𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 - 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞

Two Birds, No Stone. Don't Throw Stones At Birds, Jackass

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Richie rolled his and Eddie's bikes out of the rack frantically, desperate to get them away from the approaching group of psychopaths. "Pedal, Eds!" he commanded in one of his Voices as he haphazardly pushed Eddie's bike in the boy's direction and clambered onto his own bike.

Eddie had noticed a pattern; every time Richie or the people around him were anxious, he'd start speaking in Voices. It was a coping mechanism of sorts, and it made Eddie feel terrible for every time he'd said something harsh about them (which happened to be a lot. He realized he could be a bit of an ass).

The pair of losers scrambled to get on their bikes and pedal away from the school, Bowers, and his band of assholes. They managed to get a fair head start before their tormentors could even get on their own bikes and begin chasing them down.

Eddie's thoughts were still stuck on Richie by the time the duo were off school property. That's what he decided to blame when he looked over at the teenager biking beside him.

Richie was stood on his bike rather than sitting, a huge beam split across his flushed cheeks and wind lashing his face and whipping his hair in wild directions as they raced down a hill. The sight of pure joy made butterflies flutter in Eddie's stomach. Richie Tozier's excitement was contagious enough to make even the disease-fearing Eddie Kaspbrak let out a spirited shout, as if they'd beaten the devil.

Richie whipped his head around to gape at Eddie, probably not expecting such a sound from him. Knowing Richie's eyes were now on him, feeding him the attention he insatiably craved, Eddie felt a strange empowerment. He felt like he could do anything in that moment. He puffed out his chest and beamed, his grip on the handlebars built up by his rising confidence.

Turns out, Richie didn't make him entirely invincible.

One of the tires hit a pothole just at the bottom of the hill, and before he knew it he was flailing through the air. Temporarily, he got to know how it felt to fly. It felt oddly nostalgic, like deja vu (like he'd floated this way before). Then, he slammed into the grass just next to the sidewalk at the foot of the hill, sufficiently breaking the spell.

First, the pain was centered in his head; his head ached like his brain was bruising, swelling, growing so big that it would bust through his skull.

Then, his entire body began throbbing in sheer agony. His back was probably broken. He could imagine the billions of shattered bits of bone splitting through all his vital organs and arteries, his spinal cord tearing and permanently paralyzing him. He'd be in a coma forever. Always on the brink of death but never quite being given that freedom. They'd eventually have to just unplug the cord.

But after a moment, his body let out an involuntary, choked wail, a quiet plead for Richie. Hurry up and get your stupid ass over here, he begged internally, before I die.

"Eddie, holy fuck!" he heard over the deafening ringing in his ears, and he would've smiled, because that was probably the first time he'd heard his actual name come from the boy's mouth in weeks. So he would've smiled, but everything hurt too much; even his eyes, which were closed but still stung from tears.

Sobs began tearing through his body when Richie's hands gently gripped his. It was a futile attempt to try to soothe Eddie; Richie didn't know what else to do.

"Fucker! Fucking fuck, fuck me up... Fuck!" Richie muttered, and if Eddie didn't feel like he was going to die in that moment, he would've chuckled and made a remark about that being the extent of the crude boy's vocabulary. "Hey, you two yunguns! Stutterin' Bill! Yeah, and that Jewish kid, get on ovah heyuh!" Richie yelled in a Voice.