Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May, 1991

When Richie had grabbed Connor's hand and led him out to the car, he hadn’t expected anyone to follow them. When he tossed him into the backseat and started unbuttoning his shirt with hasty fingers, he hadn’t expected anyone to be watching. When he ran his hands through his hair and pressed their lips together for those brief yet blissful moments, he hadn’t expected the door behind him to swing open – didn’t expect a hand to pull the back of his suit jacket. He certainly didn’t expect to find himself fallen halfway out of a car staring upside down at the horrified face of a classmate. 

Rumors spread like wildfire in small towns like Derry, Maine. They spread even faster when they involved the child of a notable family like the Toziers, some of the most devout Catholics in the state. Only two days later, Richie had awoken to the sound of shouting. From the top of the stairs, hidden from view, he had caught a glimpse of the home phone gripped in a hand of a man that shook with rage. The man's face was so contorted, so purple and red and twisted with fury, he barely even recognized him as his father.

"DON'T CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN!" he roared into the phone. "DON'T YOU DARE SPREAD LIES LIKE THAT ABOUT MY SON!" The phone rattled as it was slammed back into its holder. With a sinking feeling in his heart, Richie had crept back into his room and prayed that the conversation had been about anything else. But he knew all too well what had been said. And when the doorbell rang and the low, raspy voice of Father Gray fell upon Richie's ears, he knew there was no more hiding.

The living room was blanketed with a suffocating silence. Richie sat on the couch, his parents stood on either side of the coffee table, and sitting in the armchair directly across from him was Father Gray.

“Richard!” Father Gray welcomed him with enthusiasm as though they were at a dinner party.

“Yes, Father Gray?” Richie answered, sounding distant. Richie avoided looking directly at anyone. Instead, he focused on their feet. He could see his father’s loafers pacing back and forth across the carpeted floor. He could see his mother’s burgundy heels jumping nervously up and down with short, dull taps. 

“Do you know why we’re having this meeting?”

“Not quite," Richie hummed, feigning ignorance. “Mind filling me in?”

“Of course." Father Gray looked nervously between Mr. and Mrs. Tozier. "Your father contacted me this morning. He was concerned about a rumor he had heard regarding some of your... recent behavior.” The word 'behavior' received a disproportionate emphasis.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie lied, crossing his arms. “Is this about confession? ‘Cuz I can do it now if you want–”

“Cut it out, Richard,” his father growled, finally joining the discussion.

Richie shut up and sunk back into the stiff cushions of the couch. He could feel his legs start to grow restless, his fingers twitchy. Stupid. This is stupid. He would have gotten up to leave if his father's voice hadn't been so petrifying. 

Father Gray adjusted himself in the armchair, pulling out a small handkerchief that he used to dab away the moisture on his forehead. “Richard, I'm not here to attack you. I just want to put your parents at ease. Would it be alright if I asked you a personal question?”

“No. Was that the question?” Richie moved as if to go, trying to escape the situation. But as he stood, his eyes landed on his mother, and he stopped dead in his tracks. She was crying. It was silent, but the streaks of tears were clearly visible. There was a sort of pleading that was unspoken. Richie fell back onto the couch, deflated.

Richie’s father broke in. “Ask your question. I think Richard is done making a fool of himself.”

Father Gray took a weary sigh before beginning again. “I know this isn’t a comfortable thing to be asked, especially in front of your parents…” He paused, licking his lips and dabbing more furiously with his handkerchief. “Richard, are you a homosexual?”

The word came as a knife that severed the breath in Richie's throat. Homosexual. It was a word Richie rarely heard, rarely wanted to hear. It had been uttered in church only once. Father Gray had stood at the center and looked down at the children seated below. He had spit venom upon the word, condemned all who walked that path. Richie had been twelve.

He had always told himself that he would never be a homosexual. The very thought of it made him queasy. He went to church, he said his prayers. He flirted with girls and hung out with boys. And yet, he still pulled Connor into that car. So now at sixteen, he heard the word again. Homosexual.

He couldn't bring himself to say it, so he just nodded. As he did, every bit of shame that had ever been buried deep in his gut resurfaced, and he felt as though he might be sick.

Father Gray didn’t say anything. He watched Richie with a solemn expression, his hands held neatly on his lap. After Richie made it clear his answer was not going to change, Father Gray stood and motioned for Richie’s parents to follow him into the kitchen. There was a moment in which Richie had nothing to do but try to wipe the smudges from his glasses and pretend that he couldn’t hear their hushed argument.

The only words spoken to him were from his father. “Go to your room,” he had said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He said it with his back turned. Father Gray gave Richie a hollow smile as he made his way up the stairs. It was like walking into his tomb. 

In the quiet of his room, Richie began to process what had just happened, but it was too much. The room was spinning, his legs were wobbly. He was swallowing empty gulps of air that never reached his lungs. Getting to his bed seemed nearly impossible, so he sat on the floor and held his knees to his chest, burying his face in them.

Suddenly, the door to his room opened to reveal his mother. Behind her, his father leaned against the wall, staring down at the carpet.

“Pack a bag,” his mother said. “You’re leaving in the morning.”

Richie was hit with a wave of panic that sent a whole new round of shudders through his body. No, no, no. Please don't kick me out. Please don't–

“You’re not being kicked out,” his mother continued, almost as though she could hear his thoughts. “We would never... I would never... It's a camp. You're going to a camp. Father Gray suggested it. It's a little further north. It's called Saving Faith. They're going to help you. They're going to save you." 

This was not happening. Richie refused to believe it. He looked to his father for help, but his gaze never shifted from the carpet. His mother walked forward into the room and shut the door behind her. She sat down on the floor next to Richie and drew him into a hug. He felt her teardrops fall into his hair, but he made no effort to brush them off.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, pressing her cheek into his curls. “They’re going to help you get better.”

He let her sit there and try to comfort him, more for her than himself. Even after she had stood up, kissed his forehead, and left his room, Richie couldn’t find it in himself to move. Even after the moon had disappeared from the sky and the morning sun rose to take its place, Richie remained, thinking about everything and nothing all at once.

Chapter Text

Richie’s suitcase was light. There weren’t many things he had to pack, nor were there many things he wanted to pack. In fact, the only items he owned that he actually treasured were his comic books, and even those were starting to lose their charm. Now he glanced over to his thick stack of X-Men Editions and sighed. Although he didn’t want to acknowledge it, he suspected one of the reasons his father had always been so insistent upon an interest superheroes was to dissuade him from his more “feminine” interests. 

The list of required items was strange, to say the least. Richie wasn’t sure what the purpose of a “comfort object” would be there and he wasn’t eager to find out. On the topic of clothing, he was told there would be uniforms provided upon arrival. Fantastic. His mother was probably thrilled about that; she found his usual stylings to be quite tacky. 

The drive was long and uncomfortable. His mother sat in the passenger seat, refusing to take her eyes off of the map she had stretched out across her lap. His father was hyper-vigilant behind the wheel, contrary to his usual habit of ignoring traffic laws. Richie had taken to his Walkman, seeing as it would likely be the last time he’d hear good music in a while. 

A few times, Richie subtly shifted one of his headphones so that he could hear his parents’ conversation. They were speaking in harsh whispers, or rather his father was speaking and his mother was chiming in with a weak “mhm” or “yes, dear.” 

The paved roads turned to gravel as they traveled deeper into the country, passing quaint farms with horses and cattle wandering aimlessly about. Richie wondered if any of the houses they passed belonged to fellow campers. It suddenly occurred to him that he may run into people from school there. The thought made his stomach lurch.

The car slowed to a stop. Richie gazed out to window at the neat rows of cabins and fences. They had arrived. A girl with a long, red ponytail and a camera sauntered up to them.

“Here for Saving Faith?” she asked as his father rolled down the window.

“Yeah. We’ve got a Richard–”

“Sorry sir,” she interrupted, smile as sweet as candy. “I don’t handle check-in. You’ll have to see Mr. Phillips up ahead.” 

“Hmph,” his father looked her up and down, unimpressed. “Where is that exactly?”

“Like I said, just up ahead,” she repeated. “Smile!”

She snapped a picture of them with a yellow polaroid camera, and refused to let them pass until their tiny photo was produced. Richie could see his father begin to grow irritable, fingers tightening around the wheel. As soon as the photo was handed over, the girl stepped out of the way – although it seemed like Mr. Tozier was intending to speed off whether or not she had.

“What an idiot,” he muttered. The polaroid was passed to Richie’s mother, who deposited it neatly in her purse.

“She barely said anything,” Richie objected.

“I can just tell from looking at her. Pretty face with an empty head.”

Richie looked back through the rear window, trying to catch another glimpse of the red-headed girl as they drove away. She must have caught him staring, because she gave him a wink and a wave before disappearing along the path.

They reached a new clearing where a small, white-sided cabin sat, bearing a cheerfully painted sign reading “Saving Faith: A Center for the Promotion of Family Wellbeing.” Richie rolled his eyes. The three of them clambered out of the car, his mother taking a moment to check her lipstick in a pocket mirror, his father straightening his tie, before making their way toward up the door. Richie clutched his single, light suitcase at his side, feeling it bump his knee with each anxious step.

After three knocks, a wizened, neatly-dressed man answered.

“Hello,” he said, opening the door just enough so they could see his face. “I’m Martin Phillips. Are you here to check in?”

“Yes,” his father grunted. “Richard Tozier.”

“Fantastic,” he beamed. “If you’ll follow me inside, I’ll get you sorted.”

Martin held the door for them, revealing the cabin’s cozily decorated interior. Richie’s eyes immediately darted to the dark, mahogany desk that sat at the back of the room. Upon it sat several boxes labeled with words he couldn’t quite make out. They were organized into three piles: Red, Blue, and Yellow. Richie glanced over to his parents, who were scanning a clipboard with narrowed eyes. His father grasped a pen between his rough fingers, checking off and scribbling upon some kind of form. 

“Done,” he said, placing the pen back on the clipboard and handing it to Martin, who grinned.

“Wonderful.” Martin moved to an adjacent shelf, upon which sat a stack of manilla envelopes. He rifled through them until withdrawing the one labeled “Richard Tozier,” which he placed in Richie’s hands.

“In this envelope you’ll find your schedule for today as well as an honor code that you will strictly abide by.”

“Cool,” Richie said, taking it in his free hand. “Does it say where I can put my stuff?”

Martin’s expression was wooden. His gaze fell heavily upon the suitcase in Richie’s grasp. “I’m going to need to search that, actually.”

“What?” Richie pulled back, instinctively. “Why?”

“We need to ensure you’re not trying to sneak in any prohibited items.” Martin extended a hand. Richie didn’t budge.

“It’s basically empty, so you’ll probably just be wasting your time–” He jumped as his shoulder received a tight squeeze.

“Richard.” It was his father. He was using the tone he used in front of guests whenever Richie was pushing it. “Please don’t make this nice man’s life any more difficult.”

With a sigh, Richie let go of his suitcase and it hit the ground with a hollow thud. Martin gave a nod of thanks and carried it over to a table in the corner. 

He unzipped it and began sorting through its meager contents. Martin extracted three granola bars and a single comic book. A toothbrush. A yo-yo. Stickers. Three pairs of underwear, and… A Playboy Magazine. This last item he set on the table with a pained sigh. Richie felt the grip on his shoulder tighten and tried to suppress a snort.

“You can keep the toothbrush and your intimates. The rest will have to be taken back by your family,” Martin said, and Richie thought he caught a twitch of irritation run through the old man’s brow.

The rejected items were placed into a separate cardboard box which was then handed off to his mother. Martin went on with more details of what was to come, but Richie wasn’t listening. He was gazing at the boxes in the back, squinting through the thick lenses of his glasses to try and read the tiny labels. He hadn’t even realized his parents were leaving until his mother pulled him into a tight hug.

“We’re going to get through this, okay?” she whispered, running her fingers through his messy hair. “I love you.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead and trotted off to join his father at the door. 

“Work hard,” his father grumbled. “I know it’s not in your nature, but try for once in your life.” 

And with that, Richie’s parents walked back to their car and disappeared down the gravel path. Martin showed him out of the office and back into the clearing. As the door shut behind him, Richie looked down at the manilla envelope. It was heavy, and whenever it shifted in his hands it made a horrible sound as its many papers ground against the envelope edges. He really didn’t want to read it. But even more than that, he just wanted to find his room and take a nap. He tore it open and withdrew a hefty packet. The first page was a cleanly typed letter addressed to him.

Richard Tozier,

Welcome to your first day at Saving Faith! We hope your check-in went as smoothly as possible. We are pleased to inform you that you have been assigned to Dormitory 7, Room 3, and that you will be rooming with Stanley Uris. Below, you can find our Honor Code, which we expect you to abide at all times:

1. No inappropriate behavior. This includes vulgar language and obscene gestures.

2. All scheduled events must be attending promptly. Tardiness will be punished.

3. Dormitories will not be left after curfew. We will know if you sneak out.

4. There will be no communication with anyone outside of Saving Faith. This includes  mail, telegrams, and phone calls.

5. There will be absolutely zero physical contact between campers, except in group activities specifically mandated by a counselor.

6. Any discussions of alternative lifestyles outside of group therapy are strictly prohibited, and anyone caught will be swiftly punished.

7. Privileges must be granted specifically by a counselor and must be verified by the rest of the campers in your sect.

8. Food is to be eaten in dining areas only. Only water is allowed into dormitories.

9. Wear your assigned uniforms and sleepwear at all times. Dress code is taken very seriously. Any alterations will be noticed and the alterer will be punished. 

10. If you catch someone violating this Honor Code, you are obligated to contact one of your counselors immediately. If not, you will be punished.

Richie tore off this front page and shoved the rest of the packet into his suitcase. If the rest of it was anything like that, he was not going to read it. 

He made off down the path, searching for his dormitory. Every single cabin looked exactly the same. Each had brown siding and a green roof. There were four steps outside of a green door that sat beside a row of four windows with thin, papery curtains. Above each door hung a small sign delineating its purpose: “Cafeteria,” “Laundry,” “Group.” None said “Dormitory.” 

Richie’s arm was starting to get tired from lugging around his suitcase (even if it was empty – he never made the claim to be athletic) and he desperately wanted a nap. Rather than continue his search for an evidently nonexistent cabin, Richie elected to plop down on the first piece of sitting material he saw. In this case, it was a sad looking bench that rested against a rusty metal fence, from which a sign saying “NO ENTRY” hung on limp chains. 

The bench was incredibly stiff. It probably would have been more comfortable to just lie down on the dirt, but as he had already sat, there didn’t seem to be much point in getting up again. Richie dug into his suitcase for a snack before remembering all of his food items had been confiscated. He groaned and rubbed his fingers into his eyes, trying to wipe away the sleepiness creeping into them.

“Hey, new kid,” a voice called, breaking his reverie. Richie looked up and was met with an outstretched hand. It was the red-head from earlier. “Beverly Marsh. You can call me Bev.”

Richie took it and gave it a polite shake. “Richard Tozier. Call me Richie.”

“Sounds good.” She plopped down next to him and took an exaggeratedly deep breath, stretching her freckled arms high into the air. As she came back to a regular sitting position, she took a quick glance at their surroundings. Her mouth upturned into a devious smirk. With a quick hand, she reached into her pocket and slid out a pack of Marlboro Reds. 

“You smoke?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. 

Richie nodded, a similar smirk tracing his own lips. Beverly perked up.

“Cool,” she said, getting to her feet. “Follow me, then.” She took one more furtive glance around before climbing up atop the bench and placing two hands against the fence railing. In one swift motion, she swung herself up and over, landing gracefully on the other side. She didn’t wait for him. She just gave him an insistent wave and began to make her way into the lining of trees. Richie watched her, both impressed and amused, then pushed himself up and followed her over the fence. 

Beverly led him along the muddied path into a little thicket of trees. They stopped in a clearing, where six tree stumps made up a small circle, almost like a meeting area. In the center was a small fire pit full of rocks and wood. 

“You gonna sacrifice me or something?” Richie mused, gesturing toward the pit. Beverly laughed, taking a seat on the left-most stump.

“Nah, you’re too skinny,” she quipped. “You couldn’t even feed Eddie.”

“Who’s Eddie?” 

“Another camper. Hypochondriac and a goody-two-shoes.”

“Wow,” Richie snorted. “Sounds like the life of the party.”

“You’d be surprised,” Beverly grinned, flipping open the Marlboro carton and placing a cigarette between her teeth. She offered him one, then lit her own. She took a long drag before passing the lighter to Richie. He flicked it open and lit his cigarette, savoring in the familiar, bitter flavor.

“So,” Bev continued, exhaling a gray puff of smoke. “How’d you end up here?”

“Parents,” Richie said, shortly.

“Okay, I figured that much. If you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine.”

“Yeah, just not right now.”

“That’s cool.” She rested her elbows on her knees and tapped some ash into the fire pit. “My girlfriend ratted on me.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s funny, because the first person I told was my ex, Ben, but he’s a total sweetheart. Didn’t tell a soul.” She took another drag, her wheezy laugh doing little to cover up the scowl that crossed her face. “Then Greta fucking Keene went to confession for the first time in her life and suddenly my dad had the totally random idea to send me to ‘summer camp.’”

“Shit,” Richie repeated.

“Shit.”

He and Beverly spent the greater half of the afternoon on the trail, smoking and talking about their lives back home. Later into their escapade, Beverly had led Richie out deeper into the forest where a little red box sat perched in a tree. She reached into her shirt and produced a silver key dangling from a chain around her neck. She stuck it into the lock and turned it, revealing a little white envelope.

“Secret post office,” she smirked. “It’s how Ben and I keep in contact. He drops stuff off in here and I take it back up to camp.”

Richie considered for a moment putting his own letters to Connor in there. Then he realized that Connor wouldn’t have any idea to come looking for them, nor would he likely care to. 

“Everything good?” Beverly asked, noticing the sudden overcast on Richie’s face. 

“Yeah, yeah totally,” Richie lied. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Just thinking.”

“Shocking.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed again. “You just don’t seem to take much consideration with your words.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just say whatever comes to mind. Don’t worry.” She stopped him before he could protest. “I like it. It’s actually a shame you’re a dude. We could’ve been a nice pair.”

“Damn, what a missed opportunity,” Richie sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “It’s probably for the best though. It would probably be difficult to cope with the lines of women clawing for a chance to be with this hunk of alpha male right here.” 

“Ah yes, thank you for your consideration,” Beverly snorted, a grin painting her lips as she took a final drag from her cigarette. 

Maybe it won’t be so bad here, Richie thought, looking over at Beverly, stretched out under the shade of the trees. Maybe.

Chapter Text

As the sun began to set, Beverly and Richie made their way back to the camp. Richie still had his manilla envelope with him, but it was significantly lighter as he and Bev had made a point of using each page as kindling for the tiny fire pit. Beverly made a point to check their surroundings every so often for adults and do-gooder campers. Finally, they climbed back over the fence and retook their seats on the bench. 

“Man,” Richie whistled. “Is every day like this?”

Beverly gave a wistful sigh. “I wish. Since I’m the greeter for new campers, Dr. Phillips gave me a free day to 'introduce’ you guys to the facilities.”

“He’s a weird guy,” Richie muttered, dusting a stray twig from his jeans.

“‘He?” Beverly repeated with a quizzical look.

“Yeah, Martin.”

Beverly paused for a moment before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

“What?” Richie huffed.

“Yeah, that’s not Dr. Phillips,” she laughed. “That’s her husband. Dr. Phillips is the camp director here, and whew,” she whistled. “She makes Stalin look like a favorable leader.”

Richie’s heart fell, but before he could ask any further questions, a bell chimed over a loudspeaker and a tinny voice rang out from it.

“6:30! EVERYONE PLEASE REPORT TO THE CAFETERIA FOR DINNER. THANK YOU.” 

Richie winced as another bell rang sharply. He rubbed at his ears. Beverly gave his arm a lighthearted squeeze.

“Hey, no touching,” he joked, trying to cover up the sinking feeling in his stomach. She replied with a playful punch to his shoulder.

“Don’t be a smartass,” she grinned. 

As they made their way to the cafeteria, they were joined by small streams of fellow campers. All of them had little badges around their necks. Richie glanced over to see if Beverly was wearing one. She wasn’t. Just as he was about to ask, a short boy with sandy-brown hair popped up by her shoulder.

“Bev, where’s your badge?” he squawked. Beverly looked down and an expression of amused surprise crossed her face.

“Hm, guess I forgot it,” she shrugged. 

“You don’t wanna get in trouble,” the boy continued. He walked almost twice as fast as them and had to keep stopping to wait for Beverly to catch up, creating awkward pauses in his rambling. “You’re already on thin ice with… Sorry, you’re on thin ice with Dr. Phillips already and I don’t… I don’t want you to get your privileges taken… Away again, you know? Actually–”

“Damn, you really don’t shut up, do you?” Richie groaned. 

The other boy stopped in his tracks. “You can’t talk like that out here!” he said in a harsh whisper. “Are you kidding me? Didn’t you even–”

“Jeez, chill out, buddy,” Richie said, dismissively. “What, is the Big-Bad Swear Word Cop gonna come and arrest me?” He leaned in a little closer. “What if I said, ass?” 

The boy inhaled sharply. 

“Or, shit?”

He saw the boy’s face twist up with a mixture of fear and rage.

“Or even,” Richie continued, a delighted grin creeping across his face. “Fuck?” 

The boy went ghostly white, his jaw bobbing up and down silently as he grappled for the right retort.

“C’mon,” Beverly stepped in to separate the two. “Give the kid a break, will you?”

Richie rolled his eyes. The other boy glared at him.

“Well, Beverly,” the boy huffed. “I’m going to go eat on the porch, if you’re planning on joining.” And with one final, nasty look at Richie, he stormed off.

“Wow, isn’t he a pleasure,” Richie muttered.

“Eddie can be a hard pill to swallow,” she chuckled, watching him disappear into the crowd.

“Ah, so that’s Eddie.”

“Yup.”

The cafeteria was packed. It wasn’t so much that there were a lot of people; there just wasn’t much room. There were about twelve picnic-style tables, each seating about six campers, scattered about the room. Beside the entrance there was a metal railing that divvied up two lines for food – one for pizza, the other for pasta. 

“Ah, they’ve got the good shit,” Richie whispered to Beverly. She let out a small snicker before taking her place at the end of the pizza line. Richie followed suit, grabbing a tray and joining her. He leaned against the metal railing and stared up at the chalkboard sign above the kitchen space.

FRIDAY, MAY 15, 1991: PIZZA AND PASTA NIGHT! REMINDER: ANY MEDICATION MUST BE CHECKED OUT FROM DR. PHILLIPS BY 8:00 PM. CURFEW IS 8:30 TONIGHT.

“Tonight?” Richie questioned. “Is curfew ever later than 8:30?”

Beverly shrugged. “Sometimes on weekends and holidays they’ll let us out until 10:00.”

They made it to the front of the line. A plump, pleasant looking woman with far too much blush gave them a toothless smile. Beverly held up two fingers, and the woman slapped two pieces of cheese pizza onto her tray. Beverly thanked her before moving down the line for green beans and an apple. Richie also asked for two slices, but skipped the rest of the food. Beverly gave his tray an approving nod.

Richie followed Beverly through a door and out onto the deck of the cafeteria cabin. There sat a small circle of wiry chairs surrounding a well-worn table. And at the seat directly below the window was Eddie, holding a paper bag in one hand, a bottle of some kind of green liquid in the other. Richie groaned and looked at Beverly pleadingly, but she gave him a much more intimidating “get your ass over here” glare, so he obliged. 

Richie took the seat across from Eddie. Eddie hadn’t noticed him, appearing engrossed in unpacking his dinner from its paper bag. Richie leaned across the rickety table.

“What’s in the bag?”

Eddie jumped. He looked up from his meal, startled, eyes narrowing as soon as he saw Richie.

“You again?” he muttered.

“The one and only!” Richie announced, leaning back in his chair. He swiped up a piece of pizza and propped his feet up on the table. Eddie went back to his dinner, taking out several items neatly wrapped in aluminum foil.

“What’s that?” Richie asked through a mouthful of pizza. Eddie glanced up at him.

“That’s disgusting.”

“What is?”

“Talking while you chew. It’s gross.”

“It’s actually delicious, but to each his own.”

Eddie went to set down another aluminum item and saw Richie’s muddied boots resting in his way. A look of disgust flashed across his face.

“Can you take your shoes off the table?”

Richie cocked his head to the side and examined his shoes. Then he shook his head somberly. “I’m afraid not.”

“Seriously?” Eddie’s face was growing red. Richie wondering how many colors he would be able to make him turn before the night was up. Eddie turned to Beverly. “Is he real? Can I turn him off or something?”

“I’m more easily turned on than off.” 

Eddie whirled around to Richie with an expression of absolute horror. “What!?” he yelped. “That’s fucking gross–”  He clamped a hand over his own mouth, but it was too late. Richie roared with laughter.

“Excuse me, Mr. Kaspbrak?” A shrill voice cut through the noise, a shuddering silence passing over them. “What was that you just said?” It belonged to a tall, domineering woman in a maroon skirt and pointed black heels. The large necklace that swung hauntingly in front her ruffled shirt bore a large crucifix. A badge clipped to the side of her suit-jacket read “Dr. Katherine Phillips, Camp Director.” Eddie’s face had drained of color, and even Beverly turned a little green.

“N-nothing,” Eddie stammered, staring at the ground. 

“Don’t lie to me!” she snapped. Eddie flinched. “My office, now.”

“Wait, it’s not his fault!” Richie yelped. Katherine turned slowly on her heel to face him, her sharp eyes boring holes into his skin. “It was me.” 

Katherine turned to Beverly. “Is this true?” she asked, voice threateningly low. Beverly stared back with wide, terrified eyes. Richie gave her quick nod.

“Yes,” she mumbled. Her hands were gripped so tightly around the arms of the chair that her knuckles had gone white. Katherine backed away from Beverly to take in Richie, who was now sitting up much straighter.

“You must be new,” she said. Richie nodded. She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Have you been given a copy of our Honor Code?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see panic light up on Beverly’s face. His copy of the Honor Code had been aggressively vandalized and now served as kindling for the fire pit. But, Richie shook his head hoping – praying – that she wouldn’t see how much sweat was beading at his neck.

“Fine, then,” she said, breaking the tension. “I suppose we can’t fault you for what you didn’t know. I’ll have to speak to Martin about check-in procedures when I see him.” She glanced down at his suitcase, which was sitting beside him. “Haven’t you been to your room?” 

Richie shook his head again. Katherine rubbed an exasperated hand across her face and grumbled something into it. After a tense moment, she composed herself and finished with one last note. “Stop by my office once you’re finished with dinner. I will check you in myself as Martin seems incapable of doing so. And, Mr. Kasprak?” Eddie jumped at the sound of his name. “See me tomorrow morning for your session.”

Eddie gave a small, quick nod directed at his shoes rather than at Katherine. She gave them a furtive nod and one last look, which lingered on Richie for a while longer than the rest, before making her way back through the door into the main cafeteria building.

The three of them let out a collective breath of relief. Eddie shuddered, and Beverly gave his foot a comforting nudge.

“Meet Dr. Phillips,” Beverly said. An attempted laugh was choked by the shaking in her voice.

None of them said anything after that. Beverly didn’t finish her food. She looked queasy, unable to even look at her tray. Eddie slowly unwrapped his foiled items – seven tins marked with different prescription labels. Richie watched him open each one and take out a pill, swallowing it with a gulp of his green juice. The way he did it was so methodical, his hands seemed to move through them without thought, just open, close, swallow. Open, close, swallow. Once or twice, Eddie almost caught Richie staring, but he always looked away just in time.

Then, the door to the cafeteria swung open and two more people walked out. The first was a lanky, pale boy with brown hair cut into sharp bangs that hung loosely across his forehead. The second was taller and sturdier, with strong muscles that showed from beneath his uniform as he walked. The two sat between Beverly and Eddie, already immersed in conversation. 

“I just don’t think it means anything, man,” the taller one said, leaning back and taking a bite of his pizza.

“I’m juh-just saying that he di-didn’t look guh-good,” the other one insisted. He had a very prominent stutter. At that moment, the taller one caught sight of Richie and perked up. 

“Hey,” he said with a soft grin. “Are you new here?” 

Richie nodded and stuck out his hand. The boy took it and gave it a firm shake.

“I’m Richie Tozier, nice to meet ya,” he said, returning the smile.

“I’m Mike. Mike Hanlon,” the other replied. “This is Bill.” He gestured over to the shorter, skinnier boy next to him. “And I guess you’ve already met Bev and Eddie.”

Eddie let out a disapproving scoff that didn’t go unnoticed by Mike. He raised an eyebrow to Bev, but she just gave him a dismissive shrug. Mike continued. 

“I’m staying in Dormitory 3, Room 5 with Marcus. Eddie and Bill are in Room 4. Do you know where you’re staying?”

“Wow, Bev,” Richie swooned. “Watch out, he might steal your job.” Mike blushed slightly at that.

“Wouldn’t I be so lucky?” Bev replied. With a heavy sigh, she pushed her seat back and collected her tray. “I’m turning in early. Don’t get into too much trouble, boys.” 

“Can’t puh-promise,” Bill called after her, smirking. He was holding one tray, but it was stacked with four slices of pizza and two bowls of plain, buttered pasta. 

“Damn,” Richie said, in a little awe. “How do you eat like that and stay lookin’ like a stick?”

Bill blinked at him, confused, before looking down at his tray and realizing what Richie was referring to. 

“Oh!” he let out a high, forced laugh. “Yeah, I’m juh-just really h-huh-hungry.”  

But he didn’t even touch the food. Richie eyed him skeptically, but Bill refused to acknowledge it. Eddie was the next to turn in. He gathered up his tins of pills and crumpled them back inside of the paper bag. 

“Bye Mike. Bye Bill,” he said with a wave. Richie leaned forward in his seat and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Bye Eds!” he called. Eddie stopped mid-step and whirled on Richie.

“Don’t call me that!” he growled, finger pointed dangerously close to Richie’s chest. Richie held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry, Eddie,” he smirked, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Thank you.” Eddie spun back around and marched through the cafeteria door. As Richie watched him go, a yawn escaped his mouth. He stretched his long arms high into the air and leaned back, taking a deep breath.

“Well, it was nice meeting you guys, but I think I’d better be off. Got a meeting with the Doc.”

Bill and Mike exchanged a worried look. 

“Guh-good luck,” Bill managed. Even though it was getting dark, Richie could make out the pained grimace that crossed his face. Mike asked if he needed directions but Richie declined. With a final wave at the two new faces, Richie made his way back through the cafeteria and down into the road, trying desperately to ignore the pangs of anxiety running through his chest. 

Chapter Text

The steps that led up to Katherine’s office were pristine – not a speck of mud or a stray scuff marked the wood. Even the railings were completely free of dents or chips. As he made his way up each spotless step, Richie became aware of how violently his hands were trembling within his pockets.

Despite there only being about four steps, the journey to the door seemed to take hours. At long last, he was there, standing in front of the blue-green door. He placed a fist against it, but was unable to bring himself to knock. It’s just a door, he thought, growing frustrated with his own apprehension. Knock, you fucking coward. He knocked three times.

It swung open almost immediately. The face that greeted him was tired, carrying heavy bags that traced the lower lids of gray eyes and a mouth that slouched above a whiskered chin.

“Dr. Phillips told me to come here after dinner,” Richie said, faux bravado returning to his stature.

The man nodded and opened the door fully, allowing Richie to enter. Katherine’s office was incredibly polished. There were bookshelves of “approved” reads and rows upon rows of boxes labeled with the names of various campers organized by a color system Richie couldn’t quite figure out. In the center was a marble table with a check-out sheet for medication and a beautiful dozen of bright yellow roses in heart-shaped vase. 

The soft click of heels drew Richie’s attention to the leftmost doorway, through which Katherine had just entered.

“Mr. Tozier, is it?” she asked as she made her way to her desk. 

“Yes.” All that prior confidence was leaking out of Richie like condensation on a cold glass.

Katherine made little to no noise as she picked up her clipboard and scanned for his name. Evidently she had found it as her face dropped into a scowl.

“Mr. Tozier, can you tell me what’s wrong with this?” She asked, turning the clipboard toward Richie. He swallowed hard as he found his name. There was already a red mark along the ‘checked-in’ column.

“Not sure,” he lied. Something in his mind was still telling him to mouth-off, say something stupid. “Looks good to me.”

“Your name has already been checked off,” she replied, voice dangerously quiet.

“Oh, that’s weird,” Richie said, barely maintaining his goofy demeanor. His fingers were beginning to unconsciously pluck at the loose threads of his pants.

“Yes, that’s weird,” she repeated. The silence was setting in like concrete, smothering Richie in its weight. Then the clipboard was dropped back onto the desk with a clatter, and Katherine spoke again.

“Have a seat.”

Richie obeyed without protest. He slid into one of the padded chairs across from Katherine.

“Mr. Tozier,” she sighed. “We cannot help you heal if you are not committed to treatment. Do you know why?”

Richie was silent.

“Because we cannot save a sinner who refuses to repent. Your parents love you so much. They don’t want to see you suffer. And your suffering causes them suffering. Do you want your parents to suffer?”

Richie shook his head.

“I’m glad. Then are you willing to commit to your treatment?”

Richie nodded.

“Good.” Her body softened back into her chair, and for a split second Richie thought she had smiled. She continued, “Now, since you seem to have misplaced your welcome packet, I took the liberty of reprinting it for you.” She produced a crisp manilla envelope from below her desk and placed it in front of him. Richie picked it up, turning it over in delicate fingers. “I’m expecting you to read every word in there, do you understand?”

Richie nodded.

“Good. Now, I know Martin has already searched your belongings, and because we operate on trust here, I will not check again. Unless you give me reason to. Do you give me reason to?”

Richie shook his head.

“Good. Lastly, here are your camp items.” She pulled from beneath the desk a labeled box which she placed in front of him. “If you follow the rules well, you should not have to see me outside of therapy. You are dismissed.”

Richie gripped the box and the envelope tightly between his fingers and scooped up his very light bag. As he stood to go, he became aware of his heart slamming into the confines of his ribcage. The feeling made him dizzy and he considered leaning against the chair for support. But no, Katherine was watching. And he was not about to give her the satisfaction of having had any impact on him. Resolved, he piled the bag, box, and envelope atop each other and walked, as jauntily as he could manage, out the door.

Anxiety hit him like a truck the moment his shoes made contact with the gravel. No longer just contained in his heart, it racked against his head, his stomach, his hands. He was blinking away at fogginess in his vision. Stupid dirty glasses!

Richie pulled off his glasses with a spare hand and rubbed them against his shirt. But the smudges were only getting worse, smearing across the lenses and clouding them completely. He laughed in indignation, scrubbing harder and harder. Then the laugh broke in his throat. Before he could stop them, hot, wet tears burst from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

Stupid me, Richie thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He let go of the bags and boxes and used the now empty hand to rub away at the embarrassing tears. He was so grateful for the darkness. 

Finally, he began to blink dry eyes. The fact that the previous moment had just occurred was baffling to him. No one could elicit that kind of reaction from him usually. He licked his lips, chapped from the breaths he had been heaving mere moments ago. He was exhausted. He needed to sleep. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he took in his surroundings. One of the cabins along this path would be his dormitory. 

This time, he used the map. He didn’t have it with him, but when he and Beverly were in the forest, he had discovered it amidst the thick stack of papers in the envelope. In moments it had been committed to memory. Richie had always been good at things like that – academic things. But he didn’t tell anyone that.

At long last, he found himself standing outside a long, dimly lit cabin. Above the green-painted door hung quaint gold letters that read, “DORMITORY 7.” A sigh of relief escaped his lips. Fucking finally. 

Inside was a well-lit hallway with a row of doors. Each door was decorated with a single number. Underneath the number were handwritten signs that said the names of the occupants. Many showed off the personality of their authors – block letters and doodles and other various embellishments. Richie admired the way that, at least within these walls, it felt like a home. 

“Room 3,” he said to himself as he began to scan across each door. “Room 3. Room 3. Aha!” There it was. The third one down, who would have thought? On the door hung a sign that, in neat, simple letters spelled, “Stanley Uris” and underneath it, “Richard Tozier.” He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. As soon as he met his roommate, this Stanley guy, he would discuss vamping it up. Maybe adding color or a drawing, or literally anything else. 

The door lacked a key, so Richie took the handle and turned it without hesitation. In a swift movement, he was standing inside the four beige walls of his new room. 

It was the most boring thing he had seen in his entire life. Every single wall was completely bare. There were two beds, both neatly made with the pillows sitting in a pleasant formation – the sheets were even tucked under the mattress. There was a white nightstand that separated the beds with a single lamp atop it. On either side of the room stood matching white dressers, not a single blemish present. If it hadn’t been for the neat row of books lining the leftmost one, Richie would have assumed that no one had lived there yet.

“Hello?” 

Richie nearly jumped out of his skin. He swiveled around and found himself facing a boy with sharply defined features and a mop of curly, blondish hair. His eyes were a pale brown and seemed to be examining Richie’s entire being from his vantage point right outside the door. This must be Stanley. 

“‘Ello, nice to meetcha,” Richie bellowed in his terrible British accent. “I’m Richie Tozier. Nice to meetcha, guv-nah!” He extended a hand toward him.

Stanley didn’t take it. In fact, he backed up slightly. On his face was a look of pure bewilderment. 

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Is this real?”

“Blimey, do ya doubt me? I’m ya’ real roommate!” 

Stanley continued to stare at him wordlessly, eyes darting from the outstretched hand to Richie’s messy attire and back down again. 

“Geez.” Richie dropped his hand and the accent. “Excuse me for trying to make a joke.”

“Is that what that was?” Stanley replied, monotone. He stood frozen in place, watching Richie with a calculating gaze.

“You gonna come in, or…?”

“You’re standing in the doorway.”

Richie took a step back. “Better?”

Stanley didn’t nod. He didn’t reply in any way; he just slipped past Richie into the room and proceeded to lift one of the books from its place atop the dresser. 

“Ooh, whatcha got there?” Richie shimmied up next to him and made a grab for another book. Stan sucked in sharply through his teeth. Richie turned to him. “What?”

“Please don’t touch that,” Stan sputtered. His eyes were full of alarm, his whole body rigid. Richie backed up, hands held above his head.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hit a nerve there,” he said, making his way across the room. Stanley let out a deep breath and sat himself gently atop his bed, opening the book to a page marked with a blue bookmark.

Richie examined the dresser opposite Stanley. “So, I take it this is my side?”

“Yes.”

“Can I do whatever I want to it? You gonna jump me if I touch anything?”

There wasn’t any reply beside the noise of Stan flipping a page of his book. Richie took a final glance toward him before moving his box and bag over to the right side of the room. After he unpacked his toothbrush and his underwear (which he shoved haphazardly into the top drawer), he moved onto the box. Richie yanked off the lid and chucked it into the corner. He peered at its contents. 

On top was a crisply folded, navy blue polo and a pair of khaki pants. These he also shoved into the top drawer. Underneath was a pair of long, soft, blue and black checkered pants and a white T-shirt. He glanced over to Stanley, who was wearing the exact same thing. Pajamas. These he placed on the bed. Finally, he came to the bottom-most items: his badge, a journal, two pens, and a tiny, stuffed elephant. He plucked the last item out and stared at it.

“What the hell is this for?” he asked. No answer. “Helloooo? Stanley? Earth to Stanley?”

“It’s just Stan,” he muttered. “Only my dad calls me Stanley.”

“Damn, everyone here uses nicknames, don’t they? Next thing I know you’re gonna tell me Bill’s real name is William!”

“It is.”

“Well would you look at that!” Richie exclaimed in false awe. “You’re just so smart! I bet you’re so smart you could even tell me why the hell there’s a stuffed elephant at the bottom of my box!”

Stan set down his book with an undefined expression. “It’s a therapy animal. It’s supposed to help us build emotional connectivity.”

Richie pursed his lips, mulling over the new information. “Cool,” he said, finally. “Where’s your elephant?”

Stan pointed at the dresser. Richie hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a stuffed robin leaning against his row of books. Richie frowned.

“Sorry to tell ya, Stan, but that’s not an elephant.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Stan deadpanned. Richie was taken aback for a moment. After Eddie’s explosive reaction, he had assumed most campers were sticklers about Honor Code violations.

Stan resumed reading his book and Richie desperately fought back the urge to say something snarky. Instead, he gathered up his toothbrush and headed out into the hallway. He stood there for a moment before re-entering the room. Sorry, Stan, but you’re gonna have to deal with me one more time.

“Yo, Stan! Where’s the bathroom?”

Stan didn’t look up. “Next door to the left. We have a joint one with Room 4.” 

“Cool, thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Richie exited once more and strode one door down. He twisted the knob and flung it open. Much to his surprise, there was another person in there.

“Not you,” groaned Eddie Kaspbrak.

“The one and only!” replied Richie in a cheerful voice. He set down his toothbrush against the counter and picked up a tube of toothpaste lying nearby.

“That’s mine,” Eddie protested, but Richie was already squeezing it out along the bristles of his brush.

“Oops.”

“Oops? Do you know how disgusting that is? There are like, a billion germs on my toothpaste now!” He snatched the tube from Richie’s hands and continued complaining. “Ew, you got it all messy. Why did you even use that much?” 

“I think it’s kinda sweet,” Richie hummed, placing his toothbrush in his mouth. “We’ve shared germs. Now we’re like spit brothers.”

Eddie muttered something indistinct, now furiously rubbing the tip of the tube with soap. Richie watched him with amusement. 

“This isn’t funny!” he whined. 

“It’s kinda funny.” Richie spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth.

“No it’s not!”

“I beg to differ.”

Eddie rounded on him. “Why are you such a jerk?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Since we met all you’ve done is insult me and make fun of me!”

“No I haven’t.”

“Yes you have!”

“Give me an example.”

“Right now!”

“Whatever.”

“You’re just some arrogant moron who doesn’t care about the rules!” Eddie’s pitch was rising rapidly.

“Does anyone?”

“I do!”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

“There it is! You talk to me like I’m stupid!”

“Well maybe if you didn’t strut around like you’re better than everyone–”

“I don’t!”

“Yeah, you do!” They were both yelling now. “Getting on Bev for her badge and then yelling at me for swearing–”

“I’m just trying to go HOME!” Eddie screamed. He was heaving strained breaths, his face red, hands shaking. He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew his aspirator. After a few pumps, he started to breathe more evenly, the red draining from his face. 

Richie was silent. All of his anger had dissipated, replaced by the all too familiar feeling of guilt. He tried to take a step forward, but invisible weights held him in place. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed. Eddie didn’t look at him. “Really, I’m sorry. You’re right, I’ve been a jerk. I guess… I was just freaked out about being here.”

“We all are.”

“Yeah.” The weights seemed to lift from his feet, and he was able to move very slightly toward Eddie. He reached out a hand to try and comfort him, but Eddie flinched away. Right. No touching. The gesture at least seemed to have been noticed because Eddie peered at Richie with a look more becoming of curiosity than distaste before he scurried past him and into the hallway. 

After shutting the door to their room as quietly as possible, Stan initiated conversation for the first time that evening. He was already under his covers.

“That was loud.”

“Eddie and I got into a fight.”

“I could hear.”

“Yeah.” 

“He’s really fragile,” Stan said. “It’s just him and his mom and she’s… Overbearing. He’s not used to being without her.” 

Richie paused. “Were you and Eddie friends before this?”

“We went to middle school together. In high school we stopped talking.”

“Why?”

“People grow apart.” 

He said it with finality, but Richie sensed there was something more to the story. He didn’t prod for it. Instead, he picked up the pajama set from its crumpled heap on his bed and began to take off his own clothes. He stopped.

“Sorry, are you good with me changing in here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just…” Richie trailed off. “I dunno. Stupid question.” 

“Hmph.”

He slipped into his pajamas and pulled back the covers to the bed. They were actually quite nice. Stan rolled over in his own bed and flicked off the lamp.

Chapter Text

Richie barely slept that night. He didn’t think Stan could either because he heard him rustling back and forth beneath his sheets for hours. The clock on the wall ticked constantly, just loud enough to be annoying. At around one in the morning, their door was gently pushed open and someone’s sock-padded feet walked quietly into the room. After a moment, the door was closed again and the feet softly thumped down the hall.

“Does that happen every night?” Richie whispered, rolling over to face Stan.

“Yeah,” Stan mumbled back. “To make sure we don’t sneak out.”

Stan went silent and Richie resumed his miserable attempt to fall asleep. It must have worked at some point because when he glanced over at the clock it read 6:30 AM. Richie sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He reached out for his glasses, sitting on the nightstand, and allowed the world to come into focus once more. As he glanced over to the bed next to him, he noticed that Stan was already dressed, sitting on his bed crosslegged, and reading.

“Rise and shine,” he hummed as Richie stood to gather his uniform. It was severely wrinkled now. He saw Stan crinkle his nose at the sight.

“What?” Richie asked in slight embarrassment.

“How did you even do that?” 

Richie shrugged. “We all have our talents.”

Stan sighed and reached out his hand. Richie stared back, confused.

“If you give it to me, I can take it to the laundry center and press it out for you,” he explained, shutting his book and walking over to Richie.

“Oh, thanks,” Richie said, handing it off. Richie noticed how dry and cracked Stan’s hands were. “Woah, want some lotion there?” 

Stan glanced down at his hands and immediately shoved them into his pockets, shifting the laundry under his arm. His cheeks were tinged with pink. 

“I’ll head out then,” he mumbled, turning and leaving the room quickly. Richie let his gaze follow him out. 

That was weird, he thought. 

-

Stan returned with his uniform within the hour. It had been expertly pressed and steamed – so expertly that Richie had trouble believing it was the work of another teenager.

“Thanks, dude!” Richie chirped. He slipped the polo over his head. “Ah, feels like a warm hug.” 

That actually elicited a minuscule fragment of a chuckle from Stan, which Richie took as his greatest achievement yet. The two of them placed their lanyards over their necks, adjusted their badges, and set off for the cafeteria.

Richie kept trying to start conversation with Stan, but he was continuously shut down by his short, dry remarks.

Just when Richie was about to give up, the sound of footsteps pounding up the gravel road joined them.

“Hey!” It was Beverly. Her long red hair was still pulled into a low ponytail, her thin lips curled into a bright smile. She placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, “I got a letter from Ben.”

“Nice!” Richie exclaimed, pulling back to give her a high five. “What did it say?”

“I haven’t opened it yet, silly.”

“New letter?” Stan chimed in, still taking his careful, evenly-paced steps. 

Beverly nodded eagerly. “It’s still in the mailbox, but I was figuring we could all go and check it out after group.”

“Group?” Richie asked.

Stan scowled. “Where we all sit in a circle and say whatever bull Dr. Phillips wants to hear.”

“But,” Beverly cut in. “Afterwards we get some free ‘reflection time.’” She winked and revealed the top of a carton of Marlboros in her skirt pocket.

“Hey guys!” Another person ran up to join them. It was Mike, all soft smile and sturdy frame. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Just came back from a run.”

“We’re going to do some ‘hiking’ after group today, if you wanna come,” Beverly smirked. Mike beamed.

“Sounds great!”

“Nice! Four out of Six collected!” she grinned. “Seven if you count Ben.”

“New note?” Mike asked, excitedly.

“Yup!”

The four of them made their way to the cafeteria. The chalkboard from the night before had been wiped clean and now read:

SATURDAY, MAY 16, 1991: OATMEAL. REMINDER: GROUP THERAPY AT 10:00 AM. DO NOT BE LATE.

Richie served himself a sad bowl of grey oatmeal and withered blueberries. He gazed down at his tray, frowning.

“I miss pizza,” he grumbled. Beverly and Mike chuckled. Stan grimaced.

The four of them made their way out to the back deck where Eddie and Bill were already sitting. They all took their seats around the dinky table, Stan sitting on Bill’s left, Beverly on his right. After Mike took his seat, the only one left was directly next to Eddie. Richie slid in and set his tray on his lap. 

“‘Sup, Eds,” he said, shoveling a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

“I told you not to call me that,” he grumbled, but with less hostility than before.

“I guess I just love seeing you get all flustered,” Richie mused. Eddie stared at him, eyes wide, and Richie flashed him an oatmeal-filled grin. 

The rest of the meal went smoothly with the exception of Richie flicking a blueberry at Eddie, who caught it in his bowl and proceeded to panic about it being contaminated.

A piercing ring sounded over the loudspeaker, and the voice that Richie now recognized as Katherine’s began to speak.

“GROUP IN TEN MINUTES. DO NOT BE LATE. THANK YOU.”

Everyone exchanged nervous glances. Bill was the first to stand up.

“Wuh-well, I’m guh-gonna head off.” 

Stan stood up almost immediately after him and they walked back into the cafeteria together. The next one to leave was Eddie, followed by Mike. Beverly waited for Richie to finish eating before standing to go.

The walk to group was silent, which Richie found unnerving. Beverly’s eyes were fixed straight ahead, her mouth set. He saw he fiddle with the collar of her shirt, realizing that it lay directly over her mailbox key.

The group cabin was disconcertingly sterile. The air inside was hot, but Richie still found himself shivering. He followed the line of campers as they made their way inside like ants. Following, following, following, one after another until they had formed a line behind a plastic foldout table behind which Martin sat, clipboard in hand. 

“Patricia you’re in Group 4 with Dr. Blume. Lenny, Group 6 with Dr. Lee.”

One by one, they all filed into the various rooms that ran along the hallway. 

“Ah, Richie,” Martin greeted him with a less than pleased tone. Word had likely spread of his little escapade the previous night. “Let me see… You’re in Group 1 with Dr. Phillips.”

Of course, Richie thought, bitterly. Of course I get the Doc.

He entered room one, concealing his trembling fists within the pockets of his khakis. Inside, he found Eddie, Mike, Beverly, Bill, Stan, and two girls he didn’t recognize. He took a seat beside Beverly, who gave him a reassuring nod, although she looked like she was about to melt – from what, he wasn’t sure.

“That looks like everyone,” Katherine said as he settled in against the gleaning wooden chair. “Now, since Mr. Tozier is new here, why don’t we all introduce ourselves? Please stand and state your name, your age, and how long you’ve been here. Mr. Hanlon, let’s start with you.”

Mike stood up, clasping his hands in front of him. “Hi, I’m Mike Hanlon. I’m sixteen. I’ve been here for five weeks.” Everyone gave him a polite round of applause. Next was Eddie.

“Hello. I’m Eddie Kasprak. I’m sixteen. I’ve been here for two months.” Another round of applause.

“Hi, Beverly Marsh. But everyone just calls me Bev. I’m seventeen. Here for three months and two days.”

“Muh-m-my name is Buh-Bill Denbuh-brough. Seventeen. I’ve b-been here f-fuh-for four weeks.” 

“Hi, I’m Stanley Uris. I’m sixteen. I’ve been here for two and a half months.” 

The other two girls were Natalia Ramirez, fourteen, there for two weeks, and Mary Lynch, fifteen, there for three months. 

Finally, it came to Richie. He stood up and fixed his glasses. With a clear of his throat he announced, “Richie Tozier, pleasure to meetcha. Turned seventeen two months ago. This is my second day here.” A spattering of applause. Katherine took the floor again.

“Thank you all. Today, we are going to discuss the relationship between ourselves and those who we have committed sin alongside. I would like us to all be honest about our reasons for being here. Admitting to sin is the first step toward recovery. I’m going to open the room to anyone who would like to speak.”

They sat in silence. Richie couldn’t help but notice the way that Eddie’s leg bounced up and down rapidly, making his chair squeak. Stan picked at his nails. Beverly continued to rub at the hidden key beneath her shirt. 

“I’ll go,” Mike spoke up. Everyone turned to look at him. “I used to help my grandad out at the farm. There was a boy who delivered our newspapers and I started to have sinful dreams about him, so I told my grandad.”

“And what were the contents of these dreams?” Katherine asked, her eyes glinting with pleasure.

“Do I have to say?” Mike asked, sheepishly.

“Yes.”

Mike cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was raspy and strained. “It was, uh. Ha. We were feeding the horses and… And we went to one of the haystacks. But we didn’t, uh, feed them. We…” he trailed off.

“Please continue, Mr. Hanlon.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He coughed, wiping his hands on his pants. “I took off his shirt and I kissed him. And he kissed me, too. Then he, uh, he started to take his hand and we, uh… We engaged in sinful exercises.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hanlon. That’s enough. Campers, let’s give Mr. Hanlon a statement of thanks for his bravery.”

In unison, all the others, with the exception of Richie, spoke in a terrifyingly monotone cadence, “We commend you for your confessions.”

“Now, what measures have you taken to relieve yourself of these dreams?” she asked. When she smiled, Richie could see how perfect her teeth were. Too perfect. There was something deeply unsettling about them.

Mike rubbed his hands together. “Well, I stopped letting myself open the door for him, and I stopped inviting him inside. And… I’ve been doing some of the, the techniques you showed me.” At the word “technique,” Mike’s voice cracked slightly, but he continued as though it hadn’t. “And they’ve been going away.”

“Very good,” Katherine smiled. “Very good, Mike. Would anyone else like to share?” Her eyes fell on Bill, who kept opening and closing his mouth as though debating whether or not to speak. “Mr. Denbrough, is there something you would like to say?” 

Bill nodded, and began to answer, but stuttered through every word. “Uh-uh-I’m huh-here for-for-for–”

Katherine held up a hand to stop him. “If your disability is going to prevent you from conveying your message appropriately, I’m going to ask you to write it down and have Mr. Uris read it for you.” 

Bill turned beet red and dropped his eyes to his feet. Stan’s shot a furious look toward Katherine, but luckily she was preoccupied obtaining a sheet of paper and a pen from underneath her chair. 

“Here you are,” she said, passing the paper and pen to Bill. He took them silently, and began to write, slow and deliberate. “While Mr. Denbrough writes, why don’t we have someone else share? A lady, this time. Ms. Marsh?”

Beverly shifted in her chair and pushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Where do you want me to start?” she asked.

“Wherever you feel is best.”

“Okay. Um, it was my seventeenth birthday, I guess. invited over some friends. One of them was this girl from school. That night, she and I drank a little too much. She kissed me. And for a while we just sort of… Met up in random places and… Kissed.” 

“Just kissed?”

“…Yeah. We–”

Katherine let out a low hum that stopped Beverly mid-sentence. “I apologize for my interruption, but that isn’t the entire story, is it, Ms. Marsh?” Her eyes were narrowed, head cocked to the side with sadistic amusement. Beverly squirmed slightly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Katherine leaned forward in her seat. “I would be glad to speak for you, but you know what happens when you lie in group.” 

Beverly’s face was drained of color. She tried to speak, but a petrified whimper was all that escaped her lips.

“One last warning, Ms. Marsh.”

Beverly's eyes were flitting left to right and back again, like she was searching for an escape. There was none. Her hands grabbed uselessly at her skirt, trying to still the shaking that was slowly overtaking her thin frame. She pressed her lips into a thin line, and shook her head in a terrified 'no.'

“Hm, what a shame," Katherine sighed, leaning back into her chair. "We’ll speak more in our private session tomorrow. You may sit.”

Beverly took her seat once more, her body curled in on itself, her fingers tracing that spot where her key was hanging. 

“Mr. Denbrough, are you ready?” Katherine asked Bill, who had stopped writing. He nodded, and passed the paper to Stan, who took it with a reluctant grimace. Once it was in his grasp, he looked to Katherine. She gave him a nod of permission to begin reading.

“I started to figure it out in middle school,” he began, brown eyes fixed, hands steady. “I didn’t like girls the way my friends did. It was always more like a brother and sister relationship. I didn’t want to kiss them or touch them.” He paused for a moment, and his eyes darted further down the page. “I got a girlfriend in ninth grade. Her name was Audra, and I really liked her. After our Winter Formal we… We tried to have sex, but I got scared and stopped. I told her I was confused and that I needed help. Her parents suggested I be sent here, and my parents agreed.” Stan lowered the paper and handed it back to Bill, who was watching him with an expression of mild shock. Katherine seemed pleased, because she didn’t push Bill further. 

A beeping noise broke their silence, and she glanced down at the watch on her wrist. “Ah!” she exclaimed. “It would appear that our session has reached its conclusion. Next week, we’re going to pick up where we left off. For those of you who went today, we thank you for your honesty. Let us finish with a prayer.”

They all bowed their heads and murmured something quietly. Once they had finished, one by one, they filed out of the room and into the main section of the cabin. This time, Beverly didn’t wait for Richie. As soon as she had said “Amen,” she pushed her seat back and dashed out. Mike took off after her. 

Eddie, Stan, Bill, and Richie walked out together. They had a pretty good guess as to where Beverly had gone.

Once the central space had cleared of students heading back from group, the four of them climbed over the fence and down the trail. The trees grew thicker, and Richie took note of how much more breathable the air was the further they moved from the camp. They came upon the clearing with the six tree stumps to find Beverly curled in on herself, Mike resting a comforting hand over her shoulder, soothing her in whispered words.

They gathered around her. Some, like Bill, got closer, reaching out and wrapping her into a hug. Eddie sat down next to her and took one of her hands in his own. Stan stood further back, but all the same, watched with pained eyes. Richie sat on the stump next to her, unsure of what to do or say. 

The six of them stood there, silent except for Beverly’s sobs, and breathed the same heavy air. No one knew they were out there. That moment was just for them, and them alone.

Chapter Text

Nearly an hour had passed before Beverly calmed down.

“Sorry,” she sniffed, finally lifting her head from Mike’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to react like that.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” whispered Eddie, giving her hand a loving squeeze. “We understand.”

Beverly’s fingers traced down her collarbone and drew out the mailbox key. She held it up with a weak smile. “Who wants to go read Ben’s letter?”

Eddie accompanied her to the mailbox. After they had disappeared deeper into the trees, Richie turned to the rest of the group.

“What’s going on?” he asked hurriedly. 

There was a pause before anyone responded. Bill took the lead. “Ih-it’s complicated. Sh-she has a tough home luh-life.”

“I heard Eddie does, too,” Richie added with a glance at Stan, who turned away nervously.

“Wuh-where did you h-hear th-thu-that?” Bill replied.

“Uh, through the grapevine,” Richie covered. Bill nodded, but he looked suspicious. At that moment, Eddie and Beverly returned, Beverly with a pristine, white envelope in her hand. She held it up triumphantly.

“Open it up!” Eddie squeaked, practically bouncing beside her. She giggled and began to tear it open. Richie was glad to see a smile returning to her face, even if her eyes were still puffy and tearstained. 

“Let’s see…” Her eyes scanned it up and down and a grin broke out across her face. She read it aloud, “Dear Bev, I hope you’re doing alright at Saving Faith. I’ve been doing well back home. We’re going to Texas tomorrow, so I’m not going to be able to write for a few weeks. Do you know how much longer you’ll be there? We all miss you here. How are the other guys doing? Any trouble lately? Probably not, judging from what you’ve told me about them. Remember what my mom always told you: Keep your head high and your heart open. You’ll get through this. There’s a new girl at school. I think you’ll like her. I’ve got a feeling she’s more macaroni than penne :) Your best friend, Ben.” She smiled and folded the letter, holding it to her heart.

“He seems sweet,” Richie said. 

“He is,” Beverly replied. Her eyes were growing wet again, but not from sadness. She broke from her reverie and rubbed her hands together. “Okay! Reply time.” 

Everyone gathered around her as she hopped off the stump, now using it as a desk. Stan produced his notebook and neatly tore out a page from the back. He placed it on the stump alongside a black pen. Beverly was the first to pick it up. She clicked it a few times before leaning forward and scribbling out a few sentences.

Richie watched as they passed the pen between them, each writing their own message to Ben. Their handwritings were distinctly different. Beverly’s was slanted and curly, Eddie’s was short and wide. Mike’s was messy and Bill’s formed more of a wave than a line. Stan’s was the most legible, each letter deliberate and evenly spaced.

“Richie?”

“Hm?” He looked up from where he had been observing. 

“It’s your turn.” Stan was holding out the pen for Richie to take. Richie was surprised – he hadn’t thought he was really part of this group. It seemed so personal, like he was an intruder on a family gathering. Cautiously, Richie plucked the pen from his grasp. He read over everyone’s notes. Some were goofy, others more serious. He tapped the pen against his teeth, thinking.

“It’s not your manifesto,” Eddie said, appearing right next to him. He was kneeling down, his hands resting on the edge of the stump. “Just write whatever you want to. Ben’s really nice. He’s not going to judge you or anything.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Richie mumbled. But he didn’t want to just write anything. There was a sense of unease in his stomach. Everything was so new – he didn’t want to mess it up by making a bad impression with Ben. What if he hated him and turned everyone against him?

“Hey,” Eddie chimed in again. “Just be yourself.”

“That’s funny, coming from you.”

“I don’t hate you, Richie,” Eddie said. He had lifted his eyes from the page and was now looking directly at him. His eyes were so sweet – a warm, chocolate color.

A jolt ran through Richie’s spine. He turned back to the page before Eddie could see him blush. After he finished, they all stood back to admire their work.

Hey Ben! It’s been kinda shit here, but it’s better than before. I’m here until I like dick, so forever basically. I want to know more about this girl. Please send a pic with your next letter. Hope Texas is every bit as hot and miserable as you dreamed! - XOXO Bev

I’m really glad you wrote Ben, we all love hearing from you. Like Bev said, it hasn’t been great here. Don’t listen to her by the way, I’m sure Texas is great! She was right about it being hot though, so drink a lot of water and wash your hands because heat can breed bacteria. Write back soon! - Eddie

Hey man hope its going well for you back home. Miss seeing you around town. You were always really nice :) Hope I see you again soon! - Mike

I’ve been to Texas a few times. It’s not much different than other cities and there aren’t many cowboys. You probably knew that, though. You read a lot. Your letter made Bev smile, so I wanted to say thank you. It’s been really bad for her lately, but she’ll probably be the first out, so that’s good. Have a good summer! - Bill

Thank you for the book last time, it really meant a lot. If I ever get to meet you in person, I’d love to talk about it with you, if you’re interested. Have a safe trip, we’ll miss you. - Stan

Im Richie. Im new here. on my 2nd day. Im really bad with letters but I really want you to know that I care about the people above and I promise Ill be good to them. You seem like the Big Brother of this whole tag team so please dont judge me too bad. Okay thats it. Texas is awful but youll survive I promise. - Richie 

“Ever heard of an apostrophe?” Stan said to Richie, disrupting the moment. Eddie let out a snicker.

“I think writing is more fun without the rules,” Richie replied, pushing himself up from his kneeling position. He dusted off the leaves and twigs that had stuck to his pants and turned to address the rest of the group. “So, what now?”

“You take one of these,” Beverly began, reaching into her pocket and drawing out her Marlboros. “You put it in between your teeth, and you light it up.” She opened up the carton and offered it around. Only Richie and Mike took one.

“You smoke?” Richie asked as Mike took a deep drag.

“Yeah,” he sighed, blowing the grey smoke out between his teeth. “I started about a month after that kid started coming ‘round with the newspapers.”

Richie shot a glance back to Beverly, now engaged in some kind of debate with Eddie. Probably about the health risks of smoking or something equally grating.

“I don’t wanna pry, but–”

“You wanna know more about Bev’s past?”

“A little.”

“Sorry, man, but that’s her story to tell.”

“Oh, yeah! Totally. Totally understand.” Richie’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. 

“Are you talking about me?” Beverly piped up, turning away from a still very agitated Eddie. 

Mike and Richie exchanged a look.

“Nope,” Mike answered, looking down to hide his lie. “Just complaining about Katherine.”

“Yeah, Doc’s a real bitch,” Richie chimed in, hoping to bolster their lie. He assumed that it was successful, given that Beverly didn’t question any further. 

The sun was rising higher and higher into the sky, beating them all down with its heated rays. Richie had moved from his stump in the clearing over to a shady spot underneath one of the large oaks that framed the space. He chose to people-watch rather than participate, a new trend that was quickly becoming his norm. Eddie and Beverly’s argument appeared to have ending and now the two were speaking in hushed whispers and sneaking vigilant glances around the clearing. Bill and Mike were skipping stones across the lakeside while Stan watched from a distance. Richie couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed to hold his breath every time one was thrown, only exhaling after it skipped at least once. This was one of Stan’s many tiny rituals he was trying to grow accustomed to.

A muffled ring broke through the quiet, and all six of them turned their heads to look down the path from which they had come. 

“All… Back to… Manage…”

Richie turned to the others, who had all returned to their conversations and tasks.

“Um, guys?” he started. “What was that about?”

“Nothing much,” Beverly replied, now taking a stick and drawing into the dirt. “They’re just reminding us to get back to our rooms by five today.”

“Why five?”

“Room checks,” she said, simply. “They want us to be there while they hunt for our ‘contraband.””

“Our fucking what now?” Richie asked, baffled. 

“Contraband. That’s what they call all of our forbidden items. For instance,” she reached into her shirt and withdrew the key. “This li’l thing.”

Richie blinked, staring. “Why exactly are keys forbidden?”

Beverly’s face pulled up into a smirk. “It’s a weapon.”

“What the dick kind of a weapon is that?”

“Hm, you should ask Eddie,” she mused, giving Eddie a sideways look. His cheeks flushed red and he bristled like an angry cat, mouth open in a silent retort.

“Whaaaaaat?” Richie sang, standing up from his spot and sauntering over to where Eddie stood. “Did Eds try to shank someone with a key?”

Eddie’s mouth bobbed open and closed as though trying to swallow his words. Richie watched in amusement as he looked more and more frantic.

“I didn’t shank anyone,” he said, finally. “I just, got a little hyper and it slipped out of my hands.”

“That’s a funny way of saying you chucked a hunk of metal at Patty’s face,” Beverly said, now taking time to try and pick the dirt out from under her nails. She only looked up for a moment to drink in Eddie’s panicked expression before continuing. “She had a bruise for over a week.”

Richie watched in stunned silence. What in the world would possess Eddie fucking Kaspbrak to chuck a key at someone’s head? Maybe that’s what their argument was about. Whatever it was, the suspense was killing him. But Eddie was refusing to elaborate and merely stared haughtily at the ground, feet planted at exactly shoulder width.

“Eds, you can’t just leave me hanging like this,” Richie whined, now slumping a little and circling around behind the very red Eddie. “I wanna know what provoked the great Eddie-Spaghetti Sauce into getting violent!”

“No!” Eddie yelped back. “Anyway, it’s getting dark and we need to head back to the cabins.” He turned on his heel and began to march back up the path to the camp. Richie looked up at the sky. The sun was practically swallowing his vision. Getting dark my ass, he thought. Richie gazed up at the shrinking figure of Eddie as he stomped his way through the trees. If Eds wasn’t going to reveal his secret willingly, Richie would just have to find another way to make him talk.

—

After several more minutes in the clearing, the muffled ring was heard once more, this time heralding the wandering campers back to the cafeteria for lunch. The remaining five of them gathered the few items they had brought with them after group and began to trudge back up the path.

“I wish we could come out here every day,” Bill sighed, stretching his arms and letting out a big yawn. 

“Yeah, every day,” Stan echoed quietly. Richie was looking straight ahead as he marched, so he didn’t see the slight pinkish color that had crept into Stan’s cheeks as he walked alongside Bill.

Finally, the trees seemed to get thinner and thinner and more and more light was pouring in from between their leaves. They were approaching the fence. Richie broke his gaze from the path to steal a glance at Beverly. She was standing tall as ever, freckles popping out like flowers under the sun. But suddenly she stopped walking, and rather than just tall, she went rigid. Richie followed her eyes forward and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Standing just behind the fence, hand wrapped around the collar of a boy’s blue polo shirt, was Katherine, and she was looking right at them.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Eddie’s eyes were wide as golf balls, struggling helplessly against Katherine’s iron grip. An iciness rushed through Richie’s spine and his legs burned with the urge to run. But his gaze met Eddie’s, and suddenly it was impossible to leave. The five of them stood staring from the trees, unsure of what to do. Lucky for them, Katherine had her own plans.

Several other group and camp leaders came down the path toward them and one-by-one plucked from their frozen stance. They were led by the arm up to the gate. The air seemed heavier with each breath, like death was slowly seeping in through their lungs. All Richie could hear was the blood rushing through his ears, so loud it deafened the crunch of leaves beneath their feet. 

Sitting in Katherine’s office, hot shame took over the ice in Richie’s veins. He was taken back to that day in his living room – the pure disappointment on his father’s face. How he wouldn’t even look at him. 

The five of them were lined up in chairs against the back-most wall, all one seat apart from each other for “safety.” Katherine had sent Martin to alert the rest of the campers that activities would be delayed for two hours – two hours – due to “disciplinary incidents.” One-by-one the six of them were collected by Katherine and led into a separate room. Eddie had been first, then Mike, then Beverly. Richie was next.

The door creaked open and Beverly wandered out, eyes glazed and unfocused. She seemed completely unaware of the tears that continuously welled up and spilled from her eyes. She seemed completely unaware of anything. She made her way out the front door and down the porch steps, letting the door swing softly shut behind her and her mechanical steps.

The light click of heels brought Richie’s attention to Katherine, who was now standing in the doorway, watching. Richie swallowed hard, then pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t dare steal a glance back to Stan or Bill, still awaiting their turns.

Katherine held the door for him. Once he had taken a seat inside, she swung it shut and slid the lock into place. 

“Thanks, I was really worried those guys might overhear some raucous lovemaking,” Richie said before he could stop himself. He immediately flinched in expectation of punishment, but none came. Instead, Katherine laughed. It wasn’t a very bright laugh, more of a tired, weakly amused laugh. 

“Your parents would probably be quite pleased if you were interested in me,” she said, taking her own seat across from him. Richie stared blankly back at her. Was that a joke? Was this woman capable of humor? “However,” she began, taking a sip of the coffee placed delicately upon a coaster beside her. “You don’t seem to be making much of an effort, are you?”

Richie didn’t know what to say, which was strange for him. Instead he just shrugged and leaned back, trying his damndest not to look bothered.

“Mr. Tozier, I wanted you to know that I understand how difficult this is for you.”

“Oh,” Richie spat out a wry laugh. “Oh, do you now?”

“I do,” Katherine said, a sad smile placing itself upon her lips. “I used to be a homosexual as well.”

“Wait, what?” Richie was floored. Of all the things that he was anticipating her to say, that was not it. 

“Yes,” Katherine let out a long sigh and took another sip of coffee. “I struggled with desires. I struggled quite a bit, actually. I didn’t want to change. I didn’t want to accept help.”

Richie didn’t say anything. There were about three and a half million outbursts waiting on the tip of his tongue, stupid jokes that he was dying to make, but he bit them back and stared in fixed silence as Katherine went on.

“I didn’t care how much I was hurting my parents. My sin was too important to me. I resisted treatment for so long. But you know what? It didn’t help me. I just got sicker and sicker until one day, I woke up in an alleyway. I didn’t know where I was or how I had gotten there. But I knew I needed to change. So I began to go to church. That’s where I met Martin, actually. He got me cleaned up, helped me quit smoking, and became my best friend and husband. He gave me a second chance. And that’s what I want for you.”

“I’m sorry, what does any of that shit–”

“Language.”

Richie’s blood was boiling. He dug his fingernails into his legs, begging himself not to say anything stupid. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. He dug harder, so hard that he almost yelped in pain. He watched as Katherine picked up that mug again. Took another long, grating sip of her coffee. He wanted more than anything to take it and throw it right down her pristine, white blouse. “Deepest apologies. What does any of that bullshit–”

“What did I just warn you about?”

“Something asinine I’m sure.”

“You are treading on very thin ice right now, Mr. Tozier.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Richie stood up, his chair falling down with a clatter behind him. “I’m not fucking sick and I don’t need to be cured! You can take your stupid little sob story and shove it up your ass.” 

Now he’d done it. 

Katherine stood up from her own seat and walked around to the front of the desk. Richie tried to make a break for the door, but she was too fast. She caught him by the wrist and yanked him up until her face was about an inch from his ear. He could smell the coffee on her breath.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that. Do you understand?”

Richie didn’t say anything.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” She bellowed, her nails burying themselves into his skin. He groaned from the pain. 

“I underst-stand,” he whispered, teeth chattering. The trembling started at his lips, but made its way down into his hands, his fingers, reached down into his knees, and captured his legs. 

“Now apologize.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” 

Katherine slackened her grip slightly, then sighed and leaned against her desk. “I really hate having to do that. In the future, let’s try to avoid these kinds of situations, shall we?” 

Richie nodded, not able to look up. His glasses were fogging over and the crisp wooden floors were beginning to look a lot like carpet. He was starting to understand Beverly’s fear. He risked a glance at the door, the lock no longer a thing to poke fun at. It bored into his skull, wrapping itself around his brain. Trapped. You’re trapped here. She can do whatever she wants.

“May I leave?” Richie asked after a pause. He wanted to rip that lock off the door. He wanted to run. But all the will to do so had left his body. He was numb with fear and shock and all he could do was stand there and try his best not to crumble. 

“Oh, honey,” Katherine said, suddenly dripping with sweetness. “I can’t just let you off with a warning. You know that.”

Richie gulped. 

“I’m going to have to take away a few of your privileges. For one, you are no longer allowed to wear your shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an elopement risk. We can’t have you running off. So, please remove your shoes and hand them to Martin on your way out.”

Richie had never cared much about shoes, but in that moment they became the most important items in his life. He stood, unmoving, his heart sinking lower and lower into his stomach. Katherine made a start from her desk, then suddenly Richie was bent down, untying his laces. Katherine relaxed back into her position, watching satisfied as Richie unlaced and removed each sneaker. 

“You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?” She said through a smug grin. Richie’s ears burned bright red.

“Is that all?” Richie asked through gritted teeth.

“That’s all. When you leave, please ask Mr. Uris to join me in my office.” Katherine made her way to the door and slid the lock open. She gestured for Richie to exit as she held it open. He walked out, refusing to look at her as he left. 

“Hey, Stan, she wants you next,” he said, coming to face the panicked mess of his roommate. Stan was tearing up his nails again, almost to the point of bleeding. Richie’s eyes were more immediately drawn to Bill, however, who was suddenly occupying a seat right next to Stan, one hand resting steady on his leg. The two of them jumped apart at the sound of Richie’s voice. Stan stood up and shot a glance back at Bill, whose eyes darted immediately to the door, checking to see if Katherine was watching them. When he saw that she wasn’t he settled back into his seat with a relieved sigh. He gave Stan a reassuring smile as he went up to the door. Stan leaned forward, then lightly pushed down on the handle with his elbow and kicking the bottom slightly open.

Once the door was shut, Bill spoke. “Puh-please keep it a suh-secret,” he said, voice lowered to a whisper.

“Keep what a secret?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bill said, returning his gaze to the door.

“Wait, no, that wasn’t a joke. What am I keeping secret?”

Bill looked around almost instinctively, then beckoned Richie closer. “Juh-just don’t tell anyone you s-saw me and S-Stan together. P-puh-please”

“Oh, that?” Richie pulled back in surprise. “Yeah, totally. Lips are sealed!” 

“Shh!” Bill shushed him. 

“Yeah, right, sorry,” Richie apologized, nervously looking back to the door. It was shut tight. 

“Are you guh-g-gonna check on Eddie?”

“What?” Richie’s cheeks flushed pink. “Why?”

Bill looked a little taken aback by Richie’s fluster. “You’re friends, ruh-right? S-Suh-Stan s-said you and him t-ta-talk a lot.”

“More like argue,” Richie sighed. “Pretty sure he hates me.”

“I duh-don’t think he hates you.” 

“What?” Richie perked up. What are you doing?

“He t-tah-talks ab-bout you sometimes. It s-suh-seems more like p-p-puh-puh – fuck. Nevermuh-mind.”

“Wait, no!” Richie’s heart had started racing, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why, but he had to know what Bill thought it seemed like. “What? What does it seem like?”

But the sound of the door slamming shut pulled both their attentions back to the room. Stan had just left Katherine’s office. His elbows were held up like a funky chicken, most likely, Richie guessed, from turning the handle. Stan was sweating, his breaths heaving yet raggedly shallow. Bill rushed up to him.

“What’s going on?” Richie asked, more than a little freaked out. Stan had sunk to the floor and was starting to cry, although he seemed more terrified than sad. Bill was whispering something and trying to get Stan to breathe with him, but Stan seemed unable to. Richie was stunned. He didn’t know whether or not to get help or to wait it out. He didn’t know. “Should I get someone?”

“NO!” Stan yelped, hoarse. “NO! NO!”

“Shh,” Bill was whispering. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“No, no, no,” Stan kept repeating. “No, no, no…”

Richie could see Bill’s hand itching for Stan’s, desperate to give him that contact. But his eyes were tearing back and forth between the door and Stan, his body frozen with indecision. Then, a surge of something either brave or deeply stupid crashed through Richie’s body, and he found himself swinging open the door of Katherine’s office.

“Mr. Denbrough,” she began. But her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of, not Bill, but Richie standing before her. Richie slammed the door shut behind him. “Mr. Tozier,” she began again, but Richie cut her off.

“I REPENT!” He screamed, so loudly it made her jump a little in her seat.

“Wha–”

“HAVE MERCY ON ME FOR MY SINFUL WAYS! I REPENT AGAINST MY SIN! I DECLARE THAT I AM A FILTHY HOMOSEXUAL AND IN NEED OF TREATMENT! ACCEPT MY CONFESSION!” He continued blabbering and shouting. He picked up a pen and began to draw on his skin. “I. AM. A. SINNER. NO. MORE.” He read aloud as he wrote. Richie’s thoughts were racing. Or perhaps they were completely still. He couldn’t tell. He was acting on instinct, moment to moment. Anything to keep Katherine occupied long enough for Stan to calm down. It was definitely working, because Katherine was glued into her seat in stunned disbelief. Or maybe it wasn’t working, because that stunned look was melting into fury, and Katherine had started to rise out of her chair. Richie began to slow, frenzy coming to a halt.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” She asked, voice so sharp it cut like knives into Richie’s stomach. “Are you mocking me?”

“What? No,” Richie said, grasping in his mind for something to say. “I was just expressing my desire to change and give up my–”

“DO NOT TAKE ME FOR SOME KIND OF FOOL!” She shouted. Richie stumbled back, keeping himself upright by the windowsill. Katherine was approaching quickly, eyes blazing, fingers twitching like claws at her side. “I don’t know what compelled you to come in here and start screaming and raving like a complete idiot, but I do know that I will not tolerate it. You seem to think you’re some kind of special little child. Well, let me tell you something. You are not special. You are just another sad little boy who’s throwing a tantrum because you didn’t get what you wanted. All I have to say to you is grow up. The world out there isn’t kind or gentle, and a boy better learn how to turn into a man before it crushes him–”

The door swung open so hard that it swung into the wall beside it with a dissonant bang.

“Huh-hi, suh-sorry I’m late. Suh-S-Stan tuh-told me to come in?” It was Bill, standing in the doorway, and in that moment, he looked like a hero. Katherine blinked at him for a moment, her narrowed eyes searching his face for some kind of deception. Then she straightened up and gestured for him to take a seat. 

“Yes, you were told correctly.” She had begun to make her way back behind the desk. She paused for a moment to look at Richie. They locked eyes, and for a split second Richie thought she was about to apologize, but instead she just turned back to Bill and addressed him. Richie took this as his chance to leave and quickly slipped out the door, through the main room, and out onto the familiar gravel path.

Chapter Text

Back in the safety of his own room, Richie let himself cry. It wasn’t anything big – no heaving sobs or breathless words – just a few tears that rolled down his cheeks and over his chin. He removed his glasses, setting them on the nightstand separating his and Stan’s beds, and laid back to stare up at the ceiling. The room was completely dark, save for the moonlight trickling in through the sheer curtains. He let out a sigh, stretching from head to toe, and letting himself sink deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

He wasn’t sure when he drifted off, only that when he rolled over at three in the morning, Stan was in bed. Richie couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not.

“Stan?” Richie whispered, sitting up slightly in his bed. “Stan, are you awake?”

There wasn’t a reply, so Richie began to turn back over.

“Yeah,” Stan whispered back, now rolling over to face him.

“Are you okay?” Richie asked, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. They weren’t there. Richie continued fumbling around on the nightstand, blindly, certain he set them down there. 

“I moved your glasses to your dresser.”

“What?” Richie tossed back his covers and stumbled over to where his dresser stood. Sure enough, they were neatly placed right on top. “Why did you move them?”

“They were bothering me.”

“How? It’s not like you have anything on there.”

“It just did. I don’t know why.” 

“But–”

“Can we please not talk about it?” Stan interrupted, now sitting up in his own bed. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“You just did, and you just don’t. Makes sense.” Richie sighed and began rubbing the dirty lens of his glasses against his shirt. This only made the smudges worse and soon enough he was staring out into a world completely fogged over.

“Sometimes,” Stan suddenly spoke. “I just… I get things into my head and I can’t get them out until I do whatever it is I need to do.”

“I think everyone’s like that, right?”

“Um, no,” Stan shifted uncomfortably. He looked down at his hands, all dry and cracked. “See my hands? Sometimes they bleed.”

“Cool, you can be like Wolverine. Bleed out of your knuckles when your claws come out!”

“What? No,” Stan was bewildered. “Whenever I touch things, I need to wash my hands. I just feel like there’s dirt on them that I can’t get off. So I keep scrubbing at them and then they end up like this.” 

“Your hands look pretty clean to me,” Richie said, squinting. “Why don’t you not wash your hands once?”

“NO!” Stan yelped. He cleared his throat, then shifted again. He turned and flipped over his pillow. Then again. Then one more time. Then he turned back to face Richie. “Sorry. I sound crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“I hope not.” 

The next few minutes passed without words. Richie looked aimlessly around the room, trying not to ask the question that was rolling around inside his head.

“What are you doing?” Stan asked. Richie came back to his body and realized he had been pulling his bedsheets ever-so-slowly onto the floor.

“Nothing, nothing,” Richie said, quickly replacing them. “What happened with you and Doc?” And the question had been asked. Stan’s eyes widened for a moment and he turned his head to his feet. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that–”

“She said I wasn’t responding to treatment.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“When they bring you here to ‘correct your homosexuality,’ they don’t just mean your… Your attraction. They include behaviors. And apparently I’m so overly-effeminate that she doesn’t think talking therapy is enough.”

“Huh?” Richie was bewildered. If therapy wasn’t enough, what exactly were they planning on doing?

“She’s calling my parents to ask if we can move to more physical therapy.”

“What, like stretches and stuff?”

“Like shock-therapy.”

Those words pulled the air out from Richie’s lungs. Shock therapy? 

“That can’t be legal,” he started. “Isn’t that basically torture?”

“They class it as aversion therapy.”

“Jesus,” Richie whispered. “Stan, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” Stan replied. The silence hung heavy between them. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For that thing you pulled back in Katherine’s office. Thank you.”

“Yeah, anytime.”

—

The morning sun was an unwelcome guest at seven in the morning. Richie sat up and stretched, rolling over to face Stan’s empty bed.

“Where does he keep going?” Richie wondered aloud.

“Where does who keep going?” Someone asked back. Richie jumped and scrambled to see whoever was standing in their doorway. It was Eddie. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie huffed, crossing his arms.

“No, I didn’t mean– I just–” But he stopped because Eddie was smirking. Richie cleared his throat and smoothed out his pajama shirt.

“Where’s Stan?” Eddie asked as he stepped into the room.

“That’s my question.” The last evening’s conversation had started to creep back into Richie’s mind. He remembered Katherine’s words. He remembered Stan’s. What was his individual therapy going to be? He shivered. 

“Hello? Earth to Richie?” Richie snapped his head back to face Eddie, who was watching him from the doorway.

“Sorry, you were just so boring I fell asleep.” Richie had no idea why those were the words that he chose to respond with. He saw Eddie’s face scrunch up in irritation.

“Okay, if you didn’t want to talk to me, you could’ve just said so. You don’t need to be such an asshole about it.”

“Swearing, are we now?”

“No one’s here.”

“So you’re a selective goody-two-shoes. I’ll keep that in mind,” Richie grinned.

“What? What does that even mean?” Eddie’s cheeks were flushing red again, a sight that made Richie’s heart skip a beat. He loved the way Eddie would ball up his fists like a little kid. How he would stammer his way into sentences to find the snarkiest response. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Richie had been staring. 

“Like an idiot at an ice-cream store.” 

“Eyes are the window to the soul.”

“You’re an idiot.” Eddie sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Did you just wake up or something? Your hair is a mess.”

“Uh, no.” Richie reached up and ran a finger through his curls. From the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie’s mouth drop open slightly. But when he faced him again, he had returned to his cross-armed scrutiny. “I mean, it always kinda looks like this. I just let it do its own thing.”

“Seriously?” Eddie took a step forward. “I can’t believe your mother lets you leave the house like that.”

“I mean, she kinda made me leave the house.” 

Eddie stopped mid-step. He looked uncomfortable. “Do you keep a brush in here?”

“Um, yeah? But I don’t use it.”

“Where is it?”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna brush your hair.”

“What the fuck?” Richie roared with laughter.

“Shut up!” Eddie was flushed again, but more pink than red. “I just don’t want you to embarrass me if someone sees us together.”

“Riiiiiight,” Richie mused. He pointed to the dresser. “Top drawer.” 

Eddie traipsed over to the dresser and attempted to pry open the drawer. It didn’t budge. He tried again. No luck. This time, he placed his foot against the face of the dresser and tried to pull back with his full body weight. The drawer creaked open an infinitesimal amount.

“You’re too small, Eds,” Richie smirked as he walked up next to Eddie. Eddie refused to look up at him. “Lemme help.”

“I can do it,” Eddie muttered as he continued yanking on the small metal handle.

“C’mon, it’s not fair to make an elf open a giant’s drawers.”

“I’m not a fucking elf!” Eddie yelped. “It’s only because you packed this drawer like a fucking troll–”

“Wow, you’re really getting into this whole swearing thing. Turning into a bad-boy, huh, Eds?”

“I told you not to call me–”

Eddie was cut off as the drawer shot out of the dresser, flinging him back onto the bed and sending an assortment of Richie’s items ricocheting around the room. Richie doubled over, screeching with laughter. He pushed himself up from the floor, kneeling beside the bed and wheezing. He caught sight of Eddie, one of Richie’s blue polos draped over his head and bent back over, screaming into the floor.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Eddie was screaming back, but the impact was stifled by his own giggles. “Did the stupid brush come out?”

Richie looked around. “Yeah,” he wheezed. “It’s over next to Stan’s bed.” 

Eddie pushed himself up from where he was sprawled on top of the bed, and made his way over to Stan’s side of the room. He scooped up the hairbrush and sat back down on top of Richie’s bed.

“C’mere,” he said, gesturing for Richie to join him. Richie slid onto the bed, pushing himself up with only his legs, and letting his head hang over the side.

“Hm, you seem bigger from this angle,” he mused, grinning at Eddie upside-down.

“I’m literally going to kill you,” Eddie said, raising the hairbrush threateningly. 

“Oh no, someone help me!” Richie sang back at him. “I’m being held by the hands of an evil elf!”

“I hate you.” 

“Aw, I hate you too!”

“You make me so mad, you know that?”

“Absolutely.”

“And I can’t stand you, you know that too.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Eddie stared him down, eyes wandering from his eyes down to his stomach, which was peeking out slightly from under his shirt. It hadn’t occurred to Richie, but Eddie was realistically only about half a foot away from him. He turned his head, capturing Eddie’s hand in his vision. Slowly, almost too slow to see, Richie reached up and put his hand on top of Eddie’s own.

Eddie jumped back.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Richie sat up, taking his hand and running it through his hair.

“I’m, I’m going to go,” Eddie stammered, standing up quickly from the bed. 

Richie shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Wait, Eddie–”

“No, no. Stop it. You’re not going to do this to me.” Eddie pulled out of Richie’s grasp and ran to the door, narrowly missing a frazzled looking Stan. 

“What the hell happened in here?” Stan asked, bewildered at both Eddie and the state of the room. 

“I fucked up. I really, really fucked up.” Richie buried his face into his hands. “God, I really fucked up.”

Chapter Text

Individual therapy was supposed to start that morning, 8 AM. Richie was to pick up his breakfast in the cafeteria and take it to Katherine’s office. He was not to stop to talk to anyone on the way.

But because he hated Katherine, and he was really pissed off about his shoes, Richie was determined to stop and talk to just about everyone he could. He caught Beverly as she was exiting her own dorm, tucking in her shirt haphazardly. 

“Heyo, flamer!” he called, waving. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, that was bad, sorry,” Richie sighed. “I’m a little off my game this morning.”

“Aw, what’s gotcha down?” Beverly asked, falling into step next to Richie.

“I’ve got one-on-one with Doc today.” He glanced down at his socked feet, gravel scratching at his heels with every step. “Also I miss my damn shoes.” 

Beverly, noticing Richie’s lack of shoes for the first time, let out a sigh of sympathy. “They’ve got you on elopement then?”

“Yeah! Aren’t you?” He looked down at her feet, socked and happily slipped into a pair of black converse. “What the hell!? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME OH SHOE LORD!?” he yelled, throwing his arms up to the sky in high prayer. “Have I not pleased you with my dedication to comfort and convenience? Must I do more?”

“You might wanna shut up,” Beverly said through a smile. “You don’t want them slapping you down for practicing your ‘heathen religion.’” 

“Is that a thing?”

“Oh yeah, you should ask Stan about it.”

“What happened with Stan?”

“It’s more fun when he tells it.”

“Stan can tell a fun story? Are we talking about the same Stan?”

Beverly grinned. “You’ve got a lot to learn about us, Richie.”

—

Richie ran into Mike second. He had gotten up early to do laundry and was just leaving when Beverly snuck up behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

“AH!” he yelped, stumbling a bit and turning around to face his attacker. “Bev, hey, didn’t expect to see you up so early. Or you,” he added, seeing Richie.

Richie shrugged. “It’s a weird day for everyone.”

“What’s with your shoes, man?” Mike asked, gesturing at Richie’s socked feet, which were getting increasingly brown as they walked. 

“Am I the only one who lost their shoe privileges?”

“Can you catch me up?” Mike asked, turning to Beverly.

“Richie got placed on elopement protocol,” she answered with a grimace. 

“Ah, gotcha,” Mike said, nodding with a sympathetic expression. “Sorry man, that really sucks.”

“Eh, it could be worse,” Richie said, shrugging. “I’m much stronger than all you shoe-wearing losers. I’m gonna have the feet of a fucking chimp after this.”

“Like you didn’t already,” said a voice from behind. They turned to see Eddie making his way toward them.

“Eddie–” Richie started, but Eddie ignored him. 

“What time is group today?” he asked Mike, looking down at a small digital watch strapped around his wrist. 

“Should be noon.”

“Okay, thanks,” Eddie said, then took off at a light jog down the path. The three of them stood still for a moment, watching him disappear slowly among the cabins. As Richie watched him go, his heart felt as though it were slowly sinking into his stomach. 

“That was weird,” Beverly said, turning back to face the group.

“Yeah,” Richie said, trying very hard to act nonchalant. “Weird mornin’ for everyone.” He stretched his arms up into the air, then released them to rest behind his head. “Anyway, wanna go get some food? I’m starving.” Richie started making his own way down the path, perhaps a little faster than usual. Although he wanted more than anything to make Katherine wait on him, he also felt the absolute terror of not knowing what she’d do in retaliation. 

The cafeteria was sparsely populated. Not that there were usually many people there, given the size of the program, but there were even less than what he was used to. Richie slid into line behind another camper, who he quickly realized was Bill. 

“Ay, Big-Bill! What’s going on?”

“Nuh-nothing m-muh-much. You?” 

“Got some individual therapy today!” Richie exclaimed. “Just me and Doc all alone in a small room. Pretty spicy, eh?”

Bill responded with something that was either a wince or a very small laugh. Richie took it as the latter. As Richie loaded his own bowl with some gray oatmeal, he glanced over to Bill’s tray, loaded with two bowls of oatmeal, pancakes, and not one, but two glasses of orange juice. 

“Are you eating for two or something?” Richie snorted. Bill looked at him with wide eyes, struggling for words in a manner that seemed completely unrelated to his stutter.

“Uh-uh, I…”

“I’m kidding. Seriously though, you’ve gotta be carb-loading for something.”

“I’ve guh-got therapy too. Puh-puh-probably just nervous,” Bill said finally, seeming to regain some of his lost composure.

“Ah, another soldier. Let us brave this battle together!” Richie pumped a fist into the air, very nearly missing the lunch tray of Eddie Kaspbrak, who had appeared behind him.

“Watch it!” Eddie yelped, pulling his tray out of Richie’s punching range.

“How did you end up behind me? You ran way ahead of us,” Richie asked, staring quizzically at Eddie, who let out a small huff of annoyance.

“I had to go get my medicine.”

“Sounds suspicious.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and picked up a bowl. 

“No special paper-bag meal today?” Richie asked, searching Eddie’s tray. Eddie shook his head. Just talk to me, Richie begged silently. Please just talk to me. Bill was looking back and forth between the two of them. He and Eddie exchanged a glance behind Richie’s back as Richie reached forward to snag the last pancake. 

“I gotta leave. B-buh-bye guh-guys,” Bill said, collecting his things and making his way back out. Now that it was just Richie and Eddie, the air seemed to grow colder, the silence laying on a little thicker. Richie watched Eddie as he carefully surveyed each and every food option. He reached out to grab the ladle to the oatmeal, then recoiled suddenly.

“Ew!” He muttered, wiping his hand on his shirt. Richie glanced over to see what had upset him. The ladle had a mysterious brown film over one side, one that was reasonably disgusting. 

“Here, let me do it,” Richie said, reaching across Eddie to grasp the large metal ladle. Eddie flinched slightly as he drew closer. Richie ladled two scoops of oatmeal into Eddie’s bowl.

“Thanks,” Eddie whispered. 

“Yeah,” Richie replied. The two of them watched each other for a moment, drinking in the tension that hung between them. Eddie’s hands were twitching anxiously at the edge of his tray, his eyes flitting about from Richie’s face to the floor and back up. Richie glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall. 7:56. Katherine’s office was less than two minutes away from the cafeteria. They had time. 

“Can we talk?” Richie asked. Eddie’s eyes froze halfway between Richie and the floor. He nodded. Richie collected his tray and took a quick look around. The area was still deserted. Either everyone waited until 8:30 for breakfast, or everyone was in therapy. Richie led the way out of the cafeteria and onto the back deck. He set his tray down on a table, and Eddie followed suit. But Richie didn’t sit. Instead, he walked over to the railing and leaned against it, giving himself a greater view of the building, in case anyone decided to walk in on them.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Eddie asked, taking a seat at the table and leaving plenty of space between them.

“Saving room for Jesus?” Richie snorted. Eddie rolled his eyes and reached onto his tray to grab his oatmeal bowl. He began taking slow, methodical bites, as though each one was of utmost importance. Richie watched as he scooped, blew, and placed the spoon into his mouth. Over. And over. And over. He wanted a snappy comeback. He wanted Eddie to call him stupid or a loser or an idiot. He wanted Eddie to say something. Instead, Richie just listened to the sound of chewing and of a spoon scraping the bottom of a bowl. He watched as Eddie moved on to extract something from his pocket – a little orange pill bottle. Then another. Then one more.

Richie hopped up onto the railing and swung his legs back and forth. “Taking your birth control pills?”

“Funny,” Eddie deadpanned, uncapping and emptying a pill from each. He placed them all into his hand and threw them back into his mouth, swallowing them all with a single gulp of water.

“Woah, you’re a pro! What else can you swallow like that?”

“What are you doing?”

“What?” 

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a… Like a…”

“Like a pervert?” Richie finished. “Like someone gross and horny? Like a teenage boy? C’mon, don’t act like you’ve never thought anything like that.” 

Eddie slammed his spoon into his bowl. “But I wouldn’t say it, dumbass!” He set his tray down with a crash, then rose out of his seat. 

“So you think that not saying it makes you better?” Richie lowered himself back onto the ground. “What are you not saying, Eddie? What are you not saying that makes you so damn pure and holy? We’re the same, Eds, whether or not you wanna admit it.”

“Shut up.” Eddie was getting closer, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’m nothing like you. I’m not messed up, and I’m not sick! Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?” Richie was getting heated now too. For the first time, he felt just as angry as Eddie. “So what exactly happened yesterday? Do you always just go up to other guys and ask to brush their hair? Is that not the gayest thing you’ve ever heard of?”

“Don’t say that word!” Eddie flushed bright red. “I’m not gay. I’m not. And you’re not either. No one is, we’re all just sick. We’re just sick.” 

Richie cackled, but there was no humor in it. “Sick? Is that what we are? What, is that why you take all those pills?” Richie started for the table, but Eddie was faster. As soon as he made a grab for the pill bottles, Eddie swiped them up. Richie dove in, reaching into Eddie’s fist and tugging back. For once, strength was on his side. He lifted the bottle out of Eddie’s hand and held them up. He peeled back the instruction label to reveal the nutritional details.

Ingredients: Starch, Sugar.

Richie let out a laugh of triumph. “Eds, these are placebos.” 

“What? Placebo?”

“It means they’re fake. They’re bullshit pills, Eds.” 

Eddie’s face twisted. All the color began to drain from his cheeks, his eyes narrowed. 

“No, no they’re not.” His breathing became sharper. Richie’s victory felt sour, and his stomach curled in on itself as Eddie’s eyes began to reflect morning sun. “No, no, no,” he kept repeating. He reached up to grab the bottle, and Richie let him have it. Eddie’s eyes scanned where Richie had pulled back the label. He whispered out the ingredients, reading them over and over. He dropped the bottle, then scrambled back to the table. He tore the labels off each and every one.

“Starch. Sugar. Saline,” he muttered as the bits and scraps of plastic floated to the ground like snowflakes. “Inactive. Inactive. No…” Eddie sank to the floor, holding the bottle in his hands as though it were a baby bird. 

“Eds,” Richie began, kneeling down and watching Eddie’s chest rise and fall in shuddering breaths.

“They wouldn’t lie to me. They wouldn’t. I need to take these pills! I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick, Eds,” Richie whispered. 

“I AM!” Eddie shouted, throwing the bottle so hard that it cracked against the railing above Richie’s head. “There’s something wrong with me! I’m not normal!”

“Of course not!” Richie could feel warmth growing beneath his eyes, could feel the tears that teetered there, threatening to spill at any moment. “You’re weird! You’re fucking crazy and annoying and you’ve got a stick so far up your ass it’s coming out of your nose! There’s probably a million things wrong with you. But the fact that you’d rather suck a dick than lick a pussy is not one of them.”

Eddie buried his face into his knees, muffling his sobs into the khaki folds. Richie watched him, saw his back arch and fall, his fingers tug at his hair and his skin as he struggled to find his breath. Richie didn’t reach forward. He didn’t know if he should. So when he felt another hand atop his own, he was confused. As he looked down, he felt Eddie crash into his shoulder, knocking the wind out from Richie’s lungs. They fell to the ground, Eddie on top of Richie’s chest, Richie’s arms splayed out to the sides. He could feel tears soaking into his shirt, could feel the dampness of Eddie’s crying melt onto his skin.

Eddie mumbled something indistinct into Richie’s shirt. Richie responded by placing a hand on Eddie’s head, running his fingers through the soft brown hair. Eddie’s breathing began to even out, his heart beat slowing to match the beating of Richie’s own. Gently, he peeled himself up from Richie’s chest, raising his gaze to meet Richie’s. 

“You give the worst pep-talks I’ve ever heard,” Eddie grumbled in a hoarse voice.

“Thanks, partner,” Richie laughed, giving him a playful shove. Eddie smiled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get your shirt all gross…”

“You’re right. I’m probably gonna die of crabs now.”

“Okay, I’m leaving.”

“Aw, so soon?”

So soon. Oh shit. Katherine. Richie jumped to his feet, shoving past Eddie and bursting back into the cafeteria. He whipped around, suddenly unable to locate the clock. Shit. Shit. Shit. He found it. 9:08. Shit.

Chapter Text

Richie’s heart was about to beat out of his chest. His knees ached, his feet throbbing as he ran barefoot through the gravel. Katherine’s office was only two minutes away, but it seemed so much further. He could feel the clock ticking by, dreading every moment, not just feeling, but knowing that he was about to have it. 

Richie tried to push the thought of Eddie out of his mind. How he had just left him on the deck, confused and distraught, without a word. How much Eddie probably needed him in that moment, and how much he wanted to stay.

It was coming into view, Katherine’s office, with its polished wooden stairs and spotless windows. Richie squinted – there was something shadowy standing by the railing. He drew closer. His vision was blurry from running, and it didn’t help that he had smudged his glasses when Eddie fell into him. A few steps closer and…

His stomach dropped.

There was his mother, leaning out over the porch and smoking. And next to her, his father. 

It was too late to stop. Too late to turn around and run back to the cafeteria, or better yet, right into the woods, never looking back. But it was too late, for as he slowed his pace, he caught his mother’s eye. She flashed him a generous smile. Richie swallowed. He offered one in return. 

The walk up felt like a funeral march. With every step, dread swallowed him up more and more, until he was consumed in a sinking, miserable feeling. At the top of the stairs, his mother reached out to offer him a hug. Richie almost stepped in, when he felt himself wrenched back.

“No physical contact.” 

Ah, Katherine. Richie looked up at the hand resting on his shoulder. Katherine had approached from behind, her lips drawn back in distaste.

“I apologize,” she continued. “It’s not our policy to touch patients, however, we have certain protocols that we cannot break. You understand.” Richie did not understand. He felt his mother scanning him up and down, felt her worry seep into his skin. Katherine led them back into her office. Richie took the seat nearest the window out of some deep conviction to be as close to the outside as possible. His mother crossed her legs, wrapping a tight fist around the arm of her chair. Richie’s father was examining Katherine’s bookshelf, seeming utterly disinterested in the situation. 

“Can I ask a question?” Mrs. Tozier piped up.

“Of course,” Katherine replied, not bothering to smile.

“Why does he not have shoes? All of the other children I saw had shoes.” 

Katherine leaned back in her chair, surveying the family with the satisfied expression of a guard subduing a prisoner.

“Richie has had some behavioral issues these past few days,” she said. Richie felt the back of his neck heat up. “In order to prevent possible elopement, we confiscated any items that may aid in this.”

“Because I clearly can’t walk without shoes,” Richie muttered. Katherine shot him a withering look. 

“Now, today was meant to be an individual session between Richard and I, but I decided it may be beneficial to invite you both here, to gain some insight into Richard’s past.”

“Oh, am I Richard now?” Richie asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought I was Mr. Tozier.” 

Katherine pursed her lips. “I’d like to ask some personal questions, if you don’t mind.”

“What if I do mind?”

“Richard,” his father suddenly spoke. Richie’s heart stopped. But his father said nothing more, and returned to his examination of the bookshelf. 

“Now, if I may,” Katherine began again. She clasped her hands, setting them lightly upon her lap. “Richard, when did you first suspect that you may be a homosexual?” 

Richie didn’t answer. He didn’t want to. And more than he didn’t want to, he couldn’t remember. He leaned back in his chair, taking his gaze to the ceiling.

“Richie, please try,” she whispered. “We really want to help you, but we need you to try.” Richie wouldn’t look at her. He felt guilty, but he didn’t know why. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I dunno,” Richie said, finally. 

“You don’t know?” Katherine repeated, narrowing her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

“It’s a phrase that means that I am not knowledgable of the answer to your question.”

“Richard, no one is born a homosexual. At one point or another, you made the choice to give in to temptations, whether or not it was a conscious one. Do you remember when that may have been?” Katherine looked to his parents. 

“I don’t think he’s ever been out of the ordinary,” his mother answered, her voice wavering. “I mean, that’s why this all came as such a shock. If I’m being completely honest, I think it’s the fault of that boy. He was always so effeminate, no doubt he has something to do with this.”

“Boy?” Katherine’s eyes lit up. “So, you were intimate with a member of the same sex?”

Richie squirmed. Katherine sighed in what appeared to be sympathy. 

“Richard, you can be honest with me.”

Richie wouldn’t look at her. He crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair and fixing his gaze on a group walking back from the cafeteria.

“Richie,” his mother whispered, leaning in. “It’s okay, just tell her the truth. This isn’t your fault.” Richie wanted so badly to reach out and hug her. He wanted his mother to hold him and tell him everything would be fine. But that wasn’t going to happen – not any time soon.

“Fine,” Richie grumbled. “Yes, I’ve been intimate with other guys.”

“Guys? Multiple?” His mother gasped. Richie took a sharp inhale. He nodded, an almost imperceivable motion. 

“Would you say that you were ever in love with any of these boys?” Katherine asked, watching him through narrowed eyes. Richie’s heart stopped. He expected to immediately say no, to immediately be able to brush off his experiences as what they often were – hookups, nothing more. But something stopped him. The thought of a short, brown-haired boy who talked too much and walked too fast. Who followed the rules and was terrified of germs. One who was often times too honest and too gullible.

Katherine must have taken Richie’s silence as confirmation, because she stood up from her seat and moved around to the front of her desk, where she stood directly in front of Richie.

“You’re wrong.”

Richie looked up, meeting her eyes. There wasn’t coldness in them, rather, pity. Sympathy. Katherine bent down, coming to eye-level with Richie.

“It’s impossible for you to love another man.”

Richie felt a stab to his heart. He swallowed hard, trying to control the thoughts now rushing to the front of his mind. Eddie walking backwards, talking to Beverly. Eddie in the forest, writing a tidy letter to Ben. Eddie on his bed, laughing, smiling. 

“What you feel isn’t love, but rather, lust. It is a physical attraction, nothing more. And we’re going to help you, so you can truly experience beautiful, heterosexual love.”

Richie felt it again. Shame. White-hot shame that burned in his stomach in his chest. And he hated it. He hated that feeling of shame. 

“I believe that will be enough for today. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Tozier, for your time.”

“Of course,” Richie’s mom replied, shaking Katherine’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

“Richard, remember that we have group today at 3:30. Do not be late – again.” 

Richie refused to look at her as he left. His mother tried to speak, but he ignored her. He brushed past and walked back out to the gravel path where he stopped to catch his breath. He placed his hands on his knees and bent over, scrunching up the fabric of his pants into his fists. Then he threw his head back and let out a scream. He let it tear up his throat, let his lungs empty completely. He released his fists and let his head hang heavy. He laughed, and as he laughed a few tears trickled down his cheeks. Richie brushed them off, managing a few more wheezy chuckles. 

The walk back to his dorm was exhausting. Everything seemed so much quieter than usual. The weight of the silence was bearing down on him, and Richie wanted more than anything for Eddie or Mike or Beverly or someone to come up and clap him on the shoulder, make a stupid comment – anything.

When he finally reached his door, he was surprised to find it completely shut. He usually forgot to close it and Stan didn’t like touching doorknobs. He went to open the door, but something stopped him. He leaned in, placing his ear against the thin wood. There were voices. Richie pulled back, hand still around the doorknob. 

He knocked twice on the door. The voices ceased immediately. There was the sound of shuffling feet, of what sounded like glass breaking. He heard drawers being shut, panicked whispers, and a short yelp of pain. There was a brief pause, then the door opened. 

“Hi,” Richie said, greeting a very disheveled Stan. His hair was fluffed up on his head, as though someone had rubbed it against a blanket. His usually neat shirt was untucked and wrinkled, and he was only wearing one sock.

“Hi,” Stan replied. He took a step forward, just far enough to peer into the hallway. “It’s just you?”

“Yeah?” Richie was bewildered. “Am I interrupting something?”

Stan’s eyes went wide. He licked his lips, then mumbled, “It’s just me here.”

“So, you like to talk to yourself?”

“No, I just…”Stan whipped his head back into the room, then back to face Richie. “I’m just… Busy.”

Richie squinted, confused. Then dawning realization brought a smirk across his lips. “Ohhhh, you’re having some alone time! You could’ve just said!”

“What? Ugh, that’s disgusting.”

“I’m just gonna squeeze past you, gotta grab a few things, then I’ll be out of your way,” Richie said, attempting to maneuver his way into the room. Stan slammed a hand to the doorframe, blocking Richie from entering.

“You can’t come in.”

“I’ll be two seconds.”

Stan didn’t budge. Richie groaned.

“I’ve had a really frustrating day, okay? Just let me in.” He didn’t ask this time. Richie pushed past Stan, and stepped into the room. 

It looked like a tornado had come through. There were plates and bowls smashed on the floor, and what Richie assumed was a cafeteria tray sitting atop Stan’s bed. The bed itself was a mess, the sheets all torn off and shoved almost completely under the bed. 

“What the dick is that?” Richie laughed, pointing at the mess. “Looks like something lives down there.”

“Wait, don’t–” Stan started as Richie approached the bundle of blankets. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to kick it. 

“I’m gonna kick it.”

“NO–”

Richie drew his leg back, then gave the sheets a hard kick.

“OW!” The sheets yelped. Richie staggered back, bewildered.

“What the fuck?” He whipped around to face Stan. “Did your fucking sheets just talk?”

Stan took a long, slow breath. He pressed his hands into his face and mumbled something indistinct.

“Huh?” Richie was still edging away from the blankets, unsure of what may be hiding beneath.

Stan moved his hands away from his mouth, still covering his eyes.

“It’s Bill,” he mumbled. Richie looked from Stan to the sheets, and back to Stan.

“No fucking way.”

Richie stepped forward and took a fistful of sheets. Then, in one swift motion, he yanked them back, revealing Bill, lying completely still beneath the bed.

“Did you murder him or something?” Richie asked, bending down to get a closer look.

“Bill, you can come out. It’s just Richie,” Stan said, his head still in his hands. Slowly but surely, Bill wiggled his way out from under the bed, groaning slightly as he stretched his limbs. 

“Okay, is someone gonna explain, or am I just supposed to guess?”

Bill and Stan shared an uneasy glance. The two of them seemed to be sharing some kind of telepathic conversation, one that Richie was not invited into. Finally, Stan cleared his throat, placing his hands on his hips and leaning back against the wall.

“Bill’s been bringing me food,” he said. Richie blinked. 

“Is there some reason you weren’t getting food?”

“Starvation was supposed to make me more of a man,” he whispered. Richie’s eyes widened in horror. He turned to Bill, who nodded in solemnity. The air seemed to rush out of Richie’s lungs. Stan had started to cry – silent, but heavy. Bill set a hand on Stan’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Stan flinched at the initial touch, his shoulders drawing up in defense. But then he tilted his head and nuzzled into it. Richie watched the two of them, his stomach twisting.

“Why don’t you play along?” Richie asked, desperate to do something. “Blow some smoke up her ass, pretend it’s all working? It works for Eddie–”

“I’m not Eddie!” Stan yelled. Richie was taken aback. Stan had pulled out of Bill’s grip, rounding on Richie. “I can’t convince myself of things I know aren’t true. It doesn’t matter how many times she tells me I can’t love another man, how many times she tells me what I feel isn’t real – I know it is. I know I can, because I do. And I have for a long time. And if I let myself believe her, if I let myself give in, I might lose the only thing I have left.” 

Bill was staring at Stan, frozen in a look of shock and fear. Richie was equally stunned, but more out of confusion than anything. The twisting in his stomach had grown stronger, deeper, his thoughts had begun to spin once more. 

“I need to guh-go,” Bill said suddenly. He backed up from Stan, who was growing paler by the second. 

“Wait, Bill, don’t…” 

But in a second, Bill was gone. Stan gazed blankly at the spot where he had just been standing, unable to speak. Then he crumpled suddenly, sinking to the floor and burying his face into his knees. Richie watched. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. There was too much going on inside of his head. 

The clock on the wall kept ticking by, reminding them both that the day kept going, even if they didn’t. The two hands seemed to taunt them, anxiety tearing holes in Richie’s chest as they neared the time for group. 

Chapter Text

Stan insisted on leaving for group early. Richie went with him. He had no urge to annoy Katherine. He felt numb in a sense, like all the anger had fizzled out into white noise that buzzed around the inside of his head. His stomach grumbled – he had forgotten to eat lunch. But he felt as though complaining about an empty stomach might be insensitive as he walked alongside Stan. Neither of them had said a word since the morning. 

The familiar cabin, with its sterile walls and shiny surfaces, seemed fake in the afternoon light. Everything glowed, as though being lit from the inside. Martin was sitting behind his usual fold-out table, clipboard ready. He looked up as they approached, slightly surprised.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone here this early. We haven’t even sent out the announcement.”

“I value promptness,” Stan replied, glancing down at the clipboard. 

“Good man,” Martin chuckled. “Well, the rooms aren’t open yet, so if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat – one apart from each other, you remember – I’ll go unlock them and be right back.” 

As Martin exited the main room, Stan immediately went to the table and snatched up the clipboard. His eyes scanned quickly down the line of names. He stopped, then reached into his pocket for a pen, which he used to write in some kind of note in the margin of the page. He slipped the pen back into his pocket and set the clipboard back down just as Martin re-entered. 

“Alright, they’re open. Let me check your assignments. Stanley Uris, you’re in Group 1 with Kath… Oh, wait, it seems Katherine left me a note. Let me see… Ah, Group 2 with Doctor Marsh, my apologies.”

“No problem,” Stan answered with a polite smile. He turned and exited down the hallway.

“Ah, Richie,” Martin greeted him. Richie raised his eyebrows in return. Martin cleared his throat. “Right, let me see. Group 2 with Doctor Marsh.”

Richie nodded and exited down the hall. He stopped outside the second room. The room itself was exactly like the others. Same boring wallpaper, same wooden floors. Stan had taken a seat already. Richie joined him. They waited in silence as others slowly began to fill the space. Beverly joined them, as did Bill and Eddie. Mike was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, a tall, slender man swept into the room, wearing a baby blue button down and black slacks. His hair was cut squarely around his head, and he had a shadow of beard around his chin. 

“Hi guys, sorry I’m late,” the man said, collecting himself and taking a seat in the circle. “Huh, looks like we have a pretty full group today. I’m also seeing some new faces.” He looked directly at Richie. “Would you mind telling us your name and maybe something about yourself?”

Richie sighed and rolled his head back. He absolutely did mind, but also lacked the energy to argue. 

“Hiya, I’m Richie. I’m seventeen. Some chick caught me sucking dick, so now I’m here.” 

There was a small gasp from one of the girls, and Dr. Marsh’s face soured. Richie laughed.

“Kidding. But it was a pretty wild night all the same.” 

Dr. Marsh rubbed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Thank you for that, Richie.”

“Anytime.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce our topic today for group: Intimacy and Relationships. So, your story may actually be quite beneficial, Richie, if you’d like to start us off.”

“Excuse me?” Richie was taken aback. He hardly wanted to participate in groups, let alone start them. Let alone start them on that topic. 

“Tell us about your ‘wild night,’ since you seem so adamant to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not–”

“It wasn’t a question.” 

Richie swallowed. His eyes immediately floated to Eddie. He absolutely did not want Eddie to hear this story. He didn’t know why, but that just seemed like the worst possible thing.

“Richie, we’re all waiting,” Dr. Marsh said. 

“Fine, whatever,” Richie grumbled. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling. He, under no circumstances, wanted to relive that night. “It was prom, and because it was prom and we’re teenagers, I was drinking. Like, a bitch ton of drinking. It was pretty shit alcohol though–”

A sharp pain shot through Richie’s side. He bent over, clutching his hands over the spot and breathing sharply through his teeth. Dr. Marsh was standing in front of him, holding what looked like a miniature taser. 

“Mind yourself,” he whispered, before returning to his seat. Richie couldn’t help but notice the way that Stan had jumped at the crack of electricity, how he had gone rigid, eyes wide and full of fear. Slowly, he relaxed back into his seat, but his hands were still gripping tightly to the edges of his chair. Richie turned himself back to face Dr. Marsh. He hoped the hate in his body was conveyed properly in his face. 

“Sorry, Doctor,” Richie said with a sneer. “So I was having some drinks, and I saw this guy across the room. I’d been watching him for a while–”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why were you watching him?”

“He was hot, I dunno? What kind of question is that?”

“Hm, ‘hot’, interesting choice of words. Continue.”

Richie faltered. His mind slipped back to Eddie for some reason. But that thought disappeared quickly as Dr. Marsh let a spark crack at the end of his shocker. 

“Yeah, ‘hot’. Anyway, we ended up hooking up in his car. Some chick saw us and thought someone was going down on her boyfriend. She pulled open the door and man, you shoulda seen her face–”

“I’m going to stop you there. I’d like to ask a question to the group. What do you notice is wrong with this relationship, outside of the obvious?”

Somehow, it seemed that everyone became very interested in the appearance of the room. All eyes were gazing up and down the wallpaper, counting floorboards, admiring the lights. Then, a shaky hand lifted itself into the air.

“Ih-it’s puh-purely physical.”

“Exactly, Bill. Thank you. This extremely intimate action was undertaken by two people driven by lust rather than love. This is because of the inherent sinfulness of a homosexual relationship. Now, how many of you have been involved in one of these kinds of ‘relationships’?”

About three people raised their hands.

“Oh, come on now, don’t be afraid. I’m not here to judge you.”

Richie scoffed, but four more hands were raised. He looked around. Even Eddie had his hand raised. Stan, Bill, Beverly, some girls named Rachel and Larissa, Patricia, and Eddie. Reluctantly, Richie raised his own hand. 

“Wonderful. Now, of those with their hands raised, how many of you engaged in intimate activities with this person?”

All but two hands stayed up – Rachel and Eddie. Richie felt guilt flood his body suddenly. Eddie was sat there, seeing his hand raised, probably thinking about all the people that he’s been with. But why should that bother him? Why was he so bothered that Eddie might think of him differently? Richie shook the thought from his mind. 

“Interesting. How many of you have been engaged in heterosexual relationships?”

Only two people raised their hands – Beverly and Bill. 

“And did you engage in intimate relations with them?” 

“I truh-tried,” Bill muttered. “Buh-but I stopped.” 

“Why?”

“It f-fuh-felt wrong.” 

“Exactly. And why?” 

Dr. Marsh watched Bill expectantly, waiting for his answer. But it never came. Bill just kept staring at his feet, not eager to continue the conversation.

“B-Because I… I luh-loved her?” 

Someone in the room scoffed, but Richie didn’t see who it was. Dr. Marsh shot a nasty look around the circle. Bill’s ears had grown steadily more and more red.

“Perfect answer, Bill,” Dr. Marsh continued. “When we are involved in heterosexual relationships, we are properly able to develop loving connections. If you love something, you’d hardly crave to defile it. You’d want to cherish it, right? Nourish and protect it. However, as you have all noticed, when engaging in homosexual relationships, one is immediately drawn to lust, wanting to have sex, to gain pleasure… I mean, Richie, you were perfectly happy to give yourself away to someone on the basis of appearance. I think we can all agree that that’s hardly ‘love.’ You agree, right, Bill?”

Bill hesitated. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again. Then, with a look as though it was the most painful thing in the world, he nodded.

“Bullshit.” 

Everything stopped. Dr. Marsh looked up, directing everyone’s attention to the source of the noise.

“Sorry?” Dr. Marsh said.

“I said, that’s bullshit.” It was Stan. He had stood up from his seat, his hands drawn into fists at his sides. “You don’t know the first thing about love.”

“Oh,” Dr. Marsh laughed. “And you think you do?”

“I know a hell of a lot more than you do.”

Stan gasped as the shocker was jabbed into his side. He stumbled back as Doctor Marsh drew closer. 

“Stanley, whatever delusions you’ve convinced yourself of are clearly something that need to be addressed outside of group. I’m almost completely sure you were supposed to be with Katherine today. Maybe you should go join her.” Doctor Marsh grabbed Stan by the wrist and dragged him out of the room. The door slammed shut behind the both of them. There were raised voices in the hall, and the distinct sound of someone being hit. 

Then Bill was on his feet. Richie looked up at him. He looked terrified – his eyes wide and watery, his hands shaking by his sides. He made a start for the door, but Beverly was faster. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him back. 

“Stop, you’ll only make it worse,” she said, desperation breaking her voice. “Bill, just sit down.”

“Th-they’re huh-hurting him!” Bill shouted, finally pulling out of her grasp.

“They’ll just hurt him more! Trust me, I know!” 

Bill stopped struggling. He faced Beverly. She looked destroyed – tears were streaking down her cheeks without end, her eyes red and filled with pain. She was clutching at her necklace and at her clothes, trying to stifle her own sobs.

“Bev, what are you–” Richie started, but Eddie flashed him a look that told him to shut up. Richie was looking back and forth between Beverly and Bill. Between the door and what he knew was beyond it. The person. The realization ran over him like a train.

“That’s your dad,” Richie whispered. “That’s your… What the fuck did he do to you?” 

Beverly didn’t say anything. Instead, she grasped a fistful of her shirt and pulled it up, revealing scars that traced all over her stomach, her sides, and her back. 

“My dad found out about me and Greta because he found a bruise on my hip.”

“Why was he looking at your…” Richie started the question, but he knew the answer. “Jesus, Bev…” 

“You can’t stop him,” she said, her voice shaking. “When he wants something, or he’s angry, there’s nothing you can do.” 

Richie was dumbstruck. Nothing… How was there nothing? 

“No,” Richie said. “No, there’s gotta be something. We have to–”

The door swung open and Katherine came in, flanked by Dr. Marsh. Hatred seethed in Richie’s veins, his entire body felt like it was roiling in flames. He hated them both. He hated them from the deepest part of his core. Between them was Stan, his head hung low. He wiped his face with the back of his hands, muffling his whimpers.

“Mr. Uris has something to say, if you would all listen,” Katherine said, her voice its usual cool, apathetic sound. “Mr. Uris?”

“I’m… I’m sorry for lying.”

“And?”

“And for glorifying sin.”

“Very good. You may take your seat once more.”

Stan made his way back to his seat, but didn’t sit down immediately. He adjusted it. Then once more.

“Leave it be!” Dr. Marsh snapped. Stan froze, every muscle in his body tensed. The sound of the electric crack from the shocker seemed to bring him back to life, and Stan fell almost instantly into his seat.

“You’re a fast learner,” Dr. Marsh smirked. Richie so badly wanted to punch him. “Now, where were we?” 

The rest of group was a nightmare. No one wanted to speak. The revelations of the past few minutes seemed to have overwhelmed everyone’s ability to think properly. Each question was met with silence, only broken by a spark or a crack, which prompted someone to answer. When at last Dr. Marsh glanced down at his watch and called group to final prayer, Richie felt himself relax. He hadn’t realized how rapidly he had been tapping his foot into the ground, or how tightly his shoulders were squeezed up toward his ears.

It was the fastest he had ever seen a group clear. There were no stragglers, no one waiting to talk or tie loose laces. As soon as they said “Amen,” it was a race for the door. They all broke off toward their dorms, hearts pounding with both terror and relief.

The dorm room had never looked so welcoming. Richie flung himself onto the bed, sprawling out and letting himself catch his breath. He gazed up at the ceiling, the familiar pattern now seeming strange. As much as he wanted to fall asleep and forget the rest of the day, he couldn’t help but think about Beverly and Stan… And Dr. Marsh. And what he did to Beverly. And what he did to Stan. And how they were powerless to stop anything going on around them. 

There was a knock at the door. Richie froze.

“Yeah?” he called, dreading the answer.

“It’s B… It’s B-Buh… Fuck. It’s me.”

Bill.

“It’s open.” 

Bill entered the room. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and although he tried to hide it, Richie could tell he had been crying. 

“Is Stan huh-here?”

Richie rolled over and looked to Stan’s empty bed. He hadn’t noticed, but Stan didn’t walk back with him. He shook his head.

“Shit.” Bill wandered over to Stan’s dresser. He examined each of the books, looked at how they were arranged, and for a split second, Richie could swear he saw him smile. Bill reached out to pick up the stuffed bird, but Richie stopped him.

“He gets all pissy if you touch his stuff,” he warned.

“Huh-he never m-muh-minded me,” Bill whispered, and took the bird into his hands. He cradled it gently, as though it were real. Never looking up from it, he dropped himself down onto Stan’s bed. He ran one hand over the bedsheets, and smiled.

“It s-smells like huh-him,” he said. “Like ruh-rain and fresh b-b-buh-bread.”

“Do those go together?” Richie asked. Eddie always smelled like rubber gloves and lysol. At least those seemed to correlate. 

Bill laughed and nodded. Then he fell silent. Richie was overcome by a wave of exhaustion, and let his eyes flutter closed. He listened to Bill’s uneven breaths, and to the sound of him gently running his fingers back and forth across the sheets.

“I love him,” Bill said suddenly. Richie’s eyes opened and he turned his head to look at Bill. “I love him so much. I huh-have fuh-for s-so long. I duh-don’t know why I couldn’t s-say that b-buh-before.” 

Richie blinked. Then he sat up. 

“Bill,” he said. 

“Wh-what?”

“You didn’t stutter.”

“Huh? Yes I duh-did.”

“No, when you said ‘I love him,’ you didn’t stutter.” 

“Oh.”

“Dude!” Richie jumped at him suddenly, wrapping him into a tight hug. “Dude, you love him? That’s crazy!”

Bill blushed fiercely, then tears filled his eyes.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean that in a bad way–”

“Nuh-no. I… I juh-just fucked up really buh-bad.” Bill sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “W-we’re buh-b-both here buh-because of me.”

Richie pulled back. “What?”

Bill looked up and met Richie’s eyes. Richie let Bill lean his head into his chest, and let him soak his shirt with tears. Richie listened as Bill spoke. He listened for as long as Bill needed.

Bill and Eddie had been friends since grade-school. In middle school, Eddie brought Stan into the friend group. Their parents had been long-time business partners, so they had nearly grown up together. It hadn’t taken long for Stan and Bill to grow close. Stan was patient and quiet, and Bill was excitable and needed someone who was willing to listen. There wasn’t any specific moment where they realized they had fallen in love, it just seemed to have happened. 

When Eddie found out, he stopped talking to either of them. When asked why by his parents, he shrugged and merely said, “People grow apart.” 

In high school, Bill had joined the baseball team. Stan always hung around, although he tried to keep a low profile. Rumors and pressure from the team convinced him that in order to stay afloat, he had to get a girlfriend. He chose Audra – a pretty girl from the debate team who seemed safe and relatively naive. Stan was reasonably upset, but tried to be supportive. After a game, Stan and Bill met in the parking lot, which they assumed was empty. The two shared a kiss, unknowingly seen by Audra. She confronted them, and Stan took the fall, claiming that he had approached Bill and instigated the matter. Stan was sent to Saving Faith shortly after.

Bill joined after coming clean to Audra a month later. He reunited with Eddie and Stan, although none of them addressed the situation. It was like a mutual agreement to never discuss it. Stan was struggling to accept the program. He resisted and fought back – he refused to believe he had done anything wrong. Katherine instituted rationing for his meals, and eventually stopped allowing him to enter the cafeteria. That’s when Bill began to sneak food to Stan. And that’s when Bill realized that his feelings had never faded.

Bill pulled away at the sound of footsteps approaching. The two of them spun around, facing the doorway. There was a gentle tap at the bottom of the door as someone pushed it open with their feet. 

“Bill?” Stan said, surprised. He was standing in the doorway, eyes red and puffy, a nasty bruise forming across his right cheek. “What are you–”

But he was cut off as Bill ran up and wrapped him into a big hug. Stan seemed startled at first, almost resistant, then he relaxed and let himself soften into Bill’s arms. His head dropped down, resting on Bill’s shoulder as he squeezed him back.

“I love you,” Bill breathed into Stan’s hair. Stan looked up. 

“What?”

“I love you,” Bill repeated. Stan blinked.

“One more time?”

But this time, Bill cupped Stan’s cheek in his hand and pulled him into a kiss. Stan smiled as their lips met, as they melted into each other like snow under the sun.  

Richie took a step back. Then one more. Then he decided to leave the room. Seeing the two of them had made his heart ache for some reason. He shut the door quietly behind him, then took a deep breath. He turned to make his way out to the grounds when he collided with someone walking past.

“Watch it, asshole!”

Oh, Eddie.

“You just came in?” Richie asked, leaning back against the door. 

“Wow, you’re a real Einstein,” Eddie huffed. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a long pause as he gazed down the hallway. 

“Something on your mind?” Richie tilted slightly to come to eye-level with Eddie.

“Nothing you could help with,” Eddie replied.

“Try me! You’ll find I have all sorts of useful talents!”

“Like embarrassing yourself?”

“Ouch.” 

Eddie tried to continue his path down to his room, but Richie followed.

“Can I help you?” Eddie said, spinning to face Richie. Richie took a step back, raising his hands in a mock surrender.

“I’m bored,” he whined. Eddie stared back at him in disbelief.  

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?” 

“I can think of a lot of things,” Richie said through a smirk.

“I… I, what…” Eddie sputtered. “Don’t be gross!”

“Ah, Eds, you have such a dirty mind!” Richie laughed. “I was just gonna suggest we take a walk, but if there’s something else you’d want to do…”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Eddie looked Richie up and down, then furrowed his eyebrows. He let out a big sigh. “Actually, yeah. Let’s take a walk.”

Richie gasped. “Really? What an honor!” 

“Okay, maybe not.”

“No no no!” Richie ran ahead of Eddie, blocking the way into his room. “Let’s go for a walk! We’ll be adventurers in the wild, wild lands of Homo Camp!”

“I hate you so much.”

“Aw, hate you too, Eds.” 

Chapter Text

The walk was relatively quiet – shocking, considering its participants. On occasion, Richie would step on a pebble the wrong way and release a string of vulgarities, but for the most part, neither said anything. Eddie seemed to have no destination in mind. The two of them wandered up and down the same gravel path that traced its way through the whole of the grounds without direction. And the silence made Richie feel as though his head were about to explode. 

“Oi, are we headed anywhere?” he blurted, unable to contain himself. Eddie didn’t stop walking, but he did shoot Richie an irritated glance.

“No? I said I wanted to take a walk.”

“What the fuck is the point of a walk that goes in circles?”

“Ever heard of a track team?”

“Yeah, and I’d ask them the same question.” 

Eddie grumbled and continued down the path. Richie walked beside him, matching pace with fewer strides. He stuck his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the sky. It couldn’t have been much later than five, although it was hard to tell during the summer – the sun stayed in the sky seemingly forever. Suddenly, Eddie stopped in his tracks. Richie narrowly missed running into him.

“Something catch your eye?” Richie asked. Eddie’s eyes were fixed in the distance. Richie followed his gaze. There was something glittering slightly down the path. Richie took a step toward it. The sun glinted off the material, hiding the object in its glow. 

“Shall we investigate?” Richie hummed, turning back to Eddie. Eddie’s eyes were narrowed, suspicious. “C’mon, it’s not gonna kill you. And if it does, I’ll arrange a nice little funeral.” 

“Fuck you,” Eddie muttered. The two of them approached the mysterious object. The closer they got, the less and less it seemed to glitter. Up close, it blended seamlessly into the ground. Richie bent down to examine it. He reached out a hand, but Eddie stopped him.

“Don’t touch that,” he hissed. “You don’t wanna get tetanus or something.”

“It’s not a rusty screw,” Richie replied, scooping up the object in his hand. He yelped, a sharp pain slicing through his finger. He stuck it in his mouth, sucking on the cut.

“Told you!” Eddie huffed. He knelt down next to Richie. “Lemme see.” 

Richie hesitated, not wanting to give Eddie the satisfaction. Eddie watched him, unamused. He had stuck out a hand, waiting for Richie to offer up his injury. Richie relented, and Eddie took his palm with a smug satisfaction that made Richie’s stomach knot. Eddie pressed gently down onto the cut, and Richie tugged his hand out of reach.

“Gentle!”

“Oh come on, I barely touched it.”

“I’m very delicate!” Richie whined, cradling his hand at his chest. Eddie watched him, indignant.

“What even was that?”

“Dunno,” Richie sighed, turning around to peer at the object. The two of them leaned in, examining it against the red gravel. Eddie gave it a nudge with his shoe. It made a gentle clinking sound.

“Is it glass?” Eddie wondered aloud. Richie shrugged.

“Probably.”

The two of them stood.

“If there’s one shard, there’s probably more around here somewhere.”

“Aha! A mystery! Come, Watson, let us examine the crime scene.”

“Who the fuck are you calling Watson?” Eddie snapped. Richie grinned.

“You’re right. Sorry, Nancy Drew,” Richie said with a wink. Eddie sputtered, his ears glowing red. 

“At least I’m the main character,” Eddie muttered. Richie watched him with a burgeoning sense of joy that he couldn’t quite explain. They set off down the path, eyes pealed for any more glittering shards that could lead them to their answer. 

“OW! Shit,” Richie gasped, another sharp pain gleaning through his foot. He stumbled back, lifting his heel to see a small shard sticking out. Eddie rushed forward. 

“Lemme see,” he demanded. The two of them sat, Richie’s foot sitting in Eddie’s lap. 

“Be a little more gentle this time, doctor.”

“Stop talking, dumbass,” Eddie chided. He placed two fingers around the shard and in one swift motion, plucked it out. Richie barely winced.

“Woah, you’re an expert at this,” Richie said in awe. Eddie shrugged.

“I used to get pushed around as a kid. I had to get used to picking splinters out of my hands.” 

“Ha, what I wouldn’t do to get pushed around a bit.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I mean, I always got straight up ignored as a kid. I figured at least if you’re getting beaten up, it means someone knows you exist.”

“I doubt anyone could ignore you,” Eddie said, staring down at his lap. “You’re like a neon sign that says ‘look at me! I’m a spectacle!’”

“Well, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to push you around.”

“Really?”

“Okay, I can imagine. But still, I don’t get shit like that,” Richie sighed, leaning back into his hands. “If I were there, I’d have beaten the shit out of them for touching you.” 

Eddie looked up in surprise. Richie flushed pink, suddenly aware of what he had just said. 

“B-but, just because you’re so tiny. It would be like beating up a baby,” he stammered. Eddie’s eyes were still wide with shock. Richie silently cursed himself. “Anyway!” Richie stood up, dusting off his pants. “Let’s continue our search!” 

Each step elicited a slight wince from his foot, but Richie pressed on, determined not to look back at Eddie, whose eyes he could feel constantly glued to his back. 

“Holy…” 

“What?” Richie asked, swiveling around to face Eddie. Eddie was frozen, fixated upon a large, red pickup truck parked at the end of the road. Richie adjusted his glasses, squinting to get a better view.

The truck’s left window was completely shattered. Pieces of glass littered the ground, shining like diamonds all around. Richie approached it first, taking careful steps as not to collect yet another piece of glass in his foot. Eddie followed behind him. 

The rest of the truck seemed undamaged. Richie leaned in, peering through the shattered window. The interior was spotless. There wasn’t a single shard left on the seats, no markings of whatever was used to break through. 

“Someone’s been driving this,” Richie said.

“What? How do you know?”

“There’s no glass on the seats.” Richie found himself reaching through the window, patting around for the handle. Eddie grabbed him arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting inside.”

“Are you an idiot?”

“No one’s here.” Richie shrugged him off. “Aha!” He found the handle. He gave it a gentle pull, and the door popped open. Richie swung it open and hopped in. Eddie hesitated. 

“You’re going to get in trouble,” he whispered.

“Not if we don’t get caught.”

“‘We?’”

“Yeah. Unless you’re too chicken?” Richie smirked. Eddie shot a nervous glance around. Then he slowly turned his head back to face Richie, who was drumming his fingers along the dashboard, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Richie hoped it was concealing his racing heart. 

He also hoped it concealed his delight when Eddie climbed into the passenger side. Eddie refused to look at him. He seemed unable to stop surveying their surroundings, scouting out any possible onlookers. Richie sighed, leaning back into the seat. His hand slid down the side of the seat, feeling for any buttons or knobs. When his hands finally grasped the lever, his eyes lit up. He yanked it back and felt the seat drop back completely. He looked over to Eddie, who was too absorbed in his lookout to notice. Richie grinned. He propped himself up onto his elbows, then, in a single motion, threw himself over Eddie, who let out a yelp of surprise.

“What are you–”

Richie yanked back the lever on Eddie’s seat, sending him back with a thud. Richie fell back, cackling as Eddie scrambled about, trying to understand what had just happened. Richie clutched his stomach, rolling around with laughter. Once Eddie had finally come to, he rolled over to face him, face scrunched up in aggravation. But at the sight of Richie, curled up and grinning like an idiot, the anger melted off of his face. It was soon replaced by a grin of his own, although his laughs seemed like chirps compared to Richie’s obnoxious honking. 

“You’re so stupid!” Eddie exclaimed, although he couldn’t mask his amusement. Richie rolled over onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hands.

“But at least I’m pretty,” he mused, tossing back his hair with a flair. Eddie buried his face into his hands and giggled. Richie’s jaw dropped.

“Did you just laugh at one of my jokes?” he gasped.

“I was just so embarrassed for you,” Eddie mumbled through his hands. 

“That’s a lie,” Richie said, propping himself up onto his elbows. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a no…” 

“It’s not a yes either.”

“Buuuut,” Richie hummed. “It’s not a no.”

Eddie didn’t reply. There was a gentle curiosity that nagged at the back of Richie’s head. He traced his eyes up and down Eddie’s lean frame, explored how his pants hung loosely around his waist. How Eddie’s hands were small compared to his own. He watched as his shirt stretched and relaxed with each breath he took, and how he could see the corner of his mouth peeking out behind his hands, curled into a tiny smile. 

“Well,” Richie sighed, closing his eyes and laying his head down on his arms. “I think you’re very pretty.” 

The steady pattern of Eddie’s breath came to a halt. Richie didn’t open his eyes, but he could feel Eddie looking at him. This should have made him panic. It should have made Richie’s cheeks get hot and his brain freeze up. But for some reason, he felt immeasurably calm. He didn’t fight it.

Eddie laid an arm across his eyes, the other down by his side.

“I’m not gay,” he whispered. 

“Okay.” 

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

Richie lifted his face out of his arms. He tilted his head, drinking in Eddie’s tousled hair, his pale skin. One of his hands crawled its way across the median. He felt Eddie shrink back, felt his body tense.

The space between them was small, but as Richie’s fingers drew closer to Eddie’s, it seemed endless, like he could reach out forever and never touch him. Richie could smell the fear, taste the curiosity, the wanting that hung heavy through the air like fog that stuck to their lungs and throats. He could hear breaths that drew in sharply and out shakily. He could see how Eddie’s own hand twitched, aching for something that he had denied himself for so long.

“If you want me to stop,” Richie breathed, now only inches away from Eddie. “Stop me.” 

There was no response. No push, no recoil, no snappy reply or muttering. Eddie was motionless, waiting. Richie could feel his heart pounding, blood rushing through his ears and eyes, ruining all his senses, but touch. Sensation seemed heightened. He could feel every breath Eddie took, the slight tremble in his lip reverberated off of Richie’s own, and his skin screamed with the desire to touch, to hold.

His fingers found Eddie’s. His skin lit up with warmth, lightning striking its way from fingertips all the way to his toes. As he wrapped his hand under, interlacing their hands and weaving fingers around each other, a burst of pure, unadulterated joy flooded his senses, alighting his vision, his hearing, smells and tastes all more powerful and real than he had ever known them to be. 

With his free hand, he traced his cheek, running hands across his soft skin, memorizing the curve of his jaw, how it so perfectly shaped that face that he had seen so many times. Richie pulled himself closer, taking the arm that laid across Eddie’s face and lifting it gently from its resting place. As Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, Richie felt his heart stop.

He was real. And he was so beautiful. 

Richie was frozen, one hand interlaced with Eddie’s, the other still grasping his wrist, revealing the rest of the face that made that whole, real person. He hesitated. His eyes were drawn down to his lips, parted slightly, shallow breaths drawn in and out.

The feeling of his hand being moved made Richie jump, until he felt Eddie pulling it in, drawing it down to his face. Richie was holding Eddie’s cheek, Eddie’s resting atop his own, capturing it. And before Richie could do it, Eddie lifted his head and pressed his lips into Richie’s. 

He was gentler than Richie had imagined. For all his loud, abrasive exterior, Eddie’s touch was surprisingly light as he brushed his fingers up and down Richie’s arm. They fit together perfectly – their hips and shoulders matching like two halves of a whole. And in that moment, Richie felt pure relief, the lifting of some great weight that had been sitting on his heart for far too long. 

The kisses were soft, tender, hardly what Richie had known with any of his previous partners. There was no greater goal, no hasty desire to go any further than they had. All he wanted to do was savor the moment, taste, smell, see, hear – record every bit of Eddie into his memory. 

By the time Eddie pulled away, the sun had begun to sink toward the horizon. Richie let himself lay heavily across Eddie, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath him. He couldn’t imagine getting up. 

Chapter Text

At some point, Richie had fallen asleep. The only reason he became aware of this was the distinct lack of Eddie beneath him. Richie sat up, bewildered. He looked around the truck, checking the backseat, even the glove box – which would have been funnier had Eddie been there to be offended. Giving up, Richie popped open the driver door and hopped out. He stretched his arms, yawning, squinting at the sun that was still burning barely above the horizon.

Richie gazed down the gravel path and, as he did, his stomach let out a low grumble – he had definitely missed dinner.

As much as he wanted to go back to his dorm and sprawl out across his bed, he found himself oddly tired. Richie leaned back against the truck and sank down, landing with a crunch on the gravel. He laid his legs out long, stretching out the soreness that had built up while sleeping in the truck. The sky was a brilliant orange, the clouds plump and fluffy. If it hadn’t been for the homophobic overlay, it would have been quite a beautiful view.

“Richie?”

Richie’s head snapped up. He squinted through the sun to find a shadowy figure standing over him. He scrambled to his feet, dusting off bits of gravel from his trousers.

“Woah, calm down, man,” the person said, taking a step back.

Oh, wait, he knew that voice.

“Mike?” Richie asked. If he was wrong… Well, he wasn’t going to think about that.

“Yeah. What are you doin’ out here?”

“You know, making the rounds. Scoring babes, doing coke.”

“…Right,” Mike said, not bothering to ask again. He didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to Richie.

“What are you doing?”

Mike looked back at him, silent, then brushed past him, right up to the truck window, at which point he reached through the broken window and pulled the handle, popping the door open. He climbed into the driver’s seat. “What the…” he mumbled. “Why are the seats all the way down?”

Richie took a sudden interest in his socks.

Suddenly, the headlights flashed and the engine rumbled to life. Richie looked up in shock.

“The fuck!?” Richie exclaimed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “Are you telling me you had a truck this whole time? Dude!”

“What? No. I broke the window to get Martin out of his office. You know, so I could grab the key,” Mike replied.

“I knew that.”

“Okay.”

“So,” Richie continued, taking a quick glance around them. It was still light out – they weren’t exactly hidden. “What’s the big plan, James Dean?”

Mike looked taken aback. “I’m getting out of here. What did you think I was doing?”

Richie blinked. Leaving? Alone?

“Isn’t that stealing?”

“No,” Mike said, simply. “It’s my truck.”

“What!? Then why didn’t you leave before?”

Mike looked down, hands in his lap. He sighed, rubbing a calloused hand over his face. Something like a laugh escaped his lips, although there was no humor in it.

“I guess, I somehow thought this was the right thing. For me. For my family. But… It can’t be.” He paused, letting his gaze drift out above the horizon. In that moment, he looked much older. His eyes were tired, lines tracing his lids and his forehead. His mouth drooped, sunk into a permanent frown.

“What changed your mind?” Richie asked. He had made his way around to the passenger side of the car, climbing in and readjusting the seat.

“Bev.”

“What about her?”

“Her eyes. The way she screamed when her father dragged Stan out of the room.”

“Huh? How do you know about that?”

“I were in the room across from you guys. I heard everything.” Mike leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling of the truck. “Dr. Marsh… I shouldn’t call him that – he doesn’t have a degree.”

“What about ‘bastard’?” Richie offered. Mike laughed. It was low, soft, and genuine. Richie hadn’t ever heard such a gentle laugh before.

“Sure. ‘Bastard’ was my individual therapist. Everything I learned about love, well, what I thought was love, I learned from him.”

Richie was silent.

“Love… When I heard Bev’s voice, when I heard her cry… A man that can do that to his daughter and feel nothing? That man knows nothing about love. And maybe I don’t either – maybe I’m too young or too inexperienced. But I know a hell of a lot more than these people do.”

“So, you’re just gonna leave? Isn’t that kinda selfish, leaving all of us behind?” Richie cursed his tongue. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Mike stared at Richie, taken aback.

“I’m not just leaving. When I get home, I’m gonna call the cops. Or the news. I’m gonna do something about this place. And I’m doing it because, right now, I’m the only one of us who can. But you gotta keep this a secret. If anyone finds out they’ll…” He turned back to face the steering wheel, clutching it so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything sooner–”

“Stop,” Richie cut in. His own hands were balled up in his lap, fists that trembled slightly from some unknown emotion. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for getting sucked into these assholes’ bullshit ideology.” Richie let out a sigh, trying to control his breath as his heartbeat quickened. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Huh?” Mike’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Someday, when the cops have come and locked up Katherine and Martin and Bastard, I look forward to seeing you.” The words felt a lot heavier spoken than in his thoughts. Richie swallowed hard, trying to break through the wall of fear or gratitude or whatever that was choking him.

“I look forward to that too,” Mike said, with that same gentle laugh. He placed one of his sturdy hands on Richie’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Until then, man, keep surviving.”

“Roger that,” Richie said, forcing a smile. He gave Mike a joking salute, then opened up the side door and climbed out of the truck. As Mike pulled away, he couldn’t stop himself from waving, and he couldn’t stop the surge of hope that suddenly flooded his heart and forced a steady stream of tears from his eyes. And as the sun had finally disappeared from the sky, replaced by the lonesome moon and its dim glow, Richie felt a little spark in his chest catch flame.

Richie finally felt the energy to make the journey back to his dorm, which was strange because he had also never been so exhausted. The day had presented more than he had expected, all on an empty stomach. The familiar green door seemed like a desert oasis as he approached, and that turn of the door handle seemed like the most gratifying experience of his life.

When he reached his room, the door was pleasantly ajar. He let out a sigh – the day was finally returning to normal. He pushed open the door to see his beautifully unmade bed, open and ready for him to sprawl out and fall into a well-deserved slumber. But his plans were interrupted by the ever-so-dry words of one Stanley Uris.

“Where have you been?”

“Hello Mom,” Richie snorted, trudging over to his bed.

“Bill said you didn’t show up at dinner. Neither did Eddie.” Although Stan appeared to be occupied by his book, Richie knew he was being watched.

“Huh, weird. Spaghetti must have been feeling down or something.”

“Eddie was also refused to talk when Bill came back to their room.”

“Maybe it’s that time of the month.”

Stan rolled his eyes and sighed. “Are you stupid, or do you just think the rest of us are?”

“You must all be stupid because, clearly, I’m a genius.”

“Why do I bother talking to you?”

“Because somewhere, deep, deep down, you think I’m funny.”

Stan made a fake vomiting noise and actually turned his attention to his book. Richie flopped face-first into his bed with such force that his glasses indented his nose bridge. But he really couldn’t care less. The mattress had never been comfortable, but at the moment it was the most luxurious thing he had ever laid upon.

“It’s been such a long fucking day,” he groaned, face buried into his mess of sheets. Stan likely gave some kind of nonverbal reply that Richie missed due to his current position. “I just wanna sleep forever.”

“Well, we’ve got group again tomorrow morning, so good luck with that.”

Richie lifted his head for the sole purpose of smashing it back down into the mattress, letting out a scream of frustration as he did. He repeated this a few more times, just to make sure he got his point across. What that point was, he wasn’t sure. But he wanted to get it across. Stan slammed his book shut after the fourth time.

“Can you shut up? Someone’s gonna come in here–”

“Who the fuck is screaming?”

Richie lifted his head once more. In their doorway was, the one and only, Eddie Kaspbrak, already dressed for bed in his blue and white pajamas.

“Eddie, help, Stan’s bullying me!”

“Yeah, well you probably deserved it,” Eddie said with a huff. “Oh my God, is this how you live?”

Richie sat up. “You were in here like, two days ago! Why is this surprising?”

“Maybe you’re just so shockingly disgusting that he can’t get used to it,” Stan replied.

“See what I mean?” Richie whined. “He’s so mean!”

“I don’t give a shit. Just shut the fuck up. I’m trying to sleep.”

“You wouldn’t be so tired if you had just slept in the car with me.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Eddie froze. There was a moment of bewildered silence as all three processed the words that had just left Richie’s mouth.

“Um, what car?” Stan asked. He looked between Richie and Eddie, neither of whom seemed eager to answer. “Inside a car…? I’m sorry, why is this just being brought up now?”

“Because we only found it today!” Richie said, suddenly feeling defensive.

“And you didn’t mention that you found it when you walked in here!?” Stan slapped his hands over his face and gave his own small scream of frustration.

“It’s not like we had the keys!”

“Then how did you get inside?”

“The window was broken, so we just got in that way.”

“Broken!? You broke into a car?”

“No, Mike did.” Richie had the sneaking suspicion that he may be saying more than he should. The appearance of Eddie’s jaw dropping and Stan’s expression of pure rage seemed to confirm this.

“Mike broke into a car!?”

“It was his car!”

“He had a… AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO MENTION THIS?”

“WELL–”

“Wh-why are you all s-suh-screaming?”

They all turned to the doorway, where now a fourth person, Bill Denbrough, had joined their conversation. There was a silent exchange of looks – mostly from Stan and Eddie, directed at Richie – as Bill stood stiffly in the doorway. Stan flashed Richie a warning with his eyes, something along the lines of “you’d better tell him” followed by a glare loosely translating to “dumbass.” Richie shook his head in response, attempting to convey back, “I wasn’t supposed to say that in the first place, so I really shouldn’t repeat it.” But that must have been lost in translation, because Stan stood up and began speaking.

“Richie and Eddie found–” The rest of the sentenced was muffled as Richie slapped a hand over Stan’s mouth. He was almost immediately shoved back into the side table.

“Don’t touch me!” Stan shouted, stumbling a bit as he wiped at his mouth with his shirt.

“Wh-what the h-hell is your p-puh-problem?” Bill said, stepping between Richie and Stan, who seemed at a loss for words.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just needed to stop him from saying something!”

“Wh-why?”

“If I told you that would kinda defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it?” That was definitely not the right response, judging by Bill’s reddening face, but Richie was struggling to come up with anything else. In autopilot, his brain seemed to spout off the first thought in his head. “I don’t want you guys getting in trouble!”

“Duh-don’t act buh-like the shit that g-guh-goes on around here only affects y-y-you! If s-suh-something’s wrong you n-need to t-t-tuh-tell us!”

“Nothing’s wrong! It’s actually a good thing.”

“Then wh-why d-did you stuh-stop S-S-Stan?”

“Because, I don’t want you getting in trouble!”

“That duh-d-doesn’t make s-sense.” Bill no longer appeared angry, just concerned. He took a step back from Richie, allowing him to fully regain his stance. As Richie pushed himself up from where he had fallen back, he could feel his resolve weakening. Would it really be that bad to tell him? Then again, the more people that found out, the more risk would be involved. But, if he didn’t say anything, Stan probably would later. Richie sighed.

“Okay, fine. But this doesn’t leave the room, got it?”

Chapter Text

“That was a lot to take in,” Eddie breathed, rubbing nervously at the hem of his shirt.

“That’s what your mom told me last night.”

“Do you possess the capability to shut the fuck up?”

Richie’s attempt to lighten the mood had evidently fallen through, but that didn’t dull the satisfied swoop in his chest whenever Eddie fired up at one of his comments. Especially now, since Eddie seemed determined to avoid any kind of direct communication with Richie. This only increased Richie’s urge to taunt him. There was some kind of fall of pride that came with being ignored after a kiss – definitely after a first kiss. Richie understood intellectually that this shouldn’t be his main concern at the moment, but the desire to return to that moment in the car was clouded his best judgement.

“S-so w-wuh-what’s the plan?” Bill asked. He had calmed down significantly since Richie had explained the situation, but he still stood defensively in front of Stan, who was cross-legged on his bed, staring down.

“Wait,” Richie said, decisively. Eddie scoffed and Richie turned to face him, tilting his head in mock curiosity. “What? You got a better idea?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed and he scrunched up his nose like he had just caught a whiff of something disgusting.

“Waiting is going to be hell,” Stan mumbled. Everyone turned to face him. He looked up, his eyes slightly unfocused. “And even if we end up leaving, won’t we just be going back home?”

“I mean, yeah?” Richie asked, confused. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not really.” Stan drew his knees into his chest, hugging them tight. “The idea sounds nice… But I don’t think my parents are gonna want me back if I’m still…”

His words hung a shroud over the room, and suddenly any kind of hope seemed to seep slowly out through the walls.

The idea that his parents might not want him back hadn’t occurred to Richie. But now that Stan had said it, it seemed obvious. His parents had sent him away because they didn’t want to raise a gay kid – to deal with the looks and the rumors and the embarrassment. And most of all, they didn’t want the blame. If he went back home, how much worse would it be? Not only would he still be gay, he would have failed at fixing it.

“Sometimes I just wonder what the point is,” Stan whispered. Richie’s head snapped back to face him.

“What? Don’t say that!” Eddie yelped, taking a step forward. “There’s lots of stuff to look forward to!”

“Is there though? I mean, what’s the likelihood that anything actually gets better from here?”

“Wuh-what are you tah-t-talking about? Anything would buh-be b-buh-better than this puh-place.”

“But isn’t this place just like a condensed version of everywhere else?” Stan said, anger beginning to shake his voice. “What’s the point if we leave here and everything is the same?”

Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to reply, then shut it again. His mouth was pulled into a tight line and his chest rose and fell heavily beneath his white shirt. Richie wanted to pull him close and hold him tight. Maybe breath some ease back into him.

Stop. Not relevant right now.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck up the whole mood,” Richie said, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt somewhat guilty for Stan’s current state, as well as for the fact that he couldn’t seem to focus on anything except for Eddie and his strangely unwrinkled pajamas. Seriously, it was like he steamed them out after putting them on…

Jesus, Richie. He slapped a hand against his forehead, which alerted the other three, who turned to face him with equally concerned expressions.

“Mosquito,” he lied, and silently cursed himself for being stupid and obvious, and obviously stupid. He wished he had something more comforting to offer Stan, but within his own mind he was trapped in similar thoughts. 

“I just wish I could be a kid again, before all this started,” Stan mumbled, resting his chin on his knees.

“I’d rather be an adult than a kid. Freedom and money and all that,” Richie sighed. But as the words left his mouth, something faint sounded in the back of his head. He stood suddenly. “Holy shit, wait! Bill!”

“Wuh-what?” Bill asked, slightly startled.

“Bill, you’re seventeen right?”

“Yeah? Areh-aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re like old seventeen, right? About to turn eighteen?”

Bill seemed to have realized the same thing. So did Stan, judging from the way his head popped up from his knees.

“Your birthday is on the fourth, right?” Stan asked, unfolding from his position and shifting so that his legs hung off the side of the bed.

“You ruh-remembered that?” Bill blushed slightly.

“Of course.” Stan brushed the question away like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s in… that’s in two days!”

“Now who’s neglecting to mention things?” Richie said, only half-joking. Stan shot him a withering look. 

“Wait a sec,” Eddie jumped in. “You’ll be legal adult, so you can sign yourself out of here, right?”

Richie nodded even more enthusiastically than Bill.

“And when you do, you’ll be able to get to the cops or the news a lot faster than Mike because you won’t have to go through your parents first?”

“Exactly!” Richie shouted. “And while you’re at it, you should totally use your magic adult powers to get the fuck out of whatever hick town you’re from.”

“Wuh-well I’m not j-just gonna do th-that…”

“What? Why not?”

“I c-cuh-couldn’t leave you guys b-b-behind.” He gestured to Eddie and Stan. “Nuh-not when we just fuh-found each other again.”

“Then take them with you,” Richie said with a shrug. The three others shared a look, coming to some kind of wordless conclusion of which only Richie was ignorant to.

“I need to talk to you,” Stan broke in suddenly. He grabbed Bill by the wrist – shocking to everyone – as he stood.

“Whuh-what?”

“I’ll explain later. Just come with me. You two,” he pointed at Eddie and Richie, who exchanged a confused glance. “Stay here.”

The two of them left the room without another word. Richie watched the door slam shut with both concern and amusement, the latter of which compelling him to let out a snort of laughter. As he settled back, leaning lightly against his dresser, he noticed something. Eddie, for the first time that evening, was looking directly at Richie.

“What?” Richie asked, hoping he masked the surprise in his voice.

“What about you?” Eddie asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Huh? What? What about me?”

“When you answered Bill, you said take them, not us.”

“You seriously noticed that? Well, it’s not like I was part of your group to begin with. And we’re not even from the same place, so–”

“Then do you think we should leave Bev alone, too?” Eddie’s voice rose in pitch and he took a step forward toward Richie, who was absolutely bewildered. He had less than an ounce of a clue what Eddie was getting so upset about. It wasn’t like he had suggested they leave him behind.

“Of course not! Bev’s one of you guys,” Richie retorted. He was suddenly feeling cornered, with Eddie approaching so intensely. Usually, he would laugh, but something in Eddie’s eyes told him that they were far beyond the joking annoyance they usually maintained.

“And you think you’re not?” Eddie had stopped about a foot away from Richie, who was now leaning uncomfortably against his dresser.

“I’m not! I got here late and you guys barely tolerate me!”

“We don’t tolerate you. We like having you around! You’re actually…You’re like… Like a brother!”

Brother? That word stung. Richie knew it was supposed to be kind, knew it was supposed to be reassuring, but instead it burned, leaving an ugly mark across his chest. But Richie wasn’t unused to that feeling. He did what he always did, and pulled his face into a self-satisfied grin, and cracked a joke.

“Well, I think we’ve established how we all feel about family here.”

That seemed to have halted Eddie’s stream of words. He stood there, utterly still, just staring at Richie with those same rich brown eyes that had caught his attention those weeks ago. But they were different now. They weren’t darting about, agitated and suspicious. They looked hollow, like someone had gone and stolen the light from them. And Richie hoped with all his heart that that someone wasn’t him.

Eddie’s head dropped, and Richie lost sight of those empty eyes.

“What are you so afraid of?” he said in a voice so low Richie’s ears strained to catch the words.

But he did. And they rang clearly through his body as Richie stared at the top of Eddie’s head, still bowed to the floor. The next words he said weren’t conscious, nor were they intentional. It was like his body had chosen without him, like some deep-rooted instinct to protect himself.

“You’re asking me what I’m afraid of?” Richie laughed. “Are you fucking serious? You can’t be fucking serious.”

“I’m dead serious!” Eddie shouted, still not looking up from the floor. “I don’t understand you at all! You act like you want to be close with everyone, but you won’t even let us in!”

“What? I’m… I’M NOT LETTING YOU IN?” Richie roared, slamming his hand down on the dresser with such force that Eddie jumped. “You… You are so fucking selfish!” Richie could feel a stinging in his nose and knew that tears were about to start falling if he didn’t stop them quick. He hid his face in one of his hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. “You act like you don’t care, then you come back and mess with my head again! Dammit, if you want something then ask for it, but if you don’t know what you want then don’t use me while you figure it out!”

“I’m– I'm not using you!” Eddie sputtered. Richie didn’t look at him. He was busy squeezing his fingers harder into his eyes to try and prevent any tears escaping.

“Really?” Richie was appalled by the venom in his tone. “Okay then. What am I to you?”

“You’re…”

“What?”

“I just…”

“WHAT?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Eddie screamed. Richie pulled his face out of his hand just enough to let some blood return to his eyes. Without looking, he could tell that Eddie had started to cry. A surge of anger washed through his mind. You’re crying? Why do you get to cry? I should be crying. I should be the one upset here. But he wasn't upset. He wasn't even angry. He was just desperate.

“How do you not know?” Richie asked, his resolve cracking. He prayed with all his might that he could get through his next words without his voice breaking. “I don’t get how you don’t know.”

“The way I feel... I don't get why or how...!”

“What way do you feel?”

“I can’t explain it. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Try then.”

“I can’t! I just feel like–”

“Like you can’t breathe?” Richie straightened himself, fully lifting himself out of his hand. But he still couldn’t muster the courage to look Eddie in the eye. He kept his focus on the floor, on the wooden boards that ran beneath his feet and beneath Eddie’s. That thing that was holding them up, though they both felt that indescribable feeling of falling into nothing.

“Like I can’t think! Like I’m dying or I’m paralyzed when I’m around you!”

“And what do you think that is?” Richie asked. He bit down on his lip. He was not about to cry. Not right now.

“It’s… You’re my friend. Like, a brother.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, that’s not it.”

"Then what else could it be?"

Richie’s stomach twisted. He felt as though he were walking a tightrope. If he just went ahead and pushed Eddie forward when he wasn't ready, they would both fall. And maybe that's what happened back in the car. But, if he guided him instead then maybe... That was it – the courage he needed. Before he knew it, Richie had reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. He swept his other hand under Eddie’s chin and tilted it up so that their lips met perfectly. Richie could taste the saltiness of Eddie’s tears as they curled over his cheeks and hooked around his lips. He didn't mind. As he pulled back, he felt Eddie’s breath hitch, as though he wanted to yank Richie back, keep them locked together. Richie couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. It wasn't their first kiss. But somehow, it was real in a way that it hadn't been before. It was like the final bit of resistance had crumbled. Now it was the two of them, both fully aware of their feelings, their bodies, their minds.

“Oh,” Eddie breathed, his head still tilted up so that he and Richie were only inches apart. Richie grinned down at him.

“Hmm, so you’re an incest kinda guy?”

“Okay, you ruined it,” Eddie said, pushing Richie away.

“What do you want me to say? You call me your brother then kiss me like that!”

“You kissed me!”

“I don’t think so.”

“You motherfucker…”

“Mmmm, kinky.”

“I am going to strangle you while you sleep.”

“At least do it while I’m awake.”

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up.”

“Anyway,” Richie hummed, approaching Eddie once more and placing his hands delicately on his hips. Eddie grumbled but didn’t pull away. “What am I to you?”

"Fucking annoying." But he was smiling.

Chapter Text

Forty-eight hours. It was like a grueling trudge through thick, swallowing mud. It had been forty-eight hours since that night where they clung to that last little shred of hope. And in just two hours, their numbers would drop one more. Six to five to four.

The looming question was whether or not to inform Beverly. Unless her father was spontaneously arrested, there was little chance of her leaving with the rest of them. Was there a point in getting her hopes up for nothing? But all the same, it felt dirty to leave her out.

Also, whatever Stan and Bill had discussed in private had not been revealed to the other two, which Richie found much more irritating than he should have.

Perhaps the one thing that was not bothering Richie was Eddie, which was the last thing he thought he’d be saying. The two of them found ample time to be together – meals, post-group, free time… And although Eddie was still apprehensive to any kind of touch, he lit up in Richie’s presence and seemed all too eager to sit next to him in group.

Richie couldn’t stop watching the clock. Laying under his sheets on his all-too-stiff mattress, his heart hammered in his chest. In one hour, it would be 5AM. Bill would be awake. He would sign himself out. They’d be one step closer.

Stan rustled under his blankets and Richie rolled over onto his back, for some reason embarrassed to be so excited. He felt like a little kid waiting for Santa, except Santa was an eighteen-year-old boy and his present may or may not be included. His stomach twisted at the thought of leaving. Damn, should’ve waited until I was eighteen to get caught, he thought with a sigh. Stan rustled again, and Richie glanced over suspiciously.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, squinting through the darkness.

“No.”

Fuck you, Richie thought. He sat up, placing a pillow under his back and propping himself up against it. “I’m so antsy. I just want it to be morning already.”

“It is morning.”

“You know what I mean! Morning-morning. Like, Bill-getting-the-fuck-out morning.”

“…Yeah,” Stan mumbled. Richie frowned, noticing the hesitation in his reply.

“What’s up?”

“Hm?”

“You’re clearly thinking.”

“Most people do. Though, I know that might be a foreign concept to you.”

“Okay, I’m trying to be nice here. Seriously, what’s got you all bothered?”

Stan turned over and pulled his sheets down so that Richie could just make out his silhouette. He was clutching tightly to his pillow, hugging it into his chest.

“I don’t know if I could do it. I mean… leave.”

“Huh!?” Richie’s voice rose involuntarily and Stan immediately shushed him. He lowered his voice back to a whisper. “Sorry. I meant, ‘huh?’ What do you mean you can’t leave?”

Stan paused, and for a moment Richie thought he had fallen back asleep. When he spoke, he was almost too quiet to hear.

“It’s my parents,” he whispered. “I think my dad hates me. But, my mom… I don’t think I could leave her.”

Now it was Richie’s turn to pause. He had thought about returning home plenty of times. He had pictured his parents’ faces as they greeted him at the entrance, and how his mom would pull him into a hug and tell him that she was so proud. And he’d hug her back. But as much as he tried to conjure up that same image of his father, he couldn’t. In fact, the more he thought about it, the less he could picture it. Had his father even looked at him since that night with Father Gray? Would he look at him if he came home, or would he still be too ashamed?

But then again, his mother came to mind. Her sweet, doting eyes and the way she would brush his hair out of his eyes whenever it got too long. The way she could hold him in her arms and every bad feeling would just fade into the background. Could he just leave her? He could leave his father – he knew that for sure. But at home, his mother was waiting for him. She was ready to take him back. She would.

And then, Eddie’s face. The way he turned red when Richie embarrassed him, or how he would huff and cross his arms when he couldn’t come up with a reply. The way he walked and talked two paces faster than everyone else. And how if he went home, he’d probably never see him again. And that second kiss would have been their last. And he’d never know how much further they could have taken it, or how much more they could have discovered about each other.

He couldn’t have both. And somehow, Richie knew that that was what Bill and Stan had been discussing the other night. If, for them, it would be worth losing each other to go back home.

“Is he worth it?” Richie wondered aloud. The words left his mouth without his permission, and he swore he could see Stan flinch as they reached him. “Sorry…” he mumbled. “Sorry, sorry, talking to myself. Ignore that.”

“No, it’s a fair question.”

Richie started. He hadn’t expected a reply. Or maybe he just didn’t want one. Either way, his jaw clenched with regret for letting himself speak without thinking. Again.

“I don’t know where you and Eddie stand, but for me…” Stan drew in a deep breath. “Bill is like this thing that I can’t have. Every time that I feel like I’ve finally gotten a good hold on him, he slips away again. If he doesn’t come back this time, I don’t know… Maybe the world just wasn’t made for us.”

Richie laughed. “That’s some sappy ass bullshit, dude! Who gives a shit if ‘the world wasn’t made for us?’ Fuck that. Do what makes you happy right now. That’s what I do.”

“Yeah? And how has that been working out for you?”

“You know what? Pretty fucking great. Yeah, I got sent to this shithole, but hell if you guys aren’t some of the best people I’ve ever met. And, dude, I met Eddie here. I mean, what better way to rub it back in my stupid dad’s face. ‘Hey, not only am I still gay, I’ve got a boyfriend! Suck my dick!’”

“You’re so charming.”

“You love it.”

Stan scoffed, but Richie could hear the laugh hidden behind it.

The sound of a door closing caused both of them to jump. Richie looked furiously around the room, squinting at the door, trying to see if it was open. It wasn’t. He let go of the breath he was holding and settled back against the pillow. He glanced over at the clock.

“Oh shit, it’s five.”

Stan pushed himself up.

“Then I think that was Bill.”

Richie felt a grin creep across his face. “Why don’t we go wish him a happy birthday?”

—

Stan and Richie snuck out of their own room, leaving the door open just enough so that it didn’t slam. Richie took a step into the hallway and turned to face what he assumed would be a very happy Bill Denbrough.

Turns out, it was not Bill. Instead, he found himself staring at the back of a blue nightdress, above which hung a loose ponytail of bright red hair which burned golden in the morning sunlight.

“Bev!?” Richie barely kept his voice to a whisper. “How’d you get in here?”

Beverly turned at the sound of his voice. When she saw him, her face lit up, blue eyes glinting with their usual mischief.

“Long time no see, buddy,” she said, walking up and giving him a playful nudge with her elbow.

“It’s literally been two days,” Stan muttered from behind them.

“Aw, missed you too!” Beverly gave him a friendly salute, which at least caused the corners of Stan’s mouth to twitch upwards. “What’re you two doing up so early?”

“Could ask you the same,” Richie responded. “Plus, you’re in the guys’ dorm, and I know for a fact this isn’t a walk of shame. Unless…?”

“Damn, you caught me,” Bev sighed, shaking her head in mock shame. “You know I just can’t get enough of shitty table manners and immaturity.”

“Rude! I, for one, am extremely mature.” Richie placed an important hand upon his chest and assumed a regal stance. “All the ladies only wish they could bring me home to their mommies.”

“Never speak again,” Stan grumbled. “How do you two manage to lose the conversation twice?”

“I’m very talented.”

“Not talking to you. Bev, how did you get here?”

Beverly shrugged. “The door.”

Richie couldn’t suppress his snort. Well, he probably could have, but the opportunity of seeing Stan’s annoyed face was too good to pass up. Beverly gave Richie a little wink before continuing.

“I’m assuming you know,” she said, gesturing to Stan before pointing at Richie. “But Richie, it’s a special someone’s birthday.”

“Bill Clinton,” Richie said, matter-of-factly. Beverly’s mouth fell open slightly as though she couldn’t tell whether or not he was joking. “Kidding. Of course I know it’s Big Bill’s big boy day!”

“Please, stop talking. It hurts my ears,” Stan said, his voice strained from trying to keep quiet through his irritation. Richie guessed he had been squeezing his nose bridge, because there was a distinct red mark running between his furrowed brows.

“Sooo, did you get him a pre-sent?” Richie sing-songed, sidling up by Beverly to see if she had hidden a gift somewhere.

“May-be,” she sing-songed back. “Or maybe I’m just here for a selfish reason.”

Richie had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so he just laughed. Beverly laughed too, so he gave himself a mental pat on the back.

“Whuh-what are you guh-guys d-doing up?” A surprised voice asked from the end of the hall. All three of them turned to see who the new addition was, although they already knew.

Bill stood just outside his door, his hair already brushed and wetted down. He was wearing his khakis and navy polo, but untucked. What would be the point? He’d be changing soon. He’d be leaving soon. Richie swallowed back his jealousy as Bill approached their tiny group.

“Hey there, adult,” Stan said back, and wormed his way between Beverly and Richie to wrap a very confused-looking Bill in a big hug. Bill squeezed him back, and gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head. “Happy birthday.”

“Ah yes, the whole world has opened up to you – smoking and strip clubs and private hotel rooms…You’re a real man now!” Richie said, giving Bill a clap on the back that nearly knocked him over. “Oh wait, you probably haven’t taken that last step yet.” Richie winked and Stan shot him a look of utter disdain. Bill just let out a nervous laugh and took a step back as Beverly came at him with a running hug. She probably would have lifted him off his feet if he hadn’t been so tall.

“You big guy, you!” she gushed, hooking her chin above his shoulder and grinning. “Happy birthday, bud.”

“Guh-guys,” Bill started, but Beverly shushed him.

“You’re leaving today, right?”

Richie felt like a spider had just crawled down his spine. Beverly knows. Is she going to be upset that they never discussed it with her? He realized how stupid it was to have thought Beverly would be unaware of what turning eighteen meant for them. At least it seemed like he wasn’t the only one though, as Bill looked equally taken aback.

“He is,” Stan answered for Bill, who was taking slightly too long to formulate his reply. He flashed Stan a grateful look.

“Damn. Our group just keeps shrinking, doesn’t it?” Although she smiled the whole time, Richie still caught that scrap of melancholia that clung to her voice. A pang of guilt shot through him – these were feelings they had been able to process over the past few days together. She was trying to do it alone. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her into a light side hug. She bumped her head affectionately against Richie’s and leaned into him. Richie’s gaze flitted to the doorway Bill had just been standing in, thinking of the person still inside. He grinned. If Eddie saw them like this, he’d probably be a little jealous.

Wow. Really can’t keep the thoughts in check, can we?

Now that Eddie was in his mind, Richie really, really, really could not get him out. He’d never been inside of Eddie and Bill’s room. He wondered if Eddie was as neat and tidy as Stan, or if that was just how he presented himself. What did he look like while he was sleeping? He never got to see, as Eddie had snuck out of the car before Richie had woken up. Was he asleep now? Richie blushed suddenly at the thought of Eddie curled up beneath his sheets, bedhead and rumply pajamas.

“Thinking about your Eddie?” Beverly teased. Richie’s attention snapped back to the present. The other three were staring at him, Stan rolling his eyes despite the stupid smile plastered to his lips.

“I was just thinking that it wouldn’t be right to send off Bill without him,” Richie said quickly, releasing Beverly and slapping his now-freed palms into his cheeks – an excuse for the growing redness.

“Eddie? Huh-he guh-got called out at fuh-four by Ph-Ph-Phillips. Something ab-buh-bout his mom.”

What? Now that Richie though about it, he really knew nothing about Eddie’s family. He knew clearly that they were some kind of overprotective type, given his weird placebo pills and mysterious meal packages. And there’s no way you produced someone like Eddie without being a first-class helicopter. Homophobic Helicopter. That had a nice ring.

Not the point.

But why would his mom be calling him out? Why would she be here? And why at four in the morning?

Richie really, really wanted to rush up to that stupid white-walled cabin, kick down the door of Katherine’s office – not because it was necessary, but just because he hated her – and drag Eddie out of there. While he wasn’t entirely aware of what was being discussed in there, he already knew it was taking a toll on Eddie’s teetering mental stability. There was no way that someone’s parent shows up at four in the morning “just to talk.” And something deep down was nagging him. Something felt wrong, and he couldn’t seem to shake the sudden nauseating fear that overcame him. His concern must have been etched onto his face, because Beverly gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not going to suggest you go and barge in there like you probably want to, but I would totally support you if you did. Silently though – I don’t wanna get my ass beaten.”

Richie didn’t even have the urge to comment on that. Was he always like this when he liked someone? Completely and utterly transfixed on them at all times? He wasn’t quite sure. It’s not like he’d ever been in a real relationship before. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be. Maybe a relationship was supposed to be like a torrential downpour of thoughts about the other person. One where seeing them or hearing their name could trigger a flood of different feelings that weren’t even related to the current situation.

Or maybe he was just weird. Some kind of clingy and over-obsessed type. Probably not. Probably just overthinking it.

But the thought of Katherine being anywhere near Eddie right now was setting his nerves on fire. The thought of whatever the other faceless antagonist in the room was saying made his chest ache. Eddie wasn’t the type that liked to disappoint, but shame wasn’t something you could avoid in a place like Saving Faith.

He slapped his hands against cheeks again, trying to drive out any thoughts of heroism. Whatever flimsy attempt he made at rescuing Eddie would probably blow up in his face. Worse, it could have some kind of repercussion for Eddie. Plus, he needed to be there for Bill right now.

“I’ll buh-b-be fine, Richie.”

Richie looked up, bewildered. It was like Bill had read his mind.

“No, dude, you’re top priority right now.”

“Clearly not, since you’re zoning out every two seconds,” Stan retorted, but there wasn’t any malice behind his words. “It’s obviously freaking you out, and we get it.”

“Shit, okay,” Richie mumbled, rubbing a nervous hand against the back of his neck. “It’s just that it sounded mega-serious, with it happening at like, four and stuff, so–”

“Hey, stop it,” Beverly chided. “Just go get your guy. I’ve got some stuff to discuss with these two, anyway.”

Richie met her eyes, then Stan’s, then Bill’s. Richie took a step forward and extended his hand out to Bill. When he took it, Richie yanked him into an embrace.

“Take care of yourself, dude. You’d better not fucking chicken out.”

“I wuh-won’t,” Bill laughed, giving him a light pat on the back. “I’ll buh-be b-b-back soon.”

Richie gave Bill a final monster squeeze before he pushed himself out of the hug. Then, with one final look over his shoulder and a last wave at Bill, he took off down the hall, barely breaking pace to open the door.

Chapter Text

The gravel beneath his socks was sharp like usual, digging into blisters that had formed over the past week. He tried to ignore it as best he could – at least it wasn’t glass, like that time outside the car. If anyone saw him, they’d probably think he was making a break for it, the way he was running. Maybe he was. What if’s filled his mind as he sprinted across the familiar path to Katherine’s office. What if the door was locked and he couldn’t get to Eddie? What if he could get in, but they dragged him back out? What if he got in and Eddie was crying? The thought was like a knife in the chest. He thought back on his own conversations with Katherine. The only reason he didn’t cry was pure spite, although everything in him had been screaming for him to lose his resolve and shatter right there in that stupid little room.

It’s impossible for you to love another man.

The memory was still a fresh wound, bleeding freely in his chest. He knew that was a lie. He knew it. But God, he didn’t know anything else that hurt more. And he thought of Katherine saying that to Eddie. And he thought of how easy it was to convince him of things. And how desperate he was to please.

Would he believe it? Did he already believe it? No, he couldn’t. That was certain, at least. At least that feeling could remain pure.

But what if he hated it? What if they made him hate Richie so much that he just ended things? Was there a possibility that Katherine knew about them? Is that why he was called out that morning? Why his mother was there?

Too many questions. There were too many questions in Richie’s head. His lungs burned as he ran, his legs did too. The office felt so far away. He didn’t understand why it felt so far away. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t quiet his mind for just a moment. Just long enough to formulate a plan.

He couldn’t even understand why he was so scared. This was normal – at least for them. Saving Faith was the kind of place where it was normal to be pulled out at random moments, where you never knew what was going to happen next. It was that kind of looming anxiety that kept everyone obedient. But he couldn’t shake that nauseating feeling that something was wrong.

It was strange, how the cabin seemed to just appear in front of him. He grasped his knees with his hands and swallowed huge gulps of air. Never in his life had he resented his lack of athleticism this much. It couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes, and somehow he was already sweating. But his heart wasn’t calming down and, despite his exhaustion, he was brimming with jittery energy that threatened to explode out if he didn’t act soon.

He supposed it was in his nature to rush in without a plan. He supposed it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him. So when he felt his hand tighten around the doorknob, twisting it violently and stumbling forth into the dim interior of the cabin, he didn’t expect to feel so incredibly stunned.

Eddie wasn’t trapped inside of Katherine’s office. No, he was stood squarely in front of the visiting desk, his hands wrapped tightly around the thick arm of a woman with curly brown hair and an egregiously patterned dressing gown. Around her neck was a set of large, off-white pearls that threatened to snap loose with every heaving breath she took in and out of her mouth. Her eyes were small, but somehow drew all the attention in the room. They were protected behind large lenses, which cast deep shadows down her cheeks, which were sagging in what appeared to be a permanent scowl. Stuck to her chest was a sticker reading ‘Sonia Kaspbrak.’ Ah, what a cute family reunion.

Eddie’s eyes blew wide at the sight of Richie. For a brief moment, his grip slackened on Sonia’s arm, and he looked as though he might even release it. But then Sonia jerked her arm closer, snapping Eddie back into place, snug into her large bosom.

“Who are you?” she growled. As she spoke, she revealed a row of yellowing teeth, ground down to nubs. I guess anxiety runs in the family, Richie thought. She bore down on Richie, and he suddenly became very aware of her height. She scrutinized him through those thick glasses, examining his face and appearance with utmost disgust.

“Can I help you?” Richie asked, leaning back to escape the acrid stench of her perfume. She again, and Richie couldn’t help but notice how Eddie’s head barely reached her shoulder.

“Sweetie, do you know this boy?” she asked, not diverting her searing gaze from Richie. Eddie squirmed against her arm, looking anywhere but up.

“He’s my friend,” Eddie whispered, unable to do much more than that. Richie didn’t understand why Eddie didn’t just say no. But the way that Eddie’s hands trembled as he spoke told Richie that there was a lot more threat in lying.

“Friend? I don’t know him.”

“I met him here, Mommy.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up to her thinning hairline, and her upper lip curled, once again displaying those yellow nubs. “That tells me all I need to know.”

“Excuse me?” Richie said before he could think better of it. Eddie’s head snapped up from the floor, his eyes pleading for Richie to just shut the fuck up – but without any of the usual humor.

“Oh, I know all about the kind of kids they keep here.” Richie wanted to smack that self-satisfied smirk from her face. He probably would have if it weren’t so apparent that Eddie absolutely did not want him do. He was sure his face was saying all that needed to be said, but he couldn’t seem to help the words that bubbled up in the back of his throat. Well, more like he didn’t want to.

“Enlighten me.”

She sneered, and Richie thought she looked ever so similar to one of those llamas you’d find at a petting zoo – right when they were about to spit.

“I know you’re all little queers,” she hissed, voice dropped low so that only Richie would hear. His body gave an involuntary flinch at the word, and he could see the pleasure in her face. That really got his blood boiling.

“That’s actually where you’re wrong,” he sneered. “I’m a big queer. A big, flaming, cock-sucking homo. And this big ‘ole homo wants to know what the fuck you’re doing here.”

Now it was Richie’s turn to be satisfied as Sonia’s scowl flattened out into a tight line that tugged strangely at her sagging skin.

“I don’t see how that could be any of your business,” she sputtered, her lips returning to that ever-so-lovely frown. “Eddie is my son, and I have to right to do what I have to do to protect him.”

“I’m failing to see how that translated into sending him to Hellhole Camp.”

She suddenly yanked Eddie closer, causing him to gasp slightly as he lost his footing. “My baby was extremely ill.”

“Ah, that explains those sugar pills,” Richie muttered.

Sonia’s eyes grew wide. Her head went flipping back and forth between Eddie and Richie before she finally growled, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay lady.”

Sonia’s hand suddenly shot forth from where it had been holding Eddie and snatched the front of Richie’s shirt, yanking him onto his tiptoes. He was mildly impressed by her strength. But that feeling faded when he found himself staring directly into those beady blue eyes, flashing with the look of a lion ready to feast.

“How dare you question how I treat my son,” she growled. The venom in her voice made Richie shudder. “It’s kids like you that poisoned my Eddie, made him think he was like you. You keep your filthy little hands off my boy–”

“STOP IT!”

Richie felt himself fall forward as Sonia’s grip suddenly slackened. He barely caught himself with his hands before colliding face-first into the wooden floor. The searing in his knees told him there would be bruising tomorrow, but he didn’t care, because what he was looking at had him unable to think clearly.

Sonia was leaning back against the wall, heaving breaths that caused her face to nearly be hidden behind her rising and falling chest. The bewilderment on her face could be traced to the figure standing directly in front of her – short, slender, small hands trembling in white-knuckled fists, a white nightshirt and checkered pajama pants. Two legs that bowed slightly from fear, and a mouth that moved far too fast and far too much. Eddie Kaspbrak was standing barely a foot from his mother, and although he barely met her shoulder, he seemed to tower over her.

“Don’t… touch him,” he said in between rattling breaths.

“Sweetie–” she started, but Eddie cut her off.

“DON’T!” he roared, and even Richie felt his breath catch in his chest. “Just stop.” His shoulders moved up and down with every inhale and exhale, and Richie’s whole body ached with the desire to hold him close, stop that shaking and make him still. He wasn’t a sympathetic person, usually. He didn’t think that caring for someone could make him hurt. But suddenly, it seemed as though he and Eddie shared a heart, and that heart was being torn apart by some kind of violence.

“No one… No one made me… I’ve always been like this.” His voice kept faltering, breaking off in the middle of his sentences. He swallowed hard and continued. “And if you… If you keep tr-trying to ignore that, it’s going to kill me.”

Richie kept wondering if Eddie was going to cry. He seemed fast to tears in the past. He kept waiting for that final crack, something to push him over that edge, but Eddie’s eyes remained dry. It was like he had detached himself from the moment, as though he wasn’t in the body that was speaking. Or maybe this was always there, but hidden beneath that veil of inhibition that was so carefully ingrained into his personality.

Sonia didn’t say a word. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, reaching for those little bubbles of oxygen in the stream. Eddie had temporarily stopped, but his stance never wavered. He stayed upright, eyes never breaking from where they had bored holes through Sonia Kaspbrak’s demeanor.

“From now on, you’re not going to tell me who I am. I’m going to figure that out for myself. But thank you for signing me out. You can go.”

“Eddie, baby, please. I’m sorry. We can talk about this at home–”

“No,” he said, sharply. “I’m not going home with you.”

“What!?” Sonia let out a wheeze. “Where do you plan on going? Who’s going to take care of you?”

“Me,” Richie heard himself say. Eddie stopped short, turning to face him. Richie stood up slowly, rubbing at the soreness in his knees. “Eddie doesn’t need you, because he has me. I think it’s time you left.”

“You are not going to tell me what to do!” Sonia cried, her voice rising hysterically. “I am your mother, Eddie! You know I love you so much. You know that! You need me, sweetie. I’ll get you better. Please, just come home and we can talk–”

“Didn’t I already say no?” Eddie’s soft voice cut through Sonia’s shrieks like a knife. She fell silent, her eyes bulging and jaw slackened. Richie would have felt bad for her if she wasn’t… Herself. Richie jumped when he felt something brush against his hand, until he realized that it was Eddie’s fingers, slowly intertwining with his own. “This is who I am. It’s always been like that. The people here are my family. They care about me, the real me, not the version that you keep trying to create. I’m tired of this game we’ve been played. I’m done with. It’s… It’s bullshit!” Eddie’s hand squeezed Richie’s so tightly he had to bite his lip in order to not yelp.

The sound of the door opened shocked all three of them silent. Eddie quickly pulled his hand out of Richie’s. They turned to face the newcomer, and were greeted by the bewildered expression of one Katherine Phillips. The corners of Richie’s mouth tugged upwards – he took such sick pleasure in seeing her caught off guard.

“Hiya, Doc!” He greeted her with a polite wave. That shocked and confused look on her face would fuel him for weeks to come.

“What exactly is going on in here?” she asked, barely maintaining her unbothered facade.

“Just some good family talk,” Richie answered. Sonia seemed to find herself again, because she suddenly straightened up and stalked over to Katherine. “This boy is trying to take my son away from me!”

“Actually, she’s trying to take him away from you,” Richie corrected. “See, Edward here doesn’t wanna go yet, but Mama Bear wants to whisk him off! How cruel! Poor Eddie Spaghetti just wants to be cured, but this monster won’t let go!” He placed a hand on his forehead in mock distress. Eddie concealed a snort in his palm.

“LIAR!” Sonia shrieked. “LIAR! You quacks here have absolutely no idea what is good for our children! And you–” She jabbed a meaty finger into Katherine’s chest. “You are just another money-hungry, dyke bitch.”

Katherine’s expression was utterly unamused. She lightly took hold of Sonia’s finger with her own index finger and thumb and removed it from her chest.

“If you don’t calm down, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” Katherine replied cooly, and for once, Richie felt a surge of gratitude toward her.

“You can’t do that. I’m his mother. You’re the ones who called him down here.”

“Yes, because you said you needed to discuss his medication with him. That is why I allowed you two privacy while I dealt with… Another matter.”

Another matter? Richie wondered what that could be.

“However, you were not authorized to harass anyone in this facility, including your family members,” she continued.

“He’s leaving with me!” Sonia barked, sending spit flying in every direction. Katherine shut her eyes, gently wiping the saliva from her cheek.

“Then you will need to sign the appropriate paperwork. Please, come with me into my office so we can discuss this further.”

“Like hell I will!”

“Please refrain from shouting. It is still quite early for many of our patients. When you signed Mr. Kaspbrak in, you signed a commitment to his treatment. Are you no longer interested in redirecting him toward faith?”

“Not if he’s–”

“I’m still interested,” Eddie piped up. Sonia’s face fell as all eyes were drawn to Eddie. “When I was signed in, didn’t you say I also needed to consent to being discharged? I guess, I don’t think I’m ready yet. Mommy, don’t you love me enough to see me through this?”

Sonia stared at Eddie like she had never seen him before. “Don’t lie to me. You just told me–”

“That these people here, doctors and staff, are my family, exactly,” Eddie finished for her. “So, I’d like to stay.”

Katherine sighed. “Unfortunately, without Mr. Kaspbrak’s consent, I cannot legally allow him to leave the premises. This is a medical facility, after all.”

“Aw, what a shame,” Richie said, shaking his head. “Guess, Eds is staying with us a little longer.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Katherine said, extending an arm to guide her out. Sonia rounded on her.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled. Katherine pulled her hand back, instead, moving it to the door handle and turning the knob.

“This way, please.” She gestured through the open doorway, out to the courtyard where the sun was peeking through the clouds, a golden glow cast upon the scenery. Sonia sent Eddie a last look.

“Sweetie, I’m coming back for you. You’re not thinking straight right now, but you will. Just wait for me.’

“Bye-bye!” Richie called, waving as Sonia was ushered out of the office. Katherine followed her out, letting the door slam behind them. Richie barely got to take a breath before he felt Eddie collapse into his side. He wrapped his arms around him, finally able to hold him close.

“I didn’t think you had that in you,” he whispered, burying his face into Eddie’s hair.

“I didn’t either,” Eddie mumbled back.

“I’m gonna set you down though, because you’re heavy.”

“Okay, fuck you.”

Richie let go of Eddie, but scooped up his hand, guiding him over to the wall. They both sunk down against it, Eddie letting his head rest on Richie’s shoulder.

“She lied,” Eddie said quietly.

“Huh?” Richie didn’t turn to look at Eddie, keeping his eyes fixed on the door in case Katherine returned.

“I’m a minor, so technically it had nothing to do with my consent. She could’ve taken me with her if she wanted.”

“What? Why did she do that?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m glad she did.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Eddie said, lifting his head from Richie’s shoulder and reaching into the pocket of his pajama pants. “She still signed it.”

Chapter Text

In Eddie’s outstretched hand he clutched a piece of paper. Richie took it gingerly, unfolding it and scanning the contents. As his eyes traced the lengthy medical mumbo-jumbo, his heart began beating more rapidly in his chest. His fingertips were sweating lightly where they touched the paper.

Consent to discharge… Parent/Legal Guardian… X. Sonia Kaspbrak.

“You’re leaving,” Richie said, breathlessly, and for a moment, he allowed himself to fully look at Eddie. He had never been at such a loss for words before. His eyes were glossy, round and wide, but not with fear like before. They glistened from the sunlight that trickled in through the window, and Richie could almost see his own reflection in them. His pale skin was glowing, face in a soft, honest smile more pure than anything Richie had ever known. He reached out, cupping Eddie’s cheeks with his hands, staring directly into those eyes. Eddie placed his own hands atop Richie’s, then gently leaned forward so that their foreheads were touching. They breathed in the same air, touched the same skin.

After what seemed like an entire lifetime, Eddie pulled away, but left their hands together, now resting on his lap. Richie let out a small chuckle.

“What’s funny?” Eddie asked. The little pout in his lips made Richie blush.

“This just all happened really fucking fast and… I’m just really gonna miss you.”

Eddie searched his face, looking for any hint of sarcasm, but Richie’s expression never budged. That was it. No joke. No hidden meaning.

“This is such a shitty way to meet,” Eddie muttered. Richie nodded in agreement. “I wish we could have met differently. Like Ben and Bev.”

“But they didn’t fall in love.”

“Huh?” Eddie jumped. “Who said anything about love?”

“Oh? Me. I did. But it’s fine if you don’t feel ready to say it back. I can wait.”

Eddie softened back into the wall, all the while never letting go of Richie’s hand. “Okay. How long can you wait, do you think?”

“As long as it takes for you to fall in love with me.”

“Sounds good.”

“Shake on it?”

“Okay, never mind, you ruined it,” Eddie groaned, relinquishing Richie’s grasp and turning his back toward him. Richie reached underneath Eddie’s armpits and wrapped his arms around his torso. “Hey! Let go!”

“Nope,” Richie replied, squeezing him from behind. He rested his chin in the crook of Eddie’s neck. “Not moving.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait…” Richie lifted his head. “No insult? No ‘fuck off Richie, you’re stupid and I hate you will all four feet of my body?’”

“Four–!?” Eddie threw Richie’s arms off and hopped to his feet, swiveling around so that he faced Richie. Richie rose in response, bending over just enough so that he and Eddie were at eye-level.

“Aw, so cute, I can press kisses on the top of your head!” And he did, just to prove it. Eddie’s cheeks blazed red, and he crossed his arms like he always did when he didn’t know how to respond. “Cute, cute, cute!” He ruffled Eddie’s hair despite the other’s protests. “Gotta get in my Eddie Spaghetti points before you abandon me!”

“Don’t say it like that.” Eddie looked down, guiltily.

“Oh come on, don’t do that to yourself. Our group of three will survive.”

“But what about after? I don’t want this to end here.”

“Of course not! You haven’t fallen in love with me yet.”

“Yeah…” Eddie scuffed his shoe against the floorboards.

As much as he was making a joke of it, Richie dreaded the same thing. How exactly were he and Eddie supposed to keep in touch after this? He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling it grow hot under his fingers.

“Idea!” Richie yelped suddenly, startling Eddie. “Sorry. But, what about Bev’s secret mailbox?”

“What about it?”

“How did it work?”

“Did you seriously not figure that out?”

Richie shook his head. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Since Bev is the Saving Faith greeter, she had easy access to the actual mailbox. Letters came in and she’d put the ones for us in the secret mailbox for later. She’d send out actual letters in the real mail though. Why?”

“What do you mean why!? That’s a communication system right there!”

“I’m not gonna have a mailing address, dumbass!”

“Oh, right.” Richie sank back into the wall, still pondering ways to stay in touch. He didn’t want to admit defeat that easily. “Ugh, this sucks!” he whined, rubbing his face with his hands. He felt like a little kid, ready to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum until he got what he wanted. Eddie just sighed, and thumped his head dully against the wall.

“So what do we do?”

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know.”

The opening of the door caused both of them to jump apart, Richie scrambling to his feet as not to appear suspicious.

“‘Sup, Doc,” Richie said, less enthusiastically now that the adrenaline was gone. Katherine didn’t even react. She walked past them, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floors. Richie and Eddie exchanged a glance, both equally alarmed. She appeared worn, her usually straight shoulders hunched, her eyes traced by deep bags. Right as she was about to open the door to her office, she paused, and turned to face the two boys.

“Could I speak to you two in private?”

Richie’s heart jumped into his throat. His immediately reaction was to say ‘no’ but that would be absolutely stupid. Instead, he just nodded and tried to resist the urge to grab Eddie’s hand for comfort. Katherine led the way in, dropping heavily into her seat and rubbing at her temples.

“You’re not in trouble, so you can stop fidgeting,” she snapped, seeing Richie’s bouncing leg and Eddie’s flitting eyes. The two stilled, hyperaware of their movements. Katherine took a deep breath and shut her eyes, only highlighting the exhaustion on her face.

“We received a call last night regarding one of our staff members. Now, what I’m about to ask you is extremely sensitive, so whatever I say will not leave this room, understand?”

“Sure,” Richie replied, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands behind his head. Eddie simply nodded.

“Alright. The two of you are close with Ms. Marsh, correct?”

“Is that a sensitive question?”

“Mr. Tozier, please, take this seriously.”

“Oh, I’m mister again? Good to know.”

Katherine slammed her hands down on her desk, making Eddie jump in his chair. Richie blinked away his surprise, trying and failing to appear unaffected.

“This is a matter of safety. Please, do not take me for some kind of fool you can toy around with.”

“We’re close with Beverly,” Eddie answered in a small voice. Richie felt a twinge of guilt – he’d purposely pissed off Katherine. As much as he wanted to feel satisfied, when he saw Eddie shrink in his seat, there was little to grin about.

“Then I’ll assume she confides in you about personal matters?”

Where is this going? Richie thought. His body itched with nervousness. He wanted to stand up and pace or roll something around in his hands. But the only motion he gave was a slight nod in answer.

“The caller reported themselves as a past participant at Saving Faith and he… They spoke of inappropriate conduct occurring between a staff member and Ms. Marsh. Have either of you ever witnessed anything of that nature?”

A nasty taste came into Richie’s mouth. As much as he tried to swallow it, he couldn’t seem to – his throat had gone completely dry.

“She has bruises,” Eddie said, almost in a whisper. “On her stomach, and on her legs. And in places that people don’t get bruises normally. She doesn’t usually get to sleep in her own room either. She gets pulled out at night a lot. At least, that’s what she told me.”

Katherine’s face contorted into an expression that Richie couldn’t quite understand. “How long ago did she tell you this?”

“It was a little after I first showed up. I saw her getting led out of her cabin by someone, but I couldn’t tell who.”

Katherine didn’t say anything else. She began to wring her hands, sharp breaths coming in and out from between her teeth.

Oh, Richie realized. That expression.

Fear.

Chapter Text

Richie and Eddie had left the office together. They had stood for a moment in the waiting room, listening for any kind of sound from behind Katherine’s office door. There were none.

Eddie had pulled that neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket and set it down lightly upon the greeting table. It fluttered slightly as the ceiling fan spun lazily above them, blowing a nice breeze through the room. Richie felt a tightening in his chest as it settled, knowing that they were now one step closer to saying goodbye.

Back outside, the sun had risen to a nice position above the trees, causing Richie to put a hand to his forehead to shade his eyes. Eddie was right by his side as they walked – probably much closer than was comfortable, but Richie didn’t mind. They weren’t heading in any specific direction, although at some point Richie knew they needed to head back to their rooms to change. But there was no rush. They let their feet guide them along the gravel, past all the rows and rows of identical cabins, a few shifting shadows behind blinds letting them know the others were waking up.

Suddenly, they found themselves facing a sign that read “NO ENTRY.”

“Huh,” Richie said, glancing around. “Would’ja look at that?”

He placed a tentative hand upon the railing, looking back to Eddie for approval. Eddie avoided his eyes, usual wariness coming back to him.

“C’mon. Who gives a shit about the rules? You’re not a patient anymore,” Richie teased, extending a hand out. Eddie examined it, taking his time.

“I’m not dirty,” Richie insisted, shoving his palm into Eddie’s face. Eddie smacked it away with a huff before gently scooping it back up and interlacing his fingers with Richie’s. Richie beamed – they were hand hugging. Plus, Eddie’s soft, warm skin against his was the best feeling in the world.

Richie climbed over first, then helped Eddie, who was somehow even less athletic. When Eddie lost his footing and toppled into Richie, the two of them shared the experience of falling headfirst into the damp grass behind the fence. Eddie pushed himself up, brushing spare twigs and dirt from his pants.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “You got me all dirty!”

“Excuse me, you’re the one who fell on me. I think you owe me an apology.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie crossed his arms.

“Mhm, just the rules.” Richie rolled up to a criss-cross position, settling his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands.

“I thought you didn’t give a shit about rules anymore.” Eddie’s lips suddenly curled up into a smirk, the sight of which sent a shock through Richie’s body and his mind blanked for a moment. Eddie squatted down so that they came to eye-level. Richie’s heartbeat quickened as Eddie leaned forward, that lemony-sanitizer smell flooding his senses. He closed his eyes and waited. Waited ever so patiently.

He was reawakened by the sound of giggling, opening his eyes to find Eddie standing up once more.

“Hey!” Richie whined. “That was mean!”

“You’re going to have to work harder than that, idiot,” Eddie said through a grin. Richie huffed, and for a moment had the strange understanding of how Eddie regularly felt around him.

They traveled deeper into the woods, only looking back to ensure no one had seen them. The soft padding of their feet upon the path was relaxing, like a tempo that carried them steadily along. Now that they were alone, Richie had taken hold of Eddie’s hand once more. Somehow, the simple act felt much more intimate than kissing.

The old clearing came into view, and Richie blinked away the sunspots that danced through his vision as the sunlight poured in. He took a deep breath, letting the smell of wood and damp grass fill his lungs. It was blissfully quiet, save for mourning doves and occasional rustles from branches as they took flight.

Richie slumped down onto one of the tree stumps that circled the fire-pit. Eddie squeezed in beside him, tucking himself tight against Richie’s torso. Richie nuzzled his nose into Eddie’s hair, trying to stay as still as possible so they didn’t disturb the silence.

Now that he was with Eddie, all of the past ‘loves’ in his life seemed frivolous. None of them had ever felt like this – simple and pleasant. There was always this shame or secrecy, and rather than feeling like two people completing each other, it had always felt convenient – it’s easier to pick with only one option, right?

With Eddie, he didn’t even have to try. He never had to work to feel like Eddie cared, and he never had to force himself to either. It didn’t matter what was going on, his first thoughts were always of Eddie, and he desperately hoped Eddie felt the same, even if he wasn’t ready to call it love.

“Bill and I were talking the other night,” Eddie said softly. Richie hummed in response, tracing a hand lightly up and down Eddie’s arm. “He said when he leaves, he’s going to wait for Stan. So, I was thinking it would make sense for me to wait for you, right?”

Richie paused, thinking.

“I mean, of course I’d like that, but do you think you would?”

“Duh,” Eddie replied, nudging him in the rib. Richie’s stomach gave a little swoop – he hadn’t expected him to answer so quickly. “Do you think you would, too?”

That was a little harder to answer. Of course, Richie wanted to immediately say ‘yes, of course, we’ve established that I’m in love with you,’ or something of that nature, but there were other considerations. Wow, never thought I’d be the one thinking this much about anything, Richie thought, half-amused, half-deflated.

“I know we kinda touched on this before, but how are we gonna keep in contact? Like, I don’t have a cell phone or anything.” Richie hoped that some kind of solution would present itself. He was sure it would, especially if they continued talking. They’d figure it out.

“Can we not talk about this?”

“Huh?” That was definitely not what Richie wanted to do. “Why not? Isn’t it kinda important?”

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he said, voice firm. He turned his head so that he was looking directly up at Richie. “This is just for us. Whatever happens next, I want to leave this on a good note. So just, shut up?”

“You know that’s hard for me,” Richie teased, though his heart felt like it was sinking slowly out from his chest. His first real love had come and gone so quickly, hadn’t it?

But he didn’t argue, and he didn’t say anything else. He just held Eddie close and tried to savor the moment as best he could. After a while, those negative thoughts eating at the back of his head quieted down. It truly felt like they would be in that spot in the forest forever – just the trees and the birds as witnesses. He understood what Eddie meant. It was something private. Like a little memory captured just for them. No one else could touch it.

Richie wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there, but his legs had grown stiff and his neck was starting to ache from his poor positioning. He tapped Eddie on the shoulder.

“Okay, time to get up.”

Eddie let out a tiny groan as he unstuck himself from Richie’s side.

“Ew, you got me sticky,” Eddie whined, wiping at the slightly sweaty spot left behind from their extended cuddle. It only took a moment for Eddie to realize what he had said. He stopped completely, staring Richie dead in the face. “Don’t.”

Richie’s eyes were aglow, mouth already pulled into its usual shit-eating grin.

“I swear to God, Richie.”

“Not as sticky as my–”

Eddie slapped his hands over Richie’s mouth, the latter raising his hands in surrender.

“Uf-fad-ooo,” he mumbled through the muffling of Eddie’s palm. “I had to!” he repeated once it was removed. Eddie was wiping his hand down the front of his pants.

“You are so gross.”

“I think you mean ‘shockingly handsome and incredibly witty.’”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You thought it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot. At least for the next hour or something.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms and legs out to their fullest extent.

“We should head back. There’s no way Dr. Phillips hasn’t seen that note yet, and…” he paused, taking a long, sweeping view of the clearing. “I want to say goodbye to everyone.”

“Tally-ho, then!” Richie exclaimed, jumping up with such enthusiasm that he practically knocked Eddie off of the stump. He extended his arm to the now grumbling Eddie, who took it with little excitement. “Onward, for one last romp!”

Eddie offered an unconvincing grumble of irritation, but Eddie couldn’t conceal the little twitch at the corner of his lips. He loved that he could always make Eddie’s serious demeanor crack just a little.

—

By the time that had returned to their rooms, Richie’s stomach was growling. He sent up a silent prayer that Bill had grabbed Stan a lot of food today. Though, even if he did, Stan would probably refuse to let him have any out of pure spite. He’d planned his rebuttal so thoroughly in his head, so when he opened the door to his room and Stan wasn’t present, he felt slightly disappointed.

Eddie followed him into the room. Now that they were in private again, he re-glued himself to Richie’s side.

“Do you think they’re still at breakfast?” Richie asked. He peered over at the clock. It was already bordering on 9 AM.

“They’re probably packing,” Eddie answered.

Oh, duh, Richie thought. Rather than going to breakfast immediately after their early-morning encounter, Bill would have stopped by Katherine’s to sign his discharge forms.

“I’ll go check the room,” Eddie said, unsticking from Richie and heading back out into the hallway. It only took about 30 seconds for Eddie to come trotting back in, nodding. “They’re packing.”

Bill and Eddie’s room looked exactly how Richie had pictured it, with Eddie’s side neatly organized – bed made, drawers pushed completely in, all his navy polo and khaki slacks folded and pressed out – and Bill’s being the picture-perfect stereotype of a teenage boy’s bedroom. Richie nodded in approval at the unkempt sheets and random pieces of clothing that propped his dresser drawers slightly opened.

There was an open suitcase laying across the bedspread, stuffed full of belongings that Richie assumed must have been confiscated when he first arrived. Stan was bent over it, placing and replacing a selection of books until they were just right. He looked up as they entered.

“Hi,” he said, offering a small wave. “We’re basically done, but you two can help clean up, if you want?”

“You’re awfully pleasant,” Richie snarked, eyes narrowed. “What’s got you so smiley?”

Stan shrugged. “I’m happy for him.” He took out a thin, purple paperback from atop the nightstand and examined it closely before removing all the books from the suitcase and placing the new one on the bottom.

“Why down there?” Richie asked, pushing up his glasses.

“I don’t want it getting damaged. Here it can be cushioned by his clothes.”

“Something special ‘bout that one?”

Stan paused, running his fingers down the spine. He nodded, his eyes soft as they roved over the cover. “It’s a journal I gave him a while ago. It has some old sketches in it.”

“Huh!? You draw?” Richie exclaimed. “That’s wicked! Why didn’t you say that before?”

“Because you would have asked me to draw you something and I didn’t want to,” Stan replied immediately. Something told Richie that this was not the first time he’d had to say this.

“I totally could have modeled for you! Imagine the kind of bank you could make with this mug!” He struck a pose, hands on his hips, nose pointed up.

“I would sell you, but you wouldn’t have any buyers,” Stan muttered, replacing one of the other books atop the purple one.

“Not true! Eds would buy me, right Eddie?”

“No.”

“Ah, so cruel!”

“Oh, huh-hey guys,” Bill said, stepping into the room. At first, Richie did a double take. It had been so long since he had seen anyone dressed like a regular kid. Seeing him in regular clothes – jeans and a nicely-fitted green baseball-tee rolled to the elbows – Richie definitely understood why Stan was so infatuated with him. He had a towel around his neck, his hair still dripping slightly from a shower.

“Suh-sorry, I was juh-just g-getting ready to g-guh-go.”

“Ow, ow! I get why they keep us in uniform here,” Richie teased, glancing back to see Stan’s face, upon which irritation was joyfully evident. He coughed when Eddie punched him between the shoulder blades.

“Did Bev go back to her room?” Eddie asked, changing the topic with all too much haste. The fact that he had made him even a tiny bit jealous was quite satisfying.

“Katherine called her duh-d-down over the inter-t-tercom,” Bill said, tossing the towel down on the bed and joining Stan beside his suitcase.

Eddie shot Richie a nervous look, which Richie tried his hardest not to return. Having both of them appear visibly panicked would bring about an unpleasant conversation.

“Oh ruh-right, why were yuh-you called d-down earlier?”

Beside him, Richie felt Eddie stiffen.

“His mom was being a crazy bitch,” Richie said. He prepared himself for another punch, but it didn’t come.

“Not shocking,” Stan added with a sigh. “What did she want this time?”

“She wanted to take me home,” Eddie said quietly. The way he stared down at his feet, he almost looked ashamed. Both Bill and Stan stopped what they were doing and turned to face him.

“Are you?”

“In a way,” Eddie mumbled.

The whole story was probably far longer than Eddie would have liked, but luckily Richie enjoyed talking. He elected for painstaking detail, just to spice things up a bit, but no matter how much he described Sonia’s disturbing behavior, neither Stan nor Bill appeared surprised. It was actually a little unnerving how normally they treated it. By the end, both of them wore the same unreadable expressions.

“When are you leaving?” Stan had returned to sorting Bill’s things.

“Today, I think.”

“We three really can’t seem to stay together, can we?” There was a the tiniest of cracks in Stan’s voice, but it didn’t look like anyone except for Richie had noticed. He had been happy for Bill, so why was Eddie’s departure such a sore spot?

“I-I’m heading ou-out soon with a f-fuh-friend. If you pa-pack up fast, you can cuh-come along.” Stan’s shoulders tensed up at the suggestion, but he said nothing. Eddie nodded eagerly.

“You’re incredible, Bill,” he said, bobbing up and down on the tips of his toes. Whenever he got excited, he looked so unbearably adorable. Seeing him so happy caused a tug in Richie’s stomach, which he didn’t know whether to attribute to happiness or envy.

But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to spend the last few hours they had together sulking. No, he was going to savor every single remaining second – record it in his memory so that he’d have something to replay whenever he was lonely.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Richie found himself quite good at faking high-spirits. He hoped that Stan could do the same. “Let’s get these two on the road ASAP!”

—

Waving goodbye shouldn’t have been as difficult as it was. When Beverly had finally emerged from Katherine’s office to join them, Richie could barely manage a smile. He couldn’t muster enough strength to ask her what had happened. Even if he had, he doubted she would have answered honestly.

He thought maybe his heart would be pounding when Eddie gave him that last hug in the dormitory hallway. When he met those gentle eyes and when he pressed a final kiss to those lips that couldn’t hide their smile, he thought he would be filled with too much emotion to contain. But instead, he found himself completely numb. Although he was touching him, smelling him, seeing him, Eddie already felt so far away. When the car door closed and he caught that last glimpse of Eddie through the window, his mousy brown hair and rosy cheeks concealed by a dark tint, a low buzzing filled his ears. His heart was completely still. He wondered if it was there at all.

He looked over to Stan, who wasn’t bothering to hide his tears. It seemed like everything that Richie couldn’t seem to express was pouring out through the other. Maybe he did understand why losing Eddie had caused such a shift in his outlook. It was one thing to lose a lover, another to lose a friend. Together, that must have been far too painful to accept.

Only three remained on that gravel path, two with broken hearts, the other simply broken. They always teach you that a three-sided shape is the strongest, but Richie supposed that was only true if all sides were whole enough to support each other. He didn’t know if they were, but he still hoped.

—

Richie awoke to Stan’s voice, shouting at him to get up.

“RICHIE! RICHIE! Get up, GET UP!”

Everything was blurry without his glasses, but there was no mistaking the blue and red flashes that painted the walls of their bedroom.

He had never moved so fast. It was like those lights had reawakened his body, made his heart beat for what felt like the first time in weeks. Standing on the gravel path, the moon and the stars reflected in their eyes, Richie his lungs fill with air again. He could feel the stinging in his feet as the gravel dug into his skin. He could smell the trees and the grass and the unmistakable burning scent of car exhaust. His ears were ringing with the various voices, all shocked and disoriented as they emerged from their cabins to see what the commotion was. And he caught a glimpse of a man – tall and slender – being led out of the staff cabins, hands behind his back. Nearby was a girl with a long, fiery-red ponytail who held tightly to a necklace as she cried into the arms of a woman Richie didn’t recognize. Beside him, Stan was saying something, he was crying out about something, but nothing made sense in Richie’s ears. The only thing that he understood were those red and blue lights, the night sky, and how he was feeling so much that he felt nothing at all.

—

All of the kids had been rounded up and escorted to the police station in groups. Richie remembered answering questions, and how he had a polite conversation with a female officer who smelled distinctly like a cinnamon roll, but that was about it.

What he did remember was the way that his mother ran up to him when he returned to the waiting room, her hair plastered to her face with tears that slicked down her cheeks. How even though her nose was running, Richie still let her press her face into his shoulder. He remembered how she couldn’t stop apologizing, and how she had to keep checking to see if he was hurt. And even though he kept telling her, “I’m fine. It’s fine,” she couldn’t stop crying.

“Where’s dad?” he asked, when she had finally calmed down enough to speak.

“In the car,” she said through a shaky breath.

Richie didn’t want to see him. What he wanted to do was return to the room where he and Stan had been sitting together. He wanted to see if he was okay. He wanted to see his friend.

But he was leaving the station. He was being led by the trembling hand of his mother into a pitch-black parking lot. As much as he wanted to turn around, to insist he had to go back, he couldn’t leave his mother. Not when she looked like a single wrong would could snap her clean in two.

His father was, in fact, in the car. He had rolled down the window as to allow the smoke from his cigarette to escape into the night air. When he saw Richie and his mother approach however, he flicked it to the ground, turning back to face forward.

And Richie was the one that snapped.

“LOOK AT ME!”

The words left his mouth. He could hear them.

“I’M YOUR SON!”

His hands were pulling on the car door. He was reaching in and yanking his father by the collar of his shirt. Behind him, his mother stood and watched. Words seemed to fail her.

Maybe the words she thought of were being said.

It wasn’t the cool, level-headed comeback that he had so proudly constructed back in his dorm so many nights ago. It wasn’t a discussion. It wasn’t a question. It was just honest.

“What do you want from me?” Richie panted, throat raw from screaming. “I’m your kid. I’m your kid and I’m fucking gay. I’m not gonna change. And you’re a fucking asshole if you can’t accept that.”

He relinquished his hold on his father, letting him fall back into the driver’s seat with a clatter as his hand slapped down a thermos propped in the cupholder. Breaths were coming in faster than Richie could handle, and he wasn’t sure if he was crying or sweating, just that his whole face was slick and wet and he couldn’t get it to stop. He kept rubbing at his face, trying over and over to wipe away snot and spit and all the disgusting things that he knew he was covered in. For a brief moment, he felt as though the world had paused around him. He was the only one standing in that parking lot.

“I don’t know what I want.”

The voice belonged to his father, but it sounded distorted, like guitar strings far too tight and twisted.

“Then make up your damn mind,” Richie said, hoarsely. “Because I’m done waiting for an answer.”

There was a long pause, the only sounds being the parents and children exiting the station, telling their own stories, or just walking wordlessly with heavy footsteps. His mother’s rattling breaths kept warming the air around them, only making Richie feel more like he was suffocating.

“I wanted… I never wanted… I couldn’t…”

“Richie, baby, maybe–”

“No!” Richie refused the comforting hand his mother was extending. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

His father shifted in his seat, looking up, down, back, anywhere but at Richie.

“I swear to God…” Richie muttered through gritted teeth. “Look. At. Me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Richard–”

“WHY NOT!?” Richie roared, slamming his hands into the side of the car to punctuate every word. “DON’T I DESERVE A FUCKING ANSWER? DON’T I DESERVE AT LEAST THAT FOR ALL THE SHIT YOU PUT ME THROUGH?”

“I’M ASHAMED,” his father roared back. Richie stopped his beating, letting white hot pain sear through his palms.

“Of me?”

“No… No, of… Of myself. I… I failed… you as a… As your father and… God, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry, Rich…”

That didn’t feel real. Richie didn’t believe him. He looked up, expecting the same side-view of his father, but instead, he was hit with two gray-blue eyes. The burning melted away from his hands while he held that gaze. It was captivating and yet so, so painful. He wanted to look away, because his heart was threatening to explode out from his chest. It was something far too heavy for him to bear.

Honest. That’s what it was. Those two eyes, refused from him for so long, now bore forth what they’d been so carefully concealing.

And as much as Richie tried to form the words, as much as he strained every muscle in his face to just say it, he couldn’t. I forgive you.

No.

He couldn’t look at such an honest expression and lie. He didn’t forgive him. At least not now. Maybe not ever.

“Please, Richard… I’m so sorry.”

He was pleading, begging, as vulnerable as Richie had ever seen him. And yet, he felt nothing. No remorse for what had been said. No desire to comfort or to satisfy. He wanted to be forgiven. He wanted it so badly. Guilt settled upon Richie’s chest, trying to stop him from breathing. But he continued to pull air into his lungs, continued to push it back out again.

He didn’t want an apology.

He didn’t want pity.

He didn’t want any of it.

Was he a bad person for wanting his father to have to wallow in his own guilt? Maybe. But maybe it was fine to not forgive immediately. It felt better than lying. Richie wanted to reserve his forgiveness for those who had truly earned it.

Maybe that was just fine.

“Okay,” was all Richie said, and he popped open the back door of the car and hoisted his bag up inside, sliding up next to it. If his father said anything else, he didn’t hear it. As soon as he had fastened his seatbelt, Richie’s attention was focused entirely on the contents of his bag. He tugged lightly at the zipper, peeling open the first pocket, feeling his face light up as his eyes landed on it.

His Walkman.

He slipped the small headphones on over his head, settling down into his seat. He smiled.

Finally, he thought.

There wasn’t any kind of certainty in his future. Perhaps before that would have terrified him. But something had changed a while back. Some things were the same. Some things would always be the same. But the world felt new now – shiny, untouched. The cool nighttime breeze was fresh in his lungs, and the few colors he could make out shone in greater saturation than before. The same trees. The same people. The same conversations and shames and the same laughs and the same tears. Now he saw them through different eyes. There was more to his world than there was before. There were new things he could feel and new tastes upon his tongue. And he always had those untouched, private memories that he replayed over and over and over in his head.

A forest clearing.

Six that became five that became three, then one.

A girl with clear blue eyes and a greater love for mischief than Richie himself.

A tall, strong boy who said just the right things at just the right times.

Another who had so much to say when people gave him the chance.

One with a cynical outlook to mask a heart always about to break.

And a boy with brown hair and brown eyes, who always had too many words and said them far too fast. Who liked things to be clean and only laughed at stupid jokes when no one was looking. Complained about everything. Always wanted to please.

Lying down in a car.

Falling asleep tangled up.

Holding him close because he was scared that letting go would mean saying goodbye.

Those memories. Those would always be there. He wasn’t letting go of that.

Chapter Text

August, 1992

Moving-day sucked. There had only been a few times where Richie had wanted to die more. Now, lugging heavy, overstuffed boxes up six flights of stairs for two hours straight, Richie was prepared to chuck himself right off of the balcony.

His dorm room was tiny. Not that he expected anything less, but it was still slightly disappointing when he could touch both walls laying down.

His roommate’s name was apparently, “John-Paul,” so he was assumed Catholic until proven otherwise. Richie let out a heavy sigh as he pictured having to hide away his Elton John CDs and tiny rainbow flag his father had bought him that summer.

Maybe my roommate could just learn to deal, Richie thought to himself with a grin.

Richie practically threw the last box, letting it hit the floor and producing a mildly concerning crashing sound.

“FUCKING FINALLY!” he shouted, pumping his fists into the air and nearly punching out the hallway light.

“Language,” his mother called from behind him. He swiveled around to see her beaming face, damp with sweat, as she leaned against the doorframe. “Not bad for an old lady and her athletically-challenged son.”

“You’re not old!” Richie chided, walking up and giving her a light kiss on the cheek. “You’re a beautiful, vibrant, strong woman just approaching her prime.”

“Being sweet won’t up your monthly allowance.”

Richie shrugged. “My comment still stands.”

His mother took a look around, frowning. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? Your father and I can rent a place nearby if you think–”

“Mom, I’ll be fine, I told you! If I can survive electroshock and repeated emotional abuse, I can survive my first semester in college.”

The way that she darted her eyes immediately to the floor told Richie she was not ready to joke about that yet.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Laughter is the best medicine.”

“And that’s why you’re an English major.”

“Hey!”

But because she was laughing again, Richie didn’t care too much about the insult.

“Looks like you two didn’t even need me.”

“Oh, hey dad!” Richie found himself being squeezed tightly between two strong arms. “Age did not weather you,” he gasped, regaining access to the air after being released.

His father laid a steady arm on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Rich. You earned this.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Baby, doesn’t orientation start at noon?” His mother said suddenly, coming between the two.

“Yeah?”

“It’s 11:58.”

Fuck.

Richie spared one more second to give both his parents a final hug before diving past them into the hallway, sprinting to the steps, which he figured would be faster than the elevator.

He managed to burst through the doors of the lecture hall at exactly 12:02, gulping down huge swallows of air as he scanned the audience for seats. He thanked every God in every possible religion that the dean had not started her speech yet. His eyes roved over the seemingly endless lines of folding chairs, all of which were already filled with an equally anxious student.

Then, at the very end of the third row from the back, he spotted it. A single, empty chair. He made a break for it, which was probably unnecessary due to the lack of others in desperate need of seating, and narrowly missed tripping over a girl whose shoes perfectly matched her blouse.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered as she cast him a bewildered look. He slowed his pace, becoming more aware of how much of a spectacle he was making. The next steps toward the seat were more of a shuffle. His eyes were pealed for anyone else who was about to claim it as their own, but none came.

When he was finally able to wrap his fingers around the cold, metal backing, he felt relief flood his body. He was prepared to slip right in and pretend that he had been sitting there the whole time, not flailing around like a fish out of water. But there was a blue and white jacket draped over the seat and Richie felt his heart sink into his shoes. He swallowed. Maybe it was just there by accident. He leaned over and tapped the shoulder of the guy in the chair adjacent.

“Uh, is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice a bit squeakier than he would have liked. The guy turned, fixing two round, brown eyes on Richie’s.

“No, it’s–” He froze halfway through his sentence, mouth slightly open.

And Richie fully convinced himself that he had no control over the fact that he wrapped his arms around Eddie and yanked him into the most aggressive hug that he had ever given in his life.

Yeah. Now he was definitely never letting go.