Chapter Text
There Richie Lipschitz stood in the Waylon house, grasping his camera with sweaty hands. Around him stood Peter Spankoffski, Ruth Fleming, Stephanie Lauter, and Grace Chastity, all in various states of disbelief. A couple yards away, Max Jagerman was smiling at them with pearly white teeth. Not a cruel intentioned smile like usual but an earnestly delighted one. He was praising their prank like it was some sort of gift and not a mean-spirited joke. It was almost sad how little it took to make him light up in gratitude.
Richie had been so eager to humiliate Max, but now a sick, guilty feeling settled in his gut. He gulped, feeling beads of sweat gather on his forehead, matting his hair down to it.
Max turned around, continuing to explain that maybe he had misjudged the nerds when Richie heard a cracking noise under the bully's feet.
Richie really had no clue what came over him in that moment. He had never been brave and certainly wasn't one to take initiative in stressful situations. He was more than content with letting others take the lead on things. But something in him shifted when he heard the telltale creak of the floorboards bowing under Max Jagerman’s sneakers. A gut feeling told him something was wrong, and he heard Pete’s voice echoing in his brain, mentioning something about poor structural integrity.
Maybe in another universe, Richie would've stayed where he was and let whatever happened happen. Maybe in another universe, Max would've fallen through the rotting floorboards and died. But in this universe, Richie found himself jumping into action without even really thinking about it. His heart felt like it was in his throat as he lurched forward, letting his camera clatter to the ground without a second thought, leaving future Richie to mourn the damage.
Time seemed to slow down. His converse squeaked as he sprinted towards where his bully was standing, still smiling dopily. Just before the floor gave way beneath Max’s feet, Richie pushed him hard , releasing a cry that was supposed to be something between ‘watch out!’ and ‘move!’ but just ended up sounding like an indistinguishable yelp of panic. Luckily the jock's inebriated state caused his footing to be looser than expected, and he stumbled away easily under Richie’s sweaty palms.
Richie staggered from the excess momentum but had no time to rejoice at Max’s safety as the floorboards split open beneath him with a deafening crack. He fell fast. Richie’s only saving grace was his awareness of the situation as he scrambled and was just barely able to grip onto the edge he was now dangling over. His head slammed against the floor from the force of his fall, but he still clambered for purchase. His vision went white for a second, and when it returned, everything was blurry. A fogginess had begun to envelop his mind, and a high-pitched ringing reverberated in his ears.
Richie dug his fingers into the wood so hard he could feel one of his nails crack beneath the pressure. His upper body hung on for dear life as his legs dangled helplessly over the chasm. This is it. I’m going to die. He thought, gripping on with what little strength he had. They better not throw away my limited-edition anime figures. Especially not Mai Sakurajima.
Before Richie could lament in his misery anymore, and just as his fingers began to slip, he felt a pair of hands hoist him up fast and quick. One moment, he was dangling over his doom, and the next, he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, dazed.
Richie’s chest felt tight as his lungs heaved for air. A headache rang through his skull like a loud, painful alarm. Squinting, Richie found his vision dancing before him and his mind clogged with cotton, making it hard to even think. He whined quietly.
“Oh my god, oh my god!“ A voice broke through his haze. It sounded like Pete, his voice two octaves too high. “I told you guys this place wasn't structurally sound!” What place? Where were they? Despite digging deep, Richie couldn’t recall where he was or what had happened.
“Richie, speak to me! Are you alive? Do I get your body pillows if you die?” Ruth was here, too. Were they having a sleepover?
“Jesus fuck!” A husky female voice exclaimed. It sounded like Stephanie Lauter… Why was Stephanie Lauter here with three nerds?
“Language! And do not take the lord's name in vain!” The unmistakeable voice of Grace Chastity pierced through the air. Okay, what was going on? Was he at school? Why did his head feel like it’s been bashed in? He groaned, lifting his arm and cradling his elbow over his eyes while willing the ceiling to stop spinning.
“Bro, are you good?” The voice of Max Jagerman yanked Richie from his thoughts violently. A moment of clarity struck Richie, and he sat up quickly, gasping in a quick breath, which wheezed on its way out. Lighting bolts of pain jolted around his head from the sudden movement. Holy shit. He’d just sacrificed himself to save Max fucking Jagerman. But just as quickly as it’d come, the moment left, and he found himself only able to focus on the throbbing in his skull.
“Ngh… Aw man, guys, I do not feel too good.” He whined out. He was finally able to get a look at the scene. Pete was wringing his hands nervously, crouched about a foot away from Richie, looking scared shitless. Stephanie Lauter was standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder. She appeared at least somewhat reserved but still concerned; brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape. Ruth was holding Richie’s video camera tightly to her chest, eyes blown wide. Grace Chastity was just behind her, expression unreadable but incredibly off-putting. And Max. Max fucking Jagerman was crouched on his other side, looking at Richie with an expression that, for once, wasn’t reminiscent of a wolf on the prowl. He looked almost… scared? Concerned? But that couldn’t be. Richie wasn’t too good at reading facial expressions anyway, and it didn’t help that he was starting to see double.
“Heh. Ruth, there’s two of you.” He giggled before his strength gave out and began to tilt sideways. Max hurried to catch him before he hit the ground.
“Thank FUCK you’re okay!” Steph exclaimed, looking relieved.
“‘Okay’ is relative!” Pete exclaimed, “Richie, did you just say you see two Ruth’s?” He asked cautiously, his voice still pitched higher than it usually was. Richie didn’t respond, electing to focus on the pain that was splitting his head in two. He just groaned and leaned into Max's firm grip. He wasn’t coherent enough to bother being scared of what the bully might do.
Max readjusted his grip so that Richie was fully in his arms, head leaning against his broad chest. He was peering down at Richie’s face, eyes round like an owls. Richie blinked as he felt something warm and sticky roll down his forehead and into his eye. It stung, but in comparison to the migraine he was nursing, it was barely noticeable.
“Oh shit, he’s bleeding! Bloods supposed to stay inside the body. Even I know that!” Max’s chest rumbled against Richie’s forehead as he spoke. It felt good. He closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth, and felt himself start to drift.
“It’s okay. This is all part of God's plan, guys!”
Richie tried to grasp onto the words that were being spoken, but they slipped away like sand through his fingertips.
“Shut up, Chastity!”
“Yeah, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Richie? Buddy, are you with us?”
He was so sleepy. Maybe he could just take a quick nap.
“…call…concussion…injury!”
“…now…awake…”
“…Richie…”
Yeah, now seemed like a good time for a nap.