Mixtape

36

36

"W-W-We can uh-uh-uhdopt you," Bill suggests.
Richie shrugs, his body weak and exhausted from the day's events. His arms are crossed tightly over the front of himself, as if hes guarding his heart from being prodded at by yet another person. "It doesn't matter. It's not- It's not- I don't think you can, Bill."
"We can t-t-try," Bill says persistently.
Richie shakes his head, staring down at his leg bouncing up and down on the couch with impatience. The fabric of his jeans is ripped at the knee, threads criss crossing all across his skin in a disorganized manner. Richie reaches down and slowly starts picking at the fabric, only for his hand to be slapped away by Beverly.
"Stop fidgeting," she comments, motherly as always.
"Then give me a fucking cigarette," Richie replies with a distant tone.
They sit in Bill's basement, the only place that Richie can really go without having to explain anything to overbearing parents. Mike suggested they go to Stan's, but Richie quickly shot the idea down. Stan Uris is a boy who worries about everything to the point of giving himself stomach ulcers, Richie's afraid that the Jew just might damn near have a stroke if he were to hear about the current situation.
The basement door opens, followed by a clatter of footsteps descending the long hallway. Well, a pair of footsteps, and then a kickdrum setting off in time with the beat of Richie's heart. One sounds like a pair of shoes, a regular old pair of shoes, while the other sounds like a ballerina symphony calling his name.
Richie looks up to greet the two new guests, Mike and Eddie finally making their way to the Denbrough household after stopping at the convenience store to get snacks for everyone. Richie denied this, claiming he wasn't feeling hungry, but Eddie gave him that kind of look that can get him to do just about anything. So Richie nodded, told him he'd pay Eddie back, then kissed the boy on the forehead as he mounted himself in the basket of Mike's bicycle. Nobody has spoken a word of the blatant affection that the two boys are sharing, there's a much bigger issue than whether or not two of the losers are gay together.
Even now, when Eddie chooses to ignore the empty seat that Bill left open next to Richie, and the tiny one instead opts for bringing himself up onto Richie's lap, tucking his feet between Richie's thighs to warm them up from the cold outside, nobody says anything. Richie takes notice of the ducks decorating Eddie's socks, and he smiles a little at the sheer absurdity of it. Still, even then, he fastens his arms around Eddie's torso and rests his chin upon the heavenly shoulder. Mike passes out snacks, making small talk with Beverly about the road block set up on fourth street to avoid car crashes that could occur while descending the hill.
None of it seems important. Stupid Derry and its stupid fucking hills, stupid fucking road blocks, stupid fucking downtown traffic. It's all meaningless, none of it matters. We're all going to die eventually. Why don't I just... die now? I could die now and it wouldn't change a thing. Not a damn th-
Richie's train of thought is cut short by the feeling of warm lips being pressed to his temple. His eyes flutter upwards, and he is brought back to reality by the sight of Eddie, the tiny one holding up a bag of chips.
"Here, eat," Eddie says encouragingly, holding his own snack on his lap.
Richie looks at the bag of food for a moment, his eyes glancing over the nutritional facts label and counting the calories per serving, but then his gaze returns to the resting place they have decided to call home; locked with Eddie's own hazel sweet eyes.
So, without thinking it over much further, Richie takes the bag of chips and leans back so that he can eat them without hovering over Eddie. He thinks that this boy really can get him to do just about anything, it's a little alarming just how much of himself he gives up and surrenders in the name of Kaspbrak.
"This is so fucked," Beverly says, bringing the mood in the air back down to a dead standstill.
Richie's whole body stiffens, his instant reaction going towards the idea of her disapproving of Eddie sitting on his lap, but then he slowly calms down when he remembers the task at hand. Oh. Right. Abandonment. Child neglect. Court hearings. Foster home.
"I don't see why we can't just..." Mike begins to say, but then he trails off once he realizes that there's nothing they can do. Mike itches with the need to create a game plan, to invent something that will save Richie from being packed up in foster care. But... there's nothing.
Eddie rests his head down on Richie's shoulder, curling his legs up so that he can fit in Richie's embrace. The one holding Eddie merely wraps his arms around the cluster of a boy and connects his hands. For a moment, there's a sense of... completion. As if the two finally feel whole. Only when they are touching in such a manner do they feel this way, and it weighs heavy on their chest that they will never be able to touch again come next month.
"It'll be fine," Richie finally says after awhile. "It'll be fine. Wendy said I'll just go into foster care. I'll still go to school with you guys, I'm not leaving Derry."
Eddie holds on a little tighter, but it's obvious that his muscles have relaxed tremendously. The news still weighs heavily in the air, but there is a silver lining of hope along the edges of the dark storm cloud lingering overhead.
"Should we... tell the others?" Mike asks. He's looking at Bill, but the words are clearly meant for Richie. Whether or not Richie feels comfortable sharing this awful tragedy resides entirely within him, so now Mike is just asking if he has permission to call Stan like he so desperately wants.
"I mean, I guess," Richie shrugs. "They've got a right to know."
Bill nods at Mike, giving the darker boy all the permission that he needs. He asks Beverly to come with because he doesn't have Ben's number memorized, and the redheaded girl is reluctant to leave Richie's side. I think that's how all of them feel at that moment, however. They're all afraid to let Richie out of their sight, or they might lose him forever.
Richie thinks he wouldn't mind getting lost right about now.
He's spent years terrified of oblivion, he practically ran from the void with all the strength that he's got. Richie is terrified of being forgotten, terrified of going missing, terrified of being irrelevant. His biggest fear is that of a missing child poster, but right now... he's come to accept that maybe the world is better off if his face just isn't on it. Richie craves to not exist, to be nobody, to mean nothing. He's starting to slow down, his limbs heavy with fatigue. He thinks it's time he lets the void catch up with him. Richie is inviting oblivion to swallow him whole.
"Why didn't you call them to begin with?" Richie whispers softly, his mouth muffled by the collar of Eddie's sweater. His tone isn't accusatory, merely curious.
"I called the ones I thought could help," Eddie explains himself and his choices to pick the three losers currently sitting in Bill's living room. "Bill, because he would know what to do. Bev, because she's your best friend. And Mike, because he knows how to make people feel better."
Richie smiles a little, letting out the ghost of a chuckle from his haunting lips. Then, as quietly as his first sentence, he asks "You're wrong."
"What?" Eddie lifts his head in surprise. "Should I have not called Mike? I just- he always cheers me up, I just thought-"
"No," Richie shakes his head. "That's correct. You were right about that one. I just mean you were wrong about Beverly. She isn't my best friend, you are."
Eddie catches his bottom lip between his teeth and he sucks in a breath of surprise. The sheer shock of it all is what takes him by surprise, but that astonishment is quickly replaced by flattery. Eddie melts further into Richie's arms, nuzzling his face against the boy's chest while letting his hands wander up Richie's neck to play with the delicate woven silk curls laying along Richie's fair skin.
"T-T-Told you he luh-liked you t-too, Eh-Eddie," Bill interjects from where he's sitting in a chair adjacent to the couch.
Without missing a beat, Eddie responds with a huff and the sharp words "Shut up, Bill."
Richie smiles, knowing that Eddie's cheeks are warm and glowing red from embarrassment. He can practically envision the way that the freckles twinkle like ghosts in the snow without having to even look down at the one in his arms.
"This just in," Richie announces, but he does not use the booming energy that his auctioneer Voice usually has. He says the words gently, albeit goofily, but still with care and precision. "Richie Tozier is completely head over heels, and he's not afraid to admit it."
Eddie lifts his head up, but before he can say anything, Bill's basement door slams open with a burst of fury that only one person is capable of producing.
The three in the room jump in surprise, then relax only the slightest when they see none other than Stan Uris coming down the stairs. Mike emerges behind, confused by all of the commotion, his confusion deepening when he sees Stan approach Richie with a look so evil that Mike wonders if he is about to witness a murder.
"You fucking- You dumbass! You absolute dipshit!" Stan shouts, his face red and furious. "How much of a moron do you have to be to let things get this bad? Are you fucking braindead? What is your problem! You're fucking- You- Richie! You're so unbelievably stupid! You seriously would not be able to dump a bucket of water if the instructions were taped to the bottom of it. How could you be so dense?"
Eddie straightens up, sliding off of Richie's lap but keeping a protective arm around Richie's shoulders. He narrows his royal bourbon eyes at Stan and defensively says "Watch it, Stanley. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"
"I'm talking to a fucking idiot," Stan does not cower under the wrath of Eddie Kaspbrak. As if to make his point abundantly clear, Stan reaches forward to smack Richie upside the head, the boy's dark hair falling down in front of his eyes carelessly. "Are you seriously braindead? Is there even a brain up there? Am I just talking to an empty shell?"
Richie looks up at Stan finally, his eyes steady and full of acceptance. He doesn't even have to ask what it is that he's done, he just knows that whatever it is, he deserves to be slapped around. Stan could only tolerate Richie for so long, and apparently he's reached his breaking point. Richie doesn't blame him. Not at all-
"Why would you not come to us sooner?" Stan finally asks, his voice now trembling as he struggles to keep up this strong facade. Richie's eyes snap up in confusion, his entire chest constricting when he sees the pained expression twisting upon Stan's face. His smart, assertive eyes now fill to the brim with tears, while his lip trembles and quivers. The very same lip that Richie once kissed before. Beautiful Stan, breaking before his very eyes. As if to twist the knife sticking out of Richie's chest, the Jewish boy then whispers out one last question "Why didn't you let me help you?"
Richie stands up off the couch then, his hands coming up to touch Stan's shaking shoulders. Upon the contact, Stan's frame wobbles as it becomes increasingly hard to support himself, so Richie steps forward and holds the boy up in his arms. Richie hugs him tightly, stroking the back of Stan's curls as gently as he can, Richie's eyes looking at Bill sitting quietly to the side.
The two hold a silent conversation through shared looks. Richie asks Bill to do something, to fix this, and Bill merely replies and says there's nothing he can do. This is a pain that they all just have to sit and feel.
After a few moments, Stan finally pushes away from Richie and asks if he can talk to Eddie outside, so the two travel out to the blistering cold to have a secret conversation that sets Richie on edge. It's not that he doesn't trust either of them, he just... he fears what they would have to say. Richie believed every single insult of hurt that Stan had to say, and he doesn't exactly want Stan convincing Eddie that those braindead statements were all factual.
Mike sighs once the drama is over, returning to the kitchen to see what's taking Beverly so long. Richie remains standing, his arms dangling hopelessly by his sides, a silence filling the air between Bill and Richie.
"It's guh-guh-gonna be okay, R-rr-Richie," Bill says quietly. He's trying his best to ease the pain of this whole situation, but if he's honest, he is absolutely terrified.
Richie is quiet for a moment, watching the basement door to wait for Stan and Eddie to come back in. Richie wonders how everything got so absolutely fucked in just a couple hours, his body yearning to be back in his bedroom and discussing plans to have a sneaky escapade to San Francisco with Eddie. He wonders if it's too late for the two of them to run away.
"What if it's not?" Richie finally asks, his voice small and lacking any of its usual humor.
Bill thinks for a moment, his big crystallized eyes conflicted with all the different emotions bubbling up inside him. He shrugs, shaking his head imperatively.
"I'll m-make it ok-k-kay," Bill says, then says the next line with such certainty that it only shows he's finally found the right words to ease at least one member of the losers' club today. "I'm n-n-not losing a ssss-second bruh-brother."
Richie feels the weight of the universe collapse within his chest, the never ending expanse of a galaxy, and a supernova burst of energy and matter all coexist inside him. He smiles, big and wide, showing off all the teeth that once had braces lining them, and he just can't help but feel some security in this freefalling state of mind he's been pushed into.