Victor drags a bloody, sobbing Jaime out of their childhood home. Bowers laid unconscious on the floor, but due to the hefty dent in his cranium thanks to the brick Victor smashed against his head, it's safe to say he won't be getting up anytime soon. Or at all. Jaime would love to tie him up and toss him into the ocean, but right now she can't even form a coherent thought, let alone do anything about him. So Victor takes her outside, his arm around her waist and soothing words fighting past his lips.
In Victor's rental car, Jaime sits in the passenger seat, sobbing. Victor retrieves a packet of Kleenex tissues from the glove compartment and gently hands them to her. She presses the lotion-laced tissues to her eyes and nose, sopping up all the moisture. When she finally returns to reality, Victor's incessant speech finally digests.
Instead of asking why she's here, what she's doing, how could she be so dumb, he's just rubbing circles on her shoulder and asking if she's okay. She doesn't recoil when he puts pressure on the cut in her neck.
"W-why aren't y-you mad?" She hiccups out, her voice getting caught on the lump in her throat.
Victor laughs lightly at this, the rumble of his body causing him to loosen his press on her neck. "Believe me, I was. I was really pissed. I was going to come to Derry and kick your ass." He clears his throat. "Until I got here. And the memories... you told me, back in '89, that something super fucked was happening here. I believed you then... and I believe you now. I know you came for a reason."
Jaime sniffs, holding a tissue to her running nose. "Did Parker t-tell you?"
He scowls at the mention of his sister's sleazy husband. "Him and Priya. But I knew it was serious if he was worried enough to contact me." He draws his hand away from her neck, noting the fact that her cut had ceased its bleeding. He crumples up the bloody tissue and stuffs it in the armrest compartment, choosing to deal with it later.
"I'm sorry," Jaime croaks as she squeezes the shirt still in her hand, "I'm s-so sorry."
Victor presses his lips into a thin line and nods. "I know, kiddo. I just..."
Their eyes, the same shade of hazel, lock. Silently, Jaime notes the hurt in her brother's eyes, the previous fear that dissipated into anger. He dropped everything to come get her, to come ensure she was safe. A phone call to him would not be enough. Victor had to be in his sister's presence to know she wasn't in immediate danger. It had been that way for twenty-seven years.
"I should've told you." She states, though they had already just had an entire conversation with nothing but their eyes.
He forces a small smile and ruffles her disheveled hair. "I wish you had, but I arrived at a good time, eh? Not the first time I kicked Bowers' ass, hopefully it'll be the last."
"Please," she snorts through her tears, "you'd live for kicking his ass daily."
"If that was my job, maybe I wouldn't complain about my occupation so much." Victor smiles weakly. "So, anyway, is that why you're here? Because It came back?"
Jaime nods. "I can't explain it all, Vic, it's such a long story. Mike told all of us to meet him at the library tonight. Will you come?"
"I'm not leaving Derry until you do." He proclaims, his gaze hardening. "Then can I have a little bit more info than the brief explanation I got that summer? That was the first and last time you said more than five words about It."
She nods vigorously. "Yes, Vic, I promise we'll explain everything tonight. In just a few hours. I've gotta get back to the townhouse, though, if any of the others are there I have to warn them about Bowers."
"Okay," Victor nods, "but what do we do about him right now?"
"Call the police?" Jaime suggests. "Fuck, Vic, I didn't even know he was alive."
He sighs and runs a hand over his face, staring out the car window. The front yard is overgrown of course, but Jaime still can envision Victor straddling Henry on the grass, his fist repeatedly coming in contact with his face. He had been only a couple weeks from sixteen at that rate, and he had yet to start working out religiously, but he delivered a hell of a punch. Bowers had been a pulp when he staggered off, spitting bloody teeth and gushing blood from multiple wounds. Jaime knows that Victor felt guilty about it for awhile. He had tried to hide it; he wouldn't want his little sister knowing he actually felt remorse for kicking the shit out of her perpetrator. Sometimes, she'd be in his bedroom, searching for something he insisted he didn't steal but she knows he did (usually the last smores flavored Poptart), and she'd see a Polaroid photo. One in particular had been of Henry bearing his knife in one hand, while his free arm was around Victor's shoulders. They had been young, no older than thirteen, and the smiles on their faces were genuine. Other times, Jaime would peer into Victor's bedroom while he'd be sprawled on his bed, eyes closed. His Walkman would be spinning a tape labeled 'Bowers Mix'. Through the headphones over his ears, Jaime could hear the riffs of Black Sabbath and Whitesnake songs. She always fled before he noticed her presence.
Jaime supposes, at a point, Victor had loved Bowers the way she had loved Stan. It wasn't a soft love like she had, it was rougher around the edges. Dirty, like an animal that only comes out after the sun sets. Destructive, even. But when it all boiled down, she knew that, just like she had with Stan, Victor would've killed a monstrous clown for Henry. It was hard to wrap her head around. It hadn't even sunken in until she was fifteen, nearly two years after the horrible events of that summer. She had vocalized the thought to Richie, but he told her that although Victor might've felt that way, Bowers couldn't have reciprocated. He was much too psychotic. She didn't doubt that, but she still wondered.
"I'm going to go back in." Victor announces suddenly, reaching for the door handle.
"What?!" Jaime exclaims, bloodshot eyes widening. "Vic, what are you even going to do?" She knew he could take on Bowers if he needed to, Bowers was all pudge and Victor was all muscle. That thought barely comforted her. He hadn't seen the look in Bowers eyes.
"What do you think I'm going to do? I'm gonna kick his ass! He's unconscious right now, I can--"
"What? Kill him?" Jaime shakes her head. "Both of our fingerprints are all over this place now. We're parked in the driveway in broad daylight. We'll both be prosecuted!"
"It was self-defense, and we have proof of that." He gestures to the forming scab on her neck. "Jaime, he'll just come back! We have to do something--"
"Vic, please. Just let me warn the others! He was already bloody, he obviously has done something already, I need to make sure they're okay first. Then we can all discuss what we should do."
"So you're telling me we should just leave him here?" He raises his brows at her.
"He'll be unconscious for the next decade!"
Victor studies her a moment longer, his gaze flickering between her pleading face and the wound on her pale neck. Jaime can tell by his sorrowful expression, he's going to march right back into the former Criss household and finish Bowers for good. And maybe, just maybe, that's what he needs to do. The chapter of his life that needs an ending. Jaime won't look at him differently if he kills Bowers; she knows he doesn't want to. He would rather walk on molten-hot nails than murder his former best friend.
Alas, Victor wordlessly pulls on the door handle and exits the vehicle. Jaime holds her tongue, but her eyes brim with tears yet again.
"Keep the doors locked. I will be right back, I promise you." He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and tosses the car keys at her. "You might need these."
"Vic, please," she cries, "please be careful. I'm not losing you, too."
His brows briefly furrow at her words, but he nods regardless. "You're not losing me." But she was losing a part of her older brother, a part of him that he had locked away in a prison in his head, a part with glowing red eyes and long claws.
He slams the door shut. Jaime hits the lock button on the key fob instantly. She watches Victor round the house to the backdoor again, where he disappears into the crumbling house. She chews her bottom lip raw, mind racing with possibilities that could occur so close to her, yet unseen due to the walls of the house. She wants to roll down the windows so she can hear if Victor needs help, but his words of keeping the doors locked ring in her head. That was also code for, do not fucking leave the vehicle.
She doesn't worry long. Not even two minutes later, Victor exits the house, a deep frown exaggerating his already present wrinkles. He approaches the car, Jaime unlocks it, and he slides in.
"Gone. He was fucking gone." His voice is laced with anger and pain.
"Fuck." Jaime slumps back in her seat. On one hand, she was glad her brother was okay, but on another hand, Bowers was back out in the world. "Take me to the townhouse. I have to tell the others."
-
Jaime swore up and down she would be fine for the next few hours. Victor didn't want to go back to his hotel, but she knew his coping method. He needed an hour alone to ponder on what had just occurred, what had almost occurred. If he didn't have at least a little solitude to process everything, he'd be snappy, angry. She warned him to keep an eye out for It and It's creations, knowing that he could very well be a target now. He only shrugged and said, "After Bowers, I doubt It can get much fear outta me."
He drove off then, after the two promised they'd send periodic texts to the other. Jaime walked into the townhouse, keeping her head down. Dried blood caked her neck and stained the neck of her shirt. If the adults were anything like they used to be in this town, though, they wouldn't give a shit. She almost smiles at her thoughts. 'The adults.' As if she was thirteen, not almost forty.
Her head hangs down as she walks through the lobby and into the living room area. She pauses while making a beeline towards the stairs, the sound of glass hitting wood echoing through the room.
"What the fuck happened to you?!" Richie asks, rushing over to her and placing his hand on her chin. Gently, he tilts her head upwards, eyebrows raising when he sees her neck. "Shit, Jay, what the fuck?"
"Bowers is back." She says, chuckling dryly. She winces when he presses his index finger to her cut. "Oh, my brother's here too."
"Wonder where Patrick and Belch are," Richie jokes upon seeing she's not in major pain, "probably killing family dogs and then jerking each other off."
"Don't associate my brother with those wastes of oxygen. Look, I'll tell you what happened, but can I go wash this off really quick? More importantly, is Eddie here to tend to this?"
Richie shakes his head. "Haven't seen any of them since this morning. I just got here." He looks down at her hands. "What's that?"
Jaime holds up the vintage Van Halen shirt. "My artifact, I guess." She hadn't even realized she picked it up while Victor was trying to get her out of the house. "I'll be right back."
On autopilot, she recedes to her room and tosses her childhood shirt onto the bed. She uses a damp washcloth in the bathroom to scrub her neck and gently cleanse her wound. Then, she puts a bandaid over it and rummages through her travel bag for a new shirt. She opts for a black band shirt, knowing it would likely get ruined if today continued following the pattern it was.
Not five minutes later, Jaime steps off the last step of the staircase. Richie awaits her presence, bearing two bottles of beer. She takes one from him and follows him when he gestures his head towards the entrance doors. In the lobby, a bored clerk reads a magazine behind the counter, saying nothing but fixing the two adults with a suspicious gaze.
Outside, Richie takes a seat on the stairs on the porch, his shoulder pressed to the wooden banister. Jaime sits next to him, ensuring enough room remained for the other occupants of the townhouse to come and go. If any even existed; she hadn't seen anyone there but the other losers.
For a blissful moment, it's silent. The late afternoon sun heats the top of their heads. Richie drums his fingers against the beer that he sips every so often, his brows etched in a furrow. When Jaime finally realizes how pale he is, she speaks up.
"You saw something?"
His stare on the cracked pavement below is unwavering. "That obvious, huh? Yeah. Did you? I mean, besides Bowers' knife."
She's too exhausted to scold him or send him that silent warning look. She takes a long drink of her beer, draining a quarter of the bottle in seconds. "Yes," beer dribbles down her chin before she wipes it away, "I did."
Richie purses his lips and nods. Jaime notices now how skinned her knees are-- a product of the mighty fall she took at her house. The events just seemed to loop on the forefront of her mind, sending her into a hazy trance she didn't know how to break out of. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd be losing her mind knowing she was finally alone with Richie for an extended amount of time. There had been so many things she wanted to say, to ask about. Now, her tongue couldn't even conjure up a fluent sentence.
"Do you remember what I told you, right before I boarded the plane to New York?"
Richie shakes his head, already past the point of feeling guilty for being unable to remember.
"Well, I told you to call me if any clowns were terrorizing you."
"Right, yeah."
"Did you ever feel the need to call?"
"Not until I went to Chuck-E-Cheese one day and saw that creepy fuckin' animatronic, but I didn't know if that fell under 'clown' category or not."
Jaime scoffs, a small smile playing on her lips. She remains silent, head reeling with memories of her final day in Derry. At the time, she hadn't wanted to leave at all, but that now seemed absurd. Still, that had been the last time she had seen Stan, the last time she had even spoken to him.
"If you think about it, Derry has everything; an authentic Chinese restaurant, a possessed crackhouse, and a childnapper that comes out every twenty-something years." Richie blurts out.
Jaime turns to him slowly, her eyebrows raised. She studies him a moment while he nervously smiles under her stare. Then, she bursts into laughter.
"Fuck, I was trying so hard." She pants between laughs. Richie just chuckles, mainly relieved she didn't reprimand him for trying to make light out of the situation. He knew it wasn't the healthiest of coping mechanisms... but at least he acknowledged that it was a coping mechanism and not much more.
"If this is what kills you, your tombstone is going to be a literary masterpiece."
"Whatever you do, don't let me be remembered by the Britney Spears song."
"I haven't heard your other work, but I don't need to. Obviously that was your peak."
She smiles, rolling her eyes. A cloud moves over the sun, instantly cooling their skin. "So... what did you see?"
"Ugh, don't open that door." He jokes, but his playfulness falters upon seeing her serious expression. "I just... saw the clown. He um... seems a little worn, wouldn't you say? Poor guy needs a nap. His eyes were so red, looked like me in college."
"That's all?" She asks as a car zooms past.
"Yeah. Well..." Richie shifts uncomfortably on the wood. "I tried to leave."
Jaime can't find the decency in herself to feign shock. The only thing she's shocked about is the fact that she hasn't made an attempt at leaving yet. "Yeah? What stopped you?"
"Stan." He replies instantly, meeting her gaze. "And I guess some other people, too." Their knees bump together childishly, but she still smiles at the action. The urge to grab his left hand is insurmountable, but she squashes the desire, not wanting to cross any boundaries.
A flush crawls up Jaime's neck at his words. She gulps, toying with the wrapper on her nearly empty beer bottle. "Do you think..." She trails off, but Richie waits patiently. "Have you thought about... us?"
"'Course I have, Jay." He responds quietly before downing the rest of his beer in one quick swig.
"And?" The words rush out, eager to be answered. "Are you... well. I guess I'll just put it this way; do you want to try again?"
Richie's eyes practically bug out of his head. "You-- you want to try again?"
"I-I mean, I'm just throwing the option out there..." She runs a hand through her hair nervously. Behind the two, the doors of the townhouse open, and an older gentlemen excuses himself as he walks down the stairs next to them.
"Like, dating? But except for being sixteen, we're forty?"
"Yeah." She mumbles, not attempting to hide her regret. "That."
He sighs and stretches his legs, heels of his boots against the pavement. "I guess I didn't expect you to say that."
"Didn't expect me to say-- Rich, why wouldn't I? All I've thought about since getting here, besides the obvious, has been you and I."
"Yeah, because you're here!" He exclaims. "If you weren't here, you'd be going on your merry way, being a single cat-mom and drinking far too much red wine to be healthy. Not thinking about your teenage romance and rekindling a dead spark."
She flinches at his words and instinctively brings her knees to her chest, resting her forehead against them. Shame and guilt invades her body, causing her fingertips to tingle and her eyes to sting. Jaime waits for an apology, or at least for him to leave, but nothing happens.
"Richie, I'm married." She admits, voice muffled by her legs but still audible to the man.
"Jesus," he scoffs, "what were you going to do? Just leave him for me?"
"Yes." Jaime raises her head and holds her chin high. "I was. Because he's been whoring around for the past five years, and I've enabled it. And seeing you again made me feel emotions I forgot existed. So yeah, that's exactly what I was going to do."
Richie's face falls. Jaime looks away, almost feeling smug at his reaction to her revelation. Her feelings soon disintegrate as she realizes how pathetic she sounds. Five years, she had allowed herself to be used and neglected. All for what? To have someone to fall back onto, to have someone to sleep next to? And she was just going to replace Parker with Richie, but what would happen if Richie ended up being the same? She'd like to think he wouldn't, but at a time, she would've sworn on her life that Parker would never mistreat her.
"It's not that I don't love you anymore." Richie murmurs.
"Then what is it?"
He looks away, face scrunched in disdain. Jaime scoots closer and finally grasps his left hand. He turns his palm over to meet hers, then squeezes her hand with his fingers. She feels his pulse throbbing against her hand, a sensation as addictive as all those illegal substances Jaime experimented with twenty years prior. A weight she hadn't been aware had been on her shoulders slinks off.
"Rich, please, I know you're hiding something. But you don't have to hide from me. I'll never, ever judge you. You know that."
Richie sucks in his lips before meeting her gaze. "Jaime, I just don't feel... I don't feel that way anymore. And I wish I could, because I want to. Fuck, I've missed the hell out of you. But I remember... when you moved, I think I was equal parts devastated and relieved."
"Relieved?" She scowls.
"Relieved I didn't have to keep lying to you anymore."
Inside of her, Jaime's stomach does somersaults. "About what? Richie, you're making me nervous."
"Jay, I'm a little fucked." Richie laughs humorlessly. "I just... wasn't attracted to you. Like that. Anymore."
"Oh. Okay."
"In fact, anyone who happened to biologically be a product of the female gender got a hard pass in my book."
Jaime might as well have been riding her bike directly into a brick wall. The impact of his words hits her so squarely she feels faint for a moment, but quickly regains her composure. Her elbow sits on her knee while she rubs at her temples soothingly. "Oh. Okay." She repeats robotically. Richie's hand trembles under her own.
A moment of silence follows, then Richie pipes up over-enthusastically. "I mean, I know, can you believe it? I can just see the headlines; 'Local Trashmouth Is Actually Local Nancy Boy.' As you can tell, I could've replaced 'Trash' with something else, but I didn't, because that would make it more real, and I think you're already on the verge of vomiting, so if you do can you please turn your head because these shoes are new--"
"Rich." Jaime holds her hand up, fighting a smile. "I'm fine. Stop your nervous rambles, they're what makes me sick."
"Sorry." But she knew he wasn't apologizing for rambling.
"Don't apologize." She gives his hand a firm squeeze. "Thank you for telling me before I tried to make out with you."
"I was digging myself a deeper and deeper hole there, I had to crawl out somehow." His face twinges with green, causing Jaime's eyes to soften sympathetically.
"Rich, you look like you're going to vomit or burst into tears or both. Relax. It's okay."
When he stays silent, Jaime holds her arms open. Richie almost falls in, his arms tying around her waist. She pats his back, nose buried in the crook of his neck. His body rumbles with silent cries against her, making her heart sink. She briefly wonders if she's that hard to talk to, but the selfish thought passes like a cloud over the sun. Coming out can't be easy. Jaime wouldn't ever experience it herself, but she knew it must've taken so much in him to admit his true identity. Regardless, her heart throbbed proudly.
"You're okay. You're alright. You're still Richie Tozier, okay? I don't see you any differently."
"You're not upset?" He questions as he pulls away, ducking his head to wipe the tears from his eyes.
She almost laughs. "No, never. I don't think I have a reason to be. Unless I was just a cover-up for you all those years."
Richie laughs this time. "No, you weren't. I loved you." He slings an arm around her shoulders and plants a firm kiss atop her head. "I still do, just..."
"Not like that." Jaime leans into his touch, relishing in the warmth of his body. "Thank you for telling me. Did you... sorry, you don't have to answer this, but did you have any idea you were when we were together?"
"Not exactly, but how many people do you know that went into a three-year relationship as virgins, and came out as virgins? I assume not many, unless you picked up a knack for worshiping God and attending church. Anyway, that was around the time I came to the realization that I was fucked up."
"You're not fucked up," she scolds, "but please, let's not talk about our sex lives."
"Well, speaking of that, you should probably leave your husband." Richie states bluntly, earning a glare from the girl under his arm. "No, I'm serious. He sounds like a douchenozzle. Being a single cat-mom would be so much better than wasting your time with him. Do you have a cat?"
"I do," she smiles despite his harsh words, "his name is Albert."
"Do it for Albert. He doesn't deserve any negativity in his life." Richie then stands and brushes off his backside. "Sun's setting. We should get going to the library." He outstretches a hand to Jaime, who takes it thankfully. Before he could say anything more, she throws her arms around him once more.
"Thank you for telling me." She mumbles into his shoulder. "I love you, Richie."
He squeezes her tightly, laughing when she groans. "Don't get all sappy on me, Jay. I love you, too."
And so the two prepare themselves physically and mentally. The sun recedes behind the horizon along with any sense of safety Jaime had once felt. As she sits in the passenger seat of Richie's rental car, filling him in on Victor's sudden arrival, the buildings blurring past the car windows, things seem all too real. All too intense. When the car parks in the library parking lot, however, she steps out confidently, the wind of impending storms whipping through her hair. She strides to the front doors, a newfound confident in each step she takes.
"Don't seem so fucking excited." Richie tells her. "You know this could like, totally backfire and we could realistically die instantly."
Jaime shrugs.
"It's as good a night as any."
A/N: for the sake of this story i'd like to say Richie has never came out to anyone, so he's obviously very nervous and jittery. i know 20+ years seems like a long time to hide your sexual identity, but keep in mind Richie is somewhat famous, he has an image to keep up. he doesn't trust easily. BUT he obviously trusts Jaime and i love that. their dynamic? amazing. this was well over 4000 words AGAIN. i'm not sure when i'll update next, it'll either be Friday or next week. regardless thanks again for reading, i hope you enjoyed! PS: Victor is the loml ugh