A/N: ^Pennywise doesn't actually appear in this prompt. I used this picture because I drew it while procrastinating this whumpshot. Don't get used to it, because it's pretty much the only time my own fanart will be used for the picture.
"Gonna get you, fuckface!"
Richie sprinted past the Kissing Bridge, closely followed by Bowers and his gang.
(bowers and huggins and criss oh my)
"Gonna get you!" Henry repeated as Richie panted for breath. "Gonna make you eat your fucking glasses."
As he tore through the Barrens, lung screaming in pain, a mantra repeated over and over in Richie's head.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-
Richie leapt over branches and rocks, moving clumsily yet quickly through. He had only one goal- get away from Bowers.
(bowers and huggins and criss oh my)
Even as his body cried out in protest, Richie forced his legs to go faster, faster, faster-
Henry's jeering voice seemed to propel Richie forwards, until finally, finally, the noise died away, just a small sound floating towards Richie and popping in his ears.
Richie scrambled up a tree, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Not a second too soon, his legs vanished into the thick shrubby leaves.
"Where is he?" Belch panted, ugly drops of crocodile sweat rolling down his face. "Where is the little fucker?"
"I don't fucking know!" Henry's face was a livid, angry red, like a boil about to burst.
Richie curled up against the rough bark, breathing as lightly as possible. Surely the slightest noise would alert them of his presence, and then he'd be dead, wouldn't he. No escape here, out in the middle of nowhere. No one to hear his screams as Henry whipped out his knife and sliced Richie up like a Christmas turkey.
"Maybe, uh . . ." Vic spoke up, looking uncomfortable. "Maybe we should go. He'll have to leave the Barrens at some point, right?"
Henry mulled it over, swearing under his breath. Richie tried not to listen as he went over every way Henry would kill him in loving detail. "Fine," he snapped abruptly. "We'll wait the fucker out."
Richie slumped onto the branch in relief, closing his eyes slightly as he breathed in the leaves' sweet perfume. The sound of
(bowers and huggins and criss oh my)
the bullies faded as they trailed away.
Maybe five minutes had passed when Richie realized something.
They'd chased him into one of the few areas of the Barrens he'd never ventured through.
He was hopelessly and utterly lost.
"Fuck . . ." Richie muttered as he climbed shakily from the tree. The sun was setting, basking everything in gold. But he didn't have time to appreciate the beauty around him, not when he was so royally hecked. "Which way did they go again?" He'd been a bit too busy running for his life to watch for which way he was running.
If only Eds was here . . . he never gets lost. It's like he has some kind of fucking compass in his head.
He was jolted out of his thoughts at the sight of a sleek tiger. He must be even deeper into the Barrens than he thought; tigers were few and far between in their jungle-like forest. Richie crept past it, inadvertently moving even further in.
"Okay . . ." Richie muttered, trying to remember the entire year of Boy Scouts he'd done. But it wasn't as if he were paying attention. He'd always either been annoying Eddie or Stan. Needless to say, the Scouts leader was never too pleased with him. "So . . . I wait here? For a search party?"
Yeah, right. Like any official search party would look for me. Anyway, by the time the Losers notice I'm missing,
(missing oh god missing i'm missing)
I will have been eaten by another one of those tigers. Or a fucking bear.
But it's night time, and . . . I'm really tired. If I try to find my way back in the dark, I'll just be even more lost.
I think the town is east from here. I'll go east when it's light out.
Richie climbed reluctantly back up the tree and laid down, wincing at the sharp bark pressing into his back. Grabbing a vine, he clumsily tied himself onto the tree. He settled down, shivering slightly in the biting cold, and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Blinding sunlight jolted Richie awake. He groaned, stretching and yawning. His back felt sore from laying on the bark for hours, but he had bigger things to worry about.
"That's east . . ." murmured Richie, shielding his eyes from the sun. He gradually made his way through the thick trees.
Can't be that far, right?
But by noon, Richie's throat felt drier than the Sahara. His lips were cracked.
The human body can last around three days without water, his mind intoned.
Then why do I feel so fucking thirsty? And how the fuck have I not found my way back yet?
He supposed he must've ran further than he'd thought, and when he'd seen the tiger, he'd strayed even further. It didn't help that his legs felt like lead, dragging him down. All Richie wanted to do was just curl into a ball and sleep.
As the next half hour passed, Richie knew he was in trouble. It wasn't even as though the town could be all that far away,
(unless i'm going the wrong way)
but he was trudging through so slowly. The sun beat down through the trees, the hot, muggy air causing sweat to burn the back of Richie's neck.
When was the last time I drank water? Yesterday at lunch? Before that?
Richie's pulse pounded in his ears, a steady metronome over the melodies of the Barrens. The birds chirping were too loud, the clicking of the insects a resounding hum in his ears. Richie supposed that if Stan were here, he'd be able to name every bird that flitted mockingly past him. But Stan wasn't here. Nobody else was.
Eyes heavy, Richie slogged on. He stopped suddenly, swaying.
Maybe I should just lay down here and die. I'd be dead in a day or two. I guess this isn't such a bad place to go anyway. The trees are green and the sky is blue and the water is cool-
Water
Water!
Richie's eyes flew open. He was standing, ankle deep, in the stream that cut through the Barrens, where they'd made their dam.
It was all he could do not to bend over and pour the water into his desperate mouth. Piss and shit, piss and shit, this water's full of piss and shit. I'd get a staph infection or whatever shit Eddie's always rambling on about.
He straightened up, filled with new determination. The backs of houses, one of which he recognized as Eddie's, swam not too far off.
Finally, Richie arrived at the back door of Eddie's house. The reddish bricks seemed to sway as he knocked on the door.
Or maybe it was just him who was swaying.
The door swung open and Eddie peeked his head out. He froze at the sight of Richie, who leaned against the wall in a would-be casual way, had he not been covered in scratches and struggling to stand upright. Eddie's eyes widened. "Holy shit, what happened to you?"
Richie opened his mouth and words fell out without his control. "Well, fancy meeting you here, guv'nor! Pip pip and tally ho and all that rot, I suppose, but I confess I am feeling a bit parched, ay wot? Couldn't let me in for a spot of tea, wot-"
"Wot wot," Eddie interrupted, rolling his eyes. He lead Richie in, sitting him down in a chair at the kitchen table, and looking at him with a good deal of concern. "What the fuck happened, Richie?" he asked, peering into his fanny pack.
"Uh . . . could I have a bit of water?" Richie asked, trying to dodge as Eddie wielded a fistful of bandages.
"Of course." Eddie poured him an enormous glass, which Richie gulped down thankfully. "You're lucky Mom isn't here. If she found you on our doorstep looking like this, she'd have a bird."
"What kind of bird? Stan told me about these birds called tufted titmice. But I guess I can see one of those anytime I'm with your m-"
"Beep fucking beep, Trashmouth." Eddie frowned. "But stop dodging the question. What happened to you?"
"It's a long story . . ." Richie said, yawning widely.
"I've got plenty of time. Tell me what happened."