterman jacket, he wore nothing but a thin white t shirt underneath it. “You’ve been shivering like a leaf ever since we left the Barrens, here.” He held the jacket outwards towards Eddie, who stared between the piece of clothing and Richie with hesitation on his face.
“You’re going to freeze.”
The bespectacled teen shrugged, he waved the jacket in front of Eddie’s face. “This werewolf hair is burning me up. Feels like a fucking oven in this thing, just take it.” At the uncertainty still in Eddie’s eyes, Richie added, “Do it or I’ll tell your mom you’re trying to catch hypothermia.”
Richie wouldn’t do that, but Eddie scowled anyways and snatched the jacket from his hands - shoving his arms into it and cuddling up into the warmth extremely fast for someone who was acting like he didn’t want it. “Asshole.” He grumbled, and then sniffed the collar. “Jiminy Cricket - this smells like smoke.”
“The cancer sticks have me by the neck, Eds.” Richie nodded grimly. “Winston tastes good, you know, like a cigarette should.”
“You say that as if you still have functioning taste buds.”
“He swings!” Richie rears his hands back as if he was holding a bat between his hands, and flings it in the way he’s seen Eddie and Stan do so many times. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth to mock the noise of a baseball clonking against the imaginary bat. “And he scores! Eddie Spaghetti gets off a good one.”
Seeing Eddie grinning under the moon’s light, wearing his jacket and looking loopy from the pixy stix induced sugar rush - Richie once again wondered why the Losers’ hate Halloween so much. It wasn’t until they turned the corner from Jackson onto Witcham, that Richie glanced at the closest storm drain. He didn’t remember - not really, but the cold wash of dread in his chest was explanation enough. Perhaps it was his imagination, or the atmosphere of Halloween but it almost sounded like he could hear the echo of a monster just like him - howling from the storm’s drain.
“There are monsters lurking around in there.” He heard himself say. “Seen ‘em myself.”
+
Winter started in late November of 1964 in Derry, Maine. The first snowfall happened every year, without fail, a few days before Thanksgiving. The snowstorms wouldn’t come until January - but every now and then in the days between Thanksgiving and New Years there would be a flurry of snowflakes that covered the ground and the Kenduskeag in a thin layer of ice. This presented an issue for the lucky seven. When the Kenduskeag stream froze over, the smaller portion of the stream that lead into the Barrens froze along with it. And because the ground was permanently muddy, the ice spread across the drier grounds of the Barrens and completely encased their clubhouse in a blanket of frozen snow.
Perhaps if the ground wasn’t so slick, the group could have walked towards the frozen clubhouse and broke the iced over ground with their boot covered heels.
It was a mistake Richie tried to make several years before, the moment he stepped away from the dry elevated ground surrounding the Barrens he fell right on his ass and slid straight into the frozen Kenduskeag. After getting mouth to mouth from Mike Hanlon and several days at the hospital with acute hypothermia - Richie and the Losers’ decided there would be no more walking across the frozen Barrens.
Every year they decided on staying a safe distance away from the frozen Canal to throw rocks at the iced out ground and hopefully break it apart - so if they were lucky enough, they could walk into the Barrens with ease.
It never really worked - if they so much as cracked the ice, the very next day it would snow again and cover the Barrens in a fresh wave of flakes. Once again hiding the dead grass and fallen brown leaves under a white sheet.
“I don’t understand why we don’t just go to the Aladdin.” Stan complained from his spot seated atop a tree root, he had a huge coat that seemed to envelop his lithe frame and yet his lower lip still trembled minutely every time a gust of wind fluttered through the trees. Ben Hanscom sat next to him, looking far more comfortable in the freezing weather with a huge library book spread across his lap.
Richie, with several rocks cradled to his chest, turned and looked at Stan with a lopsided grin. “Even if we had more than a couple dimes and a piece of lint to our names - what’s the Aladdin have that the Barrens don’t have?”
“Central heating, movies, popcorn, places to sit, central heating.” Stan wrapped his arms around his chest tighter, a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “This is pointless - the ice is never going to break.”
“It’s not that b-buh-bad out here.” Bill Denbrough shrugged, mid rock toss. His bright blue eyes followed the rock’s movements as it bounced against the blanket of ice without making a dent, and skittered all the way towards one of the gaping sewer pipes that was also frozen around the edges. “Besides - you c-can still b-buh-birdwatch, right?”
“The birds have migrated.” The brunet retorted through chattering teeth.
“Not all of ‘em.” Richie cast a sly look at Beverly Marsh, who impetuously threw a rock at his head of messy brown hair.
“The finches are still out.” Mike inquired from his spot atop the driest patch of grass, Eddie Kaspbrak was leaning against Mike’s side wearing a ski jacket that seemed unnecessary for the month of November.
“Yeah.” Stan groused. “But who hasn’t seen a finch?”
Another surge of chilly air rattled through the trees and raked across the group of seven with a frigid vengeance. Richie, only wearing a windbreaker over a tee shirt shuddered particularly hard at the sudden drop in temperature. The rocks he cradled thumped against the ground as he let them fall from his slender arms to wrap them around his own body. Stan glared at him, his jaw shaking and his nose red. “A-Ah c’mon Stan the Man.” Richie stuttered out through his own trembling lips. “It’s n-not that cold.”
As he spoke, a stray snowflake drifted between the trees and landed in a freezing puddle of cold on the tip of his pink nose. Eddie sat up with a palm outstretched in front of him - another snowflake landed on his impeccable white glove. He looked from his, now wet, glove to Richie Tozier with a frown.
Nervously, Richie chuckled. “S-Suh-Snow check?”
Kansas street had a thin layer of frost over the pavement as the group of seven slowly trudged in their winter boots past the Standpipe and towards the city center. During Derry’s wintry months the Losers opted towards ditching their bicycles, most of which didn’t have snow tires. None of them ever felt comfortable gliding across the iced out street after Richie’s little stumble into the Kenduskeag. The apprehension of falling from their bikes and sliding into a storm drain was still present - although, there wasn’t a lot of logic behind that specific fear. No eighteen year old would accidentally slip into a storm drain.
Richie, with boots that sloshed through the slushy textured mud puddles in the road, threw an arm around Bill’s broader shoulders. “What say you Billy? We headed to your house?”
The redhead grinned at Richie, playfully elbowing his ribs and dislodging the arm the taller teen had wrapped around him. He took a glance backwards towards the other Losers’ - all of them looking fairly miserable in the constant snowfall. “M-Muh-My house is too far to w-walk to while it’s still snowing. The A-Ah-Aladdin is closer.”
“Well Big Bill,” Richie adjusted the clunky glasses he wore on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t suppose you have any dough on you, after ol’ Spaghetti Head’s birthday.”
Bill shook his head grimly. None of the Losers’ had any spare cash during the holiday season. Not after they spent their summer job money on school supplies, and spent their monthly allowances on the back to back birthdays and the holidays landing right between them. Eddie, who’s birthday was only a week before Thanksgiving, was to blame for this bout of bankruptcy. “Hey Eds!” Richie called, turning around with a crooked grin. The light brown head of hair shot up, displaying the frown that was certainly directed at the nickname usage. “Your house is only a block or two away, ain’t that right? How would Mrs. K feel about us popping in?”
The question, although rhetorical, was immediately answered with a snappy; “She wouldn’t feel great about it, Rich.”
Solemnly - Richie nodded, he walked backwards through the slush so he could see Eddie’s agitated face. “Makes sense. She likes it better when I stop by after you’re asleep.”
“Hey Richie?”
“Mhm?”
“Talk less.”
The ‘No can do, mi amor’ was on Richie’s tongue when Ben interrupted by clearing his throat. The blond was holding up his book - East of Eden - and waved it as an exhibit. “Why don’t we stop by the library?” He suggested, and his tone was very open to the possibility of rejection. Even after all these years, Ben was still very conscious of voicing his own opinions. “It’s closer than the Aladdin, anyways.”
“I’m in.” Mike spoke as he tightened his floral print scarf around his neck. “I’m so cold - I think I would hop into Bowers’ car if he told me it was heated.”
Beverly snorted - her knuckles were flushed pink from her fingers being wrapped around Stan’s arm for stability and her long red hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders. Richie was extremely envious of the warmth all of those ringlets must have been providing. He was equally envious of Stan, who looked happy as a lark sharing that warmth.
“You think that’s impressive, Hanlon?” Richie snapped his fingers, with a wily glint in his blue eyes. “I’m so cold I would sit on Mrs. Kaspbrak’s - fuck!” Cutting his sentence in half, was a chunky snowball almost entirely made out of wet dirt lobbed straight into his face - and by proxy, his mouth which was still wide open. He spluttered in disgust, and wiped his tongue with the sleeve of his windbreaker to get the incredibly unpleasant taste out of his mouth. Richie looked up through muck covered glasses to see a very blurry Eddie Kaspbrak with another sloppy looking snowball in his, now stained, white gloved hands.
“Oops , did I get mud on your glasses?” Eddie asked, in a voice way too high pitched to be innocent. “My mistake - I was aiming for your big fat trashmouth.”
Richie gurgled out a surprised giggle, his hands (which were bare, unlike Eddie’s) scooped up a slush weapon of his own. “Eds baby, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” He slowly stepped forward, grinning impishly when Eddie took a startled step backwards. The shorter teen’s eyes glanced back and forth between Richie’s dirty face and the snowball gradually melting against his palm. “I’m the king of snowball fights.”
“Self proclaimed king.” Stan grumbled from off to the side.
When Richie made the mistake of glancing away from Eddie to glare at Stan, the asthmatic threw the remaining snowball he held in his ruined glove and smacked Richie directly in the center of his chest. His windbreaker, which was a nice red color, now had a huge stain that dripped all the way down from his chest to his flat stomach. The freezing cold slap startled a gasp out of Richie - and Eddie winced in his momentary bout of sympathy. That sympathy faded fairly quickly when he saw a snowball hurtling towards his face. Panicked, he tried to back away from the oncoming assault - only to come to a complete halt as his ankles teetered on the edge of the road’s hard shoulder.
As the snowball wetly landed on his abdomen, his feet slipped out from under him. Richie, who started running towards Eddie the second he realized what was about to happen was able to grab onto one of the brunet’s pinwheeling wrists. It didn’t do a lot of good, as both of the Losers stumbled from the road down the sludge covered hill that led into the forest surrounding the Canal.
For all it’s worth, as they rolled down the hill and slipped through snow and passed the trees - Richie had a plan. It wasn’t a great plan, but the idea was to throw Eddie against a tree if they both managed to slide all the way through the trees and into the Canal. He wouldn’t call it a self sacrifice, as much as ‘this is something I’ve experienced before and if either one of us will live through it - it will be me.’ Alongside that, Richie was positive Mrs. Kaspbrak would lock Eddie in his room for the rest of his life if he caught hypothermia because the Tozier boy pushed him into the frozen Canal. Luckily for both of them, they slammed into a particularly large oak tree which halted their descent down the wooded slope.
“Ungh.” Richie groaned - his back ached from the tumble and the snow covered ground wasn’t doing much to soothe the pain in his spine. Eddie was sprawled out on top of him, with his arms wrapped uncomfortably tight around Richie’s shoulders. The hypochondriac, who previously had his head buried in Richie’s collarbone - looked up at him with wide eyes.
Richie was a little unsettled by the excitement that shined in his brown irises.
“Jeezum crow.” Eddie whispered out, and Richie duly noted that his breath still smelled like mint. He laughed, sounding high on happiness. “That was fucking incredible.”
“Glad that tickled your fancy.” Richie grumbled out in a very lazy British accent. He groaned again, and moved one of his hands from it’s spot clutching Eddie’s waist to the back of his head - just his luck, right when the last bump heals he gets another one. Eddie sat up, his hips still straddled Richie’s and if the bespectacled teen wasn’t so shaken up he would have half a mind to feel flustered.
“Are you hurt?” The asthmatic asked, and the thrill seeking high was replaced with a look of concern. Richie wasn’t sure which he preferred.
Eddie leaned over after peeling a single glove off, delicately running his fingers through Richie’s hair to check for open wounds or bumps the same way he did when he knocked Richie into his bike. This time, he didn’t look nearly as anxious about their proximity - perhaps because there was no way anyone else was around. “Probably.” His voice sounded breathy, and he internally cursed himself for sounding so flustered because of Eddie Kaspbrak. “Feels better when you’re touching me like that, Eddie my love.”
Instead of jumping away, like Richie predicted he would - Eddie’s dark eyes slowly drifted from his own hand, which still resided in Richie’s brunet curls, to the bright blue eyes hidden behind coke bottle lenses.
Looking up at Eddie’s thin face, his pointed nose and his huge eyes - Richie was reminded of the first girl he kissed, Nancy Liu. A girl who’s existence in Derry was finite, but who laid an inexperienced kiss onto Richie’s buck toothed mouth during their shared ninth grade gym class. He remembered feeling giddy, his heart pounded heavily in his chest for the rest of the day and every time he met eyes with Nancy he felt bashful in a way that Richie Tozier wasn’t accustomed to.
He felt a little like that now. The elation of his first kiss with Nancy felt so identical to the eagerness of gazing at one of his best friends.
It at least explained why he was wondering if Eddie would be as inexperienced at kissing as Nancy was, to which the obvious answer was; probably so. Richie almost wanted to test his theory, almost. His palpable fear overrode his curiosity. “Eddie!” A voice yelled through the trees, and the two teens still sprawled against the oak startled. The voice, undeniably belonged to Beverly Marsh. “Richie Tozier! If you and Eddie have killed one another so help me God, I will kill myself just to kick your ghostly asses!”
“We’re fine Bev!” Eddie called - his bare hand moved from Richie’s hair to lay flat on the top of his chest to keep his balance as he sat up once again. Richie felt his heartbeat fluttering under Eddie’s hand, and he quickly scooped up the teen’s freezing palm into his hand and entwined their fingers together.
The brunet flinched when he felt Richie grab his hand, and he looked down with wide eyes at his best friend - who merely grinned cheekily to hide his own anxiety. “Race you to the top?”
“That’s your worst idea yet, Trashmouth.”
It wasn’t so much a race to the road, as it was a slow endeavor up the ice covered hill - holding hands, and stepping on tree roots and rocks that were still dry as to not fall again and actually slide all the way into the Kenduskeag. After years of living in Derry, it wasn’t nearly as difficult as Richie internally thought it would be or as Eddie outwardly assumed it would be.
The minute they escaped the brush and the fortress of pine trees, the other Losers’ looked as if they might pass out from relief. And Richie couldn’t really blame them - it’s too easy to get hurt in Derry.
But they escaped the treacherous slopes leading down to the Barrens with only a few bruises to show for it.
And boy, did they show it. The minute the lucky seven walked (or rather, hobbled) into the library, the beautifully heated Derry library, the kind old librarian who always let Ben turn in his books a little later than usual - gasped at the sight of Richie and Eddie. The woman, Mrs. Cooper, immediately grabbed the two boys by their jacket sleeves and dragged them into her own tiny bathroom in the back - nagging the entire way there about, “Third group of rowdy teenagers this week who can’t keep their hands out of the snow, intent on trying to dirty up my library.”
With a bar of soap tossed at their faces and the added instruction to clean themselves to their best capabilities - the bathroom door slammed shut behind Mrs. Cooper.
“Didn’t think ol’ Mrs. C would hound us like that.” Richie grumbled, the bar of soap she threw him was cradled between his dirty scratched up palms. Under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom - Richie could understand why she freaked out after seeing them. Eddie had dirt streaking across his face and his hair looked absolutely filthy, with leaves and bark caught in the light strands. Richie knew he couldn’t have looked much better - his glasses were stained and his red jacket was ripped down his left sleeve. He couldn’t imagine what his rat’s nest of a hairdo looked like, he was incredibly thankful there wasn’t a bathroom mirror hanging over the sink.
“My mom will kill me if I come home looking like…” Eddie trailed off as he ran a hand through his hair, pieces of bark clattered onto the tile as they fell from his head. “Help me get all of this shit out of my hair, Rich.”
“You got it, boss.” Richie saluted, his mobster voice wasn’t nearly as practiced as his other voices - but a smile tugged at Eddie’s lips regardless.
Being able to see the top of Eddie’s head made picking the gunk out of it all the more simple, but feeling the asthmatic’s eyes following his every movement had Richie feeling strangely unnerved. He didn’t dare to look down and meet the teen’s gaze. Instead, he cleared his throat and made small talk in the way he’s seen his parents do with his dad’s coworkers whenever they ran into each other at the local Freese’s supermarket. “So Eds, whatcha doing for Thanksgiving?”
From his peripheral, Richie could see Eddie’s mouth turn down at the corners. “My aunts are visiting.”
“And these are the aunts we don’t like?” Richie asked, even though he already knew the answer. Eddie nodded - slowly, as not to disturb Richie’s progress in stripping the leaves from his locks. “You can’t really blame ‘em for wanting to pinch your cheeks Spaghetti Man.” To really sell his point, he gently pulled at Eddie’s cheek and whispered, “Cutest cheeks in Derry.”
Eddie halfheartedly swatted at his hand.
“They don’t do a lot of cheek pinching anymore. Most people grew out of that when I hit puberty.” He gave Richie a pointed look. “They still smother me though - differently. I almost wish they still pinched my cheeks instead of asking me questions about when I’m going to bring home a pretty girl.” He was silent for a moment, his nose wrinkled distastefully. “The worst part is, I know they’re asking because they’re concerned that I don’t want to date. ‘Your mom can’t be the only woman in your life, Eddie Bear.’” He shivered. “As if I want her to be.”
Richie didn’t quite know how to respond. His parents, as concerned as they could get for him, never worried about his dating life. They seemed much happier with his abstinence - assuming that he didn’t date because he didn’t want to accidentally get his girlfriend pregnant. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that the girls he went to school with didn’t like Bucky Beaver like that.
“So you don’t want to date, big fuckin’ deal.” He shrugged, Eddie looked a bit startled by his vulgarity.
“It’s not that I don’t want to date.” Richie’s ministrations halted at that, and Eddie coughed - to cover up a chuckle. “I have a feeling my mom wouldn’t approve of my taste in a consort.”
The taller of the two felt his face warm, he avoided Eddie’s eyes and continued plucking at his scalp. “Oh yeah? You got a thing for foxy minxes like Beverly Marsh?”
“Not even close.” Eddie didn’t elaborate after that, and Richie felt like his red cheeks would become extremely obvious if he kept asking. The asthmatic sighed after a few seconds. “I guess I’m telling you all of this because… you know how to piss adults off better than anyone I know.” Richie supposed he shouldn’t have felt a surge of pride over that. “What would you do… if you were me?”
And that , was a loaded question. Richie knew what Richie Tozier would do, and chances are - it was the easiest thing but also the wrong thing. What Eddie Kaspbrak should do, that was an entirely different box to open.
“You’re asking me, to help you rebel against your own mother?” Richie didn’t add the ‘and prove to both your aunts and yourself that you aren’t the Mama’s boy everyone thinks you are.’ Eddie nodded, regardless. “Come over to my house for Thanksgiving.” And judging by the thrilled twinkle that shined in Eddie’s honey eyes, he liked the idea. “Imagine Mrs. K’s face when she realizes her son snuck out of the window on her favorite holiday to eat with Richie Tozier - king of both the snowball fight and pissing off Derry’s grown folk.”
“She’ll lose her head.” Eddie sounded practically giddy, he was minutes away from bouncing up and down on his ankles.
“Damn straight.” Richie picked the last piece of bark from his best friend’s hair, and slapped his shoulder. “And I can show you my famous bowl of cranberry sauce.”
Eddie giggled, and it was a rare sight these days - Richie let himself savor it. “Richie, cranberry sauce is premade.”
“All the more reason you should trust me when I tell you it’s delicious.”
They were both scrubbing their hands and faces over the tiny sink, when Eddie shut the faucet off mid rinse and looked over at Richie’s soap covered face with a small and guarded smile. “Thanks Rich.” He said, and his voice was very frail. “Sometimes I… I really think I’m going crazy. I’m eighteen now. I should have a girlfriend and… and I shouldn’t care about trying to impress my own mom . That’s weird… isn’t it?”
Richie leaned his elbows against the sink, it creaked threateningly under the entirety of his weight. “I guess. I don’t have a girlfriend, and… well, I think everyone wants to impress their folks. Even if they’re terrible to you. So maybe we’re both weird.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hey, I’m all for this Spaghetti rebellion thing though. Makes me feel all tingly inside that you’re including me in your journey of self discovery.”
Eddie snickered, and flicked some of the water dripping from his fingertips at Richie. “Beep beep, asshole.”
The hypochondriac turned the faucet back on, and Richie watched him splash water all over his face - which was now nearly spotless. As much as he liked to talk out of his ass, he couldn’t imagine having a mom like Mrs. K - but he did know what it felt like to have everyone around you expecting you to turn into something or someone that you aren’t, something that terrified him. He and Eddie had always been very different from one another, opposite even. Richie always assumed that if it weren’t for the Losers’ club, Eddie would have never even gave him the time of day for a friendship.
Perhaps it depended on how you looked at it. Because in that moment, Richie thought they were awfully similar. A strange sort of yin and yang, who’s backstories and personalities couldn’t be more different - and yet they ultimately feared the same thing.
Themselves.
“God Richie.” Eddie huffed, he was shaking the water off of his hands and staring at Richie’s fingers distastefully. “How are you so bad at washing your own hands? Your fingernails are filthy.”
He let Eddie grab his hands, and he watched dutifully as the smaller teen washed the gunk from his fingernails - ranting the entire time about how gross it is that Richie just leaves dirt under his nails. Richie felt himself smiling as he watched Eddie grumble and complain about the disgusting shit his own best friend puts up with. And once again, he wondered how anyone in their right mind would see a guy like Eddie Kaspbrak and expect him to grow up and be anything but beautiful and independent. Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t a Mama’s boy, and he certainly wasn’t going to grow up and be Norman Bates.