Work Text:
The door to the front porch swung open and hit the chipped, white trim with its protruding knob; the squeak of the un-oiled hinges ringing in Richie's ears as he hit the fresh air and leapt off the last few steps to get to the sidewalk. A shout, some muffled threat that he would certainly guess would have to have been from his father, fell on deaf ears as the only thing he could clearly hear properly was the rush of blood and his heartbeat in his ears. A dull ache in the back of his head slowly slipping from his mind as the only thing he could properly focus on was moving forward.
Richie wasn't much of a runner, he much preferred his car or his bike when he was much younger in years, but here he was, running with every bit of energy he had left.
Everything hurt, his ribs, his legs, his face. It didn't stop him from pumping his legs as fast as they could go; his heart rammed against his rib cage with every step, terrified that any minute he would hear footsteps, or the rev of an engine just behind him.
Every sound had a muffled tone, the sound of his panting breath and blood rushing to his ears making it even harder to make out if he was being followed, but he couldn't risk stopping to check. It would be his luck that this time would be the time where his father followed him out, waiting for him to get too tired to go on and dragging him back in by his collar or hair; or even worse, he would follow him to his secret hiding place.
It wasn't much of a secret if you asked his friends. All of them knew that Richie would break into their rooms to wind down and relax until sunrise, mostly under the assumption that he didn't want to be alone for the night. They knew that his parents weren't always the most attentive to him, but Richie didn't like to talk about it, so the best they could do was be around and keep him in their rooms for the night.
The only thing he could properly think of was that he had to get to Eddie. It was always the place where he could go to get patched up, of course Eddie would always make a bit of a big deal about his injuries, but with a few quick jokes and backpedaling, Eddie wouldn't press further. If Richie had any ulterior motives to see Eddie, well that was his own business.
Even if Richie wanted to go to any of the other Losers, his legs didn't seem to want to get the memo. Running down back streets as the adrenaline carried him towards familiar directions. Everything was second nature, he didn't need to think about where to go, he knew well enough. Which left his mind to wander back into the dark places that once scared him shitless, they wandered back to hands around his throat and stairs against his back.
"Dad-"
Words choked out of him as the hands around his throat tightened, pressing all their weight into it; squeezing bruises into the sides of his neck. His face turning red and eyes watering over, his hands clambering to rip the hands away, legs flailing to try and kick away, anything to get the panic of losing his breath to stop. Anything to make it stop.
A bottle, thrown and shattered against a wall, landing by his head, his mother shouting off in the distance, something he couldn't figure out. Something he knew was angry, but nothing for him, not for his safety, not for his life, but for whatever reason she wanted. Alcohol probably, maybe the adultery, but whatever it was, it gave him a bit of air. One hand releasing its grip only to come down on his temple and knock his head back onto the step, glasses falling down a few steps and landing with a loud crack.
It hurt, of course it hurt, but he could breathe, just barely but it was enough to get a good inhale in before his head hit the step.
"Fuck you Went!" his mother screamed, shrill as ever, a stagger in her step as she gripped onto the railing of the stairs. She made her way down gracelessly, kicking her feet in clumsy stumbles as the venom that poured from her mouth were more coherent and sharp.
"Where the fuck did you hide the bottles?"
"You drank it all, bitch."
His father looked away from him now, hand still clenched around his throat which only tightened by the presence of his mother. Of course he knew that he would get knocked around a bit once he got home, but he was at least hoping that his parents hadn't fought while he wasn't there. It was always so much worse if they were fighting, and now that his parents were in the same room together he wasn't really sure what this beating was going to entail.
"You hid them! I had a full case under the bed! Give them to your whore?"
"Maybe if you put out more often I wouldn't have to fuck Stephanie!"
His mother stumbled, just a step or two, a few steps away from Richie's head, body bent forward to yell at Went's face with more spit.
"Fuck you Went! I'm the mother to your kids!"
"Are they?"
"Oh that's really mature Went."
"You're always so fucking blacked out, you could've fucked everyone in this town!"
"I'm not always blacked out-"
"Couldn't even stop drinking when you were pregnant! You made him a fucking faggot!"
Richie tried to wriggle away, anything to get away from the two of them shouting over him. Nails sharp in his neck as he could barely breathe, swallowing down as much air as he could and gripping his father's wrist. He pushed and pulled and moved as much as he could, though the hand remained firm, only tightening as he felt Richie struggle. Tears spilling out over his cheeks in hot streams, from lack of oxygen, or fear or just the deep subconscious memories of when these days never occurred.
"Are you really crying? Are you kidding me? Crying for your whore mother?"
The grip tightened, more tears following immediately through clenched eyes. A constant scream in his head repeating 'Let go let go let go let go', short grunts leaving his body to try and speak out his thoughts, though that was only met with another blow straight to the lip and splitting it open with the end of a wedding band.
All at once, their was a loud slapping noise and the grip was gone. Air filling Richie's lungs as he sucked in a harsh breath, choking and coughing as he tried to roll over to his side. His father was standing now, screaming in Maggie's face and getting his hands balled up into fists. Richie didn't particularly care what they were screaming about, just as long as he could breathe, but what he did hear was his mothers shrill yell of 'Don't ignore me!' and his father shouting back a string of curses. Richie hadn't noticed that his mother shuffled down a couple more steps.
"Move your fucking head, Rich."
He didn't get to move, a sharp pain at his ribs as his father's boot kicked him against the railing, his mother walking by. His father didn't even look at him as he gave another kick, aiming for his sternum but catching his stomach.
Acid. It felt like acid coming up as his dinner made its presence known, covering the step and making his body shake. It felt metallic in his mouth, though he wasn't sure if that was the blood or not as he coughed the last of his stomach up, splashes of blood flying from his mouth as he spat. He tried to speak, the strain on his voice making it hard to push the words out. Too many things came to mind, all anger and vulgar that he could spit at him. What came out instead made him see why he was on the ground in the first place.
"Nice kick dad. Training for the league?"
"Disgusting piece of shit."
His father watched with a grimace, bringing his foot down a step to wipe off his shoes against Richie's pant leg, nose crinkled in disgust. Richie didn't have to look up to see it, he knew that look well. It used to terrify him to the core when he was younger. Used to make him want to do better, to be better, anything he could do that wouldn't give him the awful feeling of dread it brought him.
Now it was almost welcomed and that's what scared him the most.
Richie finally slowed down to a walk, panting in as many gulps of air as he could, though it strained his throat and choked him as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel it, could feel Went right behind him, maybe Maggie stumbling through the dark. He knew they were coming, could feel it in the pricks of goosebumps on his skin, they followed him.
He turned sharp to look behind him and took a few steps back, but what he found was nothing. No Went, no Maggie. Just Richie. A rush of relief filling him and making him vibrate from the inside out.
"Fuck.."
It scared him, to hear his own voice so strained and tired. It felt like he had no voice at all, just a husk standing in the middle of the sidewalk with messy clothes, a messy face, messy hair. Everything about him felt messy, not just his appearance, but his being. It wasn't long until he would be able to leave this shithole town, just one more semester and he'd be free, but it still felt as though he was years away from it. He was still going to be the same messy boy who talked too much and got bruised up for it.
Nothing was going to change.
He turned. Shuffling his dirty shoes against the sidewalk as the pain in his legs finally brought a bit of clarity to his mind, focusing in on the houses around him.
He could see the Kaspbrak house nestled in the corner of the street, illuminated by the street lights. It would be easy, like second nature to him. He'd walk around to the side of the house, where the bushes were always unkempt and pull out the ladder that he hid away years ago. He'd lean it against the third window on the left and climb up and on through, it would be unlocked, like it always was.
Richie remembered when he'd climb up the old oak tree beside the house to get into the window, a habit he had to stop once Eddie insisted that he'd break his neck getting in that way. It made him a little spiteful at first, climbing up the trunk anyway to show off just how much he cared about his own personal safety, and of course the branch broke just as he was trying to prove his point.
Eddie had practically bolted out of his house to help him up, checking over every bit of him to make sure nothing was broken or bruised or if he was concussed. Little panicked voice in a whisper as he rambled at a speed so fast that Richie couldn't really decipher what he was saying, hands clutching tightly onto a fanny pack and digging through it to gather bandages and sprays of disinfecting something or other. His face was all scrunched up and red, an expression that most people would have thought was anger, but Richie knew that it was worry. That was the day that Richie was certain about two things.
Eddie would always be there to bandage him up, and Richie could never tell Eddie about what his parents do to him.
The rickety ladder wobbled in his hands as he tried his best to keep them from shaking, the adrenaline wore off and left him in a queasy state. It made it a little difficult to lean the ladder against the house silently, muttering quiet curses to himself as it clicked against the window and rattled the trim of the sill.
With a few deep breaths, Richie climbed up as silently as he could, which wasn't much at all, and pushed the window up before he climbed in. Staggering a bit on his feet as he made his way to the familiar twin bed tucked in the corner and sat down with a heavy thump. He would have almost felt bad about messing up the blanket with blood and dirt and who knows what else if he wasn't so tired.
Car crash, he decided. He got hurt in a car crash. Nothing too bad that he couldn't fix his car himself, but he wasn't wearing his seat belt and it knocked him around a bit. That would explain his ribs and legs. He landed wrong and hit his head against dashboard, that took care of his head and glasses. The one thing he really couldn't come up with was how he was going to explain the bruises on his neck. He backtracked, rewrote the script. He was wearing a seat belt this time. It caught on his neck and choked him. Done. It was perfect. Eddie wouldn't know the difference.
All he had to do was wait now. Wait in the empty room with ears homing in on any little noise he could hear from the other side of the door. He didn't think to check to see if Sonia was home, though he was pretty sure he would have heard her stomping or shouting by now. The only thing he was sure he was hearing was the low creaks of the staircase. Slow and deliberate steps making their way to the second floor. If he strained his ears, it almost sounded like shuffling.
"Fuck you Went!"
His lungs squeezed the breath out of him. This was it. It was Maggie. Or Went. He knew it. They found him. Any minute that door was going to open up and they'd finish knocking him around. He could feel it by the tightness of his chest and the shortness of breath. It shot him down to his bones, shaking in place as he couldn't take his eyes away from the door. This was it.
The door slowly creaked open and Richie could have sworn he blacked out for a moment or two as he just sat stiff on the bed and stared.
"Jesus Christ Richie!"
His vision cleared, Of course it wasn't his parents, it was just Eddie. Though he looked as though he had seen a corpse, all furrow browed and big doe eyes wide, standing straight with clenched fists at his side. It made Richie uncomfortable to just look at him, he hadn't seen himself since he left the house but by the way Eddie was looking at him, he felt like he must've been a sight.
Richie suppressed the urge to flinch as Eddie's eyes flicked over him. He couldn't be sure what he was thinking at the moment but by the way his eyes darted and skimmed before landing on Richie's, he certainly felt the immediate rush of guilt, then sickness. He didn't know what to say to him right away, it was too much to see Eddie so worried over someone like him. He wasn't worth the hassle after all. So Richie did what he always did. Deflect.
"Shit, this isn't your mom's room." He stood up and dusted off his knees, hands flinching a little from the ache in his legs, "Sorry Eds, wrong window. We'll try to keep it down, but you know how your mom gets when she's taking my-"
"That's so fucking disgusting." Eddie huffed with a tight grimace on his face, turning his back to Richie to rummage through his dresser. He kept what he would call his 'Richie Kit' in the back of the third drawer down. Mostly a standard first aid kid, a packet of old comic books and some spare clothes that Richie always swore he left behind on accident. Richie desperately hoped Eddie believed him.
"You're lucky moms not here or I'd kick you out and let her deal with you." Snappy as ever.
"Promises, promises." Richie waved his hand as dramatically as he could and with a heavy thump, he dropped back down onto the bed. A small grin spreading on his aching face as Eddie turned and protested his choice of seat with an exasperated 'No' and a heavy sigh before turning back. "So where is my lady love this evening?"
"Bingo. Do you really have to sit on my bed, dickhead? You're getting blood on my sheets."
Eddie stepped over, kit balanced on top of pajamas and comic books, and knelt down in front of Richie. His face red and scrunched as he gave the blood, dirt and grime over Richie's face a once over, wet wipe retrieved and in his hand as he moved it across the dirty face. Despite how angry he looked and sounded, his hand was gentle and swift. Moving across his cheeks first while the other hand held lightly on his jaw. It took Richie everything he had not to lean into it. Deflect.
"That's not all I'm gonna get on your sheets." Fuck. Not like that.
"You're so gross." It at least got him one of Eddie's little smiles before it was wiped off his face and replaced with one of concentration. He was thorough as ever, scrubbing the cheek completely clean before moving on to his forehead and Richie was pretty damn grateful for that. If he was left alone to deal with his own wounds he was absolutely certain that he'd fuck up something along the way and would probably have some sort of scar or infection by now.
"I aim to please. What do you think Dr. K? Am I going to live? Or am I going to have to be waited on by your mom? I bet she can pull off that uniform." He wriggled his eyebrows for emphasis behind his glasses with a nasty crack on the right lens. He was only met with a straight faced glare.
"Beep Beep Richie."
He kept quiet, he knew better than to push, despite what the rest of the Losers said. Instead, he just shut his mouth and let Eddie clean him up, watching the stark white wipe come back red with hints of grey. It didn't really surprise him how dirty he was, he had initially gone home to take a shower after hanging out with everyone all day. He couldn't even say he was surprised to think he would get knocked around when he got home either. What did surprise him was just how angry his dad was going to be and just how long the beating took.
"Rich?"
Richie focused in on Eddie, less scrunched and more concerned. He hated it. It hurt more to see Eddie anxious than his bruises ever did, and what hurt most was knowing that this time it was directed towards him. Eddie was concerned over him, concerned over the bruises and the bleeding, something he deserved to get. Deflect.
"Something on my face?"
Eddie didn't smile this time, only pulling his hands away and resting them in his own lap.
"Your hands are shaking."
Richie's gaze peered down at his hands, clutched in his jeans and shaking violently. He had no explanation for this. He couldn't blame it on adrenaline. He could always make some comment that would at least get Eddie to stop looking at him like that. Deflect.
"I-" Richie choked out, the warble in his voice a little disarming. He didn't expect to get so emotional over something observational, but here he was sitting and choking back as much of the waterworks as he could.
It didn't help much when Eddie straightened up and cupped his hands against Richie's, holding them in place with a small squeeze.
"Hey Rich? You're okay. Richie you're okay." It didn't sound very confident. Eddie opened his mouth in an attempt to say something, though it never really came out as his face dropped and paled harshly with the sound of the front door slamming shut.
"Shit! Get up!"
Shit. Well he didn't need to be told twice.
Richie stood up as fast as he could, getting a little lightheaded as Eddie tugged him across the room, stumbling a little louder than he normally would have. He tripped every other step, having to have Eddie halfway carry him to the closet door, arm tight around Richie's waist to keep him upright.
He could barely hear in his dizzy state, but he certainly heard Sonia call from just beneath them, calling out to 'Eddie-Bear'. He had a passing thought and before he could properly stop himself, a quiet scoff left him as he was pushed up against the hanging polo shirts.
"Spaghetti 's better."
"Just wait here." Eddie probably tried to whisper but came out was more of a panicked and frantic choke, fumbling with the doorknob before he finally seemed to find it and plunged Richie into darkness.
He tried to breathe as calmly as he could, steadying it and keeping it quiet as he heard the bedroom door open. The creaking of the floorboards making little goosebumps crawl against his arms and up to the back of his neck. He knew it was Sonia, but he couldn't get the chill to leave him.
"Are you really crying?"
His eyes shut tight, fists clenched to the sides of his body as he tried to will himself to breathe through his nose. Slowly behind him, the graphic t-shirts and polos were morphing into beings. Beings with venom tongues and iron fists, people that he feared and knew he shouldn't. They morphed into inky blackness, keeping their presence around him to make sure he always knew that they were there.
He couldn't shake it off, the goosebumps slowly crawling down his back and to his legs. Flashes of fists and bottles crossing his mind as he shook out his curls. He tried to focus in on anything else, in the darkness the best he could do was try to listen to anything he could.
The first thing he focused on was the sound of Eddie's voice on the other side of the door, a little quiet but it seemed to at least make the bumps on his neck receded. Just the soft droning and repeating of 'Yes ma' and 'No ma' made it at least a little easier to stand alone in the dark.
"You made him a fucking faggot!"
He stopped listening, pulling back in on himself and instead listened to his own heavy breathing. Chest tightening around his lungs and squeezing his breath out, limbs shaking as his neck brushed against soft fabric.
It wasn't fabric, it was hands. It was hands around his neck, he couldn't breathe, it was Went. Went was behind him and squeezing with all he had. He couldn't breathe. This was how he was going to die. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die in this closet.
The door shot open and bled light into the small space just as Richie let out a sob. Tears down his face and limbs stretching out to grip onto the small silhouette in front of him, almost missing the sharp surprised gasp. His body carried him as he gripped tightly onto Eddie, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in as he still couldn't catch his breath.
He sobbed. Falling freely from his face in streams, glasses pushed up higher on his forehead as he buried his face in the side of Eddie's neck. Richie's legs finally buckled as he felt arms wrap under his own and hands grip onto the back of his shirt. He crumbled them both down to their knees, Eddie holding him and letting Richie shake and sob in sharp and shallow gasps.
"Fuck-fuck...fuck"
Eddie's hands gently started to rub at his aching back and it would have made Richie choke up more if he wasn't already a shaky mess. He was pretty sure Eddie was talking, but he couldn't let himself listen, only listening to how uneven and tight his breathing was. It only made things worse as he felt Eddie pull away an inch.
"No-" He sobbed, trying to keep a grip on him as he felt Eddie grip onto his shoulders. He wasn't really sure if it was Eddie's hands or his shoulders that were shaking, pushing away the thought that it was both.
"I got you. Just getting something.." Eddie shushed him, rummaging through his pocket as he kept Richie sitting up with his other hand. He pulled out his inhaler, taking a quick hit of it with a deep breath in before he wiped the mouthpiece against his shirt and held it up.
"Take a deep breath okay?"
Richie would have protested but it was already placed in his mouth, sniffling a little before he did as instructed and took in a sharp breath. Eddie hit the button on inhale with his nose crinkled as he watched the mouthpiece, no doubt fixated on the many many germs it would now suddenly contain.
It burned, the strong tang hanging on the back of his throat and tongue. It really shouldn't have done anything, it wasn't like it was real medicine, but just the fact that this was Eddie's inhaler that he had taken a hit from, something that Eddie always sterilized and kept at an arms reach, was good enough for him. Eddie willingly let him use it to help him calm his breathing.
"It tastes like battery acid.." Richie let a small smile break through his tear stained face as he heard a wet laugh leave Eddie, who was already cleaning the mouthpiece.
"Yeah it does.."
Eddie tugged Richie back onto his feet and gave him a tight hug. It almost set off another wave of tears, but he pinched his eyes closed to force them back in. It was nice. Just having contact that didn't involve a fist and, if for just a second, he let himself indulge. Instead of the stiff hugs he'd normally give him, he let himself drape over him and hug him as tight and close as he wanted. Legs still a little wobbly as he felt a hand leave his back and nestle in his hair at the back of his head.
As quickly as it appeared, the hand disappeared, wet and sticking to pieces of his curls. Eddie inhaled sharply and stiffened up immediately, pushing against Richie's chest with his free hand as he stared down at his other hand, now covered in red.
"Okay. Bed. Now." He stared down at his palm, eyes wide and fingers shaking.
"Eds, I don't think now's the time-"
"Your head is bleeding! Go sit down!"
Richie would have sworn that it seemed like Eddie was the one bleeding by how fast he moved to retrieve the hidden wet wipes. Scrubbing at his hand with as much vigor as one would scrub at a stain in the carpet. He was pretty sure he read something like that maybe, like some kind of Shakespeare play.
"Out, damned spot?" Richie reveled in the glare he was given. Doing as he was asked with no problem afterwards, letting himself flinch now that the jig was up. Eddie immediately nestled behind Richie, kit by his side on the bed as his hands examined through his curls to find the source of the blood.
"Your blood was on my hand! What was I supposed to do? Let it congeal? Do you know how many diseases blood can carry?"
That one hurt a little.
"Yet you're the one who shoved your inhaler in my mouth."
"You couldn't breathe! Was I supposed to let you choke to death?"
"Yeah."
Eddie's hands stopped searching for a moment before they continued, a little gentler than before as Richie stared dead ahead. The crack in his glasses obscuring the right side of his face, breaking the bedroom door into several pieces. He really didn't register what he said, it was just something that came from deep in his chest. What did register was the one question that made his blood run cold.
"What happened this time?" Eddie's voice was quiet, almost somber, but Richie couldn't really see his reaction, just letting the fingers poke around until they found the cut and started to clean it.
"Car crash. I was going down main street and got distracted by all the sweet honeys an-"
"And you hit a tree." Eddie finished for him.
Richie's fingers curled up in his jeans, tugging at the fabric in his palms. He was certain Eddie felt him tense up, his back was unnaturally straight, hunched shoulders now lined up with his spine.
"You used that excuse before Rich."
"Its not an excuse. It's what happened."
"This is your third crash this month. You speed a little bit but I don't actually think you would total your car this many times."
Richie swallowed away a lump, heat bundled in the pit of his stomach. Immediately, his nerves had turned to a bit of resentment, shaking and lowering his head down as he harshly spat towards the ground.
"Well I did. What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me the truth Richie!"
"I am telling the truth!"
"I'm not fucking stupid! You're not being honest with me. I thought you could tell me anything." Eddie's hands pulled away from his hair, Richie still refused to look back at him. Knuckles stark white against his fistful of jeans and eyes shut tight, his stomach burning and churning with how much he hated doing this.
"I can tell you anything-"
"Then why aren't you telling me now?"
"What do you want me to tell you Eddie? Maybe I hit the tree on purpose? Did you ever think about that?"
"You don't mean that."
"Yes I fucking do. Yeah. I fucking want to die. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"Beep Beep Richie."
"I want to die. I'm fucking sorry that I drag myself over here every time I fucking survive."
"I said, Shut the fuck up Richie!" A sniffle.
Richie stopped cold, eyes shooting open and staring down at the hardwood. He could feel Eddie shaking behind him, soft sniffles and quiet sobs filling up the small space between them. He didn't want to look. It was going to be a sight and he knew it but Eddie was crying right behind him, he had to do something. A fleeting moment occurred to him that he should deflect, but as the burning pit in his stomach melted away, it just made him feel sick to think about.
"Eddie-..Eds I'm sorry."
"Don't say shit like that okay?"
Richie reluctantly looked over his shoulder and immediately felt his heart drop.
Eddie sat on the bed, knees tucked under him and palm of his hands wiping away some stray tears that fell down his face. Eyes red and watering over as he took in shaky breaths, eventually steadying his breathing. It was enough to get Richie to at least turn around to actually look at him.
"I didn't mean to scare you.."
"Well you did, asshole." Eddie bit back, though it really didn't have much heat in it. Richie half expected to be kicked out and to have to deal with himself on his own. Instead, as they sat in silence, Eddie reached out and gathered up some new wet wipes, pressing them against Richie's neck.
It wasn't as effective as an actual ice pack but it was still cool, wet, and soothing enough for the time being to at least get the angry swelling to calm down.
He sat in silence and just watched Eddie work, the scrunched face was back and that was at least a little bit of normality to the situation. The situation was anything but normal, he had been hoping that his excuses had worked over the years, but he really took Eddie's intelligence for granted and now he had to finally open up about what had been happening to him. It left him with a twist in his gut, like one too many kicks or a blade twisted inside.
The room was all too quiet, neither of them making a sound as the wet wipes started to warm up and had to be tossed away, landing in the side bin with a soft thump, before Eddie changed them out for new cold ones. He looked as though he was waiting for something, eyes fixated on the angry bruises and lips in a straight line on his face. Richie had to give him a little bit of credit, Eddie was surprisingly patient when he wanted to be.
Richie, however, was not very patient. Having to sit there in silence was borderline torture, especially with the debate he had warring in his head. One side screaming for him to just tell the truth and the other screaming to deflect. Deflecting was comfortable for him, it was easy and, this way, he wouldn't be bothering anyone.
He could just let everyone know that everything was fine and they'd believe him. All except Eddie of course. Eddie always knew when something was wrong and that just made Richie try to deflect even more. He couldn't tell him about his parents, he couldn't make Eddie more upset than he normally would about him, he wasn't worth getting so worked up over.
Whether or not Richie really wanted to admit it to himself, he desperately wanted to tell the truth. The abuse that he had been putting up with for years included a lot of death threats if he ever told anyone, and over the years, it slowly morphed from his own bodily harm to that of his friends, then finally, to strictly threatening Eddie.
His parents had caught him when he was fifteen hanging around the kissing bridge. He used to go there often just to look over the carving he had made years ago, re-carve into it every couple of months, just to hang onto something that he knew deep down was never going to happen. That time his parents had been out, a rare occasion where his mother wasn't completely plastered and caught him red handed with the knife in his hand, kneeling down and still carving the last few lines of the 'E'.
It really didn't take his father long to figure out who that 'E' belonged to.
"Move your head, Rich."
He full bodied flinched, back hitting against the head board with a loud groan of pain. He really didn't mean to but now he sat stiff, holding his screaming ribs and staring down Eddie who looked as though he just touched a hot stove. Doe eyes wide and hands pulled tight against his body with fear striking his features.
"Sorry." Richie muttered, still trying to shift comfortably and hoping he covered up just how much he was shaking. "Jumpy."
Eddie seemed to be watching him a lot closer than he did before, eyes squinted and darting between Richie's chest to his head and back again. A thought was clearly forming in his head, and no matter what it was, Richie was absolutely sure he was going to hate it.
"Lift up your shirt."
"Eds, you minx-"
"Richie. Please."
It just sounded so solemn and so earnest that Richie could feel the exact moment where his own heart cracked in half. He knew exactly what Eddie was getting at and it made his gut twist, almost expecting bile to come out of him the minute he opened his mouth. God it came close though.
"Its not pretty."
"Well no shit. I want to see how bad it is."
And it was bad. Angry purple and blue smears all over his ribs like watercolor over a canvas. It was uncomfortable to say the least, to lift his shirt up and be exposed for prying eyes that he knew were filled with concern. That was the worst bit of all, knowing that someone wasn't just examining for the sheer curiosity of it, it was to help fix it, but there was nothing to fix.
"Shit Rich.." was all Eddie could say for a long time before it just got too awkward for Richie, pulling his shirt down and wrapping his arms around himself if only to shield himself.
"I warned you."
"I'm getting an ice pack." Eddie's weight left the side of the bed, though there wasn't much of it to leave, and he carried himself towards the door, a look permanently stuck on his red face that Richie knew inside and out. Eddie was fucking pissed.
"Eds, you don't have to. Really Spaghetti i'm fi-"
"No. No. You're not fine. I'm getting you an ice pack." His knuckles were white as they gripped the doorknob. "I got you some pajamas. They're new. Just- put your clothes in the hamper. I'll get it before mom sees."
He was gone with the quietest shut of the door, juxtaposed by how hard he was holding the handle, leaving Richie alone to sit and finally breathe.
The pajamas in question sat at his side, neatly folded, perfectly clean and still soft from never being worn. It was enough to get choked up over if he didn't get a handle on it quick but what really tipped the scales was the face of Bobby Drake staring back at him from the pant leg.
Richie scrambled to grab them, ruining their neatness as he held it up to his face, squinting through the cracks of his glasses to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He certainly wasn't. Scattered across the legs were multiple X-Men of different tiers but the one with the most prominence above all of them, including being posed front-line and center across the chest of the t-shirt, was Iceman.
Iceman was always Richie's favorite. Out of all the X-Men in the universe he adored Bobby Drake the most, he couldn't really tell anyone why but it came to him once while with the Losers when they were fourteen. All of them huddled up in the clubhouse with their own comic books, a passing question, one every kid asks, Richie immediately just knew it was Iceman. Of course they made fun of him for it for a while, taking friendly jabs and calling his choice in heroes 'lame' but it was ultimately dropped from then on and no one had ever brought it up since.
But Eddie remembered. The proof was in his hands.
Immediately, Richie found out that the only thing more difficult than putting pajamas on over bruises was doing the same but with tears blocking your vision. It didn't take as long as he felt it did but damn it was hard to keep himself steady as he looked down at his now absolute favorite pair he had ever received. For a moment or two, he debated with himself the pros and cons of only wearing one pair of pajamas for the rest of his life.
"Like them?"
Eddie poked his head back into the room, looking slightly less pissed but under the surface it was still there, his hand on the handle still stark white as the door closed quietly and gently behind him.
"Love em! Holy shit! Where the fuck did you get them?"
"I was in Bangor with mom." The typical hand movements that were a trademark of Eddie's mannerisms made their return as he waved his hand to suggest Richie sit and lift his shirt.
"You're so bossy. Don't worry Spaghetti, I like it. I see where your mom gets i-"
"No. We're not doing that. C'mon move."
He shut his mouth and moved around on the bed to lay down properly, shirt lifted up to expose his ribs for Eddie to ice down. At first it was uncomfortable, the cold hitting his bruises with the same force as the initial hits, though that slowly subsided. Richie let out a heavy sigh of relief, he was finally completely relaxed and comfortable with his eyes closed and limbs heavy against the bed. Laying in silence wasn't as bad with Eddie beside him, the dull ache in his body vanishing the more he was tended to. The time only just occurred to him as he felt Eddie pull the ice pack away and sit beside him at the foot of the bed.
"Who did it?"
Oh yeah. That.
"Look Eds, its not important."
"Bullshit its not important."
Richie finally opened his eyes and immediately felt as though he shouldn't have. All pissed off and wound up, it really looked like Eddie needed to either kill something or he would explode. It would have scared Richie, if he didn't find it so adorable, but that was pushed down to the very pit of his stomach.
"You can drop it, I'm not saying shit."
"Like fuck you're not."
Richie shifted to sit up, still flinching as he rested his elbows on his knees, staring Eddie down with what he had hoped was intimidating enough for him to drop it but he was only met with an equally angry look.
"What do you want me to tell you? And don't fucking say the truth Eds, I've been telling you-"
"You lied to me. This wasn't a crash. You have fucking footprints on your ribs!" Eddie's hands flailed wildly, all stiff wristed and straight fingers, shoulders tensed as he pointed towards Richie's torso.
A sharp inhale from the both of them got them to at least calm themselves for a moment or two, looking away from each other to gather up their own thoughts. In all honesty, Richie was tired. He was tired of deflecting, tired of lying and most of all he was tired of the little song and dance he had to do around Eddie, though one thing at a time he supposed. A heavy sigh left him as he buried his face in his own arms.
"Look. If you don't want to tell me. That's fine. I just.." Eddie spoke up, eyes down to the floor and fists bawled up in his own pajama pants.
"I just worry about you Richie. I think I know whats happening and I was waiting for you to tell me but you still haven't. Watching you come here with a different bruise every few weeks isn't easy to see, you know? I don't actually like seeing my best fucking friend bleeding and then lie to my face about how they got them."
They both didn't move, Richie only moving his head a few inches to look up as he tried to let the words sink in. The tightness in his chest and the queasiness in his stomach making it harder and harder to focus on anything except for his inner monologue of 'Don't. But I should. Don't. But I should. Don't.'
"I care about you. I really hope you know that."
That did it.
"It's dad."
Eddie shot his head up and the look that he gave Richie made him want to crawl into a hole and bury himself. The anger was absolutely there, but there was also fear and concern and out of all the reactions, he certainly didn't expect Eddie to stand up and start to pace.
Pacing was one of the things that Eddie tended to do while he was in a panic, arms straight to his sides and fists bawled up. This time his face was still scrunched between being on the very of homicide and tears. A few deep breathing exercises seemed to get his head back on straight, though it didn't really help Richie in the slightest.
"And your mom?"
"She's usually too drunk to care."
"Fucking-"
The pacing started again, this time his fingers making their way over to his mouth to chomp down at his nails. He must have been far gone, Richie had only seen Eddie chew his nails on a small handful of occasions, usually it would result in a long rant about different kinds of bacteria nail beds could carry before he would even consider putting them near his mouth. Richie just had to do something, anything to at least get Eddie to calm down.
"Something you want to share with the class?"
"I'm gonna kill him."
Hands. All at once he could see fists flying, glass smashing, bruises forming. Went heaving heavy punches and Maggie screaming and throwing bottles. A body hitting the floor and writhing in pain. Not his own. Blood and bruises covering over skin that tanned golden in the summer sun. Screams coming from the mouth that spat back insults faster than anyone he knew. A broken arm.
"No!"
His hands flailed out, gripped onto the closest thing, which happened to be Eddie's wrist, and stood up. Hands shaking and limbs aching from the strain of keeping himself from crumbling. Eyes trained on Eddie's face as his expression transitioned from fury to something softer and far more heartbreaking. This was torture.
"We'll figure it out."
"There's nothing to figure out. I just have to hold out a little longer and then I can leave this all behind."
A flicker in expression, Eddie must've been upset because now he was staring at the ground, obviously thinking but unwilling to share his thoughts. Though his head nodded it didn't really give Richie any reassurance. It only made things even worse when he felt Eddie shift and wrap his arms around his neck.
It was gentle, filled with emotions that Richie couldn't really place, though he wasn't really trying to figure it out as he was a little too preoccupied trying to hug him back with as much casualness as he could. His brain was absolutely fried, his heart aching and hammering in his rib cage and his hands sweating as he gripped onto the back of Eddie's shirt.
It was already difficult to gather his thoughts most days, but now standing and having Eddie hug him this long and this close made it even more difficult to rationalize and keep his head on straight. Ideas bouncing around in his skull as he tried to will himself to do something, thoughts of 'Kiss him. No don't. Kiss him. Just-. Kiss him. No. Kiss Him.' replaying over and over again.
He played over in his head, if he wasn't such a coward, all the scenarios that would occur from this. He wanted to do this for so long but the 'What if's became too much. He had hoped Eddie would do something, maybe notice how hard his heart pounded, how it felt like it detached from his body and tried to crawl through Eddie's ribs.
But he let go.
"You can sleep here tonight."
"Thanks Eds."
They had shared a bed since they were in kindergarten, it shouldn't have been as awkward as it was, but as Richie got under the blankets he felt as though his skin was burning. Eddie's weight pressed close to his arm was too much and he was thankful that he at least had his back towards him.
But then he turned around. Chin pressed up against Richie's shoulder.
"Hey Rich?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks for telling me."
"Don't worry about it SpagEds." He swallowed, staring up at the ceiling and laying stiff, it took all of him not to hold his breath as he felt a hand creep up and slide his glasses off his face. He couldn't see shit but he knew that they would be folded with the utmost care and set on the bedside table.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Do you have anything else you want to tell me?"
This was it. He just had to say it. This was the moment he waited for for so long and all he had to do was open his mouth and say one simple thing.
"I threw up earlier."
Eddie gagged and shifted away from Richie, curling his body into a tight ball.
"You're buying me a new inhaler."
"Deal."
"Alright. Goodnight Richie."
"Night Eddie."
A flick of the lamp, shifting to get comfortable and silence so crushing that it felt like a boulder on Richie's chest. He didn't dare to move until he could hear the soft breathing coming from his right, finally shifting to get comfortable and absolutely hated the fact that that was curled on his side facing Eddie's back.
As he lay in the dark, forcing his eyes to close before he could feel the tears well up again, he was absolutely certain of two things.
Eddie would always be there to bandage him up, and Richie could never tell Eddie how much he loved him.