Mutants|| Reddie [DISCONTINUED]

II

"With great power- comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later."

"Trashmouth! Hey, Trashmouth, wake up!" Richie felt arms shaking him awake. "C'mon Rich, it's your turn to get food."

Richie rolled over on the thin sheet. "Go away," he mumbled. "S'too early."

"Richard, it's 11:07 AM."

"Exactly, it's way too early." Richie said. He sat up and put on his glasses, and the face of Beverly Marsh came into view. He looked over at her empty bed (if you can call a beat-up blanket and balled-up sweatshirt on the hardwood floor a bed), then back into her face. "Why are you waking me up at the crack of dawn?"

Bev rolled her eyes. "It's your turn to grab food, Richie."

"Is it?" Richie feigned surprise. "Already?"

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit, Richie. You and I both know that it's way easier for you to steal stuff because of your," she waved her hand vaguely. "power thingy."

"Fiiiiine," Richie relented. "I'll get it later in the day, when I'm not half asleep."

"But it's already-" Bev paused. She knew full well that Richie could be very stubborn when he wanted to. "Fuck you, Trashmouth. Fine. This afternoon." She rustled through her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?"

"You read my mind, Miss Marsh!" Richie drawled in one of his favorite Voices.

Beverly sighed. "I hate when you use the Voices, Richie. It's just so creepy. Doesn't sound like you at all."

"That's kind of the point, Bev," Richie said, taking a cigarette. He held it up and grinned winningly at her. "Can you do the thing?"

Bev rolled her eyes at him and lifted up her pointer finger. She squinted at it, a look of focus on her face. A small flame suddenly flared up at the tip of it. Richie moved his cigarette towards her finger and lit it. He grinned and she lit hers too.

"Y'know," Richie said, staring thoughtfully at the wall, "I just realized . . . we don't know that much about each other, Miss Marsh."

Beverly looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno. I guess . . ."

Bev sighed. "Not much to know. I lived with my dad all my life, until my power manifested. Knew if he found out he'd turn me in, so I ran for it. Been out here ever since."

Richie nodded, and Bev looked at him quizzically. "What about you, Richie?"

Richie swallowed. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about his parents for years. It was easier that way.

"I-" he began, but he was already lost in a flood of memories.

Richie was 10, almost 11 years old. The doorbell rang repeatedly. His mother peeked out the window, looking anxious, and turned back to him. "You stay up here, Chee," she told him as she stood up to join his dad at the door.
Richie fidgeted in his room. Whatever was happening was taking a while; he heard snatches of conversation and scuffling. He wanted to see what was wrong, but Mom had told him to stay put . . .
It was the first gunshot that sent him running.
The loud bang jolted him out of his thoughts as he raced downstairs to see what the noise had been . . .
only to find his mother screaming and crying next to his father's dead body, surrounded by people wearing masks and bulletproof suits.
They grabbed at his mom, pulling her back as she looked up to see Richie just standing there like a complete dumbass.
"RUN, RICHIE!" she screamed. "RUN, GO-"
And that was when the second gunshot reverberated across the room.
Richie was backing away from the scary people in their insect-like suits, still staring at his parents' bloody corpses.
He was surrounded; he was trapped. As he closed his eyes, preparing for death, something happened. Sudden shouts of "Where did he go?" echoed through the room.
Richie opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, or what used to be his hands.
Somehow, he had managed to turn himself into a freaking horsefly.
Shaking with fear and sadness and shock, he managed to fly out of the window and escaped, leaving the town, and his entire life, behind.

"Richie. Richie. Richie!" Richie looked up in confusion. Bev was gazing at him, a look of concern on her face. "You zoned out. Are you okay?"

Richie mentally shook himself. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Sooo . . ." she prompted him.

"Right." He focused back on her. "Just like you; nothing much to say. I guess my parents were mutants too. One day the government found us and well . . . I was able to escape."

"But what about your . . ." Beverly's voice trailed away as realization dawned on her. "Oh."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two of them. "I- I'm sorry, Richie," she muttered.

"S'not your fault," Richie shrugged. He stood up. "I'm gonna go to the store now," he said. Anything to get away from the profound silence in the room.

As he walked out, Bev called after him, "Richie? Be careful."

A/N Bevchie (or whatever their ship is called) is BROTP