Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Boy bands were the shit, in Ben’s opinion. Although, he would never use such language and no one would ever know about that opinion, the point still stood. He still had posters throughout his room, a box of concert tickets on his dresser, and a busy playlist. He was a bit unclear if he liked these bands because of an appreciation he had for music, or if he was gay deep down inside and just didn’t know it yet, but when he heard an electric guitar start jamming, his little heart jammed too.

Being in his quiet world, Ben had the opportunity to drift into a cloudy mind full of songs. He had an attention to detail, which was how he was able to spot one specific poster in a sea of similar ones on the bulletin board at school. The board had always been hoarded with sign up sheets or informational posters for different clubs or services offered at the school, and Ben had entertained the idea of signing up for something at school, but opted to avoid the board overall.

Until he was pressed against the wall outside of the main office, the board directly in front of him.

Student Council, Garden Club, Newspaper Club, Picture Retakes, Homecoming Committee, Chess Club, Debate Club, Shark Puppy. A neatly drawn graphic in the middle of plain printer paper and a scribble of information at the bottom.

It made Ben’s stomach swim. “All new garage band!” “Catch us THIS FRIDAY NIGHT!!” “Sick beats and a fun time!” The confidence that this band had poured out into the hall.

Ben wondered if the poster was stuck on there without permission, it was clearly on top of something else, something written with markers, and in a hot flash, he took the thumbtack from the top of the poster, folded it up, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. It would’ve gotten taken down eventually, an advertisement for a garage band did not belong on the school activities board, and at least now Ben had a piece of the rush of his heart.

“Ben?” A voice from inside the office called. Enough to startle him that he didn’t even notice the tired expression.

Ben whipped around and the secretary held the phone out. “Your mother,” she said.

He quickly remembered why he was standing across from the bulletin board in the first place and slid back into the office. The phone’s hard plastic felt sweaty, but Ben didn’t know if it was his hands or the secretary’s.

“Hi, Mom,” He whispered into the phone.

“Benny, are you alright?” His heart immediately swelled at the sound of his mother’s voice. Arlene Hanscom was a busy woman who paused her day to deal with this.

“Yes! I’m fine!”

“Are you sure? The nurse said you fainted.” Because he did.

“But I’m okay now.” Ben had to swallow to keep his nerves down.

“I can pick you up, sweetheart.”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

She was silent for a moment. Ben hoped she was fooling for the act that he was poorly performing. “Are you sure?” She asked again.

“Yes, Mom. Don’t worry.”

“You be careful,” she said, “Don’t scare me again.”

“I will, Mom,” he hesitated, glancing at the secretary who had already turned away from him. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Ben.” The line sang to him and he sighed in relief.

He handed the phone back to the secretary, realizing that the sweat must have been his own. He hated lying to his mother.

“She picking you up?”

Ben shook his head confidently. He hated it, but he had gotten away with it. He wanted to tell himself that he was fine, that this wasn’t a lie, but he wasn’t and it was. Fainting in gym class wasn’t normal, wasn’t a regular occurrence, and he hoped that it didn’t become regular, even if it got him out of class for the day.

“Alright, you get back to class.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The little fainting spell wasn’t long, his eyes were open before the nurse could make it down to the gym, so gym class was technically still going on, but that didn’t mean he had to go. He was on a lying roll, and could definitely manage to sneak out another if it meant he got something good out of causing a scene in the middle of volleyball.

He opted to wandering to the music wing of the school, a secluded hallway around the auditorium where he could go undetected with all of the music and engagement sweeping under the closed doors. Ben leaned up against the cool brick walls and closed his eyes for a moment, again feeling solitude in hearing music. It reminded him of what was stowed away in his pockets, his heart jumping quickly.

Shark Puppy. What a silly name, Ben thought. He wondered who it was that could’ve come up with that, but the poster didn’t have any names of the band members. He was sure, though, that it was some of the popular kids. Someone who lived on West Broadway and played football and made fun of him behind his back. But that made him more intrigued.

Not that he wanted to be popular, all of those kids were snobs and he knew that. He just wanted to be included. The fact that there were no names on the poster, that it had “Dominic Fahey’s House Party” as the location they were performing, it all seemed like everyone knew of this cool band, it was some secret club. And Ben wanted to be a part of it. So bad.

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t let his mom know why he fainted, that he wouldn’t let her worry and there would be no reason for her to not let him go to that house party.

Chapter Text

Church group was fine but also made Mike want to curl up in a ball and disappear sometimes. He didn’t think of himself as super religious, but then remembered that he went to a Catholic school and had a weekly youth group and went to mass. There were crosses in his house, they said grace before they ate, they were a more religious family than some others, but it wasn’t like he was crazy about it.

The youth group was some of his only interaction with people his age. Sure, he had school, but he only had ten kids in his grade and they were the same ten kids that were in his grade all throughout school. The youth group was different. The devoted Catholic children that were there every week, the ones popping in for community service for a few weeks, or the ones going because their parents felt they needed a positive space.

It was a very positive space, a highlight of Mike’s week. They sang songs, talked about their weeks, played games. In a way, it was an unintentional therapy with touches of God here and there. And Mike could handle that. He would suffer through anything at the chance of having friends.

He was fine with sharing in his group because there wasn’t much to share about his life. He woke up and did work on the family farm, went to school, did more work on the farm, and that’s it. That was his life. Sometimes his father would send him on little quests throughout the town and allow him to explore on his day off, and that was very appreciated. But even that wasn’t much to share in group. Even though they were all good Catholic teenagers, they still had typical teenage lives that Mike was missing out on.

Sure, he was glad he didn’t have the hardships. Drama between friend groups and boyfriends and girlfriends. But a part of him also just wanted to be included. To have a friend that he could pour his love into.

He surveyed the room, but no one seemed to be the perfect friend. He wasn’t picky, of course, but he needed someone special. And he wanted their friendship to happen naturally and not in an awkward partner exercise at youth group.

So he knew pretty quickly that David Armell would not be his perfect friend.

The project was to share with your partner an aspect of your life that they wouldn’t know about. Mike went the easy route and prepared a presentation about living on a farm, not about the other obvious differences between him and David––his white skin, upper class family, snobby friend group. He worked hard all week on the presentation, proud of his family farm and wanting to share it. His parents aided him with suggestions on what to add, let him take fresh vegetables to group, as a promise that he would be nice to David.

David clearly didn’t do enough work.

He prepared a topic, which was something. Mike was an overachiever and this proved it. David told him about public school and how he played on the football team, things Mike already was jealous of and didn’t need a presentation to be jealous more so.

“So, we have school from 8 to 2,” David had started with, picking details from off the top of his head. “It’s required that we take a math, English, social studies, and science every year, and an elective.”

As if Catholic school wasn’t a real school.

Mike loved youth group, but he didn’t mind leaving every week. This week though, his heart sank when he saw his parents walk into the community room of the church, the opposite of how he normally walked out of the room to meet them in the lobby. They went right over to Mike and smiled, waving to him.

Mike loved his parents, he really did, but they could certainly be embarrassing. Living on a farm didn’t give him the best street cred, everyone assuming he was a red neck Mainer, but his family was far from that description. Too far. His parents always had mud on their jeans but smiles through their worn faces. They got pushed around by the town but always shook people’s hands. They killed sheep in the barn and made cookies in the kitchen, grew tomatoes in a large quantity and donated them to food banks, started work at dawn and put on a family movie at dusk.

They loved him, they loved life, and they made sure to show it. “Mr. Armell!” Will Hanlon cheerily greeted David, offering his hand to be shaken.

David hesitantly took the offer, his eyes not leaving the thick callouses on the older man’s large hands. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve seen you, how are you, boy?” Will continued with asking.

David shrugged. “I’m alright.” He pulled his hand away and Mike saw him wipe it on the underside of his pants.

“How was the group today?” Jessica Hanlon asked, looking at Mike brightly.

Mike quickly nodded and stood up out of his chair. “It was great, a lot of fun.” He hoped that he could get it over with quickly and get out of there.

But his dad turned to David again. “Did Mikey show you everything from our farm?”

“Yes sir.” David was avoiding eye contact, but no longer the uninterested boy Mike had been talking to earlier.

“Really? What was your favorite part?”

“Um...” Mike knew that David hadn’t paid attention to his presentation, but luckily he was able to cover himself. “That you make your own meals. That’s cool,” he was able to scrap together.

“It is cool!” Will Hanlon beamed. Then he snapped his fingers. “You know what? You should come over for dinner sometime, you and your folks!”

Mike’s ears turned bright red. “No, that’s alright,” he stumbled, trying to decline on behalf of David but not wanting to seem rude.

“Friday!” Will proposed, snapping his fingers and ignoring his son.

David squirmed in his chair. “I don’t know, I have a party to go to on Friday.”

“A birthday party?”

“No, just some dumb house party.”

Will grabbed Mike’s shoulder. “That sounds like a lot of fun, why doesn’t Mikey come along with you?”

“Dad, no, that’s alright,” Mike started to say, but his dad shushed him, waiting for David’s answer.

He was stunned. “Um, yeah, uh, you can come. You wouldn’t know anyone, it’s people from the high school.”

Jessica smiled. “Even better, you can make new friends!”

“And I’m sure David here will take care of you, right boy?” Will winked.

In a last attempt to save himself and David, Mike quickly said, “I think I actually have plans Friday night.”

“No you don’t, you didn’t ask us about any plans.” And with that, Will was back on David. He pulled out a pad of paper, asking, “What’s the address, I’ll drop Mikey off.”

And with David’s profuse sweating, he gave Will the address, declaring the location of Michael Hanlon’s death, a high school party on West Broadway. He was excited to attend a party, he never had been and movies made them out to be quite the scene, but he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

And it was happening no matter how he complained to his parents on the car ride home. They knew he was lonely and they felt partially responsible. They wanted their son to have friends and to have a normal school experience, and the only way to do that was to force him into doing it.

Chapter Text

Beverly was sure she’d be doing chores for the rest of her life. She really messed this one up. Her dad had always been harsh with his punishments, but she could handle it. She could handle him hitting her or pushing her but now he knew that she could handle it. So the punishments were changing.

And somehow chores were worse in her mind. She was grounded and couldn’t go anywhere and couldn’t even use her time at home for stuff she wanted to do. When she got home from school, she had a list of chores waiting for her, and if she didn’t get them done before her dad came home, that’s when he would hit her. Hard.

She learned that lesson when she blew off the list the week before and stopped on her way home from school to pick up some cigarettes, making it so she didn’t make it through the entire list when her dad came home. He was able to weasel it out of her that she broke her groundation and was buying (or actually stealing) cigarettes, so she got quadruple the punishment. And she’d been a good girl ever since.

Not today. She was pissed off today.

Today Greta Keene pulled on her hair in History. Today Sally Mueller knocked her milk over to spill down the front of her shirt. Today Henry Bowers grabbed her arm in the hallway and that was not okay.

Today her dad had her taking pictures out of frames, dusting and cleaning the frames, and then putting the pictures back in them and back in their places. All of the pictures. Even the pictures of her mom.

Their family posed in a picture taken at JC Penney. Nice clothes they picked through Goodwill to find. A long sleeve shirt on Beverly to hide her bruises. Her hair was curled like her mother’s. In one, they all stood side by side, arms wrapped around each other. In another, Elfrida Marsh sat in a chair with her daughter off one shoulder and her husband off the other. In another, they all sat on a couch, Beverly in the middle with her dad’s hand on her leg.

She hated those pictures. She hated seeing herself smiling with her spineless mother and her evil father. She hated that these were moments in her life when she thought everything was okay.

But everything was not okay and she threw the frames and balled the pictures up in her fists and she cried because she wrinkled a picture where her and her mother shared the same smile and she cried because her and her mother shared the same smile. She took the pictures to her room and shoved them in a drawer, to be dealt with later. She pulled out a nice blouse and she put on her mother’s makeup to hide her blotchy cheeks and accentuate her red, squinted eyes.

Beverly left her apartment. She knew there was a party that night, not for hours, but she could kill time. She could walk around downtown, sit in the park, wander through stores. She wished she had a friend, a girl friend whose house she could run to. They could get ready for the party together, do their makeup and swap clothes. But instead, she watched people in the park.

Watching people was fine, it was a fun way to pass time. There were little kids going down the slide, moms pushing babies in swings, fourth graders playing cards in the grass, ladies power walking, dogs racing around. Each person, each dog, had their own reason for being there. Their own connections with the park and with others there.

Bev’s connection was being a part of a moment even though she was there alone.

She never cared much for being a part of moments, but it’s always better to be a part of something bigger than what she was. Not being at home with her dad and instead being beside others who have lives that they abandoned.

House parties were a perfect place for that. Dim lights, loud music, warm air, sweaty hair. You left your life at home and danced beside people you know who were in a different light, living a different part of themselves. And it was the exactly perfect rush Beverly needed to escape her shitty house.

Chapter Text

Mike knew that David would eventually ditch him, so it was no surprise when it actually happened. They would definitely bump into each other throughout the night though, which Mike was hoping he could avoid the best he could.

Part of him wanted to just slip out the door and sit outside until the party was over and his dad pulled up to take him home, but he knew that that wasn’t possible. It would look sketchy to the nice neighborhood he was in and it would be a terrible waste of time. Inside, he could eat some of the chips on display and maybe find a new friend or two.

Unlikely. Everyone was already grouped up and no one paid any attention to him, except to stare at the strange black kid they didn’t know. None of them were the perfect friend material he was looking for.

The night wasn’t going perfectly for Ben Hanscom either. His mom felt so bad for what happened in gym class that she agreed to let him go to the party and make some friends, although she was going to pick him up early to be sure that he didn’t have enough time to really fool around. Not that he would, of course, the first thing that Ben did when he walked through the door was follow the music.

The house was pretty big, at the fancy side of town near the golf course, and there were people at every turn. He ignored all of them and followed the music of what had to be this Shark Puppy band all the way down to the basement. The louder the music got, the faster his heart started racing. The bass line swam in his stomach and he was too excited to even recognize the song they were playing.

Luckily, the basement wasn’t too crowded, but Ben wouldn’t have even noticed. He was entranced immediately when he saw who was on their makeshift stage, a rectangle marked off with tape. He knew those people. Well, he knew two of them.

The first one obviously being Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier, the one singing into the microphone. He was famous at their school, or rather, infamous. His big mouth got him in trouble with teachers and with students, talking before he could think if it was a good idea to say what he was going to say, or just letting his mouth run and not being able to stop it.

The second was the exact opposite: Stuttering Bill Denbrough. His mouth was screwed shut most of the time, now not being an exception. His jaw was set in concentration as his fingers danced along the frets of his electric guitar. Ben didn’t actually know Bill, he only knew of the talk about Bill. His stutter and how he never talked, or his brother whose arm was torn off when he was 7 years old.

It was slightly comforting to see Bill like this, though. Not afraid of his speaking or of his brother dying. Only focused on letting his mind and his heart wander away with the music, which was what Ben also loved about music.

The kid of the drums looked familiar. He was definitely in his grade and Ben knew he had seen his small figure pushing his way through the halls before, making the drums seem like a perfect match for him, but he just couldn’t put a name on his face. And he was sure he had never seen the kid on the keyboard. He held himself in an interesting way, his face blank, standing up straight. It was like he was only letting his fingers be connected to the music, but then he’d lean into his mic and sing with the most clear understanding.

Ben was paying such close attention to the musicians, he didn’t even register that they were switching songs. For some reason he had expected some cool popular kids to be leading the band, and while he wasn’t one to determine if others were “uncool,” these kids were certainly not popular. He saw Stuttering Bill get picked on and remembered hearing about several fights the Trashmouth got into, and could only imagine that the other two kids were on similar paths if they were all friends.

The transition to the next song was seamless. The curly haired kid on the keyboard picked up a bass from the ground and they were off. Part of Ben wanted to applaud them, but the other part wanted to jump up and dance around.

What’s new Scooby Doo?

We’re coming after you

You’re gonna solve that mystery

Beverly had been in the basement since the group first started playing. She realized that even though she was feeling rebellious, she didn’t want to see anyone at the party. She just wanted to dance and not have to worry about anything else.

Sound traveled nicely in the house, so you could hear the music as clearly upstairs as you did downstairs, but everyone knew upstairs was for socializing and the only people in the basement were the ones that wouldn’t make fun of her for dancing how she wanted.

She was sure no one would even dare talk to the scary Beverly Marsh, but then someone yelled to her over the drums, “They’re good, huh?”

Bev was taken aback. This was a kid she had never seen before at school, he had dark skin and worn out clothes, but he had a nice smile that made her want to be kind in return instead of snapping at him.

She smiled and agreed, but he went on. “You know these kids?”

She knew half of them; everyone knew Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier and Stuttering Bill Denbrough, but she wasn’t good with names or faces and had no idea who the other two were. “I go to school with them,” she said anyways.

“I’m Mike,” he said, reaching out his hand. “I go to Penobscot Christian.”

Bev didn’t really want to shake his hand, but she told herself that he wasn’t dangerous and was just trying to be nice. So, she took his strong, calloused hand and was met with a soft grip. “I’m Beverly.”

“It’s nice to meet you Beverly.”

“You too, Mike.”

Mike cheered to himself. He had taken a leap of faith and it worked. Beverly may not have known it, but she was signing up to be his new best friend. He thought she was a good candidate, she didn’t wear the fanciest clothes, although her green silk top looked nice in contrast with her red hair, and he loved how carefree she looked when she was dancing.

A wicked grin suddenly spread across Beverly’s face. “What are you doing after this?” She asked him.

He shrugged. “Just going home.”

“You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

They left a bit prematurely, as the party didn’t die down for a while, but eventually they ran out of songs to play, they didn’t want to disturb the neighbors, they needed sleep, they needed water, and they didn’t want to further enable the partying.

“They” being Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier, Stuttering Bill Denbrough, and their friends Eddie Kaspbrak and Stanley Uris. Eddie and Stan both had permanent sticks up their butts; they were the ones saying they should quiet down (Stan) and go to bed (Eddie).

Richie wanted to check with Dominic Fahey, the party host, to make sure it was okay for them to leave––this was their first big gig and they needed validation––but Bill shuffled him out the door once they realized Dominic was most likely passed out amongst the sea of teenagers passed out throughout the house.

They loaded all of their equipment into the vintage van Went and Maggie Tozier bought for their son on his sixteenth birthday, their bodies exhausted after their entire set. They had a rule that Stan originated that each person loaded their own equipment which Eddie dreadfully hated. Stan got to sit up front in the van with Richie on the ride back to the Tozier house because that was just how it went and the ride was full of them all talking about their set.

“I swear the tempo gets faster each time we do ‘What’s New Scooby Doo,’” Stan sighed.

“It does. Richie can’t follow my lead.”

Richie took his eyes off the road to look back at Eddie and yell, “It’s not my fault,” but was met with Eddie only telling him to keep his eyes on the road, Jesus fuck.

Bill was silent, scrolling through his phone until he gasped softly. “Suh-Suh-Suh-Someone c-c-commented on our In-n-n-nsta-gr-gram!”

“Someone’s following our Instagram?” Stan asked, bemused.

“Yeah, B-B-Ben-j-jamin Hans-sc-scom.”

“Isn’t that the kid–”

“Beep Beep Richie.”

“Yeah, Ben Hanscom,” Eddie continued, ignoring the excess noise.

“He s-s-said, ‘You g-guys wuh-wuh-wuh-where gr-great t-tonight,’ with a f-f-few smmmiling emojis.”

They all hummed in response, but Richie went to say, “That’s nice. Where does he live? Should we stop by and give him a big hug? Or a fruit basket?”

“We’re not giving him a fucking fruit basket,” Eddie snapped.

Stan ignored them both and turned in his seat to face Bill. “Did you see who else was there tonight? Beverly Marsh.” He teased.

Eddie gagged.

“Yeah, sh-sh-she left wuh-wuh-with s-some g-guy.”

Eddie crossed his arms and tutted, “Good.” When he was met by stares from the others, he further rambled, “She’s just not good enough for Bill! You guys heave heard the rumors and seen–”

“They’re j-just r-r-ruh-rumors, E-E-Eddie.”

Richie put his hand up to his mouth like a microphone and put on a fast auctioneer voice, spitting out, “Do we got two crushes on Beverly Marsh? We countin’ two? Goin’ once, goin’–”

“Gross, no,” Eddie snapped a final time.

The lights were all out in the Tozier house when they pulled in the driveway at 2 am, which would warrant caution to not be loud from anyone but Richie Tozier. His parents had become heavy sleepers, or just good ignorers, after all the seventeen years of living with their son, so they were all able to sneak up to Richie’s room with no trouble.

Except Bill couldn’t get Eddie’s last comment out of his head.

Chapter Text

Stepping out of Richie’s house, Bill always immediately felt colder. Fall had only just touched Derry, Maine in the red trees and cloudy skies, so the chill in the settling fog made sense. The coldness Bill felt wasn’t just on his cheeks, but around his heart as well. 

Richie’s home was his home as well. “Mi casa es tu casa,” Richie would yell upon bringing his friends into his house throughout the entirety of middle school. The Denbrough household couldn’t decide if it wanted to be warm or cold inside, but being with his friends would always be the most comforting.

Richie was easy. They could sit in silence but could also let words flow easily about anything on their mind. Stan was loving. Careful glances and never ending understanding. Eddie was something. A whole other radar.

Much like with Georgie, there was no way to describe Bill’s love for him. It flowed so deep through different paths inside him. He had never felt so strongly for another person until Georgie was born and then that love erupted again when he met Eddie. Home would always be both with his brother and with his losers. 

His own house was cold most of the time. Luckily, Georgie was usually home.

He didn’t like being alone in his room. He wasn’t yet an annoying teenager and actually enjoyed being around his family. Georgie was very often sitting on the couch in the living room, pressed against the right arm, which was where he was when Bill walked through the door after his bustling night with his friends and with his music.

“Bill!” He called when he heard the door close.

That brought a big smile to Bill’s face, and he quickly put his bag down to go greet his little brother. 

He had a book open on the arm of the couch, growing into quite the little bookworm, which excited Bill, but he closed the book when Bill walked in, giving him his full attention.

“Hi b-buh-buh-bud,” Bill said to him.

“How was the party?”

“Uh, it w-wuh-wuh-wuh-was alright.” 

Bill sat in the armchair, his spot in the living room. He understood Georgie’s close relationship with his parents, but there was no way he could ever reciprocate it, so he was just fine sitting in his own little corner of the living room.

“What’d you play?”

“N-Nuh-Nothing n-new. Scooby D-D-Doo was fun, th-the-though.”

“I haven’t heard Scooby Doo yet. You need to play it for me.”

“No, yuh-yuh-you need the-the-the f-full eff-ff-ffect. The-the dr-dr-drums, the sing-singing.”

“You can sing.”

“Not as wuh-wuh-good as Ruh-Ruh-Richie or Ssssstan.”

“I think you do.”

“M-M-Maybe you c-can c-come to a pr-pr-practice s-some d-day.”

Georgie lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll h-have t-t-to m-m-make sure there’s n-n-nothing inappr-pro-pro-priate we-we-we’re doing.”

“That’s fine. I hear you swear all the time.”

Bill didn’t know where his parents were and gave Georgie a glare, telling him to stop talking to not get him in trouble.

Not that he knew if they cared. Bill wondered if deep down his parents were ashamed of their kids. The two Denbrough boys were freaks and everyone knew it. Stuttering Bill and One Armed George.

“I c-c-can assssk if it’d b-buh-buh-be c-cool.”

“Please!” Georgie may have been 10, but his puppy dog eyes were still golden.

Bill pulled out his phone with a sigh.

shark pups

billiam: can Georgie come to our next rehearsal?

billiam: he’s been bugging me

dick: LITTLE GEORGE???

dick: OF COURSE

spaghedward: news flash, dick, you aren’t the only one in this band

dick: so georgie can’t come?

spaghedward: I don’t care

staniel: He’s fine

staniel: Watch your language, Rich

dick: stanley! you wound me!

staniel: Oh dear

billiam: point still stands

billiam: don’t taint my little brother

dick: lol

dick: taint

spaghedward: jesus

staniel: Bye.

When Bill looked up from his phone, his little brother was still staring at him, eyes wide.

“Th-The-The-They s-said yes.”

Georgie jumped in his little spot, throwing his arm up in excitement. “Yes!” He yelled. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

Bill laughed. “We-We-We have a r-r-re-re-re-p-practice tomorrow, s-so make sh-sh-sh-sure you be-be-behave.”

“I’m a delight.” Georgie smiled widely.

When the energy died down again and Georgie went back to his book, Lost on a Mountain in Maine for school, Bill pulled his phone out once again. He was curious to see who was at the party and who had seen them play. It was Stan’s idea to not put any of their names on the poster, hoping it would make more people go, and not just to make fun of them.

And it worked. As Bill scrolled through the Instagram posts and tapped through Snapchat stories, it seemed like they had a great turnout and everyone had a good time. Obviously no one would remember their band name in their drunken states, but they still got a gold star for helping people have fun.

Bill wasn’t too concerned about them, though. He was trying to find proof of Beverly Marsh being there and having a good time. He also wanted to know who it was that she left with. He had never seen him at school, although Bill was quite known for not paying close attention to people

Beverly never posted on her social media. Bill wondered if she even used her accounts. She wasn’t following him, though, so it wouldn’t matter.

Ben Hanscom hadn’t posted anything. His accounts were mostly artsy pictures of buildings or flowers, months apart from each other.

If anyone had been paying attention to their set, it’d be Ben.

It also was Ben who was keeping up with Beverly along with Bill. Not because he wanted to know who the guy was that left with her, but because he wanted to know her and wanted to make sure she was happy.

The morning after the party, he felt a sort of inspiration to make a grand gesture. He marched down to the library first thing to do some research on gestures, on love stories, on poetry, on anything that could get the gears in his head working the way only the library could.

There was an early morning beauty along the shelves, the light pouring in from outside and the emptiness of the space. But Ben paid more attention to close details. As he wandered the stacks, he came across a simple poster, posters seeming to be what depicted his entire life, and a light bulb went off in his head.

A haiku. He could write her a haiku.

+++++

Bill was definitely excited to have a little practice session with his best friends and brother, but he was also scared out of his mind that something would happen along the way. He couldn’t help it.

Bill slipped into the kitchen while Georgie spent an achingly long time tying his shoes––he swore he was too old for velcro. His mother, Mrs. Sharon Denbrough, was sitting at the counter, drinking her coffee and eyes looking at the morning paper.

“Muh-Muh-Muh-”

She hummed before he could finish. “Guh-Guh-Guh-Guh-Georgie is g-going t-t-to come with m-me t-t-to buh-buh-band pr-pr-practice today, if th-th-that’s okay.”

“To what?”

“Buu-Buh-Band pr-practice. With Ruh-Ruh-Richie a-a-and E-E-Eddie and St-Stanley.”

“Oh right,” she sighed. But the flicker was still there. “At the Tozier’s?” She asked.

Bill opened his mouth before shutting it tight and nodding.

Sharon Denbrough rubbed her temples. “Be careful please. Look after your brother.” She always said that, and always in that same condescending tone.

Bill nodded again before turning on his heel to go put on his own shoes.

Eddie and Stan met them on their way to the Tozier house which could ease Bill’s worries. Sure, they could still get beat up, but at least now they had backup. It seemed that none of the bullies were out to torment them, though––perhaps all of them were still recovering from the party––and they made it to Richie’s house safely.

“George!” Richie yelled the second he swung the door opened, scooping Georgie into a hug.

“Hi Richie!”

Richie knelt down to Georgie’s level and joked, in his posh Toddles the Butler voice, “How’s the stub?”

Georgie put on his own Toddles voice, not as convincing though, and patted his right shoulder, answering, “Stub’s good, sir!”

“D-D-D-Don’t c-call it a-a-a st-stuh-stuh-stub,” Bill muttered.

“What? It’s a stub.”

Georgie quietly said, too, “It’s a stub, Bill.”

Bill rolled his eyes.

They were a proper garage band, firstly needing to unload their equipment before they could start rehearsing in the Tozier’s garage.

Georgie requested a few songs, which Richie tried to live up to honor, much to everyone else’s annoyance. Each song ended in raucous cheer and laughter, Georgie’s wide smile fueling their energy.

After playing “Don’t Stop Believing,” twice, Eddie snapped. “Can we play something new? Shouldn’t we be rehearsing?”

“What do you want to play?” Stan asked.

“What about ‘Bastards of Young?’ We haven’t-”

“E-E-E-Eddie!”

“What?”

Georgie started giggling in the corner. “You c-c-cuh-can’t s-say th-th-that!”

Eddie looked over at Georgie, realizing what Bill was getting at, but still rolled his eyes.

“Can we not sing the song?” Stan asked, with bass already around his neck.

“Cover your ears, Georgie,” Richie cackled before signaling to Eddie to start playing.

Georgie didn’t cover his ears. He listened to the entire song. He wouldn’t tell Bill, though, and wouldn’t rat him out to their parents. Not that they paid much attention to the band and what they played. Georgie thought it was cool, his big brother being a rockstar with his nerdy friends. Sharon and Zack? They thought it was less cool.

Georgie was too young to understand and Bill was good at hiding it, but he could see it in the faces of Bill’s friends. Georgie may only have been 10, but he knew no bullshit about feelings, the endless sympathetic glances taught him that.

All three of them would give Bill their undivided attention whenever he opened his mouth, being patient with him. They’d quiet their own voices to give him an invitation to contribute to the conversation when he would have otherwise stayed quiet.

Stanley was the best at patience with Bill. He kept good eye contact with Bill and would be gentle if he couldn’t get a word out, reminding him to breathe or offering different words to say instead. He understood Bill’s frustrations and anxiety and could help him through it in a way the others couldn’t.

Richie could always get him to laugh. Bill got sad a lot and would never tell Georgie why, but he still figured it had something to do with him and how different everything’s been. Richie, though, could make everything better. Georgie tried to copy some of Richie’s voices and jokes to get him to feel better, but he could never get Bill to laugh the same that Richie did.

With Eddie, it was different. Georgie didn’t know what he was best at because he was good at everything with Bill. Georgie always liked how they were the only two who didn’t sing in the band, even though they both had great voices. Richie and Stan could bounce energy off of each other through their singing and harmonizing, but Eddie and Bill bounced off each other with Eddie’s head-banging and Bill’s jumping. They got thoroughly lost in playing, connecting with the notes, the rhythm.

But it was more than just that with Eddie and Bill, how they complimented each other. Georgie knew they were close, but at times it seemed they were so distant. Richie would tell a funny joke and the boys’ laughs would leave them swaying, their shoulders would knock and the laughter would cease. Bill’s face would get red and he’d look down, avoiding eye contact with Eddie. Eddie would push his lips together and fidget around, studying Bill in secret.

Georgie didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand a lot of things, but his older brother was one case he wanted to crack before the time might be too late.

Chapter Text

Stanley needed his mind to be quiet. He needed the whole world to be quiet. Maybe that’s why he liked the park and birdwatching, it was a quiet place and calmed his mind. Sometimes, life got to be too much and he needed to slip away for a moment of peace.

And the park was the perfect place to do that. There were many parks in Derry, all offering unique experiences which no one else understood. Over the weekend he had chosen Summit Park, beside the Thomas Hill Standpipe, where there was a sweet little bird bath tucked in the bushes. It was a slow day, not much to see, but it still helped to clear his mind before school started once again.

He wished, though, that he could get more escapes. He liked the quiet, Mike liked the loud.

Mike’s Friday night could’ve been another quiet one, even with his bubble attending a party, but luckily Beverly Marsh stepped out of her own darkness and invited him on her adventure.

It was the most fun he had had in a while, which made him wonder if he should be getting out more. Even walking out of the house, his heart leapt in excitement. Beverly was a pro at sneaking out, she told him with a wink, which made him even more excited.

They had two hours until Will Hanlon was going to be expecting to pick him up, so the night seemed to be theirs. They skipped through the streets, Beverly flying her arms around and dancing to the music still playing in her head.

Mike was enjoying her company. They got ice cream cones, combining a cold snack with the nighttime air, and she laughed as hers trickled down her hands. “How’s private school?” She asked him in between her licks, nearly joking.

Mike laughed. “It’s alright. We certainly don’t have parties like that one.”

“What? You guys don’t listen to bad pop music and worship God?”

“Hey, that band was actually pretty good.”

“Alright, I digress.” Beverly’s hair was glowing in the street lights. “We should do this again. Maybe when we aren’t running away from my classmates.”

Mike smiled at her, a smile so warm it could’ve melted her entire ice cream cone. “Just come on over to the Hanlon Family Farm whenever you need a break.”

Stanley couldn’t remember intentionally filling his life with such noise, especially with already willfully letting Richie Tozier stick around.

He was quiet throughout school, he had no choice but to be. He was perfectly alone in his classes, Bill, Eddie, and Richie all a grade ahead of him, so his day went by with his mouth shut and his head whirling.

When he got to Study Hall Monday afternoon, he had to take a moment to catch his breathe and relax. He had a Precalculus test the next day, forty pages of Of Mice and Men to read, and a Biology project due at the end of the week. He pulled out his notebook and made a list of what he had to do that night: study for math, read for English, put away laundry, finish studying for math, find images for the biology project, learn the chords for the new song they’re working on.

The last one would luckily be a bit of a pleasure assignment. He had been playing the piano since he was a kid and started picking up the guitar and bass in middle school, so it would be fun and easy, but Stan had to put it on his to-do list to make sure he actually did it and enjoyed himself.

He pulled out his History book to get a head start on their next unit when he felt a poke on his back.

His entire body tensed up, his shoulders attacking his ears, before he turned to glare at whoever it was that just touched him.

It was a girl.

He didn’t recognize this girl, but it seemed like she must have sat behind him every day in Study Hall. She was smiling so sweetly, the blush of her cheeks matching the strawberry pink of her headband, that Stanley felt he had to smile back, or at least ditch the scowl.

“Did I see you playing in that band this weekend?” She asked, whispering softly.

Stan only nodded.

“Wow,” she somehow smiled wider. “You were amazing. When will I get to hear you play again?”

He shrugged. Conversations were not his strong suit.

“Well, I hope it’s soon.”

Stanley smiled back at her, before turning away, but he heard her whisper, “Wait, are you taking Algebra II?”

God, she was persistent. He turned back around and finally answered her, saying, “No, I’m in Precalculus.”

“Oh wow. Sorry, I was just having some trouble.” He gestured to her open math book and scribbled notebook paper, complete with scratches and dust from her eraser.

“Uh,” his eyes couldn’t leave the mess in front of them after he noticed, “What, what do you need help with?”

She smiled, like she had won something, and turned her book to face him.

That girl didn’t leave his mind all day. There wasn’t much else to focus on, the wonders of the American Revolution or Of Mice and Men, so he thought about how she remembered him. She remembered him.

And she was sticking around. She somehow magically appeared beside him as he was walking out of school, clipping his kippah back into his curly hair. “Oh, I didn’t know you were Jewish,” she said, which made Stan jump.

“Oh, uh,” he stammered. “Yeah, I-I am.”

She smiled again, that smile. “Cool. I am too.” She rearranged what she was holding to reach out a hand. “I’m Patricia Blum, everyone calls me Patty.”

“I’m Stanley Uris,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand, needing to shift his clips from one hand to the next.

“Do people call you Stan?”

“They do.”

“Alright, Stan.”

And she was gone.

She wasn’t the only one who remembered him, the further he walked out of school, the closer he got to Richie Tozier waiting for him by the bike rack. Richie was always waiting and never forgot, no matter how scrambled his brain got.

“You should just stop wearing that thing,” Richie said as Stan put the last of the clips in his hair. Four clips. Always.

“I can’t just stop wearing it, my father’s the Rabbi.”

“Doesn’t matter who your father is, you don’t like wearing it.”

Stanley might have rolled his eyes, but Richie was right. In Stan’s mind, he only had to pretend for a little while longer before he could run away from Derry, from his father, and never return.

He tried not to hate his father, his father was honest and respectable, and wanted the best for his son. But then he remembered that he was scared of being caught without his kippah around his father and he hated himself for being so spineless and letting his father dictate that part of his life. He could deal with hating himself, though. He didn’t know if he could deal with his father hating him.

Richie, somehow, didn’t care that Donald Uris hated him. They went over to Stan’s house to study after school, but that was met with challenges. The second they even walked on the property, Richie felt like he was walking on broken glass. The Uris residence was a cold air that made the hair on his arms stand up and his heart beat wildly.

“Don’t touch that,” Stanley hissed when Richie put his hand up to the wall to balance himself. He looked over at Stan and squinted his eyes, clapping his hand onto Stan’s back instead. Normally that would elicit a shiver, but it was Richie.

“Stanley!” The voice of Donald Uris boomed through the house. Richie nearly fell when Stan shot straight up, and he scrambled down the hall to see what his father needed.

“Yes?”

Richie didn’t know if he should follow, but nothing got past Mr. Uris. “Did you bring someone over?”

“Uh, yeah. Richie and I were going to study for Precalculus.”

That was his cue. He sauntered into the kitchen with his winning smile, greeting, “Hey, Mr. Uris.”

Donald’s dark eyes drifted up and down over him before returning to judge his own son. “You work hard on studying, alright?”

Stan nodded sharply. And it was done. They shuffled upstairs to Stan’s bedroom and took a deep breath, Richie whispering, “He still hasn’t warmed up, has he?”

“Did you expect he would?” Stan whispered back.

He never would. Things at the Uris house were unchanging, the paint color in the bathroom, their holiday traditions, Stan’s bedroom. But it was nice to always have somebody to always have somebody to depend on on. Ofr Stan, of course. He knew what to expect and everything worked how he liked it to. It was nice for Richie, too.

Stan’s mind put everything in order and Richie’s took it out of order. Richie loved Stan’s predictability and Stan loved Richie’s unpredictability. It was refreshing, it was new, it was easy, it was fun.

When Richie first came over to dinner with the Urises, an overly formal affair for two eight year olds, Donald Uris made it very clear that he didn’t like him and didn’t want his son to be around him.

“I do a lot for you, Stanley. A lot of sacrifices have been made for you and I do not want you throwing your life’s opportunities away by associating with him.”

Stanley didn’t listen, Richie somehow gave him the courage to be more defiant, and they both just so happened to sign up for baseball that spring.

And neither of them cared about Donald’s constant berating. Stan stopped asking if Richie could come over or if he could go over to his house because he liked Richie much more than he liked his dad. When he sat in the bathroom and cried because his hands hurt from washing them over and over again, Donald yelled at him. Richie gave him lotion and kissed his booboo.

While they sat across from each other, working on their respective Precalculus homework, Richie reached over and grabbed Stan’s hand, his thumb brushing over the little red bumps.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“No.”

Richie pulled his Eddie Kaspbrak approved ziploc first aid kit, a Christmas gift for all of them, and starting rubbing vaseline on it. “We gotta make sure you’re in good shape to be a rockstar.”

“I’ll tell my therapist to fix me quicker, then.”

Richie looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “Good.”

That was the recent problem, there was always a problem, washing and washing and washing and washing his hands. It hadn’t been a problem for a while, but Sophomore year was kicking his ass and that just happened along with it. Endless schoolwork, his dad’s disapproval over the band, and how he needed to find a girlfriend as soon as possible to make sure he wasn’t gay.

For a moment there, he thought he was. But then Patricia Blum poked his back. Patty.

Chapter Text

Eddie put another band-aid on his hand. That made three so far. Bill watched very carefully as Eddie pulled band-aids out of his fanny pack and placed them on the callouses of his hands before they began their rehearsal.

His mom would freak out if she saw those callouses. She knew her son was rough, hated it, but knew about it, and knew about him playing the drum’s at Richie Tozier’s house. She didn’t know about the band, of course. All of their parents had complicated relationships with their sons’ music exploits:

The Denbroughs didn’t care, they didn’t really know what it was they should care about.

The Toziers thought it was all for good fun.

The Urises hated the idea.

And Sonia Kaspbrak had no idea.

Eddie stopped telling her things after continuous trips to the emergency room, after weeks of house arrest, after 16 years of micromanaging his every move.

In her eyes, he just spent a lot of time with his no good friends. Which he did.

He was back at Richie’s house after school, homework hopefully disappearing in his bag. Stan was tapping away on his phone, Richie leaning over his chair and resting his head on Stan’s shoulder, watching intently with  the screen shining on the lens of his glasses.

“No dice,” Stan muttered, shaking his head for the final time.

“No puh-puh-parties th-th-this weekend?”

Stanley rolled his eyes and put his phone down––an Android because of course Stanley Uris would have an Android and curse all iMessage group chats.

Richie dramatically groaned and threw his body into the chair Stan was sat in. “Oh, why can’t our classmates be more fun!” He cried, rather Shakespearean. Stan elbowed him in the stomach.

Eddie collected his wrappings and took them to the little garage trash can. “Well, we need to do something. I’m sick of playing in here.” He turned to Bill. “And I love Georgie, but it’s not the same with him.”

“He can’t applaud,” Richie whispered, to which Stan elbowed him harder and hissed, “Beep beep.”

Bill shrugged. “We-We-We c-could tr-tr-try po-posting m-more on Instagram.”

Stan pushed Richie further around in the chair they were now sharing. “What, for Ben Hanscom?”

Richie slapped his own forehead so hard it made Eddie jump. “Oh my God, Ben Hanscom!” He yelled.

“What about Ben Hanscom?” Eddie snapped in annoyance, gripping his inhaler.

He hadn’t used it in a while, he was trying not to, but he still had it just in case. Sometimes he got too caught up in songs and had to miss a few beats to use it, but that was always met with sympathetic glances from the others, which he hated. They all knew there was nothing in that inhaler that actually helped him, but there was something in there that made Eddie feel better every time. And that was what mattered.

That, and the fact that Sonia Kaspbrak somehow tricked him into using that thing and letting it work.

“Why don’t we perform in front of him? Get some feedback or something.”

They all squinted back at him.

“And maybe he had some ideas for places we could play or something?” Richie fiddled his hands together, nervous for an answer.

Bill was the first one to sigh. “Has an-an-an-any of us ever tuh-tuh-talked to Buh-Buh-Ben?”

Eddie and Stan shook their heads. “I might have,” Richie shrugged. “I don’t always remember all the guys I talk to.” Stan elbowed him again, which finally made Richie yelp.

“Alruh-ruh-ruh-righ Ruh-Ruh-Richie,” Bill smirked. “You cuh-cuh-can tuh-talk to Buh-Buh-Ben Hansc-sc-scom.”

–––––––––––

Richie was dreading one thing and Ben was dreading another. Days had gone by of staring at the back of Beverly Marsh’s head in World History and his little postcard burning a hole in his backpack. Every day, he gave himself a pep-talk before class, She’s going to love it, it’s a great poem and she’ll think it was very sweet and she’s so nice that maybe she’ll ask you to sit with her at lunch.

But then reality struck and he saw her nose scrunch up in disgust before laughing bitterly.

So once again, at the end of class, he held the post card in his hands, but only sat at his desk and watched her walk away.

“Darn it,” a loud voice rang in his head.

Ben defeatedly brought himself out of the classroom, watching the post card as he went along the way to the cafeteria. Until he heard raucous laughter in his ear.

“Wow, Ben, who’s that for?” It was undoubtedly Richie Tozier and there his thin arm was snaking its way around Ben to get the card.

“No!” Ben unexpectedly yelped. “No, this is…this is…,” he had it clutched to his chest as he looked up to Richie. But Richie smiled and patted his back.

“That’s alright, Benny, we all have embarrassing secret lovers.”

Ben blinked heavily. What was happening? He was standing in the history wing, holding a love poem for Beverly Marsh and talking to Richie Tozier.

“Hey, you liked our band, right?” Richie asked.

“Uh, yes? Yeah, I did.”

“Well, how would you like to come to a closed practice? See us rehearse, scheme some new song ideas?”

Now Ben was sure he was dreaming. He had died of shock, maybe he fainted again, but there was no way this was happening.

“You on your way to lunch?” Richie asked, turning to walk to the cafeteria despite Ben not answering yet.

Luckily, Ben was going to lunch.

“Awesome! You can sit with us and we can talk about all the deets.”

Ben couldn’t say no, like actually couldn’t, Richie had such a wide smile and was already taking them directly to a table where sat Stuttering Bill and some angry kid picking at his lunch, the drummer.

“I present to you all,” Richie said to them all in his little British accent, and bowing for dramatic effect. “Mr. Benjamin Middle-Name-Unknown Hanscom!”

Bill weakly clapped and the other boy turned into Ben and said, “I’m sorry for Richie, he’s a dick.”

“The finest in town,” Richie replied, smirking before sitting beside Bill.

Ben took his seat, but Richie was off on his rambling again, this time in a radio announcer voice. “I have here the infamous Stuttering Billiam Denbrough and his lovely sidekick, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie hissed. “It’s just Eddie.”

“Bill is our lead guitarist, Eddie is on the loud things, and I, of course, am the lead vocalist.”

Ben squinted at them all. “Where’s…?” He started to ask.

Richie answered, of course Richie answered, before Ben could even figure out how to ask what he was asking. “Stan is a baby and has sophomore lunch.”

“He’s a sophomore,” Eddie mumbled.

“But he plays every other instrument and does back up vocals.”

“You can meet him when you come to our practice,” Eddie said, getting back to tearing apart his lunch box.

“Are you c-c-cuh-cuh-coming t-t-to our pr-pr-prac-tice?” Bill asked with worried eyes. Ben wondered if his eyes were always worried.

“Um, I don’t know. When?”

“Jesus, Richie,” Eddie sighed. Richie leaned across the table and grabbed Eddie’s lunch box in response. “We were thinking tomorrow after school. Does that work alright?”

Ben looked at each of them. They seemed alright. Bill was quiet, Richie and Eddie were loud, but they were fun. And maybe it could be fun. “Yeah, that’d be good,” he answered, smiling. “I’d have to ask my mom first. That sounded lame.”

“Nah, I always get a mom’s permission first,” Richie said, nearly elbows deep in Eddie’s lunch box.

Eddie had to stand to snatch it back from across the table. Plastic baggies of carrots and apple slices came out, still attaching themselves to Richie’s hands. Bill took a tentative bite out of his sandwich from the school lunch. “Wait can I-?” Richie started to ask Eddie.

“I’m just getting out the sandwich,” Eddie said before pushing the lunch box and the spilled contents back Richie’s way.

Ben watched them and found himself asking, “Do you guys always share food?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Richie can’t ever remember to pack a lunch and my lunches always suck.”

“Oh Jesus, my mom gave me money today.” Richie stood and started emptying out his pockets. He grabbed the $5 bill and shot finger guns to Eddie. “Pudding?”

“Please.”

“You all set Big Bill?”

Bill nodded.

“How about you, Benny boy? You need a lunch?”

Ben held onto his backpack tighter. “No, I’m alright.”

“Have some of my carrots,” Eddie said, throwing them over.

“No, really,” Ben answered quickly. “No, I’m good.”

Richie threw up a peace sign before running over to the lunch line.

“We mix-mix-mix-mix and m-muh-match lunch stuffff,” Bill said to Ben.

“My mom only packs all organic, boring shit.”

“At l-l-least sh-she-she puh-puh-packs you a lunch,” Bill reminded Eddie.

Eddie nodded and slid the carrots over to Bill before looking over to Ben, who still sat there quietly. “You wanna sit with us tomorrow?”

Chapter Text

Richie nearly raced through the halls everyday when school was over. Perhaps a mix of being overjoyed to no longer have to be sitting still, or that his pent up energy spilled out all at once. He didn’t think too hard into sliding through groups of people, there was only one group he knew he had to avoid and, if he got outside quick enough, he’d be safe.

He also was racing his friends without them knowing. He liked seeing Eddie roll his eyes over how Richie must’ve run through the halls to get there, he had.

But he especially liked watching Stanley coming down the walkway. The past few days his timing had been skewed and it’d been throwing Richie off, so he made certain to keep a steady eye on the school doors so he didn’t miss him.

And saw the culprit almost immediately.

It wasn’t Stan, it was the girl following him that he kept turning and stopping to talk to. At first it was clear that Stan was only interested in getting to the bike rack, but she was elaborately storytelling with her hands and made him laugh.

And Richie’s heart crumbled.

He hadn’t heard the bickering of Bill and Eddie coming closer, which DC superhero was the dumbest, but when his arm was slapped, he started drifting back.

“Rich?” Eddie was saying.

“There’s a girl talking to Stanley,” he weakly said, pointing to the scene right outside of the school’s main door.

“We’re not as tall as you, dick.”

“St-Stuh-Stuh-Stan’s talking-ing-ing t-to a guh-guh-girl?”

“He’s having the time of his life.”

Eddie pulled on the straps of his backpack. “I didn’t think he was interested in girls.”

Bill’s eyes popped out. “You th-th-th-though he wuh-was g-gay?”

Richie nearly jumped at having that, suddenly was tearing his eyes off the two and onto Eddie, demanding, “What?”

“I mean, not necessarily, but…well you guys know how he is! I didn’t think he’d be dating at all.”

“We don’t know that they’re dating,” Richie muttered, squinting back over at Stan, who was receiving an affectionate hand to his elbow before he turned to leave.

He already had his kippah in his hair and Richie had to wonder if she put it in for him.

“Hey,” Bill awkwardly greeted him with, but Eddie was wasting no time.

“Who was that girl?”

Stan sighed and rubbed his temples. “Patricia Blum.”

Richie laughed. “Patricia? How old is she?”

“She’s in my grade.”

“A younger woman? Stanny, you rascal.” He hoped no one noticed how distant from his joke he was.

“Who-Who-Who is sh-she?”

Stanley spoke pointedly. “She sits behind me in study hall and I help her with her homework. She’s nice, she’s also Jewish, she’s just a girl.”

“And you’re going out with her?” Eddie asked.

“I’m not going out with her.”

“Do you want to be going out with her?”

Stan whipped his head around, looking for an escape, and Richie was glad for that if it meant he didn’t have to hear the truth. “Where’s Ben?” Is what Stan came up with.

Ben was behind the school, a whole 180 degrees from where he was supposed to be, with his back pushed up against the cold brick. Stuck.

Henry Bowers was in front of him, sneering, while he tore open his backpack. Belch Huggins was holding onto him, the only one strong enough to do so, although his fingers were digging into Ben rather uncomfortably.

Henry threw papers, homework, to Patrick Hockstetter, who pocketed them for later opportunity to cheat or sell. Once he grabbed hold of Ben’s lunchbox, he threw the entire backpack to Victor Criss, a master of ripping things up to ruin.

Henry shook the lunchbox around, laughing. “This your lunch, tits? Or what’s left of it? Feels pretty full.”

He unzipped the light blue box and dumped its contents onto the ground: a turkey sandwich, two halves of an orange, potato chips, animal crackers, a can of Pepsi, and a baggie of cookies his mother made the night before.

The Pepsi can got dented and Patrick was quick to pick it up, pop it open, and spray it’s spewing liquid in Ben’s face. Henry’s eyes were caught by the post-it on the sandwich bad, written by his mother.

Have a fantastic day, Ben!

I love you always!!

Love, Mom :)

Ben’s eyes were screwed shut, but he knew Henry had found that note when he yelled, “Your mom packed you all this shit? What, is she trying to fatten you up? Why don’t we help her out with that.”

Ben still couldn’t see with the dark soda running down his face, but his heart still pounded as he waited to see what was about to happen.

He felt warm, sweat-slicked fingers grab hold of his jaw and rip it open. Ben was pushing out a sound of discomfort, but it got quickly muffled by something being shoved into his mouth. He started rejecting it, coughing up crumbs of what tasted like his mother’s cookies, but another hand was clasped over his mouth while the first started working his jaw up and down.

“No,” he tried to squeak out, but there were too many barriers before the sound could escape. He knew he was expected to swallow what was pushed into his mouth, but he couldn’t do it. He wanted to cry and throw up. He was crying, but knew he couldn’t throw up into whoever’s hand was over his mouth or else everything would be worse.

No matter what, he couldn’t swallow.

Ben tried squinting his eyes to see what was happening and felt the other half of the bag of cookies shoved into his mouth. There wasn’t enough room and suddenly chunks of chocolate chips were pushing their way down his throat.

He coughed, choking and rattling his own lungs, but the air and the crumbs were pushed back into his mouth. “You’re not gonna swallow, tits? What’re you afraid of?”

His mouth was full, only small room that he tried to maximize, but the hand was still moving around and manipulating his jaw and lips. He feared Henry shoving more into him, but then he heard shouting rounding the corner of the school.

“What the fuck?” Was yelled out and Ben’s mouth was let go in a shock wave thrown over the bullies. It was Richie Tozier’s voice.

He led the group, standing in the front with his eyes squinted as he took in the scene, Bill with his jaw clenched but holding a strong stance, Eddie gagging at the state Ben was in and feeling it rattle his body in anger, and Stan in the rear, who was also disgusted and couldn’t keep his eyes off of Ben dripping wet or the grubby hands that were ripped off of him.

“Hey, lookie here,” Henry sniggered. “We’ve got some other losers coming to save you.”

Patrick eyed them all, head bobbing back and forth, as he approached the group. The sandwich he was holding twitched in his hand as he smiled at Eddie. “We’re just helping him eat his lunch,” He mocked. “Do you want to help too?”

Patrick ripped open the sandwich and wiped the condiments inside, the side with mayonnaise, mustard, and sliced pickles, right down Eddie’s face. He screamed loudly and Ben jerked to help, getting thrown back against the wall by Belch.

“Leave them alone!” Ben yelled, letting the cookie chunks he was holding inside fall out.

Eddie’s entire body shook and racked, and his arms pushed forward at where Patrick was, blindly shoving him before trying to asses the mustard dripping into his eyes.

Bill’s own eyes grew wide as he watched and tried to go help, calling out, “E-E-Ed-Ed-,” before Henry was pulling him back to face him.

“What was that Buh-Buh-Buh-Billy?”

Richie went over to help Eddie instead and Stanley still stood, body frozen with chills running through him. Ben’s heart was racing as he watched Patrick make a face at Victor Criss, an unspoken message of sorts, and Victor picked up the orange halves from off the ground.

Henry kept running his mouth. “What, can the little kid not stand up for himself? Not like your brother, right?”

Richie smeared the sauce out of the way of Eddie’s eyes and Patrick laughed, slamming the other half of the sandwich, wet from the warm turkey, right onto Richie’s glasses.

Eddie could finally see enough to charge all of his force at pushing Patrick off, Richie now being of no help with the hazy view through his glasses. Stanley itched to go over and help, and called out “Richie!” before being whipped around by Victor Criss and getting an orange half sprayed in his eyes.

Stan screamed loudly and Richie whipped his head around, messily yelling out, “What? Stan??”

“Can it four-eyes!” Henry yelled. “The fag’s okay.”

While his neck was craned over Bill to yell, Bill grabbed Henry by his shirt and punched him square in the jaw. He ran over to Stan in the downtime, pushing Victor away from him and grabbing his face to asses the damage

Henry stood for a moment, nursing his jaw and working through what had happened. Before he was able to turn back to the group, Ben pushed Belch with all that he had off of him and marched up to Henry, pushing him to the ground.

Henry whipped his body around, looking up at Ben. Within the rush of excitement, the high of releasing his strength, Ben felt his stomach flip. A wave shivered down his body and, as it came back up, the steamy bile and leftover toast from breakfast came up with it, landing on the stomach of Henry’s white shirt.

“Holy shit!” Bill heard Victor whisper from beside him.

“What the fuck!” Henry yelled, jumping up and reclaiming his own ground, shoving Ben to the ground. Ben tumbled down and Henry’s face turned up at him. “You disgusting fuck,” he sneered.

Before turning to leave, he dropped a wad of his own spit onto Ben’s face. Eddie gagged in the distance. Henry peeled off his stained shirt and threw it at Ben, the wet side hitting his already soaked jeans.

Then he was gone. And the others followed with him.

“Jesus Christ Ben,” Richie sighed. He was wiping his glasses on the side of his shirt.

Stan was still whimpering on the side and it caught Richie’s ear. He stumbled towards him, asking, “Stan, are you okay?”

“No,” he muttered. Eddie grabbed hold of his face to investigate. “We need some water,” he noted.

Ben went over to the group, letting the shirt fall to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“D-Duh-Duh-Don’t b-b-be s-sorry,” Bill said earnestly.

“Yeah this happens every day,” Richie said.

“Why’d…how’d you find me?”

“Beverly Marsh,” Eddie snapped.

Ben’s eyes grew. “Beverly?”

Eddie turned his head to Ben, ignoring Stan’s tears. “She overheard us asking where you were and said that Bowers was looking for you.”

“Oh.” He tried to act casual, but his heart was beaming despite the whirlwind they just went through. “You okay, Stan?” He asked, trying to take the attention off of Beverly Marsh swirling through his mind.

“Spectacular.”

Eddie went over to Ben, inspecting the sticky soda drenching him. “We need to get cleaned up,” he said.

“That’s what she said,” Richie joked and Stan blindly pushed him away.

They all, with the exception of a now vision-impaired and whiny Stanley, helped Ben pick up his backpack, now in pieces. They left the remains of his lunch on the ground, Bill eyeing it carefully.

They circled their way back to the front of the school, Richie guiding Stan the best that he could with his own smeared vision. As they went, Richie kept asking:

“Can you see?”

“No I can’t fucking see.”

“Did you try?”

And once Stan peeked his squinted eye open, and Richie saw the red irritation surrounded by tears, he stopped asking.

They went back over to the bike racks, and standing by them was a familiar red haired girl.

“Beverly?” Richie asked suddenly and she nervously turned around. Eddie sighed.

“Oh my God, are you guys okay?” She asked, pushing herself off of the bike rack and over to the group.

Ben tried to perk up and smiled. “Hi Beverly,” he greeted, ignoring the state of how he looked.

“We-We-We-We’re okay,” Bill told her.

“Easy for you to say,” Eddie muttered.

“You di-di-didn’t have t-to wuh-wuh-wait ffffor us.”

“I know,” she nervously twirled her short hair around her fingers. “I was just worried.” Her eyes couldn’t tear away from Ben. “You alright?” She asked him.

“Yeah I’m good.”

She still had a strange sort of guilt pooling in her stomach, but let them go.

They opted to walking their bikes back to the Tozier’s, in an awkward silence. Awkward and silent until Eddie snapped, “Are you in love with Beverly Marsh, too?”

Ben’s mind froze. “Uh,” he said, trying to form some sort of way to deny it when it was so deeply true.

Luckily, Richie went off with saying to Eddie, “Why do you hate Beverly so much?”

“I don’t…don’t hate her.”

“But you can’t stand her.”

“True.”

“Why?” Richie was pushing his own bike in one hand and had his other hand around Stanley’s waist, guiding him along the way, but was tripping over his pedals now that his mind was split in a conversation, nearly taking Stanley and his own bike down with him.

“Well, you know her,” Eddie tried to explain. His words were choppy, flowing right out of his mouth. “She’s…you know.”

“She’s what?” Richie nearly dared him to say, his tone a harsh laugh.

“Th-Th-Th-Those are juh-juh-just ruh-rumors,” Bill defended.

“They could be true,” Eddie muttered.

“No matter what,” Richie said, “she’s a fucking bad-ass.”

“She’s alright,” Stan said.

“She’s no Patricia Blum,” Richie teased with a wicked grin on his face.

They all knew Stanley was rolling his eyes even though his eyes were closed. “It’s just Patty.”

“Ooh, Stanny and Patty sitting in a tree!”

Luckily, Maggie and Went Tozier weren’t at home to question why they were covered in food at spending time in the bathroom, they hated hearing about how their son and his friends were bullied at school. Ben took a shower as Stan flushed out his eyes and Eddie washed his face in the kitchen.

“S-S-So he duh-does b-bring lunch t-to school,” Bill said quietly after a while, scared that Ben might hear him.

“Does he not eat lunch?” Stan asked, picking at the shirt Richie lent him. Richie hoped no one noticed him staring at how Stanley was wearing his Mario shirt even though Stan said it was an eyesore when they saw it at the store.

“Never,” Eddie swiftly stated. “We thought he just didn’t pack it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like eating in front of people and was saving it.”

“Or he doesn’t eat,” Richie whispered.

They all looked at each other, quietly thinking.

It felt weird sitting around in the garage and playing music after the time they just had, but at the same time, it was relieving. But they all had little ticks in the back if their heads that they couldn’t ignore.

Richie couldn’t get into the songs they were half-heartedly playing. Especially not when he imagined Stanley playing these love songs for Patricia Blum. He didn’t want to question and rationalize his hatred for this random girl, but it just felt so weird to him, Stanley talking with, and probably later dating a girl.

He thought it must be like how Eddie felt with Bill and Beverly. Obviously, Eddie had his own hang-ups about Bev, but deep down he was just upset to have Bill be interested in someone else. Richie was scared of losing the person who he always tried to impress and be better for, the person who he could rant to, the person that always helped him, Stanley Uris. And that person was going to be so much more for Patty.

Ben was relaying on Bev as well, in greater detail. The rumors.

He had heard them, he knew that people talked about her being poor, doing drugs and having sex with anyone. And he wondered if it was true, but realized he didn’t care. Beverly was pretty, she was kind, she was daring, and she had waited to see if he was okay. She was perfect.

But Ben was far from that.

The group all agreed to not bring up what had happened with Ben. They didn’t question when he didn’t eat the snacks they put out and wordlessly offered him Richie’s dad’s clothes until his were finished getting washed.

It was a bit of a somber afternoon, not the show shopping performance they were hoping to give, but when people trickled off one by one, Richie had a sigh of relief.

Ben said he’d walk home alone, and Bill had offered to walk Stan and Eddie home. Eddie said he was fine to go alone, but after everyone had left, he turned to Richie and sighed. “I don’t want to go home,” he said.

Richie shrugged. “Yeah, that’s alright. We’re having fish sticks for dinner.”

The Tozier house had turned into a sort of escape for the entire friend group, there nearly always being an extra guest over for dinner. Richie stopped asking why his friends were staying over, and his parents did the same; he knew that it would come out if they wanted it to and there was no reason to pressure them all. Bill’s parents didn’t care about him, Eddie’s mom was controlling, and Stanley’s dad hated who he really was. It was understandable.

The two boys read through comics, only getting a couple of pages in before Richie sighed, “I hate Patty Blum.”

“You haven’t even met her.”

“But I hate her. She’s no good for Stan.”

“How do you know?”

“How do you know you hate Beverly and she’s no good for Bill?”

Eddie’s face went sour. “Touché.”

Richie didn’t even question if Eddie was actually mad at him, he knew he wasn’t, so he tumbled on, “She just doesn’t seem right for him, you know? Like, Stan would never date someone who’s Jewish.”

Eddie nodded. They were all there after his Bar Mitzvah, when he stormed out and cried in the park about how much he hated his dad.

“She’s going to turn him into who his father wants him to be,” Richie continued.

“Someone’s jealous,” Eddie teased.

“I’m not jealous that someone else gets Stan.”

Eddie froze. He slowly turned his head to Richie and softly said, “I meant you were jealous you don’t have a girlfriend.”

Richie’s heart nearly dropped and Eddie caught how it looked like his brain was jerking back. His head snapped over to Eddie, his expression, clear than ever of what he was thinking. Oh shit.

Eddie jumped up from the beanbag chair he was sitting in. “Holy shit, you like Stanley!” He yelled.

“Shut up!” Richie yelled, jumping after him to bring Eddie down. He didn’t even think his parents were home, but there was no risking it. “I do not.”

“You’re such a liar! You like Stan!” Eddie was laughing now at Richie’s hasty attempts to shut him down, quite physically.

“No I don’t! I…I-I’m n-not, like-”

“Yeah Bill?” Eddie teased at him tripping over his words.

Richie’s eyes lit up at that name, the shock lighting his body and finally pining Eddie to the ground. “And what about Bill, huh?” Eddie’s face went pale. “You hate the girl that Bill likes, what if it’s because you like him?”

Now Eddie was at a loss for words. “I don’t think I like Bill,” he quietly said.

“Well, I don’t think I like Stan.”

“You like Stan.”

“And you like Bill.”

Eddie fell back against the ground. “Well, shit,” he said.

Chapter Text

The Denbroughs tried to be church people. It didn’t work.

They went regularly when the boys were younger but after George lost his arm, the room was full of mournful apologies and extra prayers for the family, which just made Georgie feel like there was more wrong with him even though he was alive and well.

They still tried. They were “Good Samaritans” and did community service efforts to clean up the image that Stuttering Bill and One-Armed George gave them. Soup kitchens, Easter egg hunts, Christmas parties, school festivals, park clean-ups, and, the activities the boys enjoyed the most, Halloween. Trunk-or-Treat, pumpkin carving, haunted house. Costumes, free candy. It was awesome.

They had been working on their costumes since the beginning of the summer, magical pirates, and couldn’t wait to get them out into the wild. Their first activity for the Halloween season was pumpkin carving at the church, free pumpkins, free pumpkin carving services, and a full day of being covered in slimy pumpkin guts and seeds.

They went early on a Saturday to help set up. Bill secretly, regrettably, envied that Georgie didn’t have to help and could just talk with the older than life service members, but he knew it was no fun for Georgie to feel like he couldn’t do anything. The most he could help with on pumpkin carving day was drawing designs or cleaning up.

“Are th-the-the-the p-pump-p-p-kins here yet?” Bill asked his mom in a whisper.

She pulled him in close to her, a gesture that looked like a hug to the outside eye, but had her whispering, “Shh,” into his ear. He wasn’t supposed to talk in public.

“Are the pumpkins here yet?” She opted to ask the organizer of the event.

“There are a few in the back from Norman Sadler and the Hanlon’s should be here soon with theirs.” The man checked his watch, seemingly for extra effect. “They live in the outer streets.”

Bill’s dad said to him, “Bill, why don’t you start bringing out those pumpkins from the back?”

Georgie had the special job of putting markers and rolls of paper towels at stations and Bill was nearly wiped out of carrying pumpkins when the Hanlon’s arrived and he saw them come in with ones of their own.

And he nearly dropped the pumpkin he was carrying. It was that guy, that guy that Beverly left with at Dominic Fahey’s party. He was walking in, carrying a pumpkin.

He was carrying four at a time, two stems in each hand, as compared to the one that Bill was carrying at a time, his skinny arms wrapping around the entire pumpkin. Georgie cheered, calling out, “Yay!” as the older Hanlon’s came in with more, both with four each.

Bill felt royally stupid and felt a heat build in his chest. Not of infatuation, but of hatred towards this boy with his tank top despite the October chill and his strong hands carrying four pumpkins at a time. Bill plopped his pumpkin down at one of the tables, shaking the marker Georgie had put to roll off, and stormed off to the closet.

He picked up two pumpkins, one in each hand, and was thinking of trying for a third when he heard a voice from behind him. “You need any help?”

He jerked around and squinted in the darkness of the closet to see who it was. It was undoubtedly that same boy, the main tell being from the white tank top he wore.

Bill wanted to say no, but didn’t want to embarrass himself. He looked at the pumpkins and, yes, he did need help. “I uh,” he started to say, but the boy smiled, white teeth shining, and picked up four. The floor suddenly looked much cleaner.

Bill followed his confident strides out of the closet and towards the folding tables, silently fuming. “I’m Mike,” the boy said, turning his head back to have a proper conversation.

“Buh-Buh-Buh-Bill.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill.” They reached their destination and Mike waited for Bill to be done putting his pumpkins down before going off to get some more. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at many services.”

“Yeah, we-we-we duh-duh-don’t c-come t-too often.”

Bill wondered if Mike knew who he was. Or, if Mike knew who his brother was, which was more likely. If he was just making pity conversation, or trying to tear his life apart.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “It’s a lot of fun.”

“I ha-have f-fu-fu-fun in other wuh-wuh-ways,” Bill snapped.

Mike chuckled despite Bill’s tone. “Like what?”

“I’m in-in a buh-buh-band.” If Mike didn’t know who he was, he was certainly going to find out.

And he did. Mike gasped a proper Ohhh and looked at Bill in a sort of fascination. “That’s where I know you from! You played at that party with the Derry High kids! You were the guitar!”

Mike seemed a bit too excited in Bill’s opinion. It was his intention to get him to be jealous, but now he was regretting it with how overjoyed he had seemed. It made him feel weird.

Luckily, his parents were no longer paying him any attention and didn’t hear Mike. Georgie’s ears perked up, excitedly watching them interacting.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” Bill sheepishly said.

“Wow, you guys were great.”

Bill took a deep breath, needing to remember that he didn’t like this guy. “Yeah, I-I saw you th-th-there,” he said.

Mike’s eyes grew wider and he froze in his step, still holding the pumpkins and looking at Bill intently. “Oh my gosh!” He said, nearly yelling. “You should play here!”

“Wuh-Wuh-What?”

Mike dropped the pumpkins onto the ground and right over to the service director. Bill awkwardly set his pumpkins on the ground as well and hurried to follow him. “Do you still need a band for the Halloween party?” He asked.

The service director looked at Mike almost suspiciously. “Uh, yeah, we do.”

“Bill has a band that could play!” Mike had his arm around him then, almost showing him off.

Sharon and Zack turned their heads at that.

“They’re really good, I’ve seen the play!”

Georgie came running over, yelping out, “Yeah! Yeah! They’re so good!”

“George,” their dad warned to him.

“Well,” the service director sighed. “Maybe we could try you guys out. You want to play on Tuesday for our Teen Night?”

Bill’s mouth moved for a moment before any sound came out of it. “Uh, I…I um,” he looked over at Georgie’s smiling face and Mike with an encouraging nod. “Uh, sh-sh-sure! I nuh-nuh-need t-to t-talk wi-with the-the-the others, buh-buh-but,” he remembered his mother’s shushing and quickly switched to an easy, “Yeah.”

He could only wish he wasn’t at a pumpkin carving event so he could get a free minute to text the other guys about their new gig. He knew they’d all be excited, or, at least Richie would be excited. Eddie would probably be excited  to know that Mike Hanlon was the one that swiped Beverly off her feet.

Whenever they had a free moment, or were suddenly beside each other, Mike would try and talk to Bill, which Bill despised. Him and Georgie were a tag-team, Georgie asking what the kid wanted and drawing out the design with Bill cleaning out the pumpkin and carving the picture, and Georgie loved talking with Mike when his job was over.

“Spider-Man is my favorite superhero.”

“Which one, though? Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield, or Tom Holland?”

“Tom Holland. Bill likes Tobey Maguire, though.”

“Does he?” Mike smirked at Bill, who immediately regretted looking over.

The second the last kid was done, Bill raced to the bathroom to wash his hands. The slimy orange streaks up and down his arms were stubborn, but he was more stubborn. Even brewing deeper once Mike Hanlon walked into the bathroom behind him.

“Are the other kids in your band excited?” He asked, walking up to the sink beside Bill.

“I-I duh-duh-don’t know. I haven’t buh-buh-buh-been ab-b-ble t-to t-tell th-th-them.”

“You should call them right now! I bet they’ll be excited.”

Bill looked over to him, squinting in suspicion, but realized Mike was serious. He laughed a little before drying his hands and begrudgingly pulled out his phone.

It was answered after one ring. “Ruh-Ruh-Ruh-Richie? C-Can we-we get everyone over a-a-at your house? I have s-s-s-someth-th-thing exciting about a g-g-gig.”

There was a jumbled string of sputtering on the other end, but was quickly wrapped up by Richie himself blindly agreeing. Bill smiled to himself, officially excited about the whole ordeal. Until Mike opened his mouth again.

“So you’re going to tell them soon?”

Bill nodded harshly.

“Can I come along?” Mike completely stopped washing his hands, stopping without turning off the water and drying them, but by whipping around and ignoring that he was doing something. “I mean, like, I know they’re your friends and all, but I can help you come up with a good song list that’s appropriate and can give you some more information? I go to every Teen Night and can kind of guide you guys.”

Bill didn’t answer him immediately, unless his blank, uneasy stare counted as an answer. Mike recoiled, deflating, and covering himself by saying, “But that’s fine, I’ll just see you all on Tuesday.”

Bill sighed. “No, it-it-it’s okay. You c-can c-come.”

He had a good nature even underneath his stubbornness.

They made small talk on the way there, Mike talked about his school and the life on the farm, and Bill listened. Mike felt weird asking him about his family because he obviously knew about his family, but didn’t want Bill to know that. It was also apparent that Bill was a quiet kid, presumably because of his stutter, but he reverted to just talking the entire way to not make anything any more awkward between the two of them.

But that didn’t need to happen when they got to the Tozier’s garage.

They could hear the noise inside from down the driveway, Eddie yelling loudly and Richie cackling. Once they went inside, it was a smooth transition until they all saw Mike standing there.

“Uhh, hi?” Eddie was the first to say.

“Hey, I’m Mike Hanlon.”

The boys all looked at each other and to Bill, who silently told them to just go along with it, they clearly didn’t recognize him.

Richie was the first to get up and say, “Hello hello, Tozier’s my name and voices are my game.” He tipped his head down in a mock bow before looking over the rim of his glasses to finish with a swift, “Richie. Richie Tozier.”

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie said with a sigh.

Stanley still sat square on the arm chair and didn’t change his expression one bit to say, “Stanley.”

“Well it’s, uh, nice to meet you all.”

“Muh-Muh-Muh-Mike and I wuh-wuh-were d-doing the p-p-pu-pump-p-pkin c-carving today a-and he s-said he s-saw us p-play at D-Duh-Duh-Dominic’s p-p-party.”

“No way,” Richie smirked. “You a fan?”

“Well,” Mike continued for Bill. “We’re having a Halloween party at church and I suggested you guys for the band.”

Their mouths dropped open simultaneously.

“Buh-Buh-But,” Bill continued, “th-th-they want a-a-a d-demo ssssort of th-thing, so we’re guh-guh-gonna p-p-perform at th-th-the T-Teen Night on Tuesday.”

“At a church?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, at a church.” Mike was almost beaming.

All the others looked towards Stanley, though. He made a face at them and shrugged. “He’s Jewish,” Richie supplied for Mike.

“Oh!” He immediately recoiled. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Stan shrugged again. Instead, Richie answered for him in a stage whisper, “But he doesn’t like being Jewish.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide and he hissed, “Beep beep Richie.”

The air was still and laced with an odd tension for a moment. Bill looked at each of his friends, trying to judge how they were feeling about Mike. They obviously didn’t recognize him, but he wasn’t letting them decide how he felt about him.

He had attached himself to Beverly and didn’t want to let anyone else have her. Especially not a guy like Mike. A smooth, charismatic, charming, handsome guy like Mike.

Chapter Text

They had a band notebook now. It was official.

Richie spent an entire afternoon decorating the notebook with stickers, pictures, and glitter while the rest of the group actually organized their sheet music and the endless amounts of cords covering the garage floor.

“Wait, what should I write for Stan’s instrument?” Richie asked from his cluttered workspace. He craned his neck to look at everyone with a face reminiscent of his father. “And no one say his dick,” he said sternly.

“You’re the only one that would say that,” Stan muttered.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie asked. His face was red, flustered, as he helped Stan color code the cords. If the tape wasn’t lined up without any bubbles, he was done for.

“I’m making a little program for what we all do.” He turned the inner cover of the notebook towards them all and Stan almost laughed.

“Musical Master,” Ben answered. He was putting music into individual folders as Bill handed them to him.

“Alliteration,” Stanley said approvingly.

Richie gasped loudly before going back to scribble down. The door opened then and in sauntered Mike Hanlon, all smiles on a freshly worn face. He was going to help them all pack their equipment into Richie’s van and set up at the church so that Eddie didn’t wear himself out too much. Mike would make it effortless.

“Hey everyone!” He greeted brightly. “We almost ready to go?”

Eddie wearily sighed, prompting Stan to check his work. It was only adequate and could be fixed by snipping off the top of the uneven tape. Richie shook his head in his corner and yelled, “I’m almost there!”

“You cuh-cuh-cuh-can d-do th-th-that later,” Bill told him. Then to Mike, “I th-th-think eq-qui-qui-instr-struments c-can start going out.”

“Okie dokie.” He had only been with the band for a few days, but was now well versed with whose things were whose and the orderliness their lives had to be in, thanks to his ever careful eye.

Taping the cords still took the longest, but Eddie kept his mouth shut to not complain. All the instruments were loaded up before they were done, but they were still able to get loaded into the van ahead of schedule.

“Is there going to be anyone we go to school with there?” Eddie whined as they drove out of the neighborhood.

“Probably,” Mike answered. “But I’m sure the crowds will get bigger now that we have live music and not just the same overused playlist.”

“So this is a regular gig?” Richie asked with a raised brow. The rest of them not driving turned into Mike intently and inquisitively to hear his answer.

“Well, I mean, Teen Night is every Tuesday, so it could be.”

Eddie sighed and leaned his head back. He muttered quietly, “My mother’s going to kill me.”

Stan heard and rebutted with, “My father’s going to kill me.”

The band started laughing, which made Ben and Mike awkwardly join in.

“I invited my friend Beverly,” Mike said after the laughter died down, trying to change the subject. “She goes to Derry High too.”

“Beverly Marsh?” Richie yelled right out the windshield.

Now everyone was turning over to Mike again, with the exception of Bill, who had put it together a while ago.

“You’re the one that was with her at the party!” Stan gasped.

Eddie’s nose scrunched up. “The one that she left with?”

Mike’s cheeks were heating up. “Yeah, we went and got ice cream.”

Ben quietly asked, “You invited Beverly?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be a good time.”

“Are you-you-you g-guys d-d-dating?” Bill asked bitterly.

“No!” Mike hastily panicked. “No, no, nothing like that. We’re just friends.”

“Lucky Bill,” Richie teased, ignoring Eddie’s disapproving face.

Eddie wasn’t going to let Richie off with that one, though. His mouth almost exploded with the excitement of getting back at him, and he asked Stan, entirely jokingly, “And did you invite Patty, Stan?”

Stanley sighed. “I did.”

The van erupted.

“What?”

“L-L-L-Like as a d-d-date?”

“Why?”

“I thought you didn’t like her like that?”

“Who’s Patty?”

He nervously starting rubbing his thumb along his khakis, a little tic that Richie was able to notice despite supposed to be focused on driving. “It’s not a date,” he started by saying. “She had asked me to tell her the next time we were playing, so I did.”

“You invited your Jewish girlfriend to a party at a church?” Eddie clarified.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Richie ignored Stan’s protests and instead joked, “Pretty weird date.”

“It’s not a date.”

They wouldn’t get anywhere with Stan’s stubbornness, they knew that, and so they let Richie just drive them the rest of the way to the church, Mike politely trying to start up various conversations that only got traction with Ben.

There were couches around the community room, board games, books, almost like a club but for kids with fluorescent lighting and only the clean version of songs. The boys all looked around the room, seeing the potential that it could be some basement party or other underground party scene if they could only get LED lights and refreshments that weren’t juice boxes.

Mike seemed proud of it. He helped them set up in the corner and told them about all the cool activities that they had––there was an air hockey table in their defense. The others were not as impressed, but Ben happily found himself a spot on the squishy blue couch as he flipped through a deck of cards.

They played a few rounds of air hockey, deciding that was a better use of time than rehearsing their set, until footsteps came down the hall and they froze for a moment before scrambling to their instruments and getting into position. Bill was still adjusting his guitar strap, but when the footsteps came into the room, the tension was lifted.

“Hey Patty,” Stan greeted with a bright smile on his face.

Richie felt his mouth drop open, as did the rest of them.

She was almost angelic in person. She had on a nice mint green sweater and had her hands anxiously holding onto her little crossbody purse. She had rosy cheeks and a gentle face that was smiling back at Stan. It felt almost like the others were intruding when all that they had done was say hello.

“Hi,” she said back softly.

Stan fumbled, he fumbled around his bass to outstretch his hands and introduce her to everyone else. “Uh,” he said to start off with. “This is Eddie, Bill, Richie, and over there, Mike and Ben.”

They all waved to her and she nicely nodded at them. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

Stanley was waiting for an inappropriate joke to come out of Richie, but it didn’t come, which greatly relieved him. At least it had relieved him, until Richie turned to them all and said, deflated, “Let’s start.”

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Eddie whipped right in, clapping his sticks together and counting them off.

More people didn’t arrive until a couple of songs in, but they all seemed pleasantly surprised with the new atmosphere. Ben and Mike’s jobs were to observe and survey the crowd of how they were enjoying the set, but that almost went all out the window when Beverly Marsh came in with the slew of people.

Ben immediately stood from his seat, like he was going to welcome her, but realized that that wasn’t how this all worked. He tried to recover, looking around to see whatever he could pick up, but ended up settling back to nothing when Mike was squeezing by the crowd to see her. And Ben sat back down in his spot.

Patty looked the most out of place. She stood off to the side of the group dancing and swayed around, a big smile on her face. Stanley had hoped it was genuine, but he couldn’t be too sure. Richie was wishing she would go somewhere else so he didn’t have to keep looking at her while he was singing. Maybe she felt his eyes tearing into her, maybe she wasn’t entirely interested, but something drew her away from the band eventually and over to the couch beside Ben.

“Ben, right?” She asked after she sat down, which startled him at first.

He almost dropped his juice box, scrambling to say, “Uh, yeah.”

She stretched her hand out to him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ben nodded back, expecting her to get up and leave, but she only leaned back against the couch. “Are you, like, their band manager?” She asked.

The question sounded more cutting with how she was raising her voice over the music, and it surprised Ben so much he almost laughed. “No,” he said instead. “I just help them and stuff.”

“Aw that’s nice. I’ve only seen them play once, but, I mean, they’re pretty good.”

“Yeah, they work hard.”

“Oh I know. Stanley seems so stressed all the time.”

Ben frowned at that. Stan, of course, was the most uptight out of the group, but Ben never saw a hint of the band stressing him out. If anything, it relaxed him. The music almost came naturally and the rehearsals were more of planning out how things would go and trying to work around each other, but the four of them had a sort of connection where they didn’t even need to rehearse to sync together.

But Patty seemed to know him better, and probably did. He asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, striving for perfection like he does. There are the obvious stresses of being a teenager and school and family struggles, but then,” she made a gesture over to the band, “that all too. Plus, he clearly has some sort of anxiety or OCD or something.”

That Ben had noticed. It seemed something that the others were quite familiar with, whether it was OCD or anxiety or something else or nothing at all. He made sure everything in their lives were in an orderly fashion and they let it happen. Bill, Richie, and Eddie were messy people. They were loud, they were exuberant, they were everywhere. But Stanley still stuck around them.

He told her, “But he does love the band.”

“I know he does. I just worry that it’s too hard on him sometimes. It distracts him from other things he should be paying attention to.” She smiled, as a sort of shift from where their conversation was going. Leaning in to Ben, she put a gentle hand on his arm and said, “But, of course, you know hobbies.” And then she was leaning back against the couch, dismissing the world around her and watching them play.

They blew through their set in what felt like no time at all. They had had a very long, not quite serious, night trying to piece together what to play exactly––

“Like Christian rock music?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead.”

“Let’s pull out Georgie’s set.”

“Play the High School Musical classics.”

––but it seemed like they had made the right choice with clean early 2000’s hits. Each of the kids that walked into the room was pleasantly surprised by the change of sound than the dusty speakers and by the end of the night, they had a good vibe going.

They wanted to keep going for hours, but some adults eventually ventured to standing in the doorway and Mike tapped his wrist-less watch, signaling for Richie to yell into the crowd, “Thank you so much, Children of God! We are Shark Puppy and we are out of here!”

Although, they were very much still in there. Taking long drinks of water as the crowd floated out of the room. “That was awesome,” Eddie breathed, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

They all agreed and turned to start cleaning up their stuff when they saw Beverly Marsh standing in front of them.

“Not bad,” she smirked.

Richie bowed. “Thank you much Miss Scawlett,” he joked, earning a surprised laugh from her.

“Do you have your music out on Spotify or anything?” She asked, mainly to just Bill and Richie. Eddie tried to suppress his fuming anger while Stan had absolutely no desire to speak to her.

“No,” Eddie huffed.

“Bu-Bu-Bu-But,” Bill quickly recovered, taking a step closer to her. “Maybe you’d wuh-wuh-want t-to watch us p-p-p-play suh-suh-suh-somet-t-t-time? C-Come t-to a pr-pr-prac-c-tice?"

The other three bandmates looked at each other, bewildered, but Beverly looked more than pleased. She covered that up with her cool girl look real quick though as she said, “Maybe that would be nice. See you around Shark Puppy.”

Eddie waited until she was gone and they were all finished watching her go before lightly slapping Bill’s arm. “What the hell, Bill?” He hissed. “You can’t just invite a girl to our rehearsals.”

“Bad publicity,” Richie chimed in.

“Guys, re-re-relax,” Bill sighed. His eyes flickered down to the ground as he hummed, “She pr-pr-prob-b-bably wuh-wuh-wouldn’t c-come anyways.”

As Bill walked away, Richie whistled under his breath, teasingly at Eddie. Eddie went to turn to Stan to give him some off-hand remark, but his eyes went wide when he realized Stanley was no longer beside him. He was across the room with Patty Blum. Eddie punched Richie in the chest to get him to look.

“So, did you like the show?” Stan had asked first, offering his hand to help her off the couch she’d been sitting in. Ben took that as his cue to scramble over to where Mike was talking to the adults.

“I did. Not my scene, but still enjoyable.”

Stan looked at her, waiting for something else to come to him to say, but nothing came. He just kept his delicate smile as he looked into her eyes. Luckily, she was swift. She looked at the watch on her wrist and pulled on her crossbody bag. “Well, I should get going before it gets too much darker.”

“Are you walking home?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to ask my parents to pick me up from a church.”

“Here, why don’t I, uh,” he paused, looking back at the group. He wasn’t thinking before words were tumbling out of his mouth and he watched for a moment as he saw his friends were watching him intently, Bill loosely rolling up cords and Eddie and Richie frozen in time. He sighed before turning back to her, putting his smile back on. “Why don’t I walk you home?”

“Are you sure?” She couldn’t hide her excitement.

“Yeah! Let me just check with the guys to make sure they’re all set.”

“Yeah of course, I’ll let my mom know I’ll be home soon.”

Stan excitedly walked back over to the group, who was immediately on him.

“What was that?” Eddie asked.

“I offered to walk her home, if that’s alright?”

This was the biggest acting challenge in Richie’s life thus far: holding back his tongue and making sure his face didn’t drop at the sound of that news.

“Are you not going to help us pack up?” Eddie asked, almost accusatory. After him, Stan had the most equipment and had been the one to make up the rule.

Stan opened his mouth to answer, although he hadn’t picked an answer out yet, but Bill was saying, “Th-Th-That’s f-fine. We have M-Mike and Buh-Buh-Ben.”

Stan looked at all of them once more, needing to be sure that this was alright. When he landed on Richie’s face, Richie smiled and said, “Make sure you get her home safely.” He turned around to start packing up quickly.

Stanley grabbed his jacket and left with Patty.

Eddie and Richie had to work harder at hiding their anger when Mike and Ben came up with the only adult left at the door, introducing himself as Mr. Fern.

“The crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves,” he said brightly.

“Yes sir,” Richie answered for the group. Suddenly nervous.

“If you don’t mind, I think this might be a great arrangement. I was talking to Mikey over here,” he clapped a hand on Mike’s shoulder like a father would, “and he seems to think that this little Teen Night has a lot of potential with you kids playing.”

Richie was speechless, as were the rest of them. “So,” he managed to stammer. “This would be a weekly kind of thing?”

“It would,” Mr. Fern beamed. “And maybe we’d throw in a few more events along the way, like,” he lowered his voice like it was an exciting surprise, “the Halloween party.”

“That would be,” Richie’s brain had to work to try and find a cool word to say, but he ended up just blurting out, “That would be awesome, sir!”

“We-We-We sh-should t-talk t-to St-St-St-Stanley first,” Bill said quietly.

Richie flapped his hand in front of his face, saying, “Oh, Stan’d be fine with it.”

They sealed the deal with hand shakes before being left to beam with excitement, a bit too bright, but it was coming out after the disappointment of Stan leaving them. The disappointment and frustration still came when his stuff was the last to pack up, the electric guitar, bass, keyboard, microphone, amps, cords, stands, and his little case of tricks––a triangle, tambourine, maracas, the whole nine yards just in case.

Eddie kept glancing over at Richie picking up the cords, rolling them like Stan liked, and could feel the anger almost radiating off of him. “I’m sure it won’t become a regular thing,” he offered as a solace.

“What?” Richie immediately erupted. “Patty always being here or Stan ditching us?”

Eddie was silent.

“He di-di-didn’t di-di-ditch us,” Bill said.

“I feel pretty ditched, Big Bill.”

“Well, you-you-you’ve n-never had a guh-guh-girlfriend or an-an-ything, Ruh-Ruh-Richie, s-so-”

Richie cut him off by nearly yelling, “Yeah I’ve never had a girlfriend because I’m fucking gay.”

Ben’s head popped up from behind the coffee table where he was cleaning up trash and stared at the scene. Eddie ducked his head back down to what he was doing and Bill sighed.

“My-My-My p-point still st-st-stands, Ruh-Rich. This is n-new a-and exci-ci-ci-icting and he do-doesn’t want t-to m-m-mess it up.”

Richie stared at him with his face hard for a moment longer before Mike came strutting back into the room, clapping his hands together. “Guitars next?” He asked, mostly to clarify that he was doing to right thing, and pointed his fingers over to Stan’s little set up. He picked up the bass and guitar, the little stickers on the body looking strange in Mike’s hands.

“Make sure the straps don’t fold,” Richie mumbled as he went.

Eddie followed him out with the dissembled pieces of his drum sets. Richie solemnly looked away from Bill, but he wasn’t going to let him get away that easily. Bill went up from behind and wrapped his arms around Richie’s waist, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder now that the boy was taller than him. Ben looked away.

“Thank you,” Richie whispered.

Chapter Text

Beverly was waiting by the bike racks after school. Richie didn’t want to face her alone, also didn’t want to interrupt Stan and Patty, so he reverted to putting his back towards her as he waited for Bill and Eddie, hoping she wouldn’t see him.

It didn’t work.

“Hey, slick!” She yelled.

“Miss Marsh, a pleasure,” he greeted her.

“So are you the leader of this whole circus?” She had a toothpick playing around in her mouth, like she wished it was a cigarette, but they were still on school grounds.

“That, my dear, would be Big Bill.”

She clicked her tongue and giggled at something behind Richie. When he turned to see, it was Big Bill himself and Eddie, except Bill was trying relentlessly to jump onto Eddie’s back, or leap frog over him; whatever it was, it had Eddie’s face red with a mix of laughter and incessant pleads for Bill to get down. Richie felt almost like he was intruding on some kind of intimate moment, but then Bill caught Bev’s eye and froze immediately, making Richie’s heart drop for Eddie.

“Some leader,” Beverly laughed, throwing her toothpick on the ground. Richie kind of wanted to remind her that it wasn’t a cigarette, but he was also intrigued in the act.

Bill came running over and breathlessly said, “Hi Buh-Buh-Beverly.”

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asked not as nicely.

“I was promised a show, wasn’t I?”

Richie’s eyes popped open behind his glasses. “What kind?” Eddie stepped on his foot.

“So, where does the magic happen?”

“At la casa del Tozier,” Richie grinned.

Stanley joined their group then, squinting at Beverly standing with them. She didn’t seem too impressed by his arrival either, as they had never been formally introduced, but they were both content with keeping it that way.

They all opted to finding Ben instead of waiting around for him to find them, or for Bowers to find him. They split up around the school, Richie staying by the bikes, Bill and Eddie going to the main entrances, Stan going to the back near the gym and Bev going to the back near the history wing. She was the one who found him.

As a nice change of pace, he wasn’t cowering in the corner or pushed to the ground, he was walking out the door with a LEGO lighthouse sculpture in his hands.

The second he saw Beverly walking towards him, though, he froze, the only thing moving being his sculpture falling to the ground, the legos scurrying away.

“Oh!” Beverly half yelped, bringing Ben back to where he was on Earth, and what was on the ground. He hastily scrambled to pick up the pieces, swinging off his backpack to scoop the LEGOs inside. He said a stream of apologies, but it was clear to Beverly that he was much more disappointed in the loss than she was.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she muttered, bending down to pick up pieces with him.

The top of the lighthouse was still intact, little windows protecting a battery operated light, and the beginning of a red and white striped pattern. She could see his face set on concentration, presumably to concentrate on both picking up the pieces and trying to not show that he was upset about dropping it. He wasn’t doing a good job.

“Cool set,” she offered, but it seemed that it did better at startling him more than easing his anxiety.

“Uh,” he stuttered. “It’s not a set…I, well it’s different pieces…”

“Is it not a real lighthouse?”

“No, I made it.”

She nodded, now feeling worse about holding the top piece and the old stripes. “You did a great job,” she said, and he laughed.

They made it back to the group, opting to not share about the death of the lighthouse, and started on their bike ride to Richie’s house.

The ride was full of Richie cracking jokes at Beverly’s expense, despite Eddie’s constant berating, but it was obvious that even she wasn’t interested. She kept pedaling ahead of them to go beside Bill on his big bike, but his mouth was set shut.

“Play Wonderwall!” She laughed, flopping down on the couch once they got back.

Stanley was still running through his pre-play checklist, making sure everything was in order after their last performance––but Richie had been the one to put it away, not Mike––so his head popped up to make sure the others’ weren’t ready to go.

And they weren’t. Beverly went quick and none of them were ready to keep up. They were on their toes the entire afternoon with her suggesting new songs for them to play. It was stressful, Stan couldn’t get his fingers to stop tangling themselves up and kept pulling at his hair, Richie’s voice finally cracked and he agreed to get water, Eddie was disgusted by how much he was sweating, and Bill found he could only play well if he paced around the room.

She was pushing them, but she was doing it well. Ben was blown away, both by the difficulty of the songs they were playing, but also in her assertiveness. She sat back in her chair, her pointer finger swaying back and forth like a tired conductor. When Eddie yelled, “We can’t play that song!” she shot back with, “When have you tried?”

And sometimes, Eddie was right. Sometimes Bev was right. Ben took note of all of the songs that they played half decently and Beverly looked pleased with herself whenever they finished a song with no words to say, only tired breaths and hidden smiles.

Richie was singing with his glasses sliding down his nose, Stan joining in from time to time––

Ain’t it fun?

Livin’ in the real world

Ain’t it good?

Being all alone

––when Beverly stopped them.

“There’s no emotion in this,” she said to them.

“Maybe that’s because we’re exhausted,” Eddie groaned.

Stan checked his watch. It was well past 6 pm and Bev didn’t seem to be moving from the couch any time soon. Not that he was complaining, home was the last place he wanted to be most days.

“Yeah, we need an energy boost,” she agreed, picking up her phone.

“Pizza!” Richie yelled, still in front of the microphone.

“I could roll with pizza.”

Eddie shrugged. “Better than a frozen dinner,” he said which made Bill snap his fingers in agreeing applause.

“Just cheese please,” Stan said softly.

Their eyes landed on Ben. He knew he should be getting back home, but something about this group was drawing him in and telling him he couldn’t leave. The plain fun they were having, Beverly actually hanging out with him, whatever it was, he had to stay.

“I’m alright,” he said still.

That made Richie frown. “We’ll get you some,” he said anyways, before pointing to Beverly, “Order it!”

The boys all laid back to relax while they waited for it to get there, enjoying their hour of silence, but they weren’t going to escape the reason for the stop.

“I think,” Beverly said in between bites (Eddie tried not to look at how she talked with food in her mouth, and that it was still in her mouth even if her hand was covering it), “That these songs are great-”

“Well thanks a million,” Richie interjected.

“But,” she continued, but Richie was yelling into the air, “Aw, we were so close!”

“You guys would be even better if there was actual emotion in what you played.”

“Hey,” Eddie started right off with saying, his finger pointed in the air, “First of all, you don’t know what we look like when we’re emotional. Second of all, how can you even know what you’re talking about if you don’t do anything with music?”

“We duh-duh-duh-don’t-,” Bill started to say to Eddie, but Beverly cut him off.

“You’re right,” she said. “I can’t sing for shit. However, I listen to music. And unlike you guys, I’ve actually experienced life.”

Stan rolled his eyes at that, but Eddie laughed. Beverly’s big blue eyes pointed over to him and the tone of her voice went up as she asked, “Something funny?”

“You don’t know anything about us,” he said.

Even Richie drew in a nervous breath. “Alright,” she hummed. She set her pizza down and held up five fingers. “Never Have I Ever.”

Stanley smirked. He held up five fingers. “Oh shit,” Richie whispered, drawing his up.

Ben was hesitant inside, but he still flew his fingers up in the air. Bill followed immediately after, a race for them to show Beverly how cool they were.

Eddie’s jaw dropped open. “I-We,” he stammered. “Are these going to be questions about drugs? Or sex?”

“Jesus Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie groaned. “Just put up your fingers and move on with your life.”

Eddie frowned, but he still put up five fingers.

Beverly chuckled. “Say something you have never done. Don’t try to target people. Never Have I Ever cried in front of everyone at school.”

Stan put a finger down. Eddie rolled his eyes and put a finger down. “It was third grade,” he muttered.

“It was fourth,” Richie shot back.

They went in a circle. Next was Ben.

“Uh, Never Have I Ever smoked?”

“Smoked what?” Beverly asked.

“A cigarette.”

Beverly, Richie, and Bill all put their fingers down.

Stanley said, “Never Have I Ever failed a class.”

No fingers.

“Never Have I Ever had sex,” Eddie blurted out.

No fingers. He bit his tongue. Beverly’s grin grew wider.

Richie said, “Never Have I Ever snuck out.”

“She said not to target people,” Eddie muttered as he put a finger down. Stan, Bill, and Bev also put their fingers down.

“Nuh-Nuh-Nuh-Never Have I-I-I Ever had d-d-deten-ten-ten-tion,” Bill said.

Bev and Richie put their fingers down.

Beverly tapped her chin. “Never Have I Ever been to the emergency room.”

Eddie sighed and angrily put a finger down. Bill also put one down.

“Never Have I Ever kissed someone,” Ben said softly.

Bill and Beverly smiled softly at each other before putting fingers down. Stan and Richie kept their eyes fixed on the table as they each put one down.

“Never Have I Ever drank alcohol,” Stanley pointedly asked.

Beverly rolled her eyes and sat against the couch, her finished fist now bundled at her side.

“Never Have I Ever smoked weed,” Eddie said confidently.

Richie, Stan, and Bill all put fingers down, Bill now being all out. Bev whispered to the group, “I’ve done that too.”

“Never Have I Ever seen a therapist,” Richie laughed.

“That felt like a target,” Stanley mumbled, letting his empty hand drop.

Bill joked to Bev, “I’ve duh-duh-duh-done th-th-that t-too.”

Ben squinted his eyes as he tried to think of something. “Never Have I Ever…eaten a bug?”

“Eaten a bug?” Richie repeated teasingly.

Eddie put a finger down. “You’ve eaten a bug?” Richie yelled in his ear.

“You dared me!”

“Oh yeah,” Richie hummed, putting his own finger down after he thought about it more, the both of them now out.

“You see!” Eddie said to Beverly. “We’ve experienced life.”

Beverly leaned back forward, resting her elbows on her knees, to lock eyes with him, saying, “Eating bugs and sneaking out isn’t experiencing life. Try living in the real world, boys.”

She grabbed her jacket from the back of the couch and left out the side door of the garage before anyone could come up with a comeback.

Eddie smiled, almost proud of himself, but Bill was quickly saying, “You h-h-hurt her f-f-f-feelings. Ap-po-po-pologize pl-please.”

“But!” Eddie started, before realizing that he couldn’t say no to Bill. Even if he did really want to.

She hadn’t gotten far down the driveway, still struggling ungracefully to put on her jacket while also wiping the mascara running down her face.

“Beverly!” He called.

“Ugh what?” She asked, whipping herself around. She was aware that she was very visibly crying, but she also couldn’t care less about what Eddie thought of her.

“Sorry for saying that,” Eddie said, refusing to make eye contact.

She marched right up to him, catching his eyes in their downward gaze. She was shorter than him, something he had never noticed before.

“I know who your mom is. And you know the stuff about me.”

Eddie nodded. She kept saying, “My stuff isn’t true and no one cares. No one knows the real shit I’ve gone through.”

“You’ve never had sex.”

“Correct.” She laughed, a rough and unexpected sound escaping her mouth. It wasn’t yet cold enough to see their breath, but they could both see some exasperated sadness dancing in the moonlight.

“If you want to talk about the real shit,” Eddie continued. “We’ll likely be here all night.”

“That’s sweet,” she said with a smile. She wiped some of the mascara off from under eye before looking down at what was cleaned off. “But, I need to get home before my dad kills me.”

“Understandable.”

She walked into the night with a mess of colors running down her body, the colors of the makeup running off her face, her clothes rustling together, her emotions streaming out of her.

And Eddie kept thinking about the bruise on the inside of her arm, the one stained with mascara. If he had grabbed that arm with his hand, hard, it would’ve left a mark like that.

She got home too late.

Chapter Text

She had a raging headache when she woke up. Headaches weren’t unusual for Beverly, especially in the morning, but that didn’t mean that it was less bothersome each and every time.

She always woke up before the sun, before the raging ball of heat that was her father. Silently, she took some ibuprofen for her head, brushed her teeth, and got dressed. She slipped a bagel into her backpack on her way out. The sun was peeking through the trees.

She sat square on the ground, wet after a slick frost, at her bus stop. The city was slowly waking up around her, ignoring as she ate her bagel and smoked a cigarette.

Mike Hanlon texted her that morning, like he did every morning. A simple Good Morning :) that made her smile every time.

The rest of the high schoolers that didn’t wake up before the street lights went out had seemingly boring and normal lives. They still rubbed sleep around in their eyes and listened to loud music through the halls, but not all of them cried themselves to sleep and wore long sleeves to hide bruises.

Beverly did her makeup in the bathroom after the bus picked her up, covering up her puffy eyes. A girl in math class said her eyeshadow was pretty, but it was just there to cover her life up.

She found herself counting down until the end of school eagerly, ready to bolt to the bike racks when the bell rang.

Her boys came walking up exactly the same as she had seen them the night before. Stanley looked tired and his knuckles were white while holding onto he straps of his backpack, Richie’s head whipped around as his mind jumped, Ben blushed and nervously looked away whenever anyone looked at him, Bill watched everyone with a calm composure. The only one off was Eddie. He was a firecracker one moment and then would completely deflate the next.

She didn’t realize why he was so jittery until later that afternoon.

“We should play a board game!” Richie yelled with sparkling eyes.

Eddie pleaded, “Not Monopoly.”

“You guys ever play poker?” Beverly asked. Ben’s mouth dropped open.

“N-Not pro-prop-properly.”

Beverly stood up from the arm of the couch, chuckling, “Where are your games?”

“I’ll show her!” Eddie shot up to say. Before anyone could protest, he was marching out of the room with Beverly suspiciously following.

He lead her over to the game closet in complete silence, trying to work his head around what he was going to say. It ended up being, “So, how are you today?”

“I’m fine?”

The closet was a lot cleaner than she had expected; Stan had gotten his hands on it. She started shaking boxes of cards to hear if they had all 52.

Eddie blurted out, “I saw that bruise on your arm.”

Beverly froze. She slowly turned to face Eddie behind her, the grip on the deck of cards getting tighter in a nervous squeeze. “What?” She asked carefully.

“The bruise on your arm,” he repeated, pointing to his own forearm. “It looked like a hand print, so I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business,” she snapped, before turning to leave, cards still in her hand.

She stormed back to the garage, a non-disastrous tornado that made heads turn. The boys all looked confusedly at her as she picked up her jacket and backpack and headed for the door.

Eddie was scrambling in behind her before she made it outside and yelled to stop her, “Bev!” but it was too late. The door slammed and felt like it shook the entire room.

“Wuh-Wuh-Wuh-What hap-p-p-pened?” Bill was the first to ask.

Eddie sighed and sat down on the couch with him and Ben.

“Did you-” Richie started to ask, but Eddie raised his hand to silence him.

“Last night, when she was leaving, I saw this bruise on her arm.” He once again grabbed at his own arm to demonstrate. “It was like someone grabbed her arm so hard it bruised.”

Stanley raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair. “Like she grabbed it, or someone else?” Richie was once again sitting on the arm of Stan’s chair and was now draping his arm around Stan’s shoulders.

“I think someone else.”

“So-So-So-So-So you ask-ked her about it?” Bill asked, almost accusatory, but Eddie knew that he had the sense of concern.

Eddie solemnly nodded. “She said it’s none of my goddamn business.”

“It isn’t any of your goddamn business,” Stan shrugged.

“It is if she’s getting abused!”

Ben stayed looking down at his hands, focusing on keeping his breathing normal.

When Beverly got home, she found a little postcard in her backpack. The front had a picture of the Thomas Hill Standpipe at sunset and the back had a sweet little poem that was able to put a smile on her face.

But her boys weren’t letting her get away with it that easily. Especially not Mike Hanlon. They were staging an intervention.

Mike asked her to meet him in the park, a nice little picnic before the weather got too cold, and she graciously agreed. He did pack a picnic, but it wasn’t going to be just him and her and fresh jam.

She almost turned and walked away when she saw five extra boys that weren’t invited sitting on the picnic blanket (picnic sheet), but instead she just stopped in her tracks.

“I’m sorry, Bev, but they were really concerned,” Mike said, trying to coax her into coming over. “And I am too.”

“We brought ice cream!” Richie yelled from his corner of the blanket.

Beverly walked over to the blanket and Eddie almost flinched with how dead set and angry her face was. She plopped down and peered into the huge basket Mike had brought, coming out of it with the container of strawberries. She kept the container close to her chest as she started sucking on them.

“So,” Eddie hummed.

“So,” she huffed. Bev put down her strawberries and pulled up the sleeves of her shirt, ignoring the goosebumps from her light hair blowing in the wind. The bruise Eddie had mentioned was still there, more faded, but there was more now around it. Little red spots, little black spots, little cuts. Plain rough grabbing, broken glass sliding into skin upon a forceful impact.

“Who-Who-Who d-did it?” Bill asked calmly.

“My dad. I’m supposed to be grounded right now.”

The air in Derry was still. The fresh jam now felt almost rude and inconsiderate. Richie still chewed on a cracker.

Beverly rolled her eyes and continued on strawberries. “Come on,” she said, “Like your parents never hit you.”

“My dad used to spank me,” Stanley said. “But that was when I was younger.”

Richie looked over at him with raised eyebrows. Stan continued, “And once when I was 13.”

“Yeah my mom’s crazy, but she’s not that crazy,” Eddie said.

Everyone nodded their heads, Mike and Ben left to look at each other confused. “How so?” Mike asked.

“She’s just dramatic. She thinks I’m always sick and stuff.” Eddie pulled his inhaler out of the pocket of his jacket. “This inhaler? Fake. Only water in here, but she made me think it was medicine. She’s made me think I need a lot of medicine.”

“Crazy Kaspbrak,” Beverly muttered

“Are we doing share time now?” Richie asked, now adding pepperoni to his crackers.

Beverly rolled her eyes as she started off. “My mom moved out a few years ago ‘cause she got sick of my dad’s bullshit. He was really controlling, you know? He’d grab her in public and wouldn’t let her go out with friends and probably a lot more that I didn’t notice. So one day, she left. And now he’s controlling towards me because I’m growing up.”

“And he hits you?” Eddie asked.

“A little while ago, he had a work conference thing to go to and he brought me. He made me wear my mom’s old dress and he had his arm around me the entire time while we watched the conference and it made me feel really uncomfortable. And when we went to the dinner reception, one of his coworkers came over and said, ‘It’s nice to meet you Elfrida,’ which is my mom’s name. So he had taken me there to pretend to be my mom so he didn’t have to tell his coworkers that she left him. So I pushed him off of me and threw my glass on the ground and left.”

“That’s fucked up,” Richie said.

“I’ve been grounded ever since and if I don’t come home at a certain time or don’t do my chores, he punishes me.”

The were quiet around her, but she kept eating her strawberries, asking for the tears in her eyes to go away.

Bill was sitting beside her and took a deep breath. “M-M-My parents have-have-haven’t b-been the s-same since Guh-Guh-Guh-Georgie. Th-They don’t talk to m-me or p-puh-puh-pay any atten-ten-ten-tention to m-me.” He stopped for a moment. “I th-think they think it’s m-my ffffault whuh-whuh-whu-what ha-happened t-to him.”

“It wasn’t your fault Bill,” Eddie was immediately saying.

“I kn-know. B-B-B-But I sh-sh-should’ve g-gone with him.”

Mike looked down at his hands. They all remembered that day vividly, Richie, Eddie, and Stan spending days at the hospital and having big group sleepovers every night. Mike, Ben, and Bev getting extra hugs from their parents because they couldn’t imagine what it’d be like for that to happen to their own child.

Stan took Bill’s own shaking hand and held it. He started. “My dad’s my Rabbi. My parents both have this image in their head of me being the perfect Jewish son and being put together and I have to follow it because I don’t want them to be any more disappointed in me than they already are.” For Bev, Mike, and Ben’s sake, he added, “I have OCD and other mental health issues and they just…don’t understand it. I had to start school a year late because they didn’t know what was wrong with me and I’ve been going to therapy since kindergarten to fix myself, but it’s not working.”

He itched the side of his nose as his jaw went to clench itself again. He was done.

Eddie huffed. “My dad died of cancer when I was a baby. I think that since then my mom’s just not wanted anything to happen to me. So, she gives me fake meds and makes me think that everything in the world is a danger to my health and she’s the only one I can trust. Some Gypsy Rose Blanchard shit.”

Richie whistled lowly.

“But I don’t listen to her anymore. I still use my inhaler sometimes, but I know she’s full of shit and I don’t need to go to the ‘mergency room for a bloody nose.”

“Good for you,” Beverly said, actually sincerely. It made Eddie feel a sense of pride.

Richie rubbed his hands together like he was ready to present something. “My parents are great,” he said bluntly. “They’re patient and they listen. Solid liberals, so that’s some points. I know that they don’t really believe in the whole music thing, or the comedy thing either, and they wished I’d be serious about some things, but I’m gonna prove them wrong someday.”

“My parents are great too,” Ben said sheepishly. “My dad died too, in the army, so it’s just me and my mom. And she cares about me a lot.”

They all looked back at him. Richie blurted, “So it’s just all sunshine and rainbows over in the Hanscom house?”

Ben shrugged. “I think she worries about me.” That was it.

“About?” Beverly asked.

He looked down and twirled his fingers together. “About my weight and health and confidence and stuff,” he said quietly.

They all looked at each other and then back to Ben. Mike put an awkward arm around his shoulder.

“When I was sad as a kid, she’d just give me some candy or extra snacks to make me happy, and…well,” he shrugged again.

They nodded solemnly. “Do you resent her for that?” Beverly asked.

“No!” Ben quickly said, and in a cold, wet laugh found himself saying, “I resent myself for it.”

They all sucked in a breath. “Is that why you don’t eat?” Richie softly asked.

Ben threw his head into his hands and cried. “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Richie was springing into panic and immediately said, “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Bill looked at him with weary eyes. A tight smile.

“I didn’t mean for it,” Ben cried. “It was just supposed to be a little bit.”

“Starving yourself isn’t good no matter how much or little,” Beverly said. She was nearly scolding him, but her voice was so kind on his ears that it didn’t matter.

“I know, but it was like,” he hardly sniffled his nose and looked up from his hands. “It was like I wouldn’t eat sweet stuff or something, and then if I did it, I got a little as a prize.”

“And if you didn’t?”

He was quiet for a second, but it was enough for them. “It just got bad,” he softly said. “I just wanted to lose weight.”

“You need to tell your mom,” Beverly said.

Ben’s red eyes pointed over at her. “And what are you gonna do about your dad?” He asked sharply.

“B-B-Ben-,” Bill started to say, but Ben’s head was staring back into his lap.

“She’s going to be too upset if I tell her.”

“There are healthier ways to lose weight,” Stanley said. “And she could help you with it.”

“And we’ll help you too!” Mike said with a cheery smile. “We have a bunch of fresh produce on my farm and it’s a great workout trying to harvest it.”

Ben wiped his eyes. “You didn’t go Mike,” he said.

He drew his arm away from Ben and shrugged. “My parents are fine,” he said. “They just want me to branch out a bit. I’ve spent my entire life at home on the farm, but they want the best for me and want me to make a life for myself I guess.”

Bill almost pouted at that. Mike was nice and helpful and was already the best he could be.

“Well,” Richie said with a sly grin. “This band can help us all. Bevvy,” he looked at each individual person at their name, “you have an excuse to not be at home with your dad; Billiam, you can show your parents how cool you are; Stanny, you can stick it to the man; Ed’s, you can show your mom that you don’t need her; Benjamin, you can have a nice positive environment and distraction; Mikey, you have something to add to your resume; and I get to be a rockstar.”

Chapter Text

Stanley felt like he was going to throw up. Patty Blum was coming over to his house for dinner with his parents and he was going to ruin it because he was going to throw up.

They had officially decided they were dating and Stan proudly announced to his parents at dinner that he was in his first relationship.

Look, I have a pretty Jewish girlfriend. Are you proud?

And his father decided that they needed a night to properly introduce themselves and get to know this wonderful young lady, but that just solidified Stan’s fate. His mother was making brisket and he had spent the entire day cleaning the house and mentally preparing himself.

When Patty knocked on the door, he froze. Anyone else would text to say that they were there so that the parents wouldn’t be the first ones they saw, but Stan was luckily sitting right by the door and watching the time tick down. He jumped up and opened the door before she had even finish knocking.

“Hi Stan,” she said softly.

Donald Uris loomed behind him. “Uh,” Stan stuttered. “This is my dad.”

“Patty,” she gleamed as she leaned forward to shake his hands.

“You can call me Donald,” he said back to her, smiling at her politeness.

Stan brought her into the house and took her coat, checking through the steps of how to be a proper gentleman. He pulled her chair out for her, each of their spots at the table spelled out by little place cards Stanley had made like a child preparing a tea party. When plates of food were set in front of them it was almost like bright lights were flicked on for an interrogation.

“So Patty,” Donald started off with, innocently, “how’s school going?”

“It’s going well. I’m taking all honors classes and have nearly perfect grades.”

“Do you have any classes with Stanley?”

“Just Study Hall,” Stan answered.

Patty smiled. “He helps me with my math homework.”

Donald nodded approvingly. “You know, he’s going to be an accountant.”

“Really?” She said, almost laughing. “I’m thinking of being a teacher.”

“Well,” Andrea Uris leaned forward to say, like she was excited to be talking to the popular girl at lunch, “you seem like you’d be great with kids.”

“Thank you Andrea.”

Stan started peeking at his parents’ expressions, to see if they were approving of her, but they hadn’t decided yet.

They asked about her parents, her interests, her temple and Stan almost asked to get up to go to the bathroom to stay there for the rest of the night when they wandered onto the topic of her Bat Mitzvah.

“It was pretty small, you know? But still so much fun.”

“That sounds lovely,” Andrea said softly.

“Did you do anything cool for your Bar Mitzvah?” Patty asked Stan.

He looked down at his plate, arranging the green beans to line up side by side. “Yeah it was very cool,” he mumbled.

“We, uh,” Donald said with a sigh. “We didn’t end up having a reception party.”

“Very traditional,” Andrea quickly added.

When Stan looked back up, his dad was staring him down, jaw set.

Patty sat back in her chair and raised her hand to her heart, eyes growing wide. “Oh,” she said. The pieces all started falling together. She knew who Stanley Uris was. “Oh, I remember hearing about that.”

His heart stopped. “You heard about that?” He asked slowly to clarify.

“About the ceremony?” His dad asked.

“Yeah.” She nearly grimaced. “My uncle was there and told me about it. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Stanley felt his world fall apart.

He had royally fucked up his Bar Mitzvah. He didn’t practice the Torah like he was supposed to, he didn’t prepare a proper speech. His dad had snaked around his brain the idea that he was the biggest disappointment and Stanley didn’t care.

“We’re so proud of Stanley for growing into such a fine and distinguished young man,” Was what his dad said at the ceremony. It wasn’t true.

The night before, the eleven pm night before where Stanley was nearly chained to this dining table in practice, he had said, “We’ve adapted to everything you’ve caused and the least we ask is you don’t make a complete fool of yourself. Do you really have such little respect for your mother and I? The Rabbi’s son can’t finish his own goddamn Torah reading. It’s an embarrassment, Stanley.”

When it was time to make the speech he hadn’t prepared, Stan ended up yelling at his dad and storming out of the synagogue.

In the moment, it was liberating. He didn’t want to be his parents picture perfect Jewish son who wore a kippah everyday and ate kosher and never made a mistake. He wanted to scream and shout and do something on his own.

He told Richie that night that he hated being Jewish and he hated his dad and he hated the life he was living. He was reminded of his thirteenth year in little white scars that were solidifying the fate that he was never going to be happy.

And Patty looked almost mortified.

He wondered what she thought when her uncle told the story. How pathetic.

And now she was sitting next to him and saying that she enjoyed his company.

She turned to face Stanley after recovering from the downfall in her mind. She took his trembling hand in hers and said softly, “It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”

It was such a brief moment of sincerity, of her seeming like she genuinely cared about him, and she turned her head back towards his parents. “You know, I actually volunteered in this mentoring program for kids. Taught them all about the scripture and,” she laughed, “just how to be successful in life.”

“That sounds wonderful Patty,” Donald said quite earnestly.

He looked over to his son with his typical condescending glare, but it was that final statement from Patty Blum that got her the official Donald Uris stamp of approval. And that was the exact moment Stan started to hate her.

He made sure to slip up to his room immediately after Patty left and waited until he knew his parents had settled in to sleep before sneaking back out through the back door and into the darkness of the night.

He was shaking in anger, mainly anger towards his dad per usual, but now also anger towards Patty. This girl who thought the best choice in what was supposed to be a romantic relationship was to control and mentor him into how to be a valuable person in society. The cold air of the night helped to loosen his tension, but the second he remembered a single detail of the night’s dinner, he was thrown into a fit once again.

He ended up at Richie Tozier’s window. He had let Richie know he was coming and Richie knew it had to be about the dinner. He didn’t expect just how angry Stan would be when he came in through the window.

“She knows about my Bar Mitzvah,” was the first thing he said.

Normally, Stan would take off his shoes, but he was so on edge that his body kept flitting back and forth and he forgot. He wrung his hands together and his head was bobbing up an down as the energy running throughout his body radiated.

“Your dad told her?” Richie asked.

“No. She already knew.” Stan scoffed. “Her uncle was there and told her all about the stupid Rabbi’s kid who couldn’t read the Torah and left the ceremony.”

Richie didn’t know what to say, but Stan looked right up at him, absolute despair and defeat dripping down his face. “She looked so disappointed when she realized. Like she was embarrassed for me.” There was a shift when Stanley threw his hands up and started pacing around the room. “And she should be! It’s an embarrassment.”

Richie reached out to try and grab his elbow, his anything to get him to sit and calm down. “Then she’s not worth it, right? If she doesn’t see how great you are.”

“Well she’s not going to break up with me, no.” He was squirming under Richie’s attempted grasps. “She’s going to mentor me in how to be a better Jew and be successful in life.”

Richie froze. “What?” He snapped.

“Yeah! I’m like her charity case or something.”

“That’s so fucked up.”

“I know.”

Stan finally sat, on the edge of the bed and Richie joined him. Their knees knocked together before Richie moved over the smallest bit. “Are you going to break up with her?” He softly asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean, she’s the ideal perfect girl. My parents love her. They’d finally get off my case if I dated her and cleaned up my act.”

“But that’s not what you want,” Richie said.

“No shit. But that’s what’s expected of me and what’s always going to be expected of me.”

“Stan,” Richie sighed. He turned to face him but Stan looked at him with red, scared eyes.

“I don’t have a choice, Richie.”

“Yes you do. It’s your life.”

“No it’s-,” Stan started to say, but sighed frustratedly. He buried his head in his hands, his palms digging into his wet eyes. “It’s not my life.”

“Stan,” Richie said again, and put his arm around his friend’s back.

That made Stan sit right back up and, in an instance, he pressed his lips against Richie’s. He held them there for a moment or two, and angry force not wanting to pull back, and when he started to pull away, he felt Richie’s hand on his chin, pulling him back forward.

He still had a tear falling down his cheek, which collected on the plastic of Richie’s glasses. They both opened their mouths in sync, so desperate and tired. Stan took Richie’s top lip and Richie took Stan’s bottom and they fell into a pattern.

Stan moved his own hands onto Richie’s waist and he shifted his body to sit criss cross across from him, their knees over lapping. The hand on Stan’s back found a new home on the back of his neck, lightly brushing over the clean cut curls. Stanley copied that motion and brought one of his hands up to Richie’s neck.

It was Richie that put his hand on Stan’s chest and gently pulled away. Stan’s eyes flittered open as he looked up at him, full of a worry that Richie had to ignore. “You have a girlfriend,” he said.

Stan shrugged.

Richie curled into himself. “Stan,” he sighed, but Stanley quickly grabbed his hand.

“You know I can’t tell her. Or my dad.”

“You have to.”

Stanley ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. “I will eventually,” he mumbled.

His chest started heaving up and down with unsteady breaths. “Can I sleep over?” Stan asked, starting to tremble.

“You can move in if you want,” Richie laughed.

Stan didn’t laugh.

He was gone when Richie woke up with the bright sunshine of a Saturday morning.

Chapter Text

Beverly was officially, almost, a free woman.

She was still sixteen and without a drivers license so she was limited, but she was moving out of her dad’s house and rejoicing.

She told her aunt everything in a letter she slipped in her mailbox and, one very very loud talk with Alvin Marsh later, she was packing a quick overnight bag to get the hell out of there.

Mike offered himself up to help her move, much to his parents’ delight.

“Beverly? The one with the red hair?” Dad.

“That’s the one.” Mike.

“She’s very pretty.” Mom.

“She is.” Mike.

“You’re playing your cards right, Mikey. Soon she’ll be your girl.” Dad.

“I don’t need her as my girl. She’s my friend.” Mike.

And that was as genuine as Michael Hanlon got.

Beverly didn’t have much stuff, but what she did have was well-loved and beautiful.

“Ugh, I’m bored,” she said in a huff, elbows deep in clothes she was folding and putting away.

Mike was ripping boxes open, carefully, left and right, trying to find something that he felt comfortable messing with. He dragged a box of books over to the bookshelf and chuckled to himself.

Beverly peeked around into the boxes, hoping to find something that wasn’t clothes. A photo box that she cringed at, but opened nonetheless. At the top, was a familiar post card with the sunset in the background.

“Do you write poetry?” She asked Mike.

“No,” he said. “I stick more to journalism.”

She nodded to herself as she turned the postcard over. It wasn’t Mike who wrote it and there was no sense in asking if he recognized the handwriting since he didn’t go to their school.

“Did you get a postcard from where you live?” He asked after a moment of watching her softly.

She laughed with him and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “No, this is a poem by a secret admirer.”

“Gee, I wonder who it’s from,” Mike laughed sarcastically.

Beverly’s head perked up and over to him, who had gotten back to stacking books on the shelf. His sarcastic tone made it seem like he actually knew who it was from and she knitted her eyebrows together as she said carefully, “What?”

“What?”

“Do you know who it’s from?”

Mike turned to her, almost laughing at how she had really no clue. “Well I don’t know for sure, but I have an idea.”

“Who?” She was sliding further along the bed like she was dishing out gossip at a sleepover.

“Well Bill clearly has a crush on you.”

She sat back and sighed. Her fingers traced over the writing. “You think Bill wrote this?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

She showed him the handwriting. “But Bill’s an artist, wouldn’t he have better handwriting?”

Mike put up five fingers. “Let’s see who it could be and who it couldn’t be.” He wiggled the first finger. “Eddie?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, he hates me. And not in the cute teasing kind.”

The first finger went down. He wiggled the second. “Richie?”

“He’s totally gay.”

Mike shrugged and put the second finger down. He wiggled the third. “Stanley?”

“Stan has a girlfriend.”

The third finger went down and Mike wiggled the fourth, raising his eyebrows. “Bill?”

She thought for a second. “Keep Bill up.”

Mike wiggled his thumb. “Ben?”

Bev laughed. “Keep Ben up too.”

++++++++

Richie rolled his eyes as Eddie checked his hair in the mirror for the fourth time, running his fingers through it. “It’s just hair,” he said.

“Maybe to you,” Eddie snapped. “But I need this to look perfect.”

“There are only so many ways you can style short brown hair. You need a new look.”

Eddie looked at his watch. “I don’t have time for a new look, Rich.”

“Bill saw you yesterday. What makes today any different in terms of hair?”

“Today Bill’s going to see me alone. And he needs to realize that Beverly Marsh isn’t worth his time.”

After a mouthful of courage, Eddie asked Bill out for what he was taking as a date, but what Bill was taking as just a day at the movies. They’d get popcorn, maybe have their fingers brush in the bucket, Eddie could throw in how hot the leading male character was as a hint, and then maybe, just maybe, he could rest his head in Bill’s shoulder or hold his hand.

Anything he could possibly do.

Richie checked his phone again. After a near heart attack when he realized Stan was no longer in his bed, his hundreds of texts were met with the simple message that his friend, if they were even still friends after last night, was out bird watching to clear his head.

It was noon and no difference in his whereabouts or if his mind was clear enough to talk about anything.

Eddie could see Richie’s anxious sigh and asked with his arms crossed, “What?”

“Stan kissed me last night,” Richie mumbled without any further push.

“He what?”

“I know, I know.” Eddie’s eyes were bugging out of his head. “Him and Patty had that dinner with his parents and he was really upset afterwards, so he came over and ranted about it and…kissed me.”

Eddie had to take a moment to pace around his bedroom while he processed. “So?” His mind worked out.

“So, he has a girlfriend and is terrified of his father and I told him he had to break it off with Patty.”

“Is he going to?”

“I don’t know. He’s been out bird watching since the crack of dawn this morning.”

Eddie finally sat down on the bed beside Richie. “Wow,” he sighed.

“It probably doesn’t mean anything,” Richie said in a burst, fumbling with his hands.

“What do you mean it doesn’t mean anything? You don’t just kiss your best friend and have it not mean anything.”

“Remember when we played Never Have I Ever? With Bev?” Richie asked, which Eddie suspiciously nodded to. “Stan was my first kiss.”

Eddie exploded off the bed. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It just-,” Richie started to explain, but Eddie kept on an anxious ramble.

“We’ve been friends for God knows how long and I didn’t even know you were gay, let alone you kissing Stanley? Who initiated it? Were you guys, like, dating in secret and didn’t tell us?”

“Eddie,” Richie sighed, pulling him back to sit on the bed. “It was in seventh grade. When we were having our first middle school dance? We were both nervous since we were supposed to be all grown up and hadn’t kissed anyone yet, so…we just decided to kiss each other to practice.”

“And that was all it was?”

“Well, I had a minor sexuality crisis afterwards, but I thought that that was all it was for Stan. But now I’m not sure.”

Eddie looked into Richie’s eyes sincerely, his voice going soft. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He asked.

Richie shrugged. “I didn’t want you to think of me any differently.”

“I don’t,” Eddie promised. “Except that you’re closer to getting a boyfriend than I am.”

And Eddie thought Richie was even closer than him the moment the door opened to Bill’s house, not by Bill or his parents, but by his darling little brother George.

“Hi Eddie!” Georgie willfully greeted and swung the door wide open to let him in.

Bill shuffled into the hall and wearily smiled at Eddie. “We h-h-have to br-br-bring Guh-Guh-Guh-Georgie with us,” he said, then mouth a Sorry.

Eddie felt his face squeeze together like he had eaten something sour, but tried to smile all the same. “No problem,” his wavering voice croaked.

As they walked to the movie theatre, Georgie talked on and on about his schoolwork, his teachers, his classmates––Eddie was actually drifting out of the conversation, cursing himself and his entire life that gave him this scenario.

It wasn’t until Georgie started talking about a girl in his class that Eddie’s heart started pounding and he couldn’t focus on anything but his words. “Remember Victoria?” He asked up to Bill, who hummed in response.

“I sit next to her at lunch and now people think that we’re dating.”

Bill’s face scrunched up. “Be-Be-Because you si-sit-sit n-next to her at l-l-lunch?”

“Yep. I don’t get it.”

Eddie tried to discreetly watch and analyze Bill’s every facial expression, which didn’t give him much. His jaw was carefully working to gently ask whatever it was he wanted to ask his brother.

“Do-Do-Do-Do you wuh-want t-to be duh-dating her?”

“Not really,” Georgie mumbled. “I’m too young to date.”

Bill nodded shortly. “Does she like you?” Eddie asked, making Bill snap his head over to him.

“I don’t know. She’s the only one in my class who’s nice to me. I don’t know if that means she likes me though.”

“Well-Well,” Bill sighed. “Be-being nice is-is-is a guh-good sign.”

“Yeah, I think it goes more into being supportive no matter what and always wanting to make you happy,” Eddie said confidently.

“Sometimes she opens my milk and helps me cut my food. Not like I can’t do it myself, but she just helps if I need it.”

“That is very nice of her,” Eddie said. “And it sounds like she cares about you a lot.”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend or a boyfriend?” Georgie so innocently, so preciously asked Eddie. “You know a lot about it.”

“No I haven’t,” Eddie smiled and shrugged, trying to avoid Bill’s eyes. “But I just have thought about it a lot.”

Bill sent over a pair of weary and apologizing eyes plenty of times throughout their day together. When Georgie asked to see the animated movie playing and when he asked if he could put M&Ms in the popcorn and when he asked if he could sit in the middle and hold the popcorn bucket, all things that Bill just could never say no to and Eddie wasn’t far behind.

Eddie only smiled with a shake of his head at each glance, but inside, he was losing his mind. He loved Georgie and he loved seeing Bill with Georgie, but he felt stupid in the green polo that had been hanging in the front of his closet and sitting with Bill’s kid brother’s elbow against his on the armrest.

It was even worse when Georgie started giggling in his seat. He leaned into Eddie and whispered, “Bill’s asleep.”

Bill’s chin was very much tucked into his neck and by the flashing pictures on the screen, Eddie could see that his thin eyes were gently closed.

“He always falls asleep during movies,” Georgie kept whispering.

For all the countless movies Eddie has seen with Bill, not once had he rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder as he inevitably fallen asleep and that record was still clean.

“I know,” Eddie whispered back. “Except for during horror movies. Those ones are interesting to him.”

“I’m not allowed to watch scary movies.”

“I don’t like them that much, they freak me out. But they’re Bill’s favorite.”

He looked over at Bill once again, quickly as he knew Georgie’s eyes were still on him in the dim theatre. But once Georgie turned back to the screen, Eddie was focused in on watching Bill and wondering how he wound up in this scenario straight out of a movie, much unlike the childish one they were watching.

But he sucked it up and watched as Georgie shook Bill awake while the credits rolled, a smile on his face with his disorientation. He sucked it up as they walked back to his house to drop him off and he sucked it up when Bill awkwardly waved goodbye.

And Bill was none the wiser.

“Did I ruin you and Eddie’s date?” Georgie asked as they got on with walking back to their house.

Bill sputtered, “Wuh-Wuh-Wuh-What? We-We-We weren’t on a-a d-date.”

“Oh,” Georgie frowned. “But he still likes you.”

“No-No-No he d-doesn’t.”

“Yes he does. He said that if you like someone, you support them and always want them to be happy. Eddie supports you and wants you to be happy.”

“That d-doesn’t mmmean he l-likes m-me.”

“He let me come with you guys even though it was supposed to be just you two. And he ordered the popcorn and the tickets for us, not because you can’t do it yourself, but because he knew you needed some help with it.”

“B-B-But-,”

“And walked all the way over to our house even though he lives closer to the movie theatre and could’ve met us there because he thought you were going to have to walk alone.”

“N-No-No-,”

“And he watches scary movies with you even though they freak him out because they’re your favorite and you always fall asleep during other movies.”

“I d-duh-don’t al-al-,”

“Yes you do.” Georgie looked up at him, but Bill’s face had gone pale. “And he always brings you water to band practice because you forget,” he continued. “And he helps you fix Silver’s flat tires and put that light and bell on for you. And he comes over late to read your essays and stories and at your birthday party, he had your cake even though he said the gluten stuff freaks him out.”

Bill was still quiet, working through his head.

“I think he likes you,” Georgie hummed. “And you should go on a real date soon.”

Chapter Text

Richie was going to scream. Likely soon in the middle of school, which wouldn’t be good for him or anyone around him. Eddie and Bill could sense it bubbling over all day with how he kept tapping his pencil and shaking his leg and how his mouth was glued shut through all of it. Sure, they were enjoying the silence, but with silence came the with an underlying tension that something was wrong. They just didn’t know what.

Eddie could sense what it was. Richie’s eyes would whip and flit all around the halls, looking for a certain head of curls, and, once the landed on the target, the whole world would stop spinning for a moment. Stanley never looked back at him, he had his own eyes transfixed on the floor whenever they passed in the halls which was equally as worrisome.

The lunch table was rattling. Richie carefully and tentatively chewed on carrots. Bill played with his own fingers under the table. Ben had his head resting in his hand, trying to act like he was focused on what was happening, but it was Eddie and Bev that exploded with the energy.

“Okay what the fuck?” Bev asked the moment she sat down with her lunch tray, the minutes she was gone not alleviating the situation. “What’s going on with you guys?”

Richie flapped his hand in some vague gesture that crossed the lines of meaning everything and nothing. Bill kept his lips sealed, which wasn’t unusual for him, but Ben only shrugged.

“Seriously guys,” Eddie groaned. “What’s up?”

“Ju-Ju-Just t-tired,” Bill mumbled.

“I don’t feel well,” Ben said, his eyelids heavy.

Eddie squinted his eyes at him. “Are you alright? Fever?” He pressed his hand against Ben’s forehead, which was not warm. “You should see the nurse. Maybe it’s an infection or something.”

Ben slowly shook his head. “I’m alright.”

“You d-d-don’t h-have t-to come t-tonight if you-you-you aren’t-t-t f-feeling guh-guh-w-well.”

Before Ben could even answer, Richie’s mouth dropped open. “Speaking of tonight, anyone hear from Stan lately?” His eyebrows raised so comically high they disappeared under his hair, and he looked at each of them individually for an answer, only to be met with shrugs. Eddie sank into his chair.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Richie muttered. “He’s been ignoring me all fucking weekend.”

“W-Well, you-you know h-he-,” Bill started to say, but Richie snapped, “Don’t even say anything about Patty, Bill. We were his friends first.”

Bev scoffed and folded her arm around her food. The rest of lunch was silent.

After school wasn’t much better. They stood around as they waited for their entire group to trickle in. Even Richie had given up trying to beat Beverly to being the first one to the bike rack. He didn’t want to watch out for Stanley to come out of the building with Patty at his shoulder and he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Eddie’s worried glances. But walking slowly through the halls didn’t stop either of those things.

They were all still waiting around for Stan, each of them fiddling around with their bikes and the tails of their backpacks. Eddie pulled Beverly aside, not with anyone else noticing, and whispered in her ear, “Has Bill talked to you at all? About why he’s off today?”

“No, why?” Her arms were crossed in front of her, goosebumps flaring in the October wind.

“I just didn’t, like, you know ‘cause he,” Eddie stuttered around.

“You think he’d talk to me before you because he has a crush on me?”

He shrugged.

“He hasn’t talked to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with any of them.”

“I talked to Richie yesterday,” Eddie started, but then stopped himself. His eyes darted into Beverly’s. “He wouldn’t want me to tell you.”

She nodded and walked back to the group.

Stanley was late, which was weird, but he also had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was flat under his kippah. Patty was with him, Patty was smiling as they walked right past the group to the bike rack.

“Hey, Patty,” Beverly called out to stop them. “Hey, Stan.”

“Oh uh,” Stan said, looking up briefly before seeming to remember that he wasn’t supposed to be making eye contact, “Hey guys.”

“Are-Are-Are you c-coming?” Bill asked him.

“Um, Patty and I were going to go back to my house,” he said, looking over at her. “I hope you don’t mind.” Eyes back to the ground.

Richie squeezed his eyes shut as he jumped onto his bike. “Nope not at all,” he said in the nicest tone he could before riding off.

The other scrambled onto their bikes to follow, pushing out goodbyes to Stan and calls to Richie to slow down for Ben’s sake.

Bill was the one that pedaled hard to catch up and let himself and Silver soar past passing cars and buses to reach Richie billowing in the wind.

“I can’t fucking believe him,” was what he was met with as he slowed down to match Richie’s pace. “He keeps ditching us and for who? Patty Blum? Come on.”

Bill went to say something, but Richie whipped his head over, eyes red. “You know he came over to my house after they had that family dinner? She knows about his Bar Mitzvah and told his parents that she’d help guide him or whatever into the wonders of Judaism and clean up his act. Like that’s what Stan needs! She’s full of shit and he’s following her!”

Bill slowed his bike down with his foot dragging in the gravel. “Ruh-Ruh-Richie, s-stop.”

Richie turned his head back to look at him, the hands on his handlebars following and turning the front wheel all the way around. The bike flopped back onto the ground, throwing Richie’s body of limbs off of it and spiraling onto the pavement.

Bill let Silver fall as he ran over to him. He picked the bike off and tossed it to the side of the road the best his little arms could. When he turned back to Richie and reached his hand out to him, Richie was entirely unresponsive.

“Rich,” Bill said. He grabbed at Richie’s shoulder and turned him around, trying not to eye the little rocks wedged into bleeding knees. “Ruh-Richie,” Bill said again, trying to catch his cloudy eyes.

“I hate him,” Richie said to the sky.

“No-No you d-don’t.”

Richie looked at him. “You’re right,” he sighed before tears started swimming out of his eyes.

Bill helped him out of the middle of the street and they sat in the grassy lawn of a nearby house, hoping the owners wouldn’t mind, until the rest of the group came hurdling down the road.

Eddie lead the pack, standing on his bike with his head wrapping around itself to spot them first. When he did, he yelled, “Jesus Christ Richie!”

They all collapsed beside them as Eddie looked at Richie’s scraped knees and shook his head. Ben quite literally collapsed and held his legs close to him as he closed his eyes and tried to breath slowly.

“You alright?” Beverly asked. He turned his hand into a thumbs up for her.

“Bullshit,” Richie said from beside him. “D’ya want some water or something? We can get some at my house.”

Ben shook his head. They all looked worriedly at each other.

They decided to walk back to Richie’s house, slow and steady. Band practice was kind of ruined since they lost what felt like half the band with Stan. Richie strummed around on his guitar as they tried to salvage a song. In the back of their mind was the slightest thought of what they’d do if this became regular. If the band all fell apart.

When Mike came strolling in all smiles, though, it was clear that Stan couldn’t rip the band apart. So Richie had to get his fingers to stop anxiously twitching and memorize some chords.

Mike frowned when he noticed the energy. Bev shook her head to tell him not to worry about it, and they all started on their work. Bev tapped around on her phone looking for any events or parties that needed a band while Ben and Mike worked on song lists. Mike was finalizing their set for their performance at the church the next day, the set they were practicing getting through without Stan, while Ben jotted down ideas for future performances and looked through sheet music.

After a while his eyes were having a hard time focusing on the little lines and dotted notes and his head was getting cloudy. Eddie was pounding hard on the drums and cursing along with a stream of extra pounds whenever he missed a beat. He had almost disappeared into the couch with no attention paid by the others.

That was, until, his body was hitting the floor with a thud.

Bev and Mike were the only ones that noticed at first, Beverly frozen in time. “Ben!” Mike yelled and quickly went to his side.

“Holy shit!” Richie yelled into the microphone, which had Eddie focusing in and proceeding to freak the fuck out.

“Oh my God, Ben!” He said, climbing over his stool to get to him. “Is he okay, what happened?”

Mike turned him onto his back and Eddie grabbed his legs, holding them into the air. “I don’t know, I think he fainted.”

“Mom!” Richie yelled into the microphone, before taking off into the house, still screaming, “Mom!”

Richie asked his mom to bring Ben to the hospital, not because of the fainting, but because of why they knew he fainted. He woke up before they left and they only gave him a water bottle and no room to protest. Eddie and Mike went with them and Richie drove the others in his van. Ben had to call his mom, who was hysterical over the phone.

Arlene Hanscom tried to keep it together in front of the five worried teenagers before her, but she was like an open book to them and they could only imagine what it must be like for her.

Maggie was a good shoulder to cry on and hand to squeeze tightly. She held onto Arlene as Beverly explained all of what they knew was happening with Ben, along with apologizing profusely.

“No, honey,” Arlene said with a hand on Bev’s arm. “It’s not your fault. If anything, I should have realized.”

“And,” Beverly started to say before pausing to make sure she wanted to say it. “And he said that it’s not your fault either. That he doesn’t resent you for anything.”

Arlene wiped at her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

They sat in the waiting room, unsure of what they should do next. Maggie Tozier told them she was proud of them for sticking with him and being so good about the situation before she left, but they could only think about who wasn’t there with them.

“I tex-tex-tex-texted St-Stan,” Bill whispered out. Mostly to Richie, but they all carefully listened in.

“And is he coming?” Richie scoffed. “Is Patty coming?”

“I th-think he is-is-is c-coming. Not P-Patty.”

“Good,” Richie said with his arms crossed over his chest.

He thought he would be mad at Stan when he saw him, but his heart didn’t get that memo.

Stanley walked towards them slowly and carefully, his eyes pointed down at the tiled floor of the hallway and his feet stepping into every other individual tile. He paused when he got to the rug and opted to imagining the pattern of the tiles on top to get a steady picture of where he was supposed to step.

“Hey-Hey Stan,” Bill greeted them.

“Hi.” He rubbed at his earlobe and Richie noticed that there was a bandaid stuck on the red skin of his hand. He sat on the edge of the chair beside Eddie in their little square, keeping his back straight to not touch the back of the chair.

Richie stopped looking at him.

“How’s Ben doing?” Stan asked.

“He’s alright,” Mike answered. “They think he’s going to stay here overnight and then start therapy.”

Arlene rounded the hallway and smiled at their group. “The doctor’s done examining him if you all wanted to come back?”

It wasn’t even a question and they all jumped up. “We’re trying to get him to eat something, so I thought maybe if you were all doing it it wouldn’t be as daunting?” She kept saying.

“Sure, what does this fine place have to offer?” Richie asked, nudging Eddie at his side.

“We’re just starting easy with some crackers.”

“Boring, but I’ll take it.”

The jokes stopped once they stepped into the room. They didn’t know what they were expecting, whether it was better or worse than what they saw, but they still all felt out of place. Ben looked so small, so sickly in his bed with an IV in his arm and thin white blankets piled on top of him.

He looked over at them wearily. They all had the striking realization that he might be mad at them and that was something none of them were ready for.

“Hi, Ben,” Bev quietly said, so quietly that it might not have been caught if Ben’s ears weren’t so finely tuned to clearly hearing her voice.

“I’m sorry,” Richie found himself saying. “I didn’t-,”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not any of your faults.”

Stanley started picking at his earlobe again.

They all sat around the room, piled in chairs, on top of the heater, on the side of Ben’s bed, and allowed the quiet hum and beeping of machines to fill the air around them. They were dealt their crackers and all looked around wondering who’d take the first daring bite.

The first bite didn’t happen until Mike whipped his backpack around.

“I hope you don’t mind, Richie, but I grabbed a few of your games and comic books,” he said opening the bag up. It was packed full with whatever was littering the bottom of the garage floor in Richie’s chaos.

“When the hell did you do that?” Richie asked, but the question was answered with a mere shrug.

Mike pushed the bag onto the bed for Ben, who gently peeked inside. It was Eddie that sprang on top of it and crammed his hand in. “Did you grab the…,” he started to say as he dug around and then he pulled his hand back out and pulled out a pack of Uno cards. “Yes!”

“Sh-Sh-Should-Should-Should-Shouldn’t we a-ask B-B-Ben wuh-wuh-what he wuh-wants t-to play?”

Eddie’s face went red as he nervously turned to Ben. He shrugged and said, “I wouldn’t mind Uno.”

The crackers were soon gone and the shouts from Ben’s room were flying into the hallway outside, but no one seemed to mind all that much. Richie and Eddie’s swearing whenever something slightly inconvenient happened did have Arlene peeking her head in every once in a while, but all in all, even she was just glad that he had six other kids his age that were so forgiving to it all and readily eager to stay by his side.

All but one, that is, that looked eager at all.

Stanley would’ve joined in all of their harmonious laughter and raucous shouts, but he was too enveloped in the colors and the numbers and the cloud forming around his head. He held his cards—organized in color order, going blue, green, red, yellow alphabetically, and then in ascending number order—in one hand while the other rested with his cool knuckles against red crackly lips. His thumb absentmindedly scratched the skin along his chin whenever it got loud.

He was reminded every time it was his turn, and had a hard time keeping track of when the order was reversed or what he was supposed to do when he didn’t have a card to put down. No one paid any attention to it, they were here for Ben and there was clearly nothing at fault in Stan’s laugh that they’d need to worry about. The only one that naturally worried was Richie, and he seemed like he was outright avoiding his eyes.

That’s how he missed it.

Eddie’s eyes had followed his mouth over to Stan as he went into autopilot to remind him of his turn, but he found himself instead saying, “Stan, you’re bleeding,” after catching the little smears of red along where his thumb was running.

Stan took his hand away from his face and looked at his thumb which was indeed coated in red. “Uh, I uh,” he stuttered around, gently putting his cards down without a care that they were face up. He got up from his chair and Eddie followed.

“Do you need any help?” He asked, but Stan shook his head and walked out of the room.

For a hospital, you’d think they’d have a ready supply of bandaids somewhere.

He walked to the bathroom with his eyes transfixed on the ground and the tiles he was stepping in. That might have been how Richie was able to catch up to him.

At first they didn’t talk. They could both feel that one of them was going to boil over at some point, but they were determined to wait until they reached the bathroom before they let it happen.

When they did reach it and Stan was washing his hands under the hot water, Richie finally said, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious, what the hell is up with you?”

Stanley reached for the soap and lathered his hands a second time. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Richie turned the water off for him and pushed Stan’s shoulder back so they were facing each other. “You kissed me,” he said lowly. “And then left me and have been ignoring me and the entire group.”

Stan shook his head and turned the water back on, “I don’t expect you to understand,” he muttered.

“Understand what? Why you’re lying to yourself and ignoring your friends?” Richie’s eyes were wild under his glasses. “ You weren’t there when Ben fainted, do you have an explanation for that? Or were you just hanging out with your perfect girlfriend who you don’t even like?”

Stan clenched his jaw tightly, focusing in on his hands. “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” He got more soap.

“No you’re not! You’re all spaced out and now we’re in a fucking bathroom instead of in there with them!”

Stanley whipped his head around to face Richie, his hands still working under the water. He got more soap. “I didn’t ask you to follow me.”

“Yes you did.” Richie leaned in close and spoke quietly, his words cutting through the air in little slashes in Stan’s ears. “You asked me to follow you when you fucking kissed me. You can’t just do that to a person and expect that nothing will come out of it.”

He looked back at Richie blankly.

“What?” Richie snapped. “Do you not have anything to say?”

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave,” Stanley stated. He wiped a paper towel on his chin to clean up the blood.

“Do you not understand what I’m saying at all?”

“No I do. You’re mad at me because I’m not gay and I need my own fucking space.”

Richie took a step back from him, eyes wide. “Jesus, Stanley,” he sighed. “You don’t get it at all.”

He left the bathroom, left Stan there with the water running and his chin still bloody.

When he got back to the room, he slumped down in his chair, not bothering to follow along with the Uno game. And everyone knew better than to ask if Stan was coming back.

Chapter Text

Stan had never been one that was good at hide and seek. When they were younger, he didn’t like shoving himself into dark and cramped spaces and sitting there waiting for a while. Hide and seek was never a popular game amongst the boys.

Now, though, he was an expert.

His friends were on the edges of their seats all day, waiting to see if he’d show his face to them. He was in school, Stanley Uris was not one to skip class over some mild headache from crying instead of sleeping.

They kept Mike updated, who was hastily trying to figure out how they were supposed to perform at the church without Stan if it came down to that, and was trying not to overwhelm Ben too much while he was still at the hospital, but there was no getting around it. And their fate was set in stone when they got to Richie’s house with no Stanley there to go with them.

Richie was still upset and no one wanted to push him to do anything, but they had a show to do and still no idea where half the band was.

It was Beverly that whipped out her phone to call him.

He didn’t answer the first time, but she wasn’t giving up that easily. Mike and Bill wandered outside where she was tapping her foot and waiting through the rings. He didn’t answer the second time.

“Muh-May-,” Bill started to say, but she was calling again.

Across town, Patty’s eyes narrowed at the phone vibrating on his dresser, with Beverly Marsh written as the contact name. “Beverly Marsh is calling you,” she snapped to Stan.

He stayed quiet, looking down at his hands.

She picked up the phone and handed it to him. “Are you not going to answer?”

“I’ll answer,” he mumbled, and slowly raised the phone to his ear.

“Stan?” She immediately asked over the phone.

“Hey, Bev,” he said, earning a scoff from Patty at the nick name.

“Stanley Uris, where the hell are you?” Bill and Mike winced at how she was yelling. “Do you realize you have to be onstage at the church in an hour?”

“I can’t come.”

“What do you mean you ‘can’t come?’” Beverly had her hands on her hips glaring over at Mike and Bill. Waiting for the inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“You’re not sorry, Stanley. You agreed to do this every Tuesday so we could have the chance to play at the Halloween party and now you’re letting us down for no reason!”

He was silent on the other line. Bill took the phone from her.

“S-S-Stan?”

“Bill?”

“Are you-you-you r-really not c-coming?”

Patty was still standing beside him, watching each word he said carefully. He looked up at her, with an almost pained look in his eyes, but she still shook her head. “I can’t…,” he started to say, before taking a shuddering breath. “I don’t think I can do the band anymore.”

“Wuh-Wuh-What?”

“I’ll pick up my stuff soon.”

“S-Stuh-,” but he had hung up.

Bill sighed and looked up at Beverly and Mike, watching him with worried glances. “He-He qui-qui-quit.”

“He what?” Beverly all about yelled back at him. Bill went to repeat himself, but she was storming back inside the house.

“Did you talk to him?” Richie said, immediately standing and ignoring the task of wrapping cords.

“What the hell happened between you two?” Was what he was met with.

“What?”

“You and Stanley. What happened between you two?”

Eddie tried to disappear into a wall, his heart racing. But Richie only looked down and sighed loudly. He took his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch and fixed his fingers into his eyes to rub them.

“I can’t say,” He mumbled.

“Bullshit.”

“No Beverly!” He looked back at her, although her figure now blurry. “I can’t say. It’s between him and I and I can’t just talk about something that he doesn’t want people to know about.”

Her expression softened and she walked up to him, taking his hands in hers. “It’s about you too,” she said. “You can’t suffer just to protect his privacy.”

Richie was quiet for a moment before whispering, “I’m worried about him.”

“Worried like how?” Mike supplied. Richie almost forgot that there were other people in the room, he couldn’t see them.

He went to pick up his glasses, having to embarrassingly pat around on the couch first. When he turned to the group, he looked Eddie and Bill in the eyes. “Do you guys remember how he was around his Bar Mitzvah?”

They both solemnly nodded. Mike raised a hand and reminded, “I don’t remember that.”

“His dad’s his Rabbi and was putting a ton of pressure on Stan to get his Torah reading correct, but Stan didn’t even want to do the Bar Mitzvah. He’s cool with being Jewish and all, but he just hates how traditional and proper he has to be all the time, not to mention all the bullying at school. So, he didn’t practice and his dad gave him hell for it. He grounded him and would lock him in his room with the book thing, or wouldn’t give it dinner until he could pronounce stuff right.”

“Holy shit,” Bev whispered.

“Yeah,” Richie nodded. “So at the Bar Mitzvah, he did the reading, and I think it went well. I don’t know Hebrew. But then he was doing his speech and basically said fuck you to his dad and Judaism and left.”

“He left?” Mike’s eyes were wide.

“Yep. Ran off to the park with all his clothes still on. Took Bill and Ed’s and me an hour to find him. He stayed at my house that night and then the next morning his dad showed up and dragged him, like literally dragged him, out of the house and then we didn’t see him or hear from him for two days.” He paused for a second and rubbed his nose, looking down to the ground. “We thought he killed himself or something,” he whispered.

“On day three, we went to his house and he was in his bed, he hadn’t showered, he was dehydrated from crying and hadn’t eaten anything, and he had cuts on his arm.”

Bill and Eddie were quiet, the entire room was quiet as that sat with them all. “But that was only the first time,” Eddie whispered.

“Yeah,” Richie agreed. “That was the worst it’s been, but since then he’s put a lot of pressure on himself to do everything perfectly and how his dad or the rest of the world wants him to do things. Like, if he gets below a 96 on a math test, a 96 because it’s divisible by 3, then the world ends because he’s supposed to be an accountant and if he can’t do matrices right, that ruins his whole life plan.”

“The-The-The b-band wuh-wuh-was an esc-c-cape.”

Richie turned to look only at Bill. “And?” He prompted.

“He-He’s n-not coming. He qua-qua-quit.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie sighed.

Their performance was definitely not one for the records, but at least it didn’t crash and burn. Richie had his eyes glued to sheet music and they slowed the tempo as he worked getting his fingers to different frets and not paying attention to the singing.

Beverly still approached the group at the end of their set as people filed out with a mischievous grin on her face. “So,” she dragged out. “What are you guys doing tomorrow night?”

Eddie sighed and shoved his hands onto his hips. “Why?” He sharply asked.

“You guys know Sally Mueller? She responded to the video I posted of you guys playing—,”

“You posted a video?”

“She-She-She s-saw it?”

“And,” Beverly sighed. “She’s having a little get together tomorrow night and wanted to know if you were available to play. I told her yes.”

“Why does she need a band at a little get together?” Eddie asked and Richie slapped the back of his head.

“On a Wuh-Wuh-Wednesday?”

Beverly rolled her eyes, “God, grow up guys.”

Richie shrugged. “I’ve got nothing.”

Eddie and Bill looked at each other, a secret communication. “Yeah alright,” Eddie finally said. “We’ll play.”

Mike, standing to the side of the entire conversation, ducked in to join them. “I’ll call Ben tonight to come up with a set list?”

“Please do,” Beverly said softly and began to help Richie with clean up.

It was unspoken between them that no one would ask Stanley to play.

When Ben answered Mike’s call, he was seated securely in his bedroom, no longer the hospital, which made Mike smile. “Hey Ben!” He said as the grainy connection settled down.

“Hey Mike! How was the night?”

“It was good; nothing too special. Thanks for that sheet music, though, it was a life saver for Richie.”

Ben laughed. “I’m glad I could help, even though I’m not there.”

Mike’s happiness faltered with that reminder. “How are you,” he started to ask, but then paused to make sure it was right. “How are you doing?” It was what he wanted to ask and wanted to know.

“I’m okay,” he answered, looking down from the camera. “It’s a little weird, you know?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. But then he thought about it. “Well, no I don’t actually.”

“Well just feeling like something’s wrong with me,” Ben supplied. “Like my mom is tip toeing around me because she doesn’t want to talk about it or make me upset or something. It just feels bad. I know something’s wrong, I just would rather have her either talk to me about it or go back to normal.”

Mike nodded. “That makes sense. You can always talk to me, or any of us really. I don’t really get what’s going on, but I can try to understand. Or you can just rant and I don’t have to understand.”

Ben smiled. “Thanks Mike. It’s going to be a long process, though. I won’t annoy you too much.”

“Oh annoy me all you want. If you can handle living through it like a champ, I think I can handle hearing about the runoff. I’ll be here for you.”

Ben had to stop for a second as a wider grin spread across his face, absorbing Mike’s words. “Thank you,” he said much softer.

Their planning for the set went smoothly afterwards, even when a wrench was thrown in with a hasty email from Richie with a song request. One that kept Bill and Eddie awake well into the night, cursing him for, but sucking it up nonetheless.

Stan knew about the party, or “little get together.” As it would turn out, Sally Mueller was in Patty’s Algebra class and had been talking all about how her parents were going out for their anniversary and she was allowed to invite over a few friends from school. An entire math class later and half the school was buzzing with excitement over going to one of the nicest houses on West Broadway.

Sally had planned for things to spiral out of control and said she’d station someone from the football team at the front door to turn away any no-good-doers; she couldn’t risk serious damage happening to her house if she wanted a good Christmas.

Stan had tried to shrug off Patty’s invitation to the party with the explanation that maybe he was one of the no-good-doers, he hung out with Beverly Marsh of all people, but of course, he didn’t anymore.

“She invited me personally. Me!” Patty was beaming all throughout Wednesday. “You have to say you’re excited to hang out with the cool and classy kids at this school.”

He could only blink long and hard at that. He had to stop rolling his eyes because she’d always get mad at him.

“You know who I heard was playing tonight?” She said, much softer. He knew it before she even said it. “Your old band.”

Stan nodded. “Good for them.”

“I think it’ll be good for you, too,” she told him. “To see them without you.”

He knew what she was getting at. That they were fine without him and he’d see that they weren’t relying on him and he could go on with his life without a care. But he did care. Not about the band, not about playing, but about all of them.

He cared about how Ben was doing. He cared about Mike having fun with them. He cared about Bev feeling good in her new home. He cared about Eddie having an outlet to let out his frustrations. He cared about Bill relaxing his shoulders. He cared about Richie…

About Richie.

It was Richie that made him make sure he wore a long sleeve shirt under his jacket, despite Patty reminding him that he might get warm at the party. It was Richie that made him make sure to clip his kippah tight in his hair, despite knowing it might get him turned away. It was Richie that made him get out of bed every morning and splash water on his face. Because Richie could see through his act and he needed to cover it up as best as he could.

It took a lot of convincing from Arlene Hanscom for her to let her son go to a party, or “little get together,” but she agreed, much to the group’s surprise. That’s mostly because Ben didn’t tell them that he had begged that he wanted to just be normal and she let him go when she started to cry.

They packed up the van, bringing Stan’s equipment for good luck and clutching Richie’s precious sheet music. Stan walked over to the party with his hand laced in Patty’s and his other hand rubbing at his earlobe.

It was a decent little get together. They had alcohol, people sharing their vape and weed, and some LED lights to set the mood. Eddie was coated in sweat before the end of their first song despite the chilling air outside. Richie matched that amount the second a boy with neat curls stepped into the main room.

He had to tear his eyes off of him and back on his music, but Stan’s eyes didn’t leave. His entire body froze beside Patty’s, the music and the air and the people and the lights all swirling around him and his eyes transfixed on his three best friends, on Bill singing his lyrics and Richie playing his notes.

“See?” Patty yelled into his ear, making him shudder. “They’re doing just fine without you.”

He nodded. She saw it as a good thing, but he saw it in its truthful position as the final nail in his coffin. They were doing just fine on day two without him so why would he go back to the band? Why would he go back to them at all?

They were doing just fine without him.

Patty tried to get him to dance, but he wasn’t feeling it all too much. He was still focused on their makeshift stage ahead of him. Beverly, Mike, and Ben were making their rounds to all the guests and were steering clear of him, for good reason. Beverly stood in the doorway of the living room where they were playing, her eyes burning in the back of Patty’s head.

Richie started a song with looking back to Eddie and Bill, like waiting for them to say it was okay before continuing on. But they must’ve said it was alright because the next song started off and Richie was turning around to sing into the microphone, making direct eye contact with Stanley.

I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend

Stan’s heart stopped.

You could cut ties with all the lies

That you’ve been living in

And if you do not want to see me again

I would understand

Stanley tried to look away, anger boiling into his head, but Richie’s expression was so set into him. This was a song he didn’t need sheet music for, he had spent the entire night playing it over and over and it was now almost bleeding out of him.

I would understand

He tore his eyes away, and looked right at Patty. She had her neck craned about the room like she was trying to find someone and absentmindedly swayed along to the music.

The angry boy

A bit too insane

He grabbed onto her hands and started swaying with her.

Icing over a secret pain

She turned and looked at him with a sweet smile.

You know you don’t belong

“We should find Sally,” she yelled over the music. “Thank her for the invitation.”

You’re the first to fight

You’re way too loud

“And find the rest of my class,” she continued.

You’re the flash of light on a burial shroud

Stan looked back over to Richie, who still had his eyes focused.

I know something’s wrong

Patty tugged at Stan’s sleeve like she was willing for him to follow her.

Well, everyone I know has got a reason

To say

Put the past away

“Stanley,” Patty yelled louder over the music.

I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend

He tore himself away from Patty and pushed himself passed the sea of other teenagers brushing beside each other on the floor. He went straight to the kitchen, the first room he found himself in.

Richie kept going, but refocused to look at Beverly in the doorway. She shrugged and went off to follow him.

Patricia Blum crossed her arms and gave the singer a scowl.

And if you do not want to see me again

I would understand

Stan threw some cold water on his face, taking deep breaths. He could still hear Richie’s words in the next room over as clear as day and tried to instead focus his ears in on the sound of running water.

Beverly came up behind him and he didn’t notice at first. Not until she hissed, “What are you doing here?”

He rolled his eyes, but still didn’t turn to look at her. He went to grab some soap and started washing his hands.

“Patty was invited and wanted to come.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know.”

And your friends have left you

You’ve been dismissed

Stan turned and looked at her, his hands still dripping wet with the water running. “I know.”

Beverly watched as the water from his hands melted into his pants, but there was no care in the world in Stan’s eyes. He stayed focused in on Beverly. “He’s worried about you,” she said more softly.

“I know.”

He slid past her, shaking out his hands as he went back to the living room. Richie’s eyes met his immediately.

Everyone’s got to face down the demons

He looked so focus, so sure of the words he was saying. One would think that Richie wrote the song with how earnestly he was singing, it was like a part of him was reaching out to Stanley with each lyric he sang.

Stan felt tears prickling in his eyes, his hands trembling. He found himself turning back to the kitchen and running after a red bobble of hair. “Beverly!” He nearly yelled, grabbing onto her shoulders.

She looked at him strangely, not knowing what to say to his newfound energy and motivation. He asked, though, “Did you guys bring my bass?”

Her eyes grew wide and she grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the house.

Richie and the boys kept playing inside. Bill and Eddie could feel the energy draining out from Richie after Stanley disappeared, but they could only push forward.

Bill joined Richie to sing the chorus, but they all knew the song might fall apart at the instrumental break. They didn’t have a bass player anymore, they had Richie with his acoustic guitar who was supposed to strum along to the the melody. He could do that just fine last night but now Stan had heard the song and didn’t seem to like it.

But they were all surprised when someone else took the lead of the solo. It sounded like the recording, like Ben knew it was about to go downhill and switched over to the real song, but this was someone playing live.

This was someone whose fingers were dancing along the strings of a bass and following a beat that they knew well so closely while also being so free.

It was Stanley.

The boys onstage froze, Eddie nearly forgetting that he still had to play, and looked up to see what it was, where it was, who it was, and saw Stan the Man Uris round the corner from the foyer into the living room with his bass in hand. He had a soft smile on his face, eyes immediately connecting with Richie as he went.

Patty’s jaw dropped. And when she turned to see how Richie looked at him with earnest behind cloudy glasses, she knew. And she couldn’t watch.

Stan made his way through the audience, Beverly scrambling behind him with the amp and the long extension cord she had plugged in in the hall unraveling behind her. The crowd was none the wiser with this new member, they were either too high or too enthralled with grinding to notice that anything was happening.

But something was definitely happening. Richie remembered to strum along to the melody over top and it was once again a collection of harmony between his mind, body, and heart that was able to so perfectly play a piece.

His body followed the rhythms it knew. His mind focused on Stan getting closer and closer. And his heart swelled at how happy he was that Stan was coming back to them.

Bill joined for his part and soon they were off. Each head bobbing along, each body dancing along, each eye wet with gratitude. There was a moment while they played where they felt like they were 13 again. When they were all carefree and all that they knew were freedom and love among each other.

When Richie started up with the lyrics again, his voice was clear and bright. Stanley had the melody below him, and, just like Richie, he sang to himself.

Stan sang I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend.

And Richie sang I would understand.

Because he did understand.

Chapter Text

Beverly cheered the loudest in the crowd after their set. Her boys just played at Sally Mueller’s party––all of her boys.

The look on Mike and Ben’s faces when they walked into the living room and saw Stan up onstage was priceless. “What is he doing?” Mike yelled to Beverly over the music.

“Saving us,” she yelled back.

Patty was long gone in the rush of things, disappearing further into the house. After they were done, part of Stan was worried about her, but it was overcome by the parts of him that were overjoyed.

“Thank God for you,” Eddie said in a loss of breath as they were packing up.

“Yeah, suh-suh-seriously, S-Stan. Th-Thanks.” Bill leaned forward to touch his arm softly.

“Thank you guys,” Stan said. He looked at each of them and shrugged. “For letting me back in. I’ve been being a bit of a jerk.”

Richie scoffed, but they all knew to ignore it. Eddie said what he was thinking, “If you ditch us again, you won’t be back in.”

Stan nodded. “Understood.”

Mike smiled widely, breaking from taking apart Eddie’s drum set. “And you won’t want to miss playing the Halloween party.”

Stan’s mouth dropped open. “We’re in?” He asked.

“Well,” Eddie waved his drum sticks to him, Bill, and Richie. “We’re in. You’re on thin ice.”

“Believe it or not,” Richie finally found the words to say, “we fared well without you.”

“That’s a load of shit,” Beverly laughed.

“If faring well means Richie having an absolute breakdown every rehearsal and not learning his music, then yeah, we fared great without you,” Eddie snapped, returning to packing up.

Stan looked over to Richie and caught his eye. They weren’t expecting for things to be weird, obviously they wouldn’t go straight back to normal, but this strange feeling whenever they made eye contact and the will of their mouths to say everything and nothing was truly unknown between the two. There was so much to say, so much to do, and they knew in due time it would all boil over.

Richie dropped everyone off at their respective homes and saved Stanley for last. That’s how it always had been, He would drive out of his way to drop Stan off last for a little extra time together, and by now it was just routine. When Eddie got out of the van, the stop before Stan, he shot Richie a look, a look that seemed to say Good luck or Don’t fuck this up. And Richie was trying to work that into his head to make it come true.

He slowly turned on his blinker to signal the empty road and drove away from the Kaspbrak’s house, settling into the silence, but itching to say something. He just wasn’t yet sure what it would be.

“So,” he started with. It was easy, just a small word.

“So,” Stan echoed. He was looking down at his lap, curls covering his eyes.

“How’s uh,” Richie didn’t know where he was going with this. “How’s Donald?”

Stanley laughed, much to Richie’s relief. They looked over at each other for a moment, the world arriving at a delicate pause.

Stan laughed again, ducking his head back down. “He’s as good as he always is.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The road was dark, but the streetlights were bright. Stan could see the shapes of Richie’s face perfectly in the limelight, his mind able to fill the cracks of what he hadn’t memorized before. “I’m sorry,” he found himself whispering.

“Sorry for what?”

“Everything.”

Richie found it very hard to focus on the road. Sure, residential streets in Derry weren’t too busy at 1 am, but if there was anyone he didn’t want in the car with him when he hit a car or an animal or a person, it was Stanley Uris. He pulled over in the middle of two houses so he could turn and look at him and not coast through the conversation with half of a mind.

The shadows were dark, but Richie knew Stan well enough to imagine either what his face looked like, or that it wouldn’t have helped him much if he could see it.

When he was unsure of if Stan was going to continue talking, Richie reached forward and grabbed his hands, the ones cracked with bandaids to hide the bleeding and anxiously rubbing around each other. Richie opened the glovebox, catching it before it could hit Stan’s knobby knees, and pulled out the Eddie Kaspbrak approved car first aid kit.

It was when Richie started rubbing vaseline on his knuckles, that Stan started to talk.

“I’m really really sorry, Rich. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just-,”

“Hey,” Richie said softly but with a firm stance. He craned his neck around so he could see Stan’s eyes, albeit they were blurry with him peering over the tops of his glasses. Didn’t matter.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said. Stan huffed and turned his head to look out the window at nothing. “Stan,” Richie pleaded.

“You don’t get to do that,” he snapped.

“Do what?”

“Act like everything’s fine. It’s not.”

“I know it’s not. But that’s okay. I don’t care that things are fucked up, I just want to be here for you.”

Stanley slowly rolled his head over. “Well, thanks,” he said solemnly.

Richie curtly nodded. “You’re welcome.” He focused back at Stan’s hands.

“So,” he said once again, quieter and more cautious. “Are you going to break up with Patty?”

“Eventually.”

“Are you going to tell your dad?”

“Eventually.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “And how far away are these ‘eventuallys?’”

“I don’t know. Soon for Patty. When I die for my father. I don’t really know what I’d tell him.”

“That you’re gay?”

Stan laughed again. “Is that what I am?”

Richie almost froze, the laughter and the subsequent tone confusing him. “Is it not?”

Before he was able to dwell in the mood too long, Stan was leaning across the middle console and meeting Richie in the middle for a kiss. Their hands stayed still as they were all still covered in vaseline, but their fingers still wrapped around each other.

They agreed to take it slow and to not say anything to anyone until ties were cut with Patty. That didn’t mean that no one found out though, Eddie tried all day at school to get Richie alone so he could ask him about how everything was going, which never worked.

He couldn’t even pull him aside after school as Richie blabbed his mouth the the entire group and invited them all to the arcade after school even though it was supposed to just be him and Eddie wallowing hour (although Eddie was certain it was because he didn’t want to be apart from Stanley any longer than he had to).

For the first time ever, Richie was late coming outside and it was Bill and Eddie waiting with Bev and Ben because it was him that walked out of the school with Stan.

No one else thought anything of it, they were just happy they were finally talking to each other again. And Eddie was mentally fuming.

He tried not to watch when Stan and Richie stood shoulder to shoulder, leaned over each other to watch the games in the consoles, whispered into each others ears and laughed at their hushed voices.

He wasn’t mad, he just felt sad about it.

Beverly and Bill were as close as ever, if anything Bill was avoiding Eddie. Mike and Ben let Eddie take turns playing against them for partner games because it was StanandRichie and BillandBeverly.

They took a break to count up tickets and Eddie just shoved his onto the table and said, “I’m going to order some food,” before walking away.

He didn’t ask what everyone wanted, and he didn’t care. It was his allowance in his pocket and they would eat whatever he wanted because they were making this entire trip insufferable. But the world didn’t let him wallow on his own because there Beverly was running up beside him in line.

“You didn’t ask what everyone wanted,” she said.

Eddie didn’t even look at her. He kept his eyes fixed on the menu on the wall, even though he already knew that he wanted fries and that was it. “I know.”

“Well, Bill and I were going to share some nachos and a big coke, Richie and Stanley wanted fries and Mike and Ben wanted popcorn.”

“Good for them,” Eddie snapped, still focused on not focusing.

“They’re going to pay,” She said, showing their pooled money out in front of her.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes, “fine.”

Beverly paused at his tone. “What’s your deal?” She snapped, almost taking a step back from him.

Eddie sighed deeply. “You,” he said pointedly.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean,” he started to back track and finally looked at her. “Not like that I just…I don’t know. You and Bill are really close and I just don’t like it.”

Beverly curled her eyebrows into each other. “Okay?” She said.

“It’s not that I hate you, I mean you’re not my favorite person-.”

“Awesome.”

“-But it just makes me upset that you and Bill are so close. He’s my best friend, you know?”

“And you like him,” she said, without a second to slow down.

Eddie’s eyes grew to fill his entire face as he slowly raised a finger. “I-I didn’t, I…” he sputtered around before switch tones entirely and facing back towards to counter, arms crossed. “You don’t know everything Beverly Marsh.”

“I know,” she said with a grin, “I’m failing chemistry.”

“Haha, poor academics is hilarious, thank you for your contribution.”

“You are so hard to talk to,” Beverly muttered as Eddie stepped up to place his own order.

He cut it off for Beverly to order, just getting chicken fingers and a drink for himself and really wished they would deliver it to their table so that he wouldn’t have to stand with her again at the pick up counter. He sat at a nearby table with his comically large soda and nearly sulked like a child. Beverly found it fairly amusing—Richie and Bill, who were watching the whole thing from the corner of their eyes, found it quite concerning.

When Beverly sat across from him, Eddie snapped and said, “So what? I have a fucking crush on Bill. Oh well,” flailing his arms around. “He likes you so it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Well,” she said, leaning across the table. “It does matter because even if he does like me, I don’t like him back.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

She continued to say, “Look, it’s like how Stan ‘liked’ Patty because it was easy. It was the obvious choice. And she liked him back because it was easy. But the whole time Stan liked someone else.”

Eddie sat straight up in his seat. “Richie told you?” He gaped.

Bev smirked. “Told me what?” Eddie slumped back down.

“My point is that just because Bill thinks he’s in love with me or whatever doesn’t mean that you don’t have a chance. You do. Believe me.”

Eddie nodded. And he waited with her for everyone else’s food and didn’t even touch his own. They did each take one of Richie and Stan’s fries.