Chapter Text
It was Eddie's turn to bat again, and he gripped the wood tightly, his stance firmly crouched. He glanced over to Bill, who was waiting at first base. He gave Eddie a slight nod, and he stared directly into Mike's eyes as he thrusted his arm back, winding up for a fastball. Eddie braced himself.
Mike hurled the ball, but Eddie could tell it would fall out of the strike zone and didn't move an inch. Ben caught it in his glove and made an impressed face before tossing it back. Once more, Eddie squeezed the bat, shifting a bit to regain his sense of confidence for his hit. Mike pitched, and Eddie swung the bat hard, watching the ball fly away. After a second, he returned his attention and darted to first base, which Bill was running away from. Eddie urgently threw his leg as far as he could til he could slide onto the base. He just barely made it as Stan's mitt slapped against the plate, holding the baseball in it.
Eddie let out a small, relieved gasp, but became confused when everybody paused. He stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, and looked over. He heard a scream and then a loud "FUCK!" and tracked the sound to just around the corner of the fences, coming from the pathway. The sight was almost comical.
"Buster! Let go!" Richie shouted through his teeth, trying to tug the baseball out of his dog's mouth. "Stupid dog!" he exclaimed as he fell backwards onto his ass once Buster dropped it, his glasses flying off his face. A brief moment later, he looked up to see a whole 8 people gawking at him. One groaned in annoyance. He thought he might puke.
"Can we get the ball back?" a redheaded girl called out, tilting her head to the side, a hand on her hip. Richie felt a wave of pure embarrassment and got up swiftly, his hands sweating. He swallowed before responding,
"Yeah! Uh-- sorry! Dogs, am I right?" he yelled, immediately cursing himself for being an idiot. This earned a quick smile from a tall, blue-eyed boy, whom he felt like he'd seen before. The girl sighed and tapped her foot, which signaled him to throw it back instantly. Richie raised his arm and threw the ball with all his might. It wasn't that bad, but Richie was not an athlete by any means. Another boy chuckled, also tall but with brown eyes and a strange sense of style-- he looked prim and proper despite it being a regular summer day. Richie laughed with them awkwardly. He jogged forward and picked up the ball again, managing to haul it far enough for one of them to grab.
He felt pretty humbled and began to retreat, yanking his dog by his leash. His nose burned a bit, and he felt his eyes water. But one of the boys caught Richie's eye, which he kicked himself for in response. Nothing good will happen with that. "Don't even let your mind go there," he thought.
The boy Richie noticed was about average height, had chestnut hair, and the prettiest big brown eyes he'd ever seen. He felt his cheeks get warm, and he shook his head as he left. Richie could feel the boy's eyes still on him, sending chills down his spine. He turned the corner out of sight, scolding his dog angrily, his knuckles white from how tight he was clutching the leash. He could probably say it was one of the most embarrassing and random experiences he had ever been in, and left fast.
"Um, sorry fellas! And girl fella!" Richie shouted behind him as he hurried away. He got out of there as fast as he could and let out a shaky exhale. "Good going," he thought, his heart beating out of his damn chest.
"Who was that?" Stan asked incredulously, turning to make eye contact with a somewhat star-struck Eddie. Eddie frowned a little, a curious expression on his face. There was something about the freckle-faced boy that piqued his interest. Something about his awkwardness and embarrassed grin. He had an energy to him that Eddie Kaspbrak could sense from yards away. "Just maybe," he thought carefully before he broke the silence abruptly.
"We could use a 9th player," he said, which prompted a surprised eyebrow raise from all of them.
"What? He could barely throw a ball!" Stanley scoffed, throwing his arms up, and Eddie could see Bill quietly nod in his peripheral vision. He shut his eyes.
"I mean, he seemed witty, though. He could learn, maybe?" Mike asked shyly, turning to both of them. Mike watched a slight smile bloom on Eddie's lips. Ben shrugged neutrally, and Beverly, Georgie, and Corcoran remained silent. Eddie took it as also being neutral.
"I-I thu-think he's my n-n-neighbor. H-his fuh-family j-j-juh-just moved h-here," Bill added helpfully. "Should I luh-luh-look f-for him t-t-tomorrow?" Eddie listened closely, making eye contact with Bill intently.
"I can," Eddie finished, speaking firmly. Bill pressed his lips together and looked down in agreement, silently appreciating the gesture. He wasn't nearly as interested in the strange boy as Eddie was. Eddie returned his gaze to where the boy had last been before paying attention to the game once more, but his mind was still elsewhere. "Okay, where were we?" he clapped, jogging back over to second base brightly. Beverly glanced at Bill cluelessly, saying I don't know about this with her eyes. Bill shrugged back. After a moment, she focused back on the game. Stan rolled his eyes.
Richie jogged away, feeling fucking humiliated. He got home as fast as he could, letting the dog go and leaning against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He slapped his hands over his eyes after setting his glasses down. "Fucking idiot. Holy shit," he whispered, dropping his hands and exhaling loudly. He was home alone, the only sounds being the jingling of the tags on Buster's collar as he ran around energetically. Richie punched his leg in frustration, pulling his knees to his chest. "Good going! 'I'll try to make friends, mom!' Yeah, once I'm done being stupid!" he groaned. He decided to try again the next day, hoping he'd have better luck elsewhere. Maybe he could look for a comic store in town. "Sure, okay, I'll do that! Okay," he thought to himself, assuringly. More deep breaths.
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Eddie knocked on the front door of a house with a mailbox that read "Tozier." Bill had instructed him that this was definitely the house. Eddie leaned on one foot, trying to get a peek through the window, but couldn't see anyone. He was about to leave when the door swung open, revealing a pretty blonde woman with a confused expression on her face and a twinkle in her blue eyes. She must have been in her mid to late 30s, but still looked rather youthful. Eddie cheesed at her nervously and managed to ask her: "Um. Is your son home?" Maggie cocked her head to the side but gave him a polite smile and shook her head yes. She called out to a boy named Richie, who quickly came to the door, his mother vanishing. Richie gave him a shocked look that rapidly turned into shame. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off. "Hi," Eddie interrupted somewhat sheepishly. "Do you... wanna play baseball with me and the others?"
Eddie watched Richie's expression relax. Richie had dark hair, wavy and mid-length; pale, freckled skin; and he was scrawny, only a bit taller than Eddie but thinner and lankier. Eddie already liked him; he deemed Richie a good fit for the team despite his clumsiness. He saw a lot of potential. He felt his face warm up as a huge smile grew on Richie's face.
"Sure! Yeah!" Richie exclaimed happily, perking up. Eddie returned the smile and waved Richie along as he began walking. "Wait!" Richie said suddenly, disappearing from the doorway and immediately coming back with his own baseball cap. Eddie let out a small laugh and continued, Richie following along at his side. "Um, what's your name?" he asked nervously, and Eddie responded, not looking away from the sidewalk in front of them
"Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak."
"Oh-- cool! Uh, I'm Richie. But you probably already heard that. Thanks for letting me come with, I haven't really had anyone to hang out with, besides that fuckass dog."
Eddie couldn't help but giggle at that. "Yeah. Where'd you come from?" he asked politely.
"Chicago. My dad got a job here-- but I needed to go to a different school anyway. Got in some trouble, y'know?" Richie sighed solemnly, adjusting his glasses. Eddie paused, trying to think of something to say.
"What's with the outfit?" Eddie mentioned.
"What?"
"Your clothes."
"It's a fashion statement!" Richie said defensively. He was wearing his typical fit: shorts, a white t-shirt, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on top, and a beat-up pair of black Converse. He knew he didn't have a sense of style, but he made it a trademark during the summer seasons. Eddie had a tattered pair of white-washed jeans, red Converse, and his t-shirt was tucked into his waistband. His tan arm pressed against Richie's pasty one, and he could feel the heat radiating off of him. It was even hotter that day in comparison to the previous day, and Richie could already feel a drop of sweat down his back.
"Sure, man," Eddie laughed dryly, elbowing Richie in the side. Richie grinned goofily and elbowed him back. "Oh, here. You can use this," Eddie spoke up, handing Richie his glove.
"Actually?" Richie said in shock, taking it hesitantly.
"Yeah, I've got another one," Eddie replied warmly. Richie couldn't fight off another dumb smile growing on his face, and did a little skip to catch up to Eddie's steady pace.
"Look who it is!" Eddie shouted over to his friends, who were sitting against the fence, on the grass. They seemed momentarily concerned, and Richie felt his stomach drop worriedly. He didn't know if he could survive a repeat of yesterday. But the redheaded girl, who had seemed ridiculously annoyed last time he saw her, had a friendlier expression and gave him a small wave. Richie waved back nervously.
Eddie introduced Richie to the team, who all uttered small hellos. "Do you even like baseball?" the boy named Stan had asked saltily. Richie was too good at sassing people, which always fucked him over.
"Yeah, I do. My hat literally has a Cubs logo on it-- it's right in front of your face," he replied, crossing his arms. Stan raised his eyebrows, whirling around to look at the others, who all let out a small ooh!. Stan went red, and Richie did too when he saw their reactions. "Shit," he thought, doing a mental forehead slap. "Sorry," he said. Stanley gave him a death stare, but everybody else giggled in amusement. Richie felt an ounce of relief, but still felt bad for embarrassing Stanley. He needed to think before speaking.
"You can play centerfield, okay?" Eddie ordered, placing a hand on Richie's shoulder before walking off. Richie stopped him.
"Okay, don't laugh, but um. I don't know what the fuck that is," Richie whisper-yelled, prepared to get made fun of. But no judgment crossed his countenance. Eddie only watched him thoughtfully.
"You stand in the outfield, sort of in the middle. And if the ball goes back there, catch it and throw it to one of the basemen. Alright?" he replied calmly. Richie nodded and hurried away. He stood around 20 feet away from the main dirt field anxiously. He struggled to hear the commotion and just prayed for the best.
After a few plays that Richie didn't have to partake in, Eddie was up to bat.
Richie was mesmerized by the dedicated glint in his eyes, the sun lighting up his irises and making them look like honey. Mike pitched the ball, and Eddie swung, the bat cracking against it as it zoomed into the sky. Richie realized that the ball was heading in his direction and was hit with a wave of panic. "SHIT!" he shouted as the ball smacked him in the head, knocking him to the ground. He heard faint gasps of surprise as he clenched his jaw, hissing through his teeth. Pain shot up his face, and he took his glasses off, which he realized were cracked. "Oh God," he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut, one of them swelling up.
Almost as speedily as it happened, Eddie was at Richie's side. "Holy fuck! I'm so sorry, oh geez!" he exclaimed, studying Richie's face and what damage he may have caused. He carefully moved Richie's hand away and saw the black eye that was forming. He winced. Richie was red as a tomato, and the proximity of the other boy did not help at all.
"I'm-- I'm fine! It's okay!" he said in embarrassment, waving Eddie away, who backed up a bit. Eddie's face was riddled with remorse, twitching in guilt. Richie shakily stood up. "I can't come back here, I keep just making a fucking fool out of myself," Richie thought, flinching. "I should go. I should go," he said twice, his voice cracking a little. Eddie looked like he wanted to stop him, but didn't move an inch, his gaze not wavering.
"Are you sure?" Eddie forced out, wringing his hands. Richie nodded quickly and gave Eddie the glove back. "Wait, you should keep it," Eddie said, holding it out. Richie hesitantly shook his head.
"It's yours. Don't you still want it?" he remarked sadly, tightening his cap on his head and setting his broken glasses back on his face despondently.
"Does this mean you aren't coming back?" Eddie called out from a distance as Richie walked away. Richie paused.
"You... want me to come back?"
"I mean," Eddie started, glancing back to his annoyed friends. "Yeah," he finished. Richie watched him, greatly surprised. He felt a bit guilty when he noticed most of the others' expressions, which showed just how sick of him they were. In all honesty, Richie wanted to see Eddie again, but his friends intimidated him a little. He made up his mind and decided he probably wouldn't come back, even if a part of him wanted to.
"Bye, then," Richie announced slowly. He didn't think he could have felt more embarrassed than last time, but he definitely did. Eddie watched him go, stressed out of his mind. He didn't really even know that boy, and the first time he ever really interacted with him, he clocked him upside the head with a fucking baseball. He wanted to go after Richie, but restrained himself.
"Didn't kn-know y-y-yuh-you were s-so suh-s-soft for stuh-strangers," Bill joked, but Eddie didn't laugh.
"I don't know. I just-- he seemed alright," he said disappointedly. Beverly spoke.
"Are we gonna keep playing?"
"Yeah, it's not even 1:00 pm!" Mike joined in, Ben agreeing as well. Georgie sighed in annoyance; he thought it was way too hot to play ball, but he always showed up when Bill did.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Eddie responded, turning around to look at them. "Who's up?"
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Richie sat at the dinner table, his parents quiet on either side of him. He poked at his food with his fork numbly, his other hand holding an ice pack to his eye.
"What happened?" his father, Wentworth, asked, setting his knife down. Richie sighed.
"Baseball to the eye."
"Oh? Who were you playing ball with?"
"Kids," Richie said stalely, not wanting to talk about it. Wentworth got the message and dropped it.
"Okay then," he said boredly. Maggie gave Richie a sympathetic look, and the rest of dinner was in silence. Richie sat in his humiliation, stewing in it. He dropped his head in his hands and groaned softly.
Richie didn't even feel like reading his comics; he was still upset. It was only a little past 8:00 pm, but he needed the day to be over already. He changed into his pajamas-- which consisted of a designated pair of shorts. His bedroom was too warm, so he just slept without a shirt most nights. He flopped onto his bed on his back, interlinking his fingers together and resting his hands over his stomach. Before he turned the lights off, he turned on the stereo on his nightstand, lowering the volume. He couldn't deal with silence in that moment. No, not at all. He resorted to his troublesome thoughts, the ones yelling at him furiously.
He needed a new pair of glasses because he couldn't catch a fucking baseball. He disgraced himself twice and shit all over the possibility of becoming friends with the team. He let out a loud exhale, trying to ignore his lungs' refusal to contract. His stereo was just playing some old shitty CD he stole from his dad, barely audible over the nature sounds from outside his window.
His inability to see began to stress him out, and he flipped the lights back on, squinting his eyes. Richie's room was barren, stripped of anything that could have given it personality. He only brought so much from his old house, mostly just clothes and his comics, along with a few other select items. He didn't have the chance to pack any of his posters or dumb little army figurines from when he was little. None of his polaroids, either. He felt like an immigrant entering a foreign country with nothing. Of course, that was him being dramatic, but he felt empty nonetheless. His walls were beige and had nothing on them besides a blank calendar. He had a bed (which was actually just a mattress), a nightstand, and a desk. His suitcase still rested against the wall, his clothes already messy and spread across the floor. His parents promised to get him a carpet and a bedframe or something soon. For now, he lived in a room more empty than a prison cell.
Richie found himself wondering what Eddie could be doing then. "He probably has way more interesting shit to do instead of being in bed at 8 like some pussy," he thought angrily. He squeezed his eyes shut, his swollen one stinging. Eddie was probably hanging out with his friends and having a good time. Him and his stupid honey brown eyes and freckles. Eddie was just pitying him earlier, and he didn't need to be pitied. He ought to be alone at that point. Just a fuck-up.
Richie couldn't sleep, and Eddie still lingered in his mind like a stuffy nose that took forever to entirely go away. "What is my problem?" crossed his mind, slapping his hands over his face. He needed to get a fucking grip. No dumb bullshit!
He would find other friends, this time with a blank slate. He still had the chance to commit to his fresh start. Maybe then his summer wouldn't totally suck ass, right? He had no idea. He kicked himself whenever the baseball kids entered his thoughts, as if he were a dog being trained with a shock collar. He considered learning baseball on his own, showing up to the field, and showing them all that he wasn't a stupid clutz.
"I can be cool. I'm cool! I don't suck that bad. Too cool for school," he whispered to himself, a bedtime pep talk of sorts. Richie rolled his eyes at himself, sighing loudly and rolling over onto his side. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable, but he just had to deal with it. The calendar on his wall told him tomorrow was Saturday, which didn't mean anything for him personally, but it meant his parents would be home tomorrow. Meaning it'd be two people coaxing him to leave the house as if he were a complete hermit.
Eddie sat in Bill's basement with him, Beverly, and Stan. Georgie was upstairs, and Eddie could hear him talking with Mrs. Denbrough. Bev was glued to Bill's side, lost in her own thoughts as Bill recounted their day. Eddie only tuned in when Richie had been mentioned. Eddie still felt ridiculously bad for earlier in the day, and faded in and out of focus toward the others' conversation. Stan let out a noisy, dramatic exhale.
"I don't like him. I don't know why you want him to join the team so much," Stan commented, side-eyeing Eddie slyly. Eddie rolled his eyes in return and crossed his legs. Stan made it very fucking obvious that he already hated the boy's guts, but Eddie didn't really have an answer to what he had said either.
"I-I muh-m-mean he s-seemed oh-o-okay," Bill said empathetically. Eddie appreciated it, especially when Bev agreed with him.
"Yeah, what's the harm?" she shrugged.
"That he has no idea what he's doing and is just gonna slow the game down!" Stan snapped. Bill made a face of surprise; Stan was usually way friendlier than this.
"Are yuh-you o-o-okay, Stuh-Stan?" he asked in a worried tone. Stan's face was stunned a bit, and he took a deep breath.
"I think I just miss Jimmy a lot, y'know?" he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. Everybody missed Jimmy, but it had been a couple of months, and they wanted to have someone to take over his position. Jimmy was out in Arizona, and he wasn't coming back anytime soon. Bill nodded respectfully, unsure what to say to that. They had lost a core member of their team, but they had to move on-- at least from Eddie's perspective.
"Y-yuh-yeah. Buh-b-but he w-w-would've w-w-wanted us t-to m-m-move uh-on," Bill said calmly, reaching over to pat Stan on the shoulder. Stan gave him an insincere smile and looked away.
Eddie felt like screaming, but it remained completely internalized, never to escape his throat. He couldn't understand why he cared so badly about this. It was just some random ass boy that lived by Bill, whom he had spoken to once! He couldn't help but adore Richie's liveliness; he knew that he could become a valuable member of the Losers. He just did. Richie didn't have anyone to hang with, so it was a perfect match, right?
Eddie redirected his attention to his surroundings, scanning the room. He had been down there countless times, but he didn't feel like listening to his friends in that moment. Bill and Bev sat on the smaller velvety couch against the wall, and Stan sat stiffly and uniformly in a plain wooden chair, occasionally pushing against the chair leg so that the seat would spin. Eddie sprawled out on a huge bean bag that was plopped in the corner of the room. His socked feet grazed the scratchy grey-blue carpet on the polished wooden floor. He began to feel super claustrophobic, desperately wanting to get out of there, even though it was the most low-stress time of the day and he should be relaxing.
"I might go home," he interjected suddenly. Bev blinked and frowned.
"How come?"
"I'm just tired. My ma will probably want me back soon anyway," Eddie replied, running a hand through his hair. He stood up, putting his baseball cap on his head again, picking up his mitt off the floor. Bev awwww'ed, and Eddie shrugged his shoulders as he continued to prepare to leave. "Sorry guys, see you what, tomorrow? I'll probably bet at the 'Yard either way if any of you want to join. As usual," he finished, flashing a thin-mouthed grin as he hurried out the door. He didn't let them walk him out; he just signaled that they could just stay in their seats and that he'd be fine. They didn't argue.
He shut the Denbroughs' back door, giving Mrs. Denbrough a brief wave as he went. "God, why am I being so fucking weird?" he asked himself in irritation as he walked back to his house, despite it getting dark. He shook his head, a stray lock of hair falling into his eyes.
"Just forget it. He's not gonna come back after that," he thought sadly. "Are we ever getting a full team? What about finals? I don't know if we can beat Bowers' team of assholes, if they'll even let us try to. I'm so stupid!" He gritted his teeth and fought off the reemerging urge to scream his fucking lungs out. What was he thinking?! There was nothing special about this boy-- He was just too concerned about needing a 9th. Stan was probably right about Richie; he didn't even know baseball!
But that wasn't deterring Eddie's mind. He figured he could go back to the Tozier residence tomorrow, apologize again, ask if he wanted to come back, and promise that it'd be fine. He carved that idea in stone, and it eased him a bit.
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Richie was scared out of his mind when there was a sharp knock at his window. He sat up, fumbling for his glasses (which were still broken) and then checked his clock. "What the fuck? It's barely 9:00!" he thought incredulously. His bedroom was on the first floor, so he could deduce that it wasn't a tree... maybe a bird? He procrastinated actually going up and looking, a little scared as to what on Earth would be there.
With a deep breath, he hesitantly got out of bed and inched towards the window, drawing the curtains slowly and peeping outside. He jumped in terror when he saw somebody standing there-- and not just a somebody-- Eddie. He had a thin flannel on over a white t-shirt, the same ratty jeans and shoes as the day before. "Jesus!" Richie exclaimed, containing himself and moving a little closer. Eddie went red when he looked at him, and Richie became consciously aware that he should probably put a fucking shirt on. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he whisper-yelled, glancing back at his door, which he hoped stayed closed. He didn't mean to come off as rude, but the boy had scared him shitless! Eddie opened his mouth and shut it, gawking a bit at Richie's eye. He flinched with guilt and searched for his words.
"Here, um, come outside, can we talk?" he asked shyly, adjusting the cap on his head. Richie pressed his lips together and thought for a minute before agreeing.
"Fine. Give me a second," he said, and Eddie nodded quietly. Richie pushed the curtains back into place and threw a t-shirt on and his shoes. Without really thinking, he hurried back towards his window and opened it all the way, clumsily crawling out and leaving it like that. Eddie watched him in amazement and backed out of the way. "Okay, what do you want?"
"I-I'm sorry about your eye again. I know this is probably crazy of me to ask, but would you come with me again?" Eddie replied sullenly, his cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. Richie studied him quizically, with a sense of suspicion. "Does he get off on me being humiliated out of my fucking mind?" he thought in disbelief. But really, what else did he have to do? He had read all his comics already.
"Fine. Now?" Richie replied finally, crossing his arms. Eddie said yes. "Okay, well, I need to tell my parents or something," Richie added.
"What, are you gonna climb back through your window?" Eddie continued, pure amusement lacing his voice. Richie gave him a mock dirty look and sighed. "I'll wait for you out front," Eddie grinned.
"Are you sure about this?" Richie asked, watching the ground and kicking a pebble as he and Eddie walked side by side to the "Junkyard," as they called it.
"Yeah!" Eddie said, looking over at Richie, who still averted his gaze.
"Your friends hate me. Why the hell do you still want me to come with?"
"I don't know," he responded honestly. "I think you're nice."
"Me? Nice?" Richie laughed, finally looking up and making eye contact with Eddie.
"Sure," Eddie smiled. "If that's the right word." Richie smiled back, his face warm. He felt like his heart was gonna implode in his chest. What did this boy see in him? He had no idea but appreciated his kindness nonetheless.
"Can I be honest?" Richie piped up awkwardly. "Stanley was right-- I don't really know much about baseball. Aaaaanddd strike one for Richie Tozier! Kid can't play ball!" Richie shouted in an announcer's voice, cupping his mouth with one hand. Eddie looked at him in surprise-- he was not expecting that outburst, though it intrigued him. "Maybe there is something special about this guy," he thought.
"That's okay. You'll learn," Eddie said brightly, caught way off guard but also very entertained. "And what was that?"
"Sorry. I'm simply a man of many Voices," Richie said defensively, saluting. Eddie let out a loud and abrupt laugh, making Richie startle a little, but it quickly led to him grinning like a geek. He blushed a little and looked back down at his pebble that he was still dedicated to kicking around. He had a habit of getting too comfortable with people who were nice to him, and his antics usually drove them away as fast as lightning, but Eddie seemed to find him funny enough.
"Well, Mr. Comedy King, let's see if you can impress me this time," Eddie teased. Richie rolled his eyes jokingly as they turned the corner to the field.