The End Of Us || losers club ✔️

twenty three

twenty three - dead moms club
trigger warning: suicide

It's only a house, Richie tells himself. A house that holds dusted over memories and stashed away photos, hidden from curious eyes. Stanley stands behind him, a hand grasping his elbow and peering up at the old house. Richie can see his bedroom window, dark and heavy in his mind. After years of only wanting to go home, he thought walking up the driveway would be simple. But it's not. Everything is far from simple.

The car door slams closed and Wentworth rounds the hood, the jingling of car keys coming to a fast stop. He looks up at the house, then at the two boys.

"Gonna come inside this year?"

Richie looks at his father. Just looks. He picks apart Wentworth's tired face, his sagged shoulders, the worn out smile he wears so easily. He's trying so hard to be a dad, and Richie appreciates it. He truly does.

But something is missing.

"Dad? Where's mom?"

Wentworth sucks in a breath. His eyes stare-bore into Richie. A second passes, then two, then what feels like a minute. Richie watches as his father purses his lips and draw in his eyebrows. Richie looks over his shoulder at Stanley, who is looking at Wentworth with concern.

"There's.." Wentworth starts, clearing his throat briefly, "There's a lot to catch you kids up on."

Richie's hand feels heavy and empty beside him. It itches for Stanley's own hand, but then Wentworth walks up the front porch steps and Stanley is passing him to follow and Richie is left alone standing in the driveway. He watches as Stanley gets farther, and once the boy reaches the doors is when the panic begins to settle in.

Richie rushes over, almost tripping over his own two feet. Only when Stanley's back is inches away from him, the soft fibers of his old shirt warm and welcoming to Richie's eyes, he feels himself calm down.

It feels as though Richie is walking through water when he enters his house. Each step is heavy and slow, his eyes trailing, his heart pattering. A rushing urge to cry surges through him, especially when he turns his head to look into the living room.

It's like he can see Maggie sitting on the couch.

Wentworth sighs heavily. He kicks off his shoes near the front door and Stanley follows his movements, just much more neatly. Richie looks down at the hardwood floors, remembering all the times he slid across the wood to get to the door when his friends came over.

His friends. Fuck, he misses his friends.

Richie takes off his shoes and feels his feet press into the cool floor. It brings a shiver to his spine, not from the coolness, but more from the memories. As he looks deeper into the house, he knows there's much more to recover.

"Before we do anything," Went says, leaning the two boys into the kitchen. It's much brighter in here than in the front entry hall. The table is set for three, there's flowers on the center island. Just like Maggie always had it. "I need to talk to you two."

Richie stands with Stanley, them both watching with careful eyes as Wentworth takes his unofficial official seat at the head of the table. Richie knows which is his seat, the one between his mother and father. He walks over to the chair, feels the hard wood under his hand, and slots himself in. It feels so.. right sitting here. But of course it would. It's his house, his kitchen, his seat. He belongs here.

Stanley doesn't sit. He instead stands next to Richie, his arms on the table top. They both wait quietly for Wentworth to fill them in on all they need to know; all they've missed. Richie anticipates for a lot of information. Derry can change a lot in three years, can't it?

Went sucks in a deep breath, sliding back to lean deeper in his chair. "I'll start with the more obvious and.. easier information first. Stanley," he says, and from the corner of Richie's eye, he watches as the boy perks up, interested, "I know you haven't seen your parents yet. They told me to tell you they're still on their way-"

"Yeah, where are they?" Stanley asks, leaning over the table slightly, swallowing every word Went says.

"North Carolina. They moved down there last year."

Stanley pauses. His fingers curl into his palm, his adam's apple bobs. Richie's eyes dart over to his friend, watching as the boy processes.

"Moved?" He repeats. "They left without me?"

"No," Wentworth says. "No, Stan, they didn't leave you, son. With the backlash and how the townsfolk reacted, they didn't think they could stay."

Stanley steps away from the table, his hands sliding off the surface. "Do you know when they're be back?" He asks.

Wentworth rubs his cheek before setting his chin in his palm. "Maybe.. Tomorrow? The day after?" He offers. "They didn't say if they're travailing by plane or car, so I'm not sure."

Stanley nods once and drops his eyes. "May I go for a walk?" He asks, and receives a quick yes.

Wentworth and Richie are quiet as Stanley gathers up his shoes and leaves out the front door. Only seconds after the door slams into place, Wentworth bows his head and brings a hand to his eyes.

Richie watches, scared and concerned. Something is wrong. So, horribly wrong. He knew it from the second he stepped off the bus and only saw his father. Maggie wasn't there, and she's not here.

"Dad?" Richie hears himself ask. His voice is soft and hushed, just barely audible. "Where's my mom?"

A shuddery breath leaves Wentworth. "Your mother," he says, lifting his head and staring across the room with horribly saddened eyes. It's wrenching for Richie to look at.

"Mags.. She- She loved you a lot, Rich. She truly did. When the police found your letters and manipulated Mags into meeting up with you, she was heartbroken. She couldn't sleep at night in the days leading up to the day. Then.. you and your friends got caught and... I'm not sure what she was feeling, but it was enough-.." Wentworth's voice hitches and he brings a hand to his mouth.

Richie stares at his father, eyes wide and wet underneath.

Richie knows. He can feel it coming. He just needs Went to say it for the theory to solidify in his mind.

"Richie.." Wentworth starts, "Mags took her life."