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Paul was starting to feel sick.
Halftime was almost over, and Richie hadn't come out yet. He wasn't answering his calls or texts. He was radio silent. Paul could see the cheerleaders on the field, looking around anxiously, a little embarrassed. They couldn't do their routine without Richie.
what if he's freaking out
Paul stood up, stumbling down the steps and onto the field. He needed to talk to Richie’s coach.
“Tom? Have you seen Richie at all?” He grabbed Tom’s shoulder, forcing out a deep breath. Tom looked up, and it took him a moment to register who he was looking at. Paul tried to mask his panic when Tom shook his head. He swallowed thickly, trying to compose himself.
“No, I haven't, actually.”
“Have you checked the locker room?”
“We could.” Tom pulled out his keys, motioning for Paul to follow him. Paul followed behind, trying his best to ignore the dread winding in his gut. He felt sick. Richie would never ignore him without a valid reason. He knew how much Paul worried. He knew Paul feared for his safety constantly. Especially after Max Jagerman's disappearance. Hatchetfield wasn’t safe.
what if he's upset
They made it to the locker room, and Tom stuck his key in the lock. Or he tried to. Paul watched his brows furrow as he repeatedly tried to jam the key into the lock. It was completely warped. Like someone had messed with it. Like someone wanted to lock Richie in there.
“Richie?” Paul pressed his cheek against the door, trying to listen for any noise. He couldn't hear anything.
what if he needs me and i'm not there
Paul started bashing on the door. He didn't realise he was doing it until Tom pulled his arm away. He told him that he was going to find something to break the door down with, which left Paul alone to stew in his panic. He felt sicker with every breath he took. Richie was in there and he wasn't responding.
what if he's hurting
“Buddy? You in there?” Paul softened his voice, but he couldn't hide the way it shook as he spoke. He heard the whistle blow outside. Halftime was over. “Richie?”
what if he needs me
Tom returned with a crowbar a few minutes later and Paul stepped back to let him hack at the door. He made a hole in the door and stuck his hand through to twist the lock. He stepped back to let Paul walk in first. He must've had the same bad feeling Paul had.
it'll be okay it'll be okay it'll be okay it'll be okay just open the door and you'll see that everything is
okay
Paul opened the door. He wished he didn't. It felt like his world had come to an end the second he did. Richie was in the locker room, they were right about that.
oh god that's my kid that's my kid
he's hurting
my kid is hurting
Richie was curled up on the floor, his pale face littered with purple and blue bruises. He looked so small, curled up in a little ball with his knees pulled up to his chest. Like a kid.
He was just a kid.
His hands were shielding his head, and they were crimson red. His usually bright, blue eyes were grey and stormy. His favourite shirt was completely soaked with blood. Paul couldn't tell where it was coming from. It was pooling, dyeing the concrete around him a dark maroon. He wasn’t moving.
my kid
Paul was on his knees beside Richie before he'd even fully registered what he was looking at. Tom was yelling something. Paul couldn't hear it.
richie he's hurt he's in pain
Paul lifted up Richie’s head. It lolled backwards. The rapid rise and fall of his chest was the only indicator that he was still alive. There was too much blood. Paul had never seen this much before.
he needed me
“Richie?” Paul whispered softly, pulling Richie close to him. His body was completely limp. Richie’s eyes fluttered open, and recognition flooded his gaze for just a moment. He looked completely out of it. “I'm here, bud. I'm with you.”
Richie opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t seem to get any words out. He coughed wetly, blood leaking out of his mouth. That was bad.
Paul wanted to scream, to shake him violently and bawl his eyes out until everything was okay. Someone needed to fix this.
who did this
who hurt him
who hurt him
somebody help him
But Richie needed him now. He was bleeding out in Paul’s arms, barely awake. A tear rolled down his blood-soaked cheek and for a moment, Paul was fucking livid.
Richie’s whole damn life had been so upsetting. He had been uprooted, disowned, bullied, hurt. Paul had fought tooth and nail to give Richie a happy life and it meant nothing. All of the extra shifts, the crying in secret, the parenting classes, the court cases. Paul had given everything he had to this kid, because his life had always been so fucking hard . Paul had only ever wanted to make it better. He wanted Richie to prove his parents wrong, for him to flourish.
He deserved a peaceful death, he shouldn’t have been crying. He should’ve been comfortable. It was the least he fucking deserved.
Richie deserved to live.
richie if you stay with me i'll make you all the stupid fucking coffees you want
i'll make caramel frappes forever i'll do it all
don't do this to me
Richie’s eyes were fixed to Paul's, and he looked so, so frightened. He was confused, tired. He was fading away and all Paul could do was watch. There was too much blood, and they both knew it.
please don't do this to me
“You're okay.”
Richie was entitled to one fucking peaceful moment. So Paul held back the tears, and the wailing, and the pleading. He hugged Richie close to him, brushing the stray hairs off his face and soothing him as best he could.
it's not fair
he’s such a good kid
“You did so good, bud.” Paul watched Richie’s eyes start to flicker. He watched the colour drain from his once warm cheeks. Because that's all he could do.
He could only watch. Spend the rest of his life wondering what might have happened if he'd found him sooner.
i love you
Richie lifted his arm up slowly, like it was taking everything he had to do it. He placed it on top of Paul's, squeezing his wrist. Telling him he was going to be okay.
He was about to die and he still wasn't thinking about himself.
Paul was going to be sick.
not now
Paul squeezed Richie’s hand back, inanely noting how cold it was.
“You’re a trooper. You’ve always been a fucking trooper.” Paul blinked away the tears, and Richie tried to speak again. He broke into weak coughs, and Paul hushed him gently. He wiped the blood from his mouth, rocking him gently.
he’s just a kid
Richie’s head fell back, and Paul knew he’d lost him.
He hugged him close, and screamed until he couldn’t anymore.