mixtape (reddie)

By richies_wang69

543K 13.7K 187K

This is Mixtape by @hauntcore on instagram or @tatelandgon on wattpad. I don't own or claim this story or any... More

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
November 14th, 1988
November 14th, 1988 (evening)
November 18th, 1988
November 21st, 1988
November 25th, 1988
November 26th, 1988
November 29th, 1988
November 29th, 1988 (evening)
November 30th, 1988
A/N
December 1st, 1988
December 3rd, 1988
December 6th, 1988
December 7th, 1988
December 7th, 1988 (evening)
December 11th, 1988
December 12th, 1988
December 20th, 1988
December 24th, 1988
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Mixtape Doc
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60.
a/n

Chapter 39

4.6K 130 1.9K
By richies_wang69

No matter how many times he reads, the words will never make sense.

They did at first, a long, long time ago when the feelings put on these pages were something that he could comprehend, something he understood, something he reciprocated.

But... things change. Years go by. Feelings fade.

Richie Tozier closes the worn out leather journal, his thumb tracing over the initials etched into the soft cover. The author of these confessions are the last thing on Richie's mind, especially when there's so much happening today.

"Richard!" Madame calls up the stairs, her voice as abrasive and anxiety-inducing as always. Her boom echoes throughout the house, the boys he shares a room with exchanging nervous glances with one another. "Come wait in the foyer, they're going to be here any minute now!"

Richie blinks a few more times, remembering exactly who is coming. He's excited, he'll admit. The stale air of the attic bedroom he's been stuffed in with four other boys doesn't exactly allow changes in facial expression, but those who have spent the past three years with Richie can read it in his stiff body language.

"You excited?" Tim asks, the first of the roommates to mention the big day.

Richie lifts his eyes, looking at the familiar thirteen year old through his cracked glasses. They've acquired more and more splinters in the lenses over the years, but Richie has learned to adapt. He's learned to adapt to everything, he didn't have any other choice.

"Sure," Richie shrugs, stuffing the journal into the front pocket of his backpack. There's a hole in the side, he's worried about water damage. All his belongings are inside this bag, if it were to be soaked, Rich would truly be left with nothing else.

"Come ooon, man. You're gettin' out of this hellhole!" Martin exclaims, coming over and slinging an arm around Richie's shoulders. He laughs loud enough to shake the loose floorboards of their cramped room, so Tim reaches over to give Martin the usual daily slap.

"Mhm," Richie hums, shrugging Martin's arm off of his body so that he can replace it with the bookbag.

"A family," Tim says dreamily.

Tim has been there the longest. Nobody really knows exactly when he arrived, nor does he. Richie's learned all their backstories over the course of three years, and Timmy's is objectively the saddest. Some time when he was little, he's not sure, his family had been the targets of a home invasion. His father was shot, his mother raped and killed, his siblings all slaughtered. Tim survived off of sheer dumb luck, the invaders not thinking to check the pantry for any stray children. He's been in Madame's home ever since.
l
Everyone else is pretty simple, though. Martin was a teenage pregnancy, and his mother didn't want to give up her social life by having a baby. James was taken from his parents after his mother suffered from a psychosis and simply couldn't take care of him or herself. In the far corner, the residential weirdo, is Twiggy. His real name is Daniel, but he's bone thin and freakishly long. Richie is thankful that his own growth spurts never caused him to get stuck with a nickname like that.

He looks at his brothers, the closest thing he's had to a family, but he doesn't... feel remorse. He doesn't feel anything. It's not his fault, any single one of them would be bouncing off the walls on their adoption day. The fact that Richie is so calm is suspicious on its own.

"Well, you better get going," James says from his bed. He's sat on it, watching Richie intently. "Can I have your spot at the dinner table? I want to sit next to Cindy."

Richie shrugs, looking down at the floor. "Go for it, kid."

A lot of things separated Richie from the rest of his roommates. For example, when they would all stay up and talk about the girls downstairs past lights out, discussing which one is the prettiest and who kissed who out in the garden, Richie would lie awake and tap the beats to his favorite songs against the wooden headboard attached to his bed. He was aware he was the social outcast of the attic room, and even the whole house. But... that's partially his fault. Richie never attempted to make friends, never bonded over childhood trauma the way they all seemed to. Some of the more empathetic girls tried to get him to let his walls down, but there were no successes. Richie guarded himself heavily. The only things he let others know were of his hometown and when his birthday is. Those were both mandatory facts that he had to share on his arrival day.

His arrival day. What a mess. Richie thinks of it with no fondness at all, the memory of him shaking and sobbing on the front porch as he greeted his new fate. Now... he's departing. He's finally getting out.

Richie looks up at the one ghost haunting this room, the singular person who hasn't interjected about anything happening around them. Daniel sits against the wall, staring out the window the way he does when new cars arrive. If there's a car here, then that means...

"Bye, Twigs," Richie speaks up.

Daniel looks up at Richie with the resentment in his eyes of a kid who is eternally jealous of anybody on their departure day. There's not much that Richie can do about that.

Richie looks around at all of them one last time, the room, and his bed. His little tiny prison. A purgatory where he has paid the price for his sins.

Fucking farewell.

Richie leaves without saying anything else, but that's always been in his nature. He's the quiet one, it's a miracle that he got adopted before anybody else.

Richie bounds down the stairwell, the planks creaking beneath his feet as he moves quickly. If he knows anything, he knows that Madame will not tolerate for him to be late to any event, even if it's his own funeral. The woman takes punctuality more seriously than the CIA does bomb threats.

He locks gaze with the homely blue eyes waiting for him in the foyer, and the last remaining three steps seem to fall out from underneath him as he comes clambering down the staircase. When blue meets brown, things begin to make sense again.

Bill Denbrough pushes his father aside to reach Richie, his arms wrapping around the lanky center of the brother he hasn't seen in years. He wasn't sure if Richie would remember him, but the way Tozier's shaking arms are slipping around Bill as well, says that he could never possibly forget.

"Oh my god, you are so tall," Bill mumbles, his chin just barely tucked over Richie's shoulder. "When did this happen? When'd you get so tall?"

Richie pulls away to look at the face he has only seen in his dreams for the past three years. His skin burns with each place that Bill touches, his heart trying to remember how it feels to touch another human. He feels warm in all the places that Bill's fingertips go, and right now, they're rubbing up and down Richie's arms in a comforting manner.

Bill has certainly grown up, he's not the same geeky boy that Richie only saw in his dreams. Now, his choppy red hair is less in his face, cleanly pushed back to maintain a healthy, neat look to him. The hair frames his face well, showcasing an extremely sharp jawline that was hidden beneath baby fat all those years ago. His mouth is the same, but the words coming from it are not. Stuttering Bill is no longer stuttering at all, and Richie thinks it's almost as surprising as how deep his own voice has gotten.

"Not that tall," Richie mumbles, his voice taking Bill by surprise. Richie looks around anxiously, almost scared of Madame coming to reprimand him for engaging in physical contact. His hand remains clenching Bill's sleeve, as if he's scared to let go.

"Do your parents, like, need to..." Richie trails off, mumbling under his breath. Bill leans in a little to hear him, confused as to where that trashmouth went. "Like, sign paperwork?"

"Dad already did most of that," Bill grins, his hand holding onto Richie's sleeve just the same. He feels overfilled with tremendous amounts of joy, his fingers trembling by his sides. His eyes dart all over Richie's face, his gaze consuming and engulfing all of the tall one's features. "All we have to do now is sign the release form, or whatever, and then you're an official Denbrough."

Richie nods, staring over at Zack and Sharon. The two watch the boys fondly, no longer seeming like the negligent parents they were the last time Richie encountered them. Him and Bill bonded over their lack of involvement from parental figures, and now, he's becoming part of their mending family.

Bill's eyes sparkle the way they did in old family photos. Richie isn't replacing Georgie, no, he's just... their family is growing. That's all.

"Anything in the world," Zack whispers to Sharon. "Kid could've had anything in the world for his birthday, and he brought us the adoption papers of a kid clear down in Pennsylvania."

"He gets that stubbornness from your side of the family," Sharon whispers back, watching the two boys interact nervously and hesitantly, but mostly excitedly.

"I think you mean intellect," Zack chuckles. "But still... you gotta admire his dedication. He didn't let this kid go. Shit, wish I had friends like that when I was in high school."

"You did," Sharon reminds her husband as the two turn back to the returning maiden. Madame Tusoe is an intimidating woman, she is the equivalent of talking to a cop while stoned in the backseat of your buddy's car.

Richie stiffens when he sees Madame coming down the hall, his hands dropping from Bill's side as his eyes cast downwards. Bill watches in confusion, focusing on the way that Richie begins to hold his breath.

"Come on, let's go wait in the car," Bill says, tugging on Richie's jacket sleeve. He looks down and notices that the way Rich's skinny wrists extend past the cuffs, even his pants look too small for him. Richie gives him a look of alarm, pure fear written on his face. What happened? This boy used to be so confident, so vulgar. Bill turns towards his parents, the two talking with the strict woman apprehensively. "That's cool, right dad? Can we go out to the car?"

"Keep it warm, big guy," Zack Denbrough tosses the keys to their Pontiac over his shoulder, Bill skillfully catching them midair.

"Come on, we got blankets in the back so that we can sleep on the ride home," Bill urges him eagerly, tugging and yanking on Richie's sleeve.

The tall one nervously glances backwards towards Madame Tusoe, who seems to be giving him one of her most foul stares. He looks back towards Bill, though, and he sees a bit of that childish gleam in his long term friend's eyes.

So, Bill pushes open the creaky front door, braving against the harsh January storm that the two are walking into. Richie doesn't mind the flurries, but he does mind the cold. And who it reminds him of.

Bill talks as they walk through the heavy snow, but all Richie can think about is who is going to have to shovel the driveway after dinner this evening. All of his chores were surrendered when he was told that a family from Maine was adopting him, so he's curious as to who got stuck with the task of laying down salt on the concrete leading up to the rusted mailbox.

Bill unlocks the back of the family car, holding it open for Richie to get in. The car's a horrible yellow, the bottom of it rusting out and frosted over from the nuclear winter they're experiencing. Richie gets in, Bill leaning forward between the two seats to stick the keys in the ignition and start the car.

"So," Bill says, sitting down. He begins to distribute the blankets, giving Richie the nice thick one. "I can't believe you're here. This is crazy. I've been waiting for this moment for so long, man. You're finally coming home!"

Richie stares at his shaking hands, the entire situation drowning him in anxiety. When Richie was told that the Denbrough's would be adopting him, he simply nodded. When he was told they were a family from Maine, his whole world trembled.

Richie didn't think that he would have to face Derry ever again. The whole town's got a curse on it, and Richie assumed that he narrowly dodged that bullet before it could incarcerate him. But... here he is, sitting next to a major facet of his past, and he is facing Derry head on.

Richie looks upwards towards Bill Denbrough, the kid who held his hand while the two jumped off a cliff into the nasty, muddy waters they'd swim in on Saturday afternoons. What was it called? Richie can't remember, his memories blocked out for most of his life. He remembers the good times, mostly. Or... he tries to, at least.

It's just Bill. Stuttering Bill.

"What the fuck happened to your stutter?" Richie asks, his voice tender and gentle but still sharp along the edges as he forces a smirk.

"Oh," Bill laughs, his eyes crinkling. He tries to get comfortable, turning against his seatbelt to look at the missing piece of his life. There's been a Richie shaped hole in Derry ever since they were 15, and Bill finally gets to bring that piece home. "I took speech therapy. She taught me French, and then speaking became a bit easier after that. Bienvenue domicile, Tozier."

"That works?" Richie asks. The car begins to warm up, and the boys' hot breath makes the windows fog easily. They're in a little cloud of their own worlds, and that's okay. Richie doesn't want to see the orphanage outside, he doesn't want to look at the broken windows and tattered panels ever again. He's spent way too long memorizing which floorboards he needs to avoid stepping on, some more talkative than others.

"Totally. I'm talkin' just fine, aren't I?" Bill laughs. Lighthearted and clean, lacking any of the pain and loss that it held when him and Rich would have their private conversations on the cusp of puberty.

Richie wishes he could say the same for himself.

"What..." Richie says slowly, picking at the threads coming undone from his jeans. The fabric is torn around the knees, but he doesn't mind. His fashion has gone from obnoxious disco ball to a more toned down, muted grunge. Richie has recently gotten into a band called Nirvana and he sort of likes the fact that all his clothes look so worn. "What... has happened... since I've been gone?"

Bill's smile falters for the first time since they've been reunited. He knows Richie would have asked this question eventually, he just never figured out what to tell him in the case that the boy did ask.

"Things are good," Bill says, but it's clearly forced. "Beverly's really excited to see you. You know how she is. That girl's insane, I tell ya. She's only gotten crazier over the years."

Richie smiles just fairly, a flicker of an ember glowing in his chest as he recalls the fires that Beverly Marsh once built in him. He nods, looking up at Bill encouragingly. Maybe Derry won't be so bad this time, maybe he can get through it with his old family and be okay. The family he made, not the one he was born with.

"They know I'm coming?" Richie asks delicately. His heart begins to quicken, the bassline of an uptempo rock song.

Bill looks away. There's something he's hiding, and Richie can sense it. Bill Denbrough is and always will be an older brother, it's in his nature to hide and protect their siblings from upsetting news.

"Bev does, yeah," he tries to avoid the question.

Richie feels tense again, the idea of everyone's surprised faces filling him with anguish. What if they don't want him back? What if they kick and spit in his face? What if they despise him?

Big, brown eyes flash through his mind.

What if they don't love him?

Neat cursive letters lining a page take the place of those Bambi stares.

What if they never did?

The Denbrough's adopting Richie was out of the blue. In fact, it was so out of the blue, that Richie hasn't really let it sink in that he is sitting beside one of his childhood best friend. He's thought about Derry here and there, the friends that he had, the hearts that he broke, but after the first year or so... it all sort of... faded away.

Now, like a bandaid being pulled back to reveal a wound that never truly healed, he is heading straight into the massive abyss that is the oblivion. He has no idea what is waiting for him back in Derry, or if he'll even make it back. He's afraid that if he talks too much, or breathes too loudly, or blinks too often, the Denbrough's will turn around and return Richie to where he came from. He can't do that. He can't drown in all the blue that surrounded his glum life.

Out of the blue, and into the black. Two separate parts of his life that he has kept apart so very boldly, now blurring together and fading at the same time. Yes, out of the blue and into the black is the only way to describe it.

Richie thinks about the void that is waiting to swallow him whole, how he is standing right at the edge of that thin line. Will he jump? Will he take the risk? Will he allow the abyss to swallow him whole?

Like when they were fifteen, Bill's soft hand slowly moves over to hover above Richie's. He's hesitant, unsure if the other male will be as comfortable with contact as he once was. But once Richie looks down and sees the hand above his, he slowly just turns it over until his palm is facing up. Bill takes this as all the permission that he needs, threading their fingers together to banish out any of the remaining cold haunting Richie's body. It's a warmth he can't remember, but still associates with the harsh impact of landing in a ravine. Bill's hand feels like swallowing lake water, spitting it out towards your best friends, and the warm rays giving his shoulders a terrible sunburn. Fifteen was... he can't remember. It's all surrounded by the black.

Richie's toes hang over the edge of the wormhole, looking down into the onyx nothingness.

"Hey, Bill," Richie speaks up. His palm fits against Bill's nicely, reminding Richie what it feels like to be cozily loved. "Happy Birthday, by the way."

And Richie jumps.

Continue Reading

You'll Also Like

927 29 22
π“π‡π€ππ€π“πŽππ‡πŽππˆπ€| βοΈŽπ–΄π—‡π—π—‚π—… 𝗐𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗆𝗒 π—…π—ˆπ—π–ΎβžοΈŽ πˆπ“ π‚π‘πšπ©π­πžπ« 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫π₯𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐑 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐨_...
93.2K 2.3K 60
β–‚β–‚β–‚ *:ο½₯゚✧*:ο½₯゚✧ IN WHICH richie comments on eddie's instagram post, and they become internet friends OR two celebrities start talk...
20 0 78
Mixtape fully reuploaded Had this in my private library for a while so here I take no ownership to this story
26.3K 213 14
On going Started 4-29-20 Ended *-**-** Smut is aloud Bev will not be in this I'll write anything you request:)