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Eddie was late.
Eddie was almost never late, at least not by the fifteen minutes he was already. Five? Hell, even ten? Sure, if he'd gotten held up at the nurse's office, but not creeping closer and closer to the twenty it was becoming.
Richie fidgeted with his handlebars, unwilling to voice his worries outwards, knowing it might scratch the devil-may-care reputation he had among his group of friends.
Luckily for him, Bill was a natural worrier and did the voicing for him.
"Eddie's s-su-sure taking a l-long time."
"He probably couldn't reach any of the door handles." The words were out of his lips before he even thought about them, and Richie wanted to "beep" himself and his big, stupid mouth. Sometimes (all the time if you asked anyone ), he just couldn't turn it off. Stan, who was standing beside him, rolled his eyes.
"First, not funny, Richie. Second, most of the doors are push bars, so how would that even work?"
Richie could tell that he'd already managed to make the other boy exasperated, and while usually, he'd find more joy in getting under Stan's skin so quickly, it was hard to find the glee in it when Eddie's absence was prickling them all.
A silence passed over The Losers Club, pressurized and suffocating until Richie heaved a theatrical sigh, throwing both his head back and his hands up.
"I'll go get him." He made a show of trudging up the stairs leading into the school even as he brought his hands in front of himself, twisting his fingers together in an approximation of the knots already worked up in his stomach. Once the doors opened and closed behind him, he straightened up automatically and took off in the direction of Eddie's locker.
Richie rounded the two corners that would take him there, ignoring the sideways glances some of the teachers still handing around shot him.
Nothing.
He stomped his foot, eyes wanting to bore a hole into Eddie's abandoned locker. If not there, Richie couldn't think where-
A noise, sharp and out of place in the mostly empty school, had Richie's head snapping up. It was laughter and a voice, muffled, coming from up ahead and getting fainter the longer Richie stood around, straining to hear it.
There was the sound of something scuffing against the ground, a sneaker squeaking, and then louder than before.
"Guys…. Come on…."
Richie's spine went rigid. Eddie .
Even from a distance, Richie would know that voice anywhere, just on the side of still too high for being close to fifteen. He sounded panicked, and something uncomfortable wiggled low in Richie's gut, urging his feet into movement again, forcing him into a jog so he wouldn't lose the general direction of the disturbance.
Since Bowers' gang had either been mostly picked off and was leaderless, the rest of the under-eighteen Neanderthals were constantly scrambling for the position of Derry's Ruling Junior Douche-canoe. Unfortunately for The Loser's club, that meant it was open season, and they were the rabbits.
A shriek and something thunking hard against metal had Richie racing to round the last of the corners. Whoever built the school like they had was a bully-enabling jackass.
"Fucking put me down!" Eddie's tone was more hysterical than threatening, and it made Richie clench his jaw as he skidded right before the bend into the new hall. He slowed to a creeping step as he peeked around the wall, and what he saw made his blood boil under his skin. His vision turned a fuzzy red around the edges, his nails dug into his palm, and Richie bared his teeth without doing it intentionally, wanting nothing more than to shout for them to put the smaller boy back on the ground where they were suspending him above the linoleum.
Eddie was a good six inches off the ground, held by two scrawny, rat-faced upper-class men; they had height and upper body strength but no real bulk between them. It looked like Eddie's back was digging painfully into the handles of the lockers by the grimace on his face. In front of him and between the two lackeys was who Richie presumed to be the leader.
He was a bigger problem.
Much bigger.
At least the size of both of the other boys combined.
He still loomed over Eddie even while he was being lifted into the air, getting in his face to the point where Eddie had to turn his head to get away, eyes screwed shut, an almost aborted whine crawling up his throat.
Richie squared his shoulders.
He'd faced off against a child-eating clown, covered in sewer water, and scared out of his fucking mind.
This. This would be easy.
At least, not as bad… maybe.
Richie really didn't like getting punched.
The leader of the trio took a step away from Eddie and pulled his arm back, and really, at that point, Richie didn't have a choice. He might not like being hit, but the thought of Eddie taking it was worse than any kind of physical pain.
In the middle of the bully bringing his fist down, Richie dashed out from his hiding spot and barreled right into him, thankfully taking him off guard enough to send him staggering back onto his ass. The goons were also caught by surprise, enough to drop Eddie ungraciously to the ground.
Richie noted with relief that his friend didn't stumble too hard and fall himself.
The bad news was that all three of the older boys were quick to recover and set their sights on a new victim. And while Eddie probably hadn't done anything to get them to single him out, Richie, on the other hand, had just given them enough ammo to really bring the hurt. He cast his frantic gaze to Eddie; at least he'd be able to make it out if he ran.
"Get the fuck out of here, Eds!" Richie yelled, his heart shooting up into his throat as the three bullies began to tighten their circle around him. Once they were done kicking his ass, they'd no doubt move on to their original target.
Thankfully, Eddie's sense of self-preservation seemed to win over his not wanting to let Richie take the beating meant for him. He took off running down the hall at a speed Richie knew would work his sort of fake asthma into a fit.
One of the two skinner punks turned to watch Eddie go, even moving so far as to take a step, thinking about giving him chase. Richie didn't like that. So, of course, he did what he does best. He opened his mouth.
"You know, you probably shouldn't rough me up too bad. Your mom doesn't like it when-" he's cut off by a sudden pain in his stomach, the air knocked out of his lungs, the force of the punch almost enough to send him to his knees.
He only had a few seconds to get ready to fight back when everything started blending into one big pile of pain.
Normally, Eddie didn't run very fast. One of the biggest reasons for that was because his brain was still convinced his body had asthma when he and everyone else, himself included, knew that wasn't the case. That said, Eddie wasn't thinking about the impending lack of breath that would strike because he'd just left his best friend in the clutches of three really nasty upperclassmen who were not fucking around.
Eddie, with no regard for germs or the potential of falling and breaking his arm again, threw open the front door of the school and flew down the steps to where the rest of The Losers were waiting, alternating between checking their watches and looking up at the sky.
Eddie's sudden and panicked appearance had them tensing, Mike even throwing his bike down in preparation.
"E-Eddie, wh-wh-what -" Bill tried getting out. The shorter boy didn't give him a chance to stutter to a finish.
“It’s Richie … he… fuck …” Eddie broke off, hands digging into his knees as he panted, nearly bent double to catch his breath. "He's about to get the shit kicked out of him." Message delivered, he spun around and sprinted back into the school. The sound of curses and sneakers slapping harshly on the pavement followed him.
Bill and Mike quickly overtook his much shorter legs, but they all managed to stay together in one large group, Eddie shouting directions all the way.
Richie knew he'd gotten in a couple of good shots from how one of the douches currently railing on him had staggered back, hands clutching his nose, blood slipping between the cracks of his fingers.
"Fuck! The little fucker got my nose." It would have sounded comical that his words were slurring together and lisped, but Richie's own face wasn't doing much better. He'd taken a hit to the eye and another to his mouth. He could taste hot copper on his tongue, and his vision was swimming. Whether it was from sweat, tears, or the blows that had knocked him back against the lockers hard, Richie really didn't know.
New sounds filtered into Richie's consciousness, different from his own pained grunts and the dull cracks of hands against his shoulders and torso. Through squinting eyes, Richie watched as the rest of The Losers Club tore around the corner, looking like he must have when it had been Eddie in the same position, back against the lockers, looking worse for wear. The sheer number of them, plus the fact that Mike, strong-shouldered and easily stronger than most kids their age, was leading the charge, thunderous rage evident in his expression.
And just like that, the fight was over.
The bullies cleared out quickly, only hesitating for a moment before it became clear that they were matched.
Ben and Mike followed after them, only until the end of the hall to ensure they wouldn't double back when all their attention was elsewhere, and Richie took the momentary reprieve to spit the blood from his mouth, groaning as his ribs throbbed in protest.
Eddie was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees to keep them level since Richie had slid down the lockers. His legs stretched out in front of him, arms limp in his lap, and breathing labored. Apparently, his little hypochondriac didn't fucking care, seeing as he shuffled up close to Richie, hands fluttering, unsure where to check first.
Richie's bottle cap glasses had been knocked off at some point during the brawl; they were now, as far as he could tell, tucked safely in Bev's hands, thankfully not cracked.
"Richie - Rich… Richie…" Eddie was out of breath, maybe on the edge of an attack, but something about him didn't seem too bothered. Richie could tell his mind was a complete mess, and knowing that Eddie had been about to be in this position? It turned Richie's stomach, made him think of a decrepit house that smelled like swamp and ass and death, about Eddie's arm snapping in two and a demon clown slowly approaching until Bev had skewered it right in its ugly face.
Richie gave a weak attempt at a laugh.
"You should see the other guys."
The joke clearly didn't land. Eddie, hands shaking, gripped Richie's chin in his fingers, moving his head to and fro to see the damage not stopping even when Richie whined in pain.
The rest of the Losers stood back, watching everything play out. Standing guard for their friends.
One of Richie's hands went to Eddie's hip, blindly searching for the other boy's fanny pack, swallowing what would have been a terrible-sounding cheer of success when he caught the zipper and heard the teeth pull free as he unzipped it. Eddie didn't even look down, too distracted trying to clear the trickle of blood from Richie's split lip with his thumb until Richie pulled out his inhaler and, with a trembling arm, lifted it up to Eddie's mouth.
He waited until the shorter boy's lips were cupped around the mouthpiece to press down on the small aerosol can, not dropping his arm until he was sure that Eddie had a proper lungful and wasn't shaking as severely. The inhaler dropped from his slack fingers after that, and in its place was Eddie's hand, fingers laced with his own.
There seemed to be an ease that fell around everyone in the moment following, and breathing was easier, inhaler notwithstanding. Because sure, Richie was beaten to hell and back, but ultimately, he was okay. And more importantly to him, so was Eddie.