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Richie had never heard a bone break in his entire life. He never wanted to hear it. He hoped old age would have deafened him before he ran into a situation where a bone would snap near him, exposing him to what he imagined to be the worse sound. He had never heard it, but he was sure it was terrible.
As Richie soon came to find out: it was.
Mike was out at the arcade, Richie feeling too lethargic and blatantly not interested to go with him and the rest of his friends. He was lounging on the couch, paging through a comic book he had borrowed from Dustin– well, Mike borrowed it from Dustin and Richie was stealing it from Mike for the afternoon. The solitude wasn’t always Richie’s favorite, but it was nice to have the house to himself.
Eventually, as Richie threw the comic to the side and onto the floor, he could hear voices coming up the street. The windows were open in the summer weather, and Richie could easily pick out his brother’s voice biking up the street. Richie waited for Dustin or Lucas to answer his brother, but he sounded alone.
“Mike? Who are you talking to?” Richie asked, speaking mostly to himself. “Mike?” He opened the front door to the sound of clattering metal on the asphalt. Mike’s bike was on the street, the boy himself a few feet back, on his side. Another boy in a bike was circling him, tantalizing him and finally becoming the second voice in the street. “MIKE!”
Richie stepped out on the house’s front step, and for a second thought he had splintered the wooden porch. There was a thick, tangible snap as Richie moved towards his brother. He looked down at his feet and saw the porch undisturbed and in tact, his eyes shooting up to his brother now writhing on the street, crying.
“Mike?” Richie cried, running forward. Mike was heaving and coughing, rolling onto his back and clutching his right arm to his chest. It looked awkwardly bent, and Richie couldn’t help but hear the same crack again with every step. The boy on the bike continued to cycle around him, laughing at him as he began crying. “Hey! Hey, what the fuck is your problem!”
“See you around, freaks!” The kid waved and mocked both of them before pedaling off down the end of the street. He kicked gravel up at them, a stone clinking off of Richie’s glasses.
“Hey! Get back here, asshole!” Richie yelled, taking off after him. His feet pounded the sidewalk and each step felt like he was going to snap his own legs in half, but it was the only way to keep up with the boy. “I’m not through with you.”
“Catch me if you can, Dick!” The kid swung a sudden right turn off their street and into the woods winding away from them. “Broke like a twig!” His voice echoed back to Richie as he skidded to a halt.
“Yeah, you fucking run, asshole! I’ll– I’ll fuck you up…” Richie’s voice faded into the silent neighborhood, barely meeting the laughter bubbling from the woods. “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.” Richie muttered, reaching down and throwing a rock into the dirt trail of the boy.
“Ri-Richie!” Mike whined, his voice creaking with distance. “Richie!”
“Here I come, Mike. Don’t worry. Here I come!” Richie cried, turning and sprinting back to his brother. He was in the middle of the street, alone and terrified. “Shit, here I am.”
Mike was trying to sit up, his one arm limp across his lap and words jumping out of his throat with his sobs. Richie skidded to his knees, scraping them as he slowed to a stop at Mike’s side. His hands hovered over Mike, afraid to touch him.
“What do I do? Mike, oh my god. What do I do?” Richie cried. “Mike, what hurts?”
“M-My arm. It’s broken.” Mike coughed, the pain contorting his face. “Fuck, Richie. It hurts.”
“What happened?” Richie asked, pulling him into his side. “I thought you were at the arcade. What the fuck happened, Mike?”
“I was.” Mike said, gripping Richie’s arm like he was slipping through his hands and into another wave of pain. “H-He followed me home. He’s from the high school.”
“What the fuck did he want with you?” Richie grumbled. He wrapped an arm around Mike’s waist and tried to hoist him to his feet. Mike wasn’t heavy, but his legs were weak under him, bending and collapsing with any weight on them. “Mike, come on. Work with me a little bit. I can’t do this by myself.”
“I can’t.” Mike whined, tears streaking his cheeks. “It hurts so bad, Richie. It hurts so bad.” The grip on his other arm was white-knuckle and unrelenting.
“I know. Okay okay. We have to call for help, Mike.”
“No no no.” He begged, shaking his head. “They’re going to push it back in place. No, no you can’t.”
“Mike. You have to!” Richie said firmly, grabbing his waist again. “It’s either that or get ready for me to cut it off with a butter knife.” Mike groaned and closed his eyes, like if he pressed hard enough everything would shut off. Richie wished he could make that happen. Instead, he counted down slowly before hoisting his brother to his feet. He screamed and Richie had to pretend he was playfully shrieking in the quarry, or squealing at recess.
“Where’s mom?” Mike whimpered, limping along with Richie. “Don’t tell me she’s still out.”
“She should be back soon.” Richie promised. “You’re okay, Mike. Really. I’ve got you.” He leaned his head against Mike, trying to give support without dropping him back on the street.
“Richie, I’m scared.” Mike whispered, barely speaking over the squeak of the front door. “I’m scared.”
Richie eased his brother through the house and into a chair in the dining room, resting his side against the table to give his arm somewhere to rest. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do; his brother was screaming and writhing and sobbing with pain Richie couldn’t comprehend with his rattled brain and he was clueless. He didn’t know what to do and it was making him feel like the worst brother Mike could ever have been stuck with. Mike could have come home to Nancy, maybe Jonathan if he was over, or their mother. Instead, Mike was chased down by bullies and badly hurt and all he had was Richie to help.
“Mike, hey, listen to me.” Richie said, crouching in front of his brother. “Hey, hey look at me.” Mike stared down at his arm and its new and frightening shape. “Hey! Look at me. Mike, you’re going to be fine.”
“How do you know?” Mike begged, his voice quaking as he tried to still his body’s shaking.
“I don’t know.” Richie said the words without them filtering through his brain. Mike’s eyes went wide and his lip began to quiver too. Fuck fuck fuck. “But, I’m not going to let anything else bad happen. I’ll call mom and Nancy and Jonathan and even– fuck, what’s his name– Steve. I’ll see who’s the closest and we’re going to get you to the doctor.”
“Yeah?” He sniffled, looking at Richie with focused eyes. They were dark, everything behind them fighting to be the center of his attention, but he stayed with Richie.
“Yeah.” Richie nodded, squeezing his knee. “Now let me call them–” Richie’s hand was caught and yanked back. “What, Mike? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t leave me.” Mike pleaded. “I don’t want to be by myself.”
“Okay… Okay… Uh.” Richie looked behind him at the telephone and the surrounding walls. He was sure there was another plug behind the china cabinet. “Give me one second, okay? Just one.”
“Richie.”
“Trust me.” He said, holding a hand out to Mike before sprinting into the kitchen.
He ripped the phone off the wall harshly, the bell clattering inside, before running back to Mike. He placed the phone on the floor by the cabinet as he situated himself between the furniture and the wall. Using his legs against the wall, he pushed the china cabinet over enough to see the plug. Richie fumbled with the plug in his fingers before being able to put it in the wall. He tapped the receiver quickly, waiting for the dial tone to ring in his ear. Once it echoed in his ear, he quickly began dialing the number of Holly’s daycare, knowing his mother would be there. As he waited for someone else to answer, and to no longer be alone and be Mike’s only hope, he sat beside Mike’s chair, holding his hand tightly.
“Hey, Mom?” Richie said. His mother answered slowly, knowing something was wrong just by Richie’s wavering greeting. “Something bad happened a-and we need you to drive Mike to the hospital. Someone broke his arm.”
“I’m okay, Mom!” Mike called over the line. “Richie’s here. I’m okay until you can get here.”
Richie pressed Mike’s hand against his chest as he talked his mother through everything he saw and tried to do. Even though Mike was probably speaking from some altered state of comfort from shock, Richie was able to exhale knowing that his brother trusted him and his makeshift sense of responsibility.
Richie could take care of a broken bone. Well, he could, if he wanted to. The two broken arms he was going to cause the next time he saw that asshole on the bike Richie had no intention of healing.