Chapter Text
Richie Lipschitz lazily opened his eyes, his back on cold tiles. Slowly, he took in his surroundings - the locker room. The lights weren't on, even though they had sensors and turned on with movement.
So he sat up, still no light. It was probably broken, if not faulty from the moment it got put up.
What was he doing in the locker room in the first place? And why was he on the ground?
He initially thought that Max and his lackeys had probably locked him in while he was getting out of the Zeke costume.
He immediately dismissed that thought. He and the nerds (and Steph) had killed him - lured him into the haunted Waylon house, only for him to be impaled after falling 3 storeys - only two weeks before the Big Game against Clivedale (fuck those guys).
The Big Game! That's why he was in the locker room. And Richie really didn't want to miss it.
So he got up hastily, the lights finally turning on. And then off. Then back on again. They were stuck in a cycle, flickering between light and darkness.
He reached for the door, grabbing the handle to pull it open. Realising he forgot his mascot costume, he ran back to his locker.
He opened his locker, not seeing the costume. Or anything he left in there. It was just empty. Huh.
He began to look through all the other lockers - none had his things inside. Where were his things?
He sighed and turned to go for the door again, he could still watch the game, right? There was no Max Jägerman to tell him to fuck off, so he was allowed to just sit and enjoy the match.
He had turned about 45°, when he realised something was wrong.
Why was his hand grey? His veins looked a little too blue. He brought the hand he wasn't looking at up to his hair, which was way too wet. So he jerked his hand back, it was covered in blood.
Richie stared at hand for a while. Everything came back to him.
Max fucking Jägerman had killed him. You know, the jock he had helped (accidentally) kill and (purposefully) dismember. It was totally impossible - but it was definitely him.
Looking at the palm of both his hands, he thought about how much he probably resembled Max.
He tried looking at himself in a mirror, but he was met with the wall behind him. The only proof he was actually there was the slight distortion in the reflection.
He didn't know what to do. He was dead. He was fucking dead. He started to laugh, quite bitterly.
He slid back down onto the tiled floor and brought his knees to his chest.
Richie Lipschitz was dead. Yet here was, crying in Hatchetfield High's locker room.
—----
He had no idea how long he had been roaming the halls of the school for. He had tried to leave, it was the first thing he had done, because who wouldn't want to leave the place they were brutally murdered, but something was stopping him, dragging him back.
He was trapped here.
Admittedly, Richie was bored. Sure, he was dead. It shocked him at first, he had a few breakdowns over it. But he had gotten used to it, and he was so fucking bored.
He had nothing to do! Where were the students? The teachers? The cleaners?
He figured he had missed the end of the year, which would have meant that he missed homecoming. He would have missed watching Ruth do lights for 'Barbeque Monologues'. He would have missed graduation.
He hoped Pete and Ruth graduated and got the fuck out of Hatchetfield, it was their plan. All 3 of them wanted to go study the sciences elsewhere, together, of course. He hoped his death didn't stop that, didn't keep them in the town all 3 of them had planned to leave since they started high school.
He knew Pete wanted to get out of his brother's shadow. Not like it was a good shadow. Ted Spankoffski was hated throughout all of Hatchetfield, and so everyone assumed Peter Spankoffski had the same douchebag levels as his brother. Pete grew used to it, but Richie wished people saw him for who he actually was, not stereotype him because of a relative.
He hoped Pete had the courage to actually ask Stephanie Lauter to homecoming. Could you imagine that? One of the most popular girls in all of the school, going to a school dance with the nerdiest of nerds. He snickered at the thought.
Ruth had always wanted to be an actress, to be on stage, instead of working the lights, she had said it when she was delirious from sleep deprivation at one of their many sleepovers. He had overheard her sing once, and, from what he heard, she had a pretty good voice. The only thing stopping her from achieving her dream was her anxiety. Richie wished he could rip her anxiety away from her.
He didn't know Grace that well, but he hoped she was doing okay too. And he hoped she was in therapy, there was something messed up about the heavily religious girl's mind.
He absent-mindedly walked into the bathroom where Grace had proposed the plan that would doom him. He ran the memories through his head, for what felt like the millionth time. He had nothing better to do.
He remembered what happened in the toilets he was currently standing in. He remembered Grace saying they would "destroy" Max Jägerman. He remembered walking to the old Waylon house. He remembered Grace telling them her stupid plan to prank him, how Richie was the first one to encourage her.
And suddenly he felt stupid.
He had doomed himself. Richie's death was Richie's fault.
He hastily left the bathroom.
—----
Richie wandered the corridor next to the way too big theatre, humming some song he heard on the radio in the teacher's lounge.
He found out he could interact with objects, he wasn't just a stereotypical ghost who could walk through walls - he had tried, he slammed into the wall, it had hurt. He could pick up things, interact with electronics. When he found out he could still work a computer, he immediately went onto one of the websites he watches animé on. He spent a good couple of days just sat there, catching up on all the episodes he missed, he didn't have to eat or drink, or even sleep anymore.
He figured he needed a break, so he forced himself to stand up and go for a walk. Not like he needed to, he just didn't want the school's electricity bill to go through the roof (if it hasn't already).
He was on his way to the cafeteria, and then he would walk back and continue the show he was watching. But he stopped dead (hah) in his tracks in front of the theatre doors.
He heard crying.
There was somebody else in the school with him!
He forced the doors open, and walked towards the crying. He hadn't been in the theatre since he died. The last time he was here was when he and Pete sat with Ruth while she was figuring out the light cues for Barbeque Monologues.
He saw some very familiar curls.
"Ruth?"
She raised her head, her curls bouncing, and her eyes darted all around the stage she was sat on.
"Who's there?" She had her slight lisp that came with her braces, but her voice shook with fright.
Richie cautiously approached his best friend, "Ruth, it's me," he raised his hands, wincing at the fact he looked like he was trying to calm a wild animal, "you're okay."
Her eyes finally stopped on him, and they widened, "Richie?" She all but breathed out, he almost didn't hear her.
"Hey," he gave her a slight smile and a small wave.
Before he knew it Ruth had shot up and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her head into his chest and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. She mumbled a few "oh my god"s and said his name a few times, as if she didn't realise he was actually there.
He doesn't know how long they were like that. But the moment was ruined when she sobbed, "Max, he.." she paused for a minute, "he killed us, didn't he?"
Ah. Ruth was dead as well. But she didn't deserve it, right? It was Richie's fault, not Ruth's.
Does that mean Max is still out there? Making good on his promise to kill all nerds? Did he get Pete?
He just pulled her closer, she got the point. Ruth sobbed harder.
"I'm sorry, Ruth."
And he was. He was sorry she was stuck here with him, possibly forever. He was sorry she had to die.
Richie was sorry that he was glad he wasn't alone.