Random OneShots

Hiding in the Neibolt house

By: Topazteardrop on Ao3

Reddie

~~~~

Richie Tozier wanted to be alone.

Yes, believe it or not, sometimes the trashmouth himself, king of being the center of attention, needed to be alone. Away from his friends and his parents. He couldn't really put a finger on why. Most days, he loved being surrounded by others. Richie craved attention from his friends, especially Eddie. But there were days where the concept of being the "trashmouth," bold and funny and loud, was so incredibly daunting. Those days had been coming more and more frequently as Richie entered his high school years. He could tell it was that sort of day when he woke up, he'd feel an empty pit in his stomach and resent the idea of having to face the reality of his life. But he'd drag himself out of bed and fulfill the motions of the day, doing his best impression of the eccentric character he made himself out to be.

But eventually his battery would run out and he'd feel the overwhelming urge to be alone. To have all eyes off of him so he didn't have to front smiles or crack jokes. After school he'd find some chicken shit excuse to abandon the losers and go home, but even there he didn't feel right. He hated having to walk past his mother slumped in a chair, drunk or asleep or on the rare occasion, yelling at his father. He wasn't home often enough for it to be commonplace, but it felt whenever he was around there would be screaming.

So no, home didn't feel right. For a very long time, Richie was frustrated by his lack of places to be alone. The odds of being interrupted in the clubhouse were too high, and all other good spots ran the risk of encountering one of the remaining members of Bowers's gang. In his long searches for places to be alone he'd encountered bullies a few times and the result was about as pleasant as you might expect. Richie almost gave up hope until he remembered one place he was positive no one would come looking for him.

The house on Neibolt street.

The first day he dared to back there had been bad. He'd woken up with that pit in his stomach, an unpleasant good morning! today's gonna be shit. He'd had a hard time keeping his jokes up, Eddie asked him multiple times what was wrong and Richie never had a convincing answer. Between classes, Vic Criss had caught him staring off into space and promptly shoved him against a locker, screaming profanities in his face. Apparently Richie had been staring at a friend of Vics, and he naturally took it the worst way possible. So Richie got to go the rest of the school day with a headache from connecting with the lockers.

By the time the final bell rang, Richie's internal battery was well worn out. He couldn't muster the slightest energy to force an aloof attitude or lewd joke. As the losers walked out the front gate, Richie bee-lined to his bike on the rack, ready to go home.

"You coming Richie?" Beverly asked, cutting off his train of thought.

Richie hadn't been listening to the conversation, more focused on crawling into bed and sleeping for twelve hours. "Coming?" He repeated.

"To the clubhouse, man." Eddie supplied, giving Richie a frustrated glance. "Where the hell is your head at?"

Richie did his best to grin, but it came out pained. "I'm actually not feeling so hot, fellas. Think I might turn in early."

All the losers raised their eyebrows at him, knowing Richie was normally never one to miss a hangout in the clubhouse. Eddie looked twice as concerned as the rest, squinting at Richie's face. Richie couldn't meet his eye.

"Are you sick?" He asked, stepping forward to put a hand against Richie's forehead. Richie dodged him easily, in no mood to deal with what Eddie's hand on him did for his heartbeat.