It Comes To Hawkins

World Went Dark

       Hey there! This is my second ever fanfiction so thanks for reading it. I'll try to update at least once a week if enough people start reading it. I'd love if people commented on thin I can improve! Thanks! And enjoy!
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             Richie Tozier woke up the same way he always did. In pain. Looking around, he saw his dresser was pushed over and all his things scattered on the floor from the fight with his drunk of a father the night before. Groaning, Richie pushed the covers off of himself and sat up, looking at his new bruises and feeling his ribs to make sure the bones weren't bruised or broken along with his skin. Stepping ever so lightly and being cautious of his records and cigarettes on the floor, Richie walked across his room into the hall. He looked to his right only to see his mother's hand hanging off of the couch, probably still passed out from the screaming match with her husband, not to mention she probably has a few bruises as well. Richie quietly snuck into the bathroom so as not to wake his passed out mother in the living room. After brushing his teeth and slowly getting dressed, being oh so aware of all the new injuries, he tip toed his way to the front door. He was almost there when his shoe caught an empty bottle and smashed to the ground. Hearing rustling and moaning behind him he started cursing under his breath. Begrudgingly, he turned around to face his still drunk mother, her breath wafting into his face and he held back the urge to gag.

"Whhat do y'think yre doin?" She slurred.

"Mom, I'm just going to school." Richie peeled his drunken mother off of him and turned away to face the door.

"No! Y're gonna be a good lil' boy an ge' me more wine. Thats wha' y're gonna do. Come, on honey." Richie shook her off, taking a step back. "You better fuckin' do what y're told!" She pushed him in her drunken state, not noticing Wentworth had woken up and was watching the scene with growing anger.

"What the fuck is going on here?!" Wentworth Tozier yelled into the kitchen. Richie flinched, dropped his head and began to mumble apologies for being too loud, for not doing what his mother told him, for existing, for breathing, anything to get his father calm again. He was so close to escape. Mourning the chance of getting out of his godforsaken house in peace. Still mumbling apologies, Richie pleaded internally that his father would let it go. After all, he already took his anger out on him the night before.

But Wentworth would't have it, after all, his sad excuse for a son had woken him up from a damn good dream and he couldn't possibly let that go. By this point, Maggie Tozier was on the ground, half asleep and half sobbing. Richie could tell she was just scared. Well you know what Ma? He was too. Richie was inching further and further away from his father.

"I'm sorry." Richie whispered. Shame and fear crept into his stomach like a virus, slowly eating away at him.

"Sorry?" Wentworth was practically growling. "I'll teach you fuckin' sorry"

"Went-" Maggie begged, half lidded from the floor. She looked pathetic, crawling on the floor as if she was a dog begging for scraps. Just the way Went liked her.

"NO, Maggie!" His shoe collided with her stomach making her throw up the alcohol she had consumed the night before. Richie stepped forward to help her but remembered the violence towards Maggie could easily be switched to him. Too late. Richie was thrown back, hitting his head on the floor with a sickening crack. Unsteady on his feet, Richie stumbled up and leaned on the wall for support only to look back on his advancing father with a pool of dread forming in his stomach. He had to get out of here. Moving like a zombie, Richie tried to walk to the door, only to have a concussive force knock his head to the side, making him crumble to the floor. Through his haze, he could see his father punching and kicking him, he could feel sharp pricks throughout the beating, but he was truly out of it. He thanked whatever entity was out there that shielded the pain from him. All he knew was that he had to run. And run he did. He kicked his father back, hard enough to make him stumble and fall onto the scratched and sticky hardwood floor. Richie scrambled out of the kitchen, opened the door that was half on its hinges and out of the house, then promptly fell down the porch stairs.

Groaning, he got up only to be grabbed again by Wentworth who had come back to his senses, feeling angrier than he had all his life. No amount of punching or screaming would do. He had to truly make the little prick pay. He was so angry, he could kill him. As that thought passed through Wentworth Tozier's mind, he made the decision to kill his only son. In front of the neighbors' houses. His hands fell to Richie's throat and he pushed him onto the ground, effectively choking him. Richie's eyes bulged as he gasped and choked, begging for air. His arms flailed uselessly about, clutching the hands that continued to deprive oxygen from his lungs. As Richie was beginning to see black dots appear in his sight, a large force knocked over his attacker. Gasping from the movement and the ability to breathe again, Richie lurched up and started crawling backwards to put space between his father and him while holding his sore throat almost instinctively. He thought he heard someone through the fog clouding his mind saying something about hospitals and child services before the world went dark.