Chapter 1: part 1

Richie hates himself. He seriously fucking does. It's so fucking hard to explain how much he fucking hates himself, that he hates himself for not being able to articulate it properly.

No matter how hard he tries. He cannot, for the life of him stop liking boys. No matter how much he tries to drill it into his head that it's fucking wrong. That he was wrong. That maybe it would just all go away if he avoided it. Bullied it. Dug a hole so deep, that he could throw it down that hole and bury it. Smother it to death and kick it down a well. Never look at it, think of it. Live it.

But it never worked.

He just fucking hated himself. He hated everything, every god damn thing. He hated everyone. Every-fucking-one—

Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie.

God he could get drunk from the idea of him. His name sweet addictive nicotine on his lips. His body could melt into the earth, just thinking about him. The smell of him, so engulfing and pungent, wrapping him up in layers of lavender shampoo, alcohol wipes and excessive amounts of hand sanitizer.

The way his eyes flickered to the side every time he got embarrassed when they would watch reruns of Charlie's Angels, and a slightly risqué scene played out on the fuzzy television in Ben's stuffy living room.

The way his lips would twitch just slightly when he would try and hold in a laugh every time Richie told him a stupid joke. And every time his eyes would never break from his, when they would shove themselves into their own sleeping bags on the floor of Bill's bedroom during slumber parties. While Eddie would then complain about the millions of different germs that could be on the floor, yet never actually getting up because he was too comfortable.

Or that stupid way he will puff on his inhaler, after just jogging a few feet because he fully believes he is going to die if he doesn't. And that stupid little fanny-pack he keeps that inhaler in, paired with those obnoxiously bright red gym shorts he wears that are entirely too short it should be illegal.

Or the way the Richie would stare at his lips when Eddie would begrudgingly finally let him copy his homework after hours and hours of complaining about how stupid he thought he was. And the way Eddies voice would come out soft, and small, so fragile it was like Richie could hold it in his hands. "You're not stupid. Some things are just harder for you. But you can do it if you just try, don't call yourself that. Because you're far from it"

And the way Richies heart would flutter, knowing that someone believed in him. Truly believed in him.

He doesn't hate Eddie.

No matter how absolutely infuriating he is, how many times he picks a fight with him, or when he doesn't ever finish a sentence just to piss Richie off.

He was anal, terrible-with-words. Would repeat himself over and over no matter how many times Richie would yell at him to shut up. He was obsessive, and annoying. And so damn cute.

But he hates the way he feels. The way he feel about him. This desperate, pinning feeling. That feeling when his chest tightens up, and his breath gets caught in his throat. When he can feel himself shaking, his fingers will tremble, curl up into fists. Is it because of anger? Hate?

Confusion? Longing?  Fear?

'I'm afraid.'

Is he afraid of himself? of how he feels? How other people will think of him? How Eddie will think of him.

Of these thoughts that swirl his mind. Those emotions he can't explain, that raddle through his body, so hard it feels like his ribs are playing ping pong with— with what? What is this feeling?

God and it's every fucking time, every fucking time his eyes land on Eddie Kasprak.

It's stupid— it's so stupid.

He's stupid. Richie it pretty sure it's all just cause he is Grade A— bottom of the barrel—stupid.

"Yeah well the next time you try hang out, tell your mom that I require at least some notice. I'd hate to miss another date night with Ms. K"

"Shut the fuck up Richie" his voice is bitter, dripping acid that makes his heart hurt. But his eyes are filled with slight amusement, the way his lips curl ever so slightly at the edges. The dusting of pink that make his lips so fucking soft, it's irritating.

"I wasn't the one who asked everyone to be here, it was Bill" Eddie seethed, but the curl of his lips never dissipated.

That smile is worth it. Any other feeling he might get from the reaction of what he says, is worth dealing with. If he can just make him smile.

"You're just jealous that I'm getting some sweet pussy while yo—"

"EW, what the FUCK Richie that's my MOM!!"

"Yeah, I'm aware, that's why it's so awkward. I'm practically your dad at this point"

"Shut the fuck up Richie, I know that's not true"

"You could call me daddy if it helps you transition with this new development. Me and your mother are very happy—"

"I'm not calling you anything other then TRASH—"

"What are you jealous?" He can feel the slight twitch on his lips, it's aching with resolve. He loves teasing him. Making fun of him. Bullying him. Because then Eddie gives him his full attention. Eddie's furious eyes glue to his own, and he has such a temper it makes Richies heart soar.

His cheeks get bright red with anger, he bears his teeth with conviction. Like a wolf ready to tear Richie apart. 'I wouldn't mind.'

His dimples press into his cheeks, and his eyes flair with a spark. A spark of something. But what ever it is, it's enough to set a light to Richie's insides. To burn him from the inside out, leaving him as ashes beneath Eddie Kasprak.

"Jealous? What are you STUPID? Why the FUCK would I be jealous oF YOU?? THATS MY MOM"

'I was hoping you'd be jealous of her.'

"Could you two shut the fuck up?" The voice is sharp, cutting through the air. It's demanding, yet all at once lacks. Like he doesn't really care if they are fighting, just more if he gets to relax.

Richie turns over to Stan. He's lucky Richie loves him so much. They are so close, but only because they had to be. Being forced to sit next to each other in church when they were the only kids in town the same age, and Jewish.

Stan embraced it, while Richie ignored it, pushing it away.

He's is loud and messy.

While Stan is polished and preppy.

He's gross and rude.

Stan is polite and neat.

God he is so stuck up, so overzealous. So worried about everything being perfect, clean, organized. Yet he ended up with Richie as a best friend.

They shouldn't work. They really shouldn't. But they do.

Richie cracks a smile at him, rolling his eyes. "Stan, relax dude. It's all in good fun"

"I don't think this is very fun" Eddie seethes, obviously still heated. His hands ball into a fist, and Richie's eyes slowly move down to look at his dirty, cast. He has two more days with it on, before it finally gets taken off.

It's warped at the sides, ripping apart, and patched together with more gauze. There is a layer of dirt and blood that he just couldn't scrub out no matter how hard he or his mother tried, and it looks more like a grayish yellow, rather then the bright white it has first been when he got it on his arm.

The Loser written on the side of it, is faded, but the bright red V crossing through the S is surprisingly still opaque. Richie guesses the red ink is more resilient.

"Awe Eds, had I known it would have hurt your wittle feelings, I would have done it waAayyyy sooner" there's a grin on Richie's face now. Bright and teasing.

But of course, as always Eddie doesn't have the same reaction, the frown still plastering his lips. Richie can't help but focus on the twitch of his right brow as he groans in anger, "First off, for the millionth time don't call me Eds. Second, go fuck your self"

"Why would I do that when I have your mom—"

"Alright that's enough you two" Stan let's out a large, tired sigh. It rips through his chest, admitting to both of them that no matter how much they enjoy fighting with each other, no one else around them does.

Richie leans back into the hammock, their little club house finally complete. Well as complete as it will ever be.

Beverly has strung up lights around the dirt covered wood of the ceilings, and Mike painted the walls a lovely shade of blue.

The floor has a old large rug that Bev found near a dumpster, it has a disgusting, almost dizzying pattern vomited across it, but it's better then walking on literal dirt.

Ben finished up really enforcing the ceiling structure, much the the relief of both Stan and most of all Eddie who would constantly have mini panic attacks when he entered the place. Ben even began putting metal paneling all along the ground above, as to make sure that it wouldn't flood if it ever rains. Him and Bill were able to figure out how to build some makeshift ventilation, so that it wasn't so stuffy down there. Everyone appreciated being able to breath better.

It looked nice.

Well actually that's a lie. It looked like trash. But that's okay. Because it was their trash.

The loser's hangout, was more homey then any of their own homes. Because it isn't the location. It's the people. And where ever they can all be together. That was home.

Richie was very delighted at the newest home improvement.

The second hammock.

It was behind the entrance, all the way across the room on the other side, opposite the the hammock Richie was currently sitting in, while flipping through his Spider-Man comic.

Finally there would be less bickering on who's turn it would be. Because the second hammock was big enough to fit up to three people. Ben and Mike had put their money together to buy it. It was made of sturdy rope, compared to the flimsy cloth one Richie currently resided in, the new one was the favorite of the group's.

But Richie didn't care, because this one was his. Since everyone wanted to sit in the new fancy hammock, this one was all to himself. He swung slightly, feeling his smile coming back to his lips. It was relaxing.

And as Beverly started the climb down the ladder with some more throw pillows, placing them around the inside to make it have, what she called 'a feminine touch.' Richie felt content.

It had been such a long fucking summer.

Not a single one of them even mentioned Pennywise since the blood pact. Could you blame them? No one wanted to think about it. No one wanted to relive that trama. Pennywise's disgustingly ugly and stupid laugh, and his stupid little dances. They all wanted to forget. Especially Bill.

He had lost so much. So much more then any of them.

Richie's chest tightened thinking about the boy. His first ever crush was on Bill. When they first met, Bill complemented his glasses. Even though that was something Richie was always picked on for. Bill thought they looked cool. It made his heart flutter.

It only became worse when Bill first stood up for Richie when he was being made fun of by the other kids in elementary school. Bill loudly told them all off, pushing some of them away even, and standing his ground, putting his body between the bullies and Richie.

Richie had never asked him to do that, and he remembered what Bill told him when they walked home afterwards. "You didn't have to ask. I wanted to do it. Because you deserve better. Because you are better then them."

And even after Bill had punched him in the face during a argument about Pennywise, he still couldn't help but admire him. Even when he was pissed off.

But then again how could you not fall in love with Bill Denbrough? He was sweet, charismatic, handsome. He cared so much, and loved everyone, so much. That you could feel it admitting off him. His heart aches and hurts when others hurt. He cried for everyone who couldn't cry for themselves. He gave and never asked for anything in return. His stutter was sweet and endearing, he never let it stop him, or slow him down. His tiny mistakes with his speeches didn't make them any less powerful. And the pain and loss he had gone though didn't make him any less selfless.

After loosing Georgie, he felt like he was responsible for keeping everyone else he had ever loved, safe. To protect them, even at the risk of his own life.

He was everything to every one in the losers club. A leader, a lover, a friend.

Richie was sure if anyone of his male friends were anything other then straight, they would have felt the same way about Bill when they first met him. Shit, even Beverly fell for him.

Richie slowly moved his hand away from the laminated pages of the amazingly fucking awesome adventures of Peter Parker, to gaze down to the palm of his hand. There was a scar, the tissue turning a pinkish white. Everyone had it. The same scar. It brought them together. Bonded them as a family.

Thunk

There was a soft plop of a bean bag chair being thrown down the hatch, Bill himself peaking down the opening, as if willing himself into existence, being summoned by Richie's thoughts of him.

He smiled, and it took Richie's breath away.

He adverted his eyes as Bill climbed down, his eyes instead landing on a now much more calmer Eddie. He was helping Beverly place the beanbag chair in one of the empty corners of the room, allowing her to sit down in it, with a smile on his face. He turned, his eyes suddenly meeting Richie's, that smile never disappearing from his lips.

Richie felt like he was suffocating. It was so much more different, how he felt about Eddie. So much more intense, so much more extraordinary. It was profound how all consuming it was. The emotions washing over him like a quilted blanket of hysteria.

Quickly. He ignored it.

It was for the better. It was for the benefit of everyone. For the group. For his own sanity.

"W-we-we-well well well, looks l-like everyone is alread-dy here. All we have to wait for is M-Mike" Bill pat his hands together to brush off any dust from the ladder, looking around at everything fondly. His slight smile contagious, and absolutely fucking beautiful.

With his presence, suddenly everyone felt like they knew who they were, what to do, how to feel. It was like being hit with a tranquilizer.

Richie looked back over at the hammock across the room, Ben and Stanly already squeezing in, as Beverly happily made her way over to Bill. She kissed him sweetly on the cheek and he smiled in return, kissing her back. They seemed like such a happy couple.

However Richie couldn't help but note the way Ben's eyes would follow her actions, linger a little before quickly breaking his gaze whenever they would kiss. Like he had to watch something that wasn't even his in the first place, be given away right before his very eyes.

'I know how you feel buddy'

And Richie knew it was even harder for Ben. Because he couldn't be angry at Bill, could never bring himself to hate him. Because of course Beverly would like Bill, everyone likes Bill, and of course Bill would like Beverly, everyone likes Beverly.

So he was stuck, having to watch two people he knew were basically perfect, wonderful, sweet, and beautiful together, be happy. The girl he loved and the boy he admired and respected. And he knew not to step in the way of their happiness. Because they deserved happiness.

As Beverly and Bill squished into the newly furbished corner, of the room, weighing down the bean bag, Richie moved his eyes back over to Eddie, who was now, unfortunately walking towards him.

"What do you want?" Richie asks, seemingly annoyed because he knows the answer, he just doesn't want it to be true. He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, flipping to the next page.

"It's my turn in the hammock" Eddie was stern, knowing he would get his way no matter what, in the end. He always did. His hands perched on his hips, as he stared down at Richie with impatience.

Here we go again—

"Dude, there is a whole other hammock over there"

"Ben and Stan are alrea—"

"Yeah and it can fit one more person, AKA you Kasbrak."

"I don't want to be squished in between two other people it makes me claustrophobic."

"And the better option is to take this tiny cramp little hammock instead? Why don't you just ask them for their hammock"

"Because there is two people in that one, compared to the one asshole in this one, it makes more sense to take yours. Less people have to loose hammock privileges. You go sit with them"

"That's no fair. I was sitting here first"

"Yeah but I need it more then you, it makes more sense"

"It really doesn't. Why don't you just sit on the floor?"

Eddie seemed bewildered by this suggestion, basically spluttering out a jumble of incoherent thoughts and stuttering so much he could give Bill a run for his money.

"Do you not realize how utterly fucking disgusting the ground is? The rug came from a dumpster. A DUMPSTER" he made wild jesters with his hands, eyes looking like they might pop out of his skull, "the amount of germs and bacteria and disease— what if this carpet has AIDS??"

"I don't think that's how it works, but I do know who might know a thing or two about aids. Your mom see—" Richie began, but he already knew what was coming. It happened way too often, Eddie would just end up forcing himself into the hammock with Richie, sitting basically in his lap.

Not that he complained at first, it was part of the reason Richie always refused to get out. He always enjoyed having to feel Eddies legs tangled with his, and the press of his body.

But now Eddie didn't have a excuse, if he really didn't want to squish into a hammock with someone, why did he always insist on doing it with Richie in the much, much smaller hammock.

It was starting to become a issue, because with Eddie in his lap so often, it posed a lot of problems for a growing teenage boy. The type that he didn't want to think about, and didn't like the idea of it happening with a friend on top of him. Let alone a boy. Suddenly Richie has become much more acutely aware of his body and it's reactions. Especially around his friends.

"For the last fucking time you are not getting in this with me" Richie was getting ready to argue and yell as Eddie swung his leg up to get in. It seems to be such a reoccurring pattern that everyone else knew as well, groaning at the bickering.

And for the first time someone spoke up, "Eddie here" Beverly offered, voice breaking through the loud argument with soft kind understanding, standing up from the beanbag. Bill following behind her, as she continued, tying her hair into a half assed bun, "you can have this. I'll sit with Richie, so you two don't murder each other"

Like on cue, Bill was already making his way to sit between Ben and Stan, who both gladly moved out of the way to make room, everyone just relieved to avoid anymore issues.

Richie as well thankful. At least if Beverly sits with him, he doesn't have to worry about those reactions. Well at least Eddie related reactions. If he reacted to Beverly in his lap, the rest of the group would be understanding. Probably make fun of him, or pick on him, but they wouldn't—

Know your secret? Dirty? Filthy? Faggot.

And as he watched her make her way over to his hammock he scooted back a little to make room, noticing the pretty gold lining of her red shirt underneath her overalls, as she got in, her legs pressing into Richie's sides.

Richie could see the freckles speckling across her face, leaving her looking like the sun sprinkled kisses upon her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were so pretty and bright blue, as she smiled fondly to Richie.

Beverly Marsh. If it had not been for Bill or Eddie, Richie was sure he would have fallen for her.

But he was happy to settle with her being his best friend, at the same level as Stan. He admired the way her nose scrunched up, as she pushed some of her bright red hair behind her ear.

She was who he confined in, who he could trust with his feelings. He gave her the key to his emotions and knew she would keep it safe, locked away in the cupboards of her brain.

And whenever his mother got drunk and screamed at him, accidentally letting slip that he was a mistake, that she regretted having him, that truly deep down she didn't care about her only child, and blames him for her terrible marriage.

Or when his dad would yell, get home angry, under the influence of something different every night, and just start throwing things, constantly finding something to be pissed off about. or even beat his mom, as he hid in his room listening to her cry. Feeling his heart sink into his stomach, as he asked himself, was it really his fault his mom went through all this?

And when his dad would even sometimes turn from beating his mom, to beating him—
Beverly would be there.

Beverly would be there, always, already at their  favorite hangout spot, behind the bleachers outside the school, with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and that key to his repressed feelings. The two of them against the world. They would just talk, about anything. It never had to be about what happened. It never had to be about why Richie had a black eye or why he was crying. Sometimes it would just be comfortable silence, and sometimes it would be talks— long, breathy, tired and labored, about their horrible parents.

She would rest her head in the crook of his shoulder and neck, just holding hands. If it rained they would snuggle closer together, and drape a coat over their shoulders. If it was cold, they would smoke until their cheeks were rosy. And if it was hot out, they would strip their outer layers of clothes, and point out the new bruises on each other. All of which came from their Fathers. And instead of becoming sad about it, they would name each one of those swollen blue indents that painted their skin, figuring out what each shape it looked like. Some looked like rabbits, or hair brushes. And some were just blobs, dark blue and purple, with a gross green yellow lining, looking undeniably like a fist.

They would just absently smoke, and talk, looking out at the depressingly grey sky of Derry. Daring to dream of a better place they could just run away too, and forget this shitty town.

And as she finally settled herself into the hammock, she pulled out cigarettes, much to Richie's relief. They knew that they couldn't smoke in there unless the hatch to the club house was letting fresh air in, but because Mike wasn't there yet, the door was left wide open, the last bit of the summer rays leaking through and lighting up the dark den.

Looking over he can already see Bill, Ben and Stan putting on shower caps as to protect their hair from spiders. Much to his amusement.

Even Beverly gave up on that after the first two weeks because they had finally gotten the placed cleaned up. No more spiderwebs all over the ceiling, so what was the point of wearing those dumb caps anymore?

But what Richie was more annoyed about was that they are scared of spiders in their hair, when they had fought and fucking killed a demon clown. Spiders were nothing compared to Pennywise, but after the first week he stopped commenting on it.

However— most surprising was Eddie, who was now sitting into the beanbag chair, his tiny body basically being enveloped by the cushioning. His stripped socks all the way up to the bottom of his knees.

Of all people who would be paranoid enough to wear that dorky shower cap it would be him. Yet after the first time, when Richie had said something about it being stupid, Eddie has always refused to wear them since. He might just be trying to prove something, about being tough or something. It had to be something.

And as Beverly passed the now lit cigarette that she had already taken a hit from, Richie put the stick between his lips, taking a long drag and relishing in how the poison would relax his nerves.  Mike began descending down the ladder by then, holding a tiny fold up table and 2 fold up chairs. He was surprisingly yet not so surprisingly, the strongest of the group, with the most defined and well built muscles. Most likely from his work on the farm, he made it down the ladder with ease, using only one arm.

Everyone greeted him, all smiling and welcoming him down, as he apologized for being late, needing to carry the table and chairs all the way out here, and finding some difficulty in weaving through the trees. 

Richie thinks he can hear Bill tell Mike that he should have asked for help, But was too focused on Eddie in the beanbag to really tell. Not just because it was so damn cute to look at, because it was— but because Eddie looked so sad. So lonely.

'But I thought he wanted to sit alone?'

"Well now t-that everyone is here" Richie passed the cigarette back to Beverly, blowing out the smoke from his lungs feeling them beg for fresh air as he looked back towards Bill while he spoke. "I n-now am going to officially begin the L-L-Loser's club meeting"

Everyone watched Bill with attentive eyes, though Richie's would flicker over to Eddie every once in a while.

"Summ-su-s-s-summer is almost over" he got out, trying to pace himself, "and we need to m-make it count"

"Uuuugh" Richie complained, dramatically flinging his head back into the hammock with a groan. "Again with the summer shit? I thought you of all people Bill would be over it?"

Beverly kicked him gently at his side, with a amused grin on her lips.

"We could maybe go camping?" Mike offered, but that suggestion was quickly met with Richie's laugh of the idea, and the firm "no" from Stan and Eddie.

"Well we could have another slumber party?" Beverly offered, and it wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't necessarily special. They had sleep overs all the time, most of the time at Bill's place.

"Well we can't really leave Derry can we?" Eddie asked, voice soft. Richie couldn't tear his eyes off him.

"Maybe we can" Ben thought out loud, and everyone suddenly looked towards him. The blush on his face, now prominent and spreading over his cheeks.

"How?" Bill asked, in a genuinely curious voice.

"Well, maybe we can go on a road trip, go to a museum—" Richie made a point in snoring loudly at that one. "Or a fair, like a carnival or something"

"Not to be balls deep in some bad news" Beverly laughs, scrunching up her nose, "but I hate fairs" Richie spoke, voice almost acid at the bad memories, and the thought of that stupid statue in the middle of the town.

"Well that's why I said, outside of Derry"

"And how would we even get there? I doubt we could bike our way to the next nearest festival?" Stan said, slightly annoyed, but being gentle about it, most likely because he was speaking to Ben.

Eddie finally spoke up, "what about— what if we throw a party?"

Richie's ears perked up, instantly intrigued by such a scandalous idea boasting from the inner workings of Eddie.

"How would we even do that?" Stan states questionably, seemingly even a little disappointed in Eddie even coming up with an idea like that.

"I don't know I was just spit balling" Eddie quieted down, taking the rejection not well. He never did really handle his ideas being shot down. But the frown on his face made Richie want to reach out and hold him.

"Well we can try and have a party in the sewers" Richie grinned, as all the heads turned to him wide eyed. "Yeah it'll be fun, plus, we will have a special VIP access for like all the dead kid—s"

"BEEP BEEP, RICHIE" half of them yelled out, and all Richie could do is laugh. God it was fun being a asshole sometimes.

____________

Even after the group had offered one idea to another, in the end they realized a bunch of 13 year olds couldn't really accomplish much, without any resources. So they, many begrudgingly agreed on another sleep over, after a day of the arcade and the movies.

Everyone had to get money ready for that weekend, mostly for the arcade, and then Ben will buy a ticket, go to the back of the theater and open the doors for the rest of the losers.

It wasnt much, but they all knew it was enough, anything is enough when they are all together, and that, was all that mattered.