Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Eddie Kaspbrak has never had a best friend.

When he was six, he had had a next door neighbour who was also six, and their mothers would put them in Eddie's room to play. Eddie very much liked his neighbour who was also six. She told him he was boring and tried to leave his room by climbing out the window.

When he was ten, and spending a lazy Saturday at the park, a group of boys had called him over and asked him to be their goalie for a game of soccer. Eddie had agreed excitedly, because he had been alone and swinging sullenly on the swings. But the boys had yelled at him for not diving for the ball, and had scoffed when he told them he couldn't, because he was allergic to the grass.

When he was twelve, the boys at school started talking about girls, and the girls at school giggled and pretended they couldn't hear the boys. And Eddie didn't fit into either of these groups, because he wasn't interested in talking about girls, and it's not like any of the boys would ever talk about him.

When he was fourteen, everyone started smoking, and drinking, and snorting anything they could get their hands on. Eddie sat with a group of other misfits at lunch, and none of them spoke, or, at least, none of them spoke to him, so he would listen to the other groups of kids talk about who threw up and who fell over and who made out at the party last weekend. He knew that if he went to those parties, or accepted a cigarette, or kissed a girl, he would be able to sit with those groups and laugh and talk and have friends too. But he was taught by his mother not to do any of those things.

Now, Eddie Kaspbrak is sixteen, and he is moving to a new house in a new town. Which means he's going to a new highschool, where he'll become the new kid.

If he didn't have any friends before, he's definitely not going to have any friends now.

 It's Eddie's second day at his new high school when he meets her.

He sits near the back of the classroom, by the window so the sun bathes his desk and warms his hands. Yesterday was all obtrusive gazes and meaningless introductions, where Eddie was the shiny new toy for the students to poke and prod at. Today, things have simmered down to the occasional glance and whispers behind palms. He still has to stand in front of the blackboard and tell the class his name and some 'fun and interesting facts about himself!' every time he enters a new room, though, so it's not like his second day is particularly better.

However, today, in his Ancient History class, he sits next to a girl who leans over to speak to him the moment the teacher turns around. This isn't odd or anything, because students have been doing this since the moment he sat down for his first class. 'Hi, I'm Stacy! What's your name?' 'Hey, dude, you're new, right?' 'Yo, did you move here from like, Australia or something? You're really tan.' The thing is, those introductions are usually fleeting, because the students take in his sports socks, hiked half way up his calves, his athletic shorts and fanny pack, as well as the way he awkwardly introduces himself back - stuttery and disjointed because of how out of practise he is at socialising - and they suddenly become uninterested.

This girl, on the other hand, doesn't follow this well formulated routine. She smiles at him and says, "Hey, I like your outfit."

And everything changes from there.

"It's sportsy," the girl comments. The class is quite loud and chattery, a bubble of noise and blurs of colours behind her, but still she keeps her voice low, as though trying not to be heard. "And, honestly, the fanny pack is super practical. I'm kind of really angry at myself for not thinking about wearing one before."

Here's something you should know about most boys: they're terrible at talking to girls. Here's something you should know about Eddie: he's very different from most boys, but he's still terrible at talking to girls.

That's mostly because he's terrible at talking to everyone, but, with this girl in particular, it seems to be a problem that is caused by a very similar reason to the average teenage male. The girl is beautiful.

Ethereal, is a word that comes to mind when Eddie looks at her. Regal. And Greek. But maybe that's because he's in a Ancient History class. She has nightly black hair, long and straight and pulled up into a high ponytail. Her skin is pale, almost concernedly so, but it's striking, the contrast between her skin and her hair, her dark lashes and stormy grey eyes. Her jaw is sharp and her nose is straight, high cheek bones and just a splattering of freckles. The kind of facial structure that most people would die for. She's beautiful.

And she's babbling on about Eddie's fanny pack.

"Where did you get it from?" she asks, eyeing Eddie's waist below the desk. "Do they come in many colours? I like the blue you have, but it'd be weird to have the same, you know?"

"You really want one?" Eddie blurts. If someone comments on any aspect of Eddie's outfit, he usually assumes they're making fun of him. Especially if they're as impossibly attractive as this girl. (Not that he's met anyone that could fit that criteria).

She seems surprised by his question. "Of course. More people should, don't you think?"

"Well...yeah. They're really good for carrying things. Like snacks and money and medication or whatever. Better than bags. You hardly notice it when you're wearing it, and bags get in the way all the time. They can get heavy and hurt your back. Plus, I don't wanna carry a backpack around if I just need a couple little things, so..." he trails off, suddenly aware of what he's saying. Not only is it lame, but his sentences are choppy and his words are a little rushed. He can't remember the last time he had spoken for that long.

"That's so true," the girl says. She nods like Eddie's words had genuinely interested her and were stimulating enough to make her think. "I hate carrying handbags around. They definitely get in the way." Then, she slams her hand on the desk. A couple kids glance her way, but her eyes narrow on Eddie. "That's it. We're starting the fanny pack movement. Me and you. We're gonna spread the word."

Eddie is both incredibly flustered, and bashfully pleased. "Okay." He smiles, it's shy but grown from the sudden warmth in his chest.

The girl smiles back. It's small but perfected, like she has studied the art of dazzling grins. "I'm Violet, by the way. Violet Tozier."

"Eddie Kaspbrak."

"Well, then, Eddie Kaspbrak." She holds out her hand. "From now on, we'll be business partners. Dedicated to making the world a better place."

At the front of the room, the teacher calls for silence. The bubble of chatter around them begins to deflate. Violet's gaze never wavers from Eddie's face. A dormant storm studying, searching, knowing, every twitch and flutter of his features.

Eddie takes her hand and shakes it.

Violet Tozier is Eddie Kaspbrak's first best friend.

Two weeks later

"Honestly, you could sell those shirts, Violet. They're super cute."

"I've already told you. I'm not interested in making money off my clothing."

"Yeah, I know. But, like. You totally could."

Violet catches Eddie's gaze from across the table and rolls her eyes.

It's lunch time, and they're in the cafeteria, sitting in their usual spot. Violet sits sideways, with her feet up on the bench, and her back leant against her friend, Elizabeth's, side. Technically, Elizabeth is Eddie's friend, too. As is Macie, who is oblivious to the eye roll she managed to pull from Violet. And Abigail, who sits restlessly beside Eddie. But Eddie doesn't really care much for any of them. Macie had once called him "Violet's new toy to play with" amongst her usual senseless chatter, and Abigail speaks to him in a weird, condescending, sing-songy voice. Like a kindergarten teacher speaking to kids. Elizabeth is alright, but she doesn't really talk to Eddie at all.

Violet, though, is the coolest person Eddie has ever met. Moves through the world as though none of it touches her, she seems above it all. And she's so freaking smart. She could be anything she wanted to be, a doctor, a lawyer, the next President. But her interest lies with fashion, and all the clothes she wears she made herself, and half the clothes her friends wear she made herself. Eddie is certain that he's in love with her, if you could be in love with someone and not want to kiss them.

She says to Eddie, as they leave the cafeteria, "Hey, come over to my place after school this Friday. I wanna make you something."

"You don't have to," Eddie says.

"But I want to," Violet replies, nudging his arm. "Plus, we can just hang out. You can sleepover, too, if you want."

Eddie has never been asked to hang out before. And he most definitely has not been to a sleepover before. He feels flustered and excited and nervous. It hits him at random, startling moments that Violet Tozier truly enjoys and wants to spend time with him.

"Okay," he says.

"Awesome. My brother can pick us up on Friday." She leans toward Eddie conspiratorially and adds, "Don't tell the girls about this, though. I love them, but I haven't invited them over in ages. They'll be a little jealous."

Eddie just nods and waves her goodbye as they separate off to their different classes. Perhaps he should've questioned why, exactly, Violet doesn't invite her other friends over. But he's too excited about spending time with her to pay it much mind.

He lies to his mother about what he's doing on Friday. Because she'd turn red in the face, yell at him, pass out, and then yell at him some more if she found out he was planning to spend the night at a girl's house. Often she'll tell him stories about women that lie and cheat on their boyfriends, she'll tell him tales of women that manipulate men into something they can domineer and control. "Oh, you don't want a girlfriend, honey," she had told Eddie when he was younger and had told her that he wasn't sure if he ever wanted one. "They'll put you on a leash. You'll become a little lap dog. They'll take you away from your Ma." And he'd thought that had sounded terrible, because he loves his ma so much. She takes care of him, in a much better way than other parents take care of their children. She watches his diet very carefully, and gets him all the pills he needs, and keeps hand sanitizer all over the house so their hands are clean and they don't get ill. It keeps him safe.

Eddie's pretty sure that's all bullshit now.

Still, he makes up a fake male friend called Joe who is a very sweet and clean boy and his mother is so excited about the fact that he's made a friend that she actually says yes to letting him sleepover. And so, on Friday, Eddie waits with Violet outside of the school. A spare change of clothes tucked away in his school bag, and excitement rolling in his stomach.

"God." Violet checks her watch impatiently, tapping her foot. "He's always late. The asshole." She turns to Eddie, points a finger at him. "Don't ever have a brother."

Eddie snorts. "I'll try not to."

Violet's lips twitch, but she doesn't smile. Instead, she fixes Eddie with a very serious look. "And don't listen to my brother. Seriously, everything he says is bullshit. I'm just warning you. It's best not to speak to him."

Eddie's reply is lost under the sound of a loud, rumbling engine. The type of rumbling that sounds more like spluttering, and the type of engine that is probably better suited to the description of a fifty year old smoker's lungs. Violet whips around immediately at the sound, her ponytail almost striking Eddie in the face, and marches up towards an old white Ford before it can even pull up to the curb.

It honks its horn at her. She steps back, bristling. Eddie fears for whoever is in that car.

"Tozier Taxi Service, how can help you today, ma'am?" comes a cheery voice as Violet wrenches open the passenger door.

"We've been waiting here for twenty minutes, you asshole," she snaps. Eddie slinks around her and comes to a halt with his hand hovering over the back door. He feels like he should get in, but also like he should let Violet murder her brother first.

"All complaints will need to be written down on a complaint form, Miss. And I do have a right to turn down your service if you continue to act in a hostile manner..."

"God, shut up, Richie." Violet looks over at Eddie and shakes her head with an angered sigh. "Hop in," she says to him. "I'll put the bags in the trunk. It takes a bit of effort and skill to get it open, because this thing's a piece of shit!" She says that last part over her shoulder, for her brother to hear.

"This is the car you ordered, lady!" Richie calls back. Violet rolls her eyes, holds her hand out for Eddie's back pack - which he hands over reluctantly - and then heads around to the back of the car. Eddie continues to hesitate by the side door. Violet had told him not even five minutes ago not to talk to her brother. And now he's supposed to get in the car alone with him.

He's just about to tell Violet he'll help her, when Richie says, "Hop in my good chap!" in a very enthusiastic, but terrible British accent, and Eddie figures it'd be rude to do anything other than open the door and slide onto the musty backseat.

The first thing he notices: the car reeks of cigarette smoke. The second thing he notices: Richie is twisted around in his seat, grinning at him.

The third thing he notices: Richie has the same bone structure as Violet: sharp jaw, high cheekbones, straight nose, the same dark hair, though it halos his face in messy curls, the same startling contrast between that and his pale skin. His eyes are a warm brown, magnified by coke bottle glasses, and his grin is loud, a picture of pearly white teeth and full red lips.

He's beautiful.

Eddie is sure if that he saw Richie and Violet standing next to each other, he'd think that they were a pair of tall, intimidating, incredibly famous, model twins. Richie is two years older than Violet, though, and his goofy grin isn't very intimidating.

Still, Eddie feels a little insecure in this small, musty car, with Richie Tozier looking at him. He tugs his shorts a little further down his thighs, like maybe it'll make the fabric stretch over his knobbly knees.

"Gotta admit," Richie says, looking Eddie up and down, (Eddie crosses his arms and places his hands over his knobbly elbows). "I thought Vi said she was having a friend over. I wasn't expecting to meet her boyfriend."

"Oh, I'm not her boyfriend," Eddie says quickly, cheeks a little red. "She is just having a friend over. Me. I'm the friend --- I'm her friend." At some point he uncrossed his arms and started pointing at his chest. "We're just friends."

Richie quirks a brow, grin morphing from wide and goofy to something a little thinner, a coy smirk.

"So you're telling me Violet didn't jump at the first opportunity to snatch up a cute little thing such as yourself?" he asks. Shakes his head in disapproval. "Thought my sister was smarter than that."

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but words fail him, and he lets his lips slowly press back together. Heat flares under his skin, and now he's sure his whole body is bright red, but it's anger that has caused it this time. Cute. Little. The words are condescending. Like, just because Eddie's short, and he has a rounder sort of face - rather than the kind of jaw that can kill a man - so he looks a little younger, people suddenly think they can talk about him like he's ten years old.

"Violet told me not to talk to you," is how Eddie finally responds, because he's not sure what else to say. It's a little counterproductive, because he sounds exactly like a grumpy child, arms folded and a little crease between his brows.

Richie's entire expression seems to lift, his eyes widen and he raises his eyebrows, mouth open, in an expression that reads a very amused, Oh really?

Eddie looks away, slightly embarrassed, slightly annoyed, and hopes that the conversation will die. And that Violet will come back. God, what's taking her so long?

The car door tears open and Violet falls into the passenger seat with a huff. The car creaking and groaning with all the movement.

"Keeping him all to yourself, Vi?" Richie asks, as Violet slams the door shut. Hair has escaped from her ponytail and she pushes it from her face in annoyance.

"Who?" she asks. "Eddie?" Richie has barely opened her mouth before she snaps, "Don't talk to him."

"Too late." Richie grins back at Eddie. Eddie is not quite sure how he should emote back, so he just looks away again.

Violet turns around to look at Eddie, too, nudging Richie out of the way so she can poke her head between the two front seats. "I apologise for whatever he said to you."

"It's alright," Eddie says, confidence re-surging now that she's here. "I shut him up."

Violet grins, proud. Richie laughs, and, unsurprisingly, it's a bright and beautiful sound.

Eddie's not quite sure what he expected out of the Tozier house. Something that looked like the two siblings in front of him, perhaps? A rich, modern house, large and neatly kept. With sparkly white walls and lush green lawns.

He gets just about the complete opposite of that.

Richie drives them to the edge of town, the houses begin to thin out and the roads turn to dirt. Eddie watches out the window, listening to the sound of Richie drumming along to the loud song on the radio, as they travel down a long, straight road called The Lane. Tall trees stand either side of them, and earth crunches beneath the tyres. The car makes a short left turn, and there it is. The Tozier house.

It's surrounded by trees, and it's a cabin. Well, no, it's a house, because it's house shaped and house sized. But it's wooden, one-storey, with a quaint little front porch that has vines curling up the veranda and an old rocking chair by the front door.

Eddie falls immediately in love with it.

The air smells clean and crisp, surrounded by all these trees (a welcome relief from the stench of smoke in Richie's car), leaves crunch beneath Eddie's sneakers as he makes his way around to the trunk. Violet struggles to open it. Richie stretches out his arms, arches his back, near the front of the car.

"Well, there it is, Eddie," Richie says, looking up at the house. The sunlight is soft on Richie's skin, where it filters in through the trees, and Eddie thinks that Richie looks a bit like an angel. An angel with terrible fashion sense, though. He wears a loud floral print shirt over a white tee, and bright blue sneakers with dark jeans. Eddie has to suppress a grin just at the sight. It's hard to believe Richie and Violet are related in that sense; Violet is always spectacularly dressed. "Mi casa...uh...your casa."

"Mi casa es su casa," Violet corrects immediately, thumping the trunk with her fist.

Richie nods, rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck before glancing over at them. The sun glints off his glasses and the corner of his smile. Eddie tries to alternate between looking at Richie, at Violet, and at their surroundings, so it doesn't look like he's staring at either of them. But the Tozier siblings are so striking it's hard not to stare.

"It's nice," Eddie says. Breathing the place in. "But I don't know what any of that stuff you just said means."

Richie splutters out a surprised laugh, and Violet gives Eddie an amused, yet warm smile.

"My house is your house," she explains, at the same time Richie grins at him and says, "I feel you, dude."

It's cozy inside. The front door opens up to a lounge-room and adjoining kitchen, fluffy rugs over the floorboards and a fireplace facing the plush couches. Violet leads Eddie to her bedroom, and Richie tries to follow, chattering on about nothing, but Violet shuts her door in his face.

("He's always trying to butt in," she snorts, as Richie drums a beat on the door and disappears down the hall, crowing a loud song the whole way. Eddie plops onto Violet's soft bed and tries not to be amused).

Violet's room is neat and tidy, with a desk covered in sewing supplies and a cupboard full of different fabrics and patches and a fashion books. She and Eddie sit on her bed and flick through them, for inspiration. Violet says she's already set on making Eddie a pair of shorts, ("because that's your trademark look. So is your fanny pack, but I'll make you one next time") so it's just up to Eddie to pick the style and fabric.

Eddie chooses a red fabric, with a white hem and a white back pocket. Loud music blares from Richie's room, slightly muffled through the door, but - after Violet tries shouting at him to turn it off - Eddie and Violet find themselves singing along to it as Violet takes Eddie's measurements. They eat cookies that Violet made herself, talk easily as Violet works, and, later, Violet tries to style Eddie an outfit using her own clothes. She puts him in acid wash jeans and a matching acid wash jacket, thrown over a black band tee.

"That band doesn't actually exist," Violet says, chewing on a cookie as she watches Eddie give her a spin. Eddie inspects the shirt - 'Wonder Violet' is written in dark purple letters below a print of an assortment of light purple flowers. "I made it up when I was, like, ten. Because I wanted to be in a band back then. Wonder Violet is the name of a real flower, by the way."

"We should start it up together," Eddie says, tugging at the hem. "I'll play the triangle. What will you do? Sing? We'll probably have to change the name though," he grins at her, "I think naming the band after yourself just makes it look like you have a big head."

"Shut up," Violet laughs. "If you're just playing the triangle then I'll have to do everything else. I think that makes it fair."

The door bangs open - with such force and suddenness that rolls of fabric leant against the wall topple to the floor, and Eddie and Violet jolt up in surprise. Richie pokes his head in, looking flushed and slightly sweaty, breathless, from all the loud singing and (presumably head-banging) he'd been doing in his room.

"You guys starting a band?" Richie asks, chest heaving. "I'll be drums."

"How did you hear our conversation?" Eddie asks, with a frown.

Richie glances at him with a grin. Does a double take when he sees what Eddie's wearing. Eddie fixes his jacket a little self-consciously. The fact that Violet's clothes are too big for him is a bit embarrassing, and not exactly something he wants her shit-talking brother to see.

"Nice outfit," Richie says, still smiling. "Looks better on you than Violet. Oh, and Eddie was right before, Vi, you can't call the band Wonder Violet. Yes - I was listening outside the door, but listen, we're calling it Wonder Richie. Or, Richie and the Wonders. The first band to have the drummer as the front man."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Eddie says.

"I thought Violet told you not to talk to me," Richie says, teasing.

Violet pulls herself off the bed and crosses the room, pushing Richie back by his shoulders. "I've also told you a hundred times to stay out of my room. So, get out."

"I'm sorry you guys are afraid of raw, real talent," Richie says, looking at Eddie over Violet's shoulder. He gives Eddie a wink just before Violet shuts the door. And Eddie's not entirely sure what it's supposed to mean.

Here's something about Eddie: his perception of sleepovers has formed from all of the teen movies he's watched over the years. So, as the sun begins to set, the sky a darkened pink through the tops of the trees around them, he begins to wonder if he's expected to have a pillow fight with Violet. Or if they'll have facials, and gossip about their crushes. And he worries a little about that, because he doesn't actually have a crush on anyone. Also, what if Violet asks him to braid her hair? He doesn't know how.

Thankfully, life at the Tozier's house is not a teen movie (though, honestly, Eddie wouldn't mind having a pillow fight) and they make dinner together instead. Violet plays indie-pop songs over the stereo ("this is the kind of music we'll play in Wonder Violet," she tells Eddie, "not Richie's screechy stuff"), and pulls up a cookbook, picking a recipe by random. Eddie chops vegetables (because that's all he can do, he's never cooked before), and Violet starts on a sauce, and soon the kitchen is smoky and warm and smells of sweet stir fry.

It feels so cozy. It feels like how a home is supposed to feel. With dirty dishes piling up in the sink, and a purpling sky glowing through the steamed windows, and the TV playing on mute, and Violet humming as she cooks, wiping sweat from her brow.

Nobody tells Eddie off for using a large knife, or for getting too close to the stove, or for literally anything. Richie pads out from the hall, scratching his hip, looking rumpled, like he'd had a short nap. And they all eat dinner together on the couch, shouting answers at game shows.

But there's one thing that nags at the back of Eddie's mind, as the night turns dark. The house lit by soft lighting: the coloured glow of the TV screen, a warm lamp in the corner of the room. Richie disappears into his bedroom and Eddie and Violet lounge around watching a nature documentary. And it's just the three of them, in the house. As the minutes tick by and turn into hours. There's no overbearing mother fussing about in the background. There's no mother at all.

Eddie debates over asking Violet where her parents are. It might be weird, him being so worried about it. He's sure Violet is glad not to have any adults around. And Eddie is too, he supposes. It just feels weird. And a little daunting. Like, what happens if one of them starts choking on something? Or if someone breaks into the house? Who will protect them?

You can protect yourself, Eddie thinks, scoffs. You're sixteen years old. And so is Violet. And Richie's eighteen. He's an adult. Legally.

So, he doesn't need his mother, or Violet's mother, or any mother, around to help him. He'll be fine.

"You alright, Eddie?" Violet asks, noting his silence. She kicks her feet up onto his lap, looking soft and a little sleepy in the orange light.

"Yeah." He considers whether he should tell her. That this is his first ever sleepover and that she's his first ever best friend - friend, period - and that he's nervous and overthinking everything. But he's not sure if she'd understand. He doesn't really understand himself, but still. Violet Tozier has her life together. You only have to take one look at her, with her clothes that are tailored to her body, so they look so much better than anything anyone else wears, hair sleek and shiny, her back straight and head held high, to know that she is sure of who she is and who she wants to be. It makes Eddie wonder why she likes him at all, really, because he is so completely the opposite of that. Telling her feels like he'd just be opening a door to shame and embarrassment. "I'm just getting a bit tired."

"Me too. David Attenborough's voice always puts me to sleep." Violet pokes her socked toe into Eddie's thigh. "Let's go to bed. You can sleep on an air mattress in my room."

As they head down to the shadowy hallway, they pass the door to Richie's room. It's open, and though the lights are off, Eddie can still make out the complete mess of clothes and godknowswhat strewn across the floor and bed.

Richie is nowhere in sight.

Violet says nothing about it. So neither does Eddie.

The following morning Eddie is woken twice. Once, when the room is still dark and the light peeking in through the windows is a blue-tinted haze, because Violet is getting up to go for a run and wants to know if Eddie wants to go with her (he does, but he can't keep his eyes open so he falls back asleep). The second time is to the sound of a coffee machine rumbling loudly from the kitchen. The sun is higher in the sky now, so Eddie stretches and gets out of bed. Rolls out the kinks in his shoulders as he treads down the hall.

He's expecting to find Violet in the kitchen. Sweaty and flushed from her run, or freshly showered and smelling of strawberry shampoo. Making coffee for the both of them. (And it'd probably be the best coffee he's ever tasted, because this is Violet he's talking about).

Instead, he finds Richie. Leant against the counter tentatively sipping from a mug. His hair is a wild mess of curls atop his head, and there's fading red crease marks from his pillow on his cheek. Glasses slightly askew, and eyes still droopy from sleep, Richie greets Eddie with a smile.

"Morning, ol' chap," he says, the British accent returning. "You didn't go for a run with Violet? I thought she only had freak of nature friends."

"She tried to get me up at, like, five am," Eddie says. He crosses his arms, covering his elbows with his hands. Glances towards the front door, like maybe if he looks at it and hopes hard enough, Violet will walk right through it. She doesn't. "I couldn't stay awake. I don't know how she does it."

"Like I said: freak of nature." Richie takes a sip of his coffee and winces like it's too hot. Then, he glances over at Eddie and lifts his mug. "Want some?"

Eddie shrugs and Richie pours him a mug. Even though he knows it's probably too hot, Eddie takes a sip almost as soon as the drink is handed to him. Because the silence they have fallen into is the heavy, very obvious kind of silence that falls over people who don't know each other. But Eddie doesn't know how to fill it, so he drinks to avoid talking.

This is a bad idea, however, because as soon as the liquid hits his tongue, he almost spits it back out.

"Wha..." He hasn't swallowed, raises a hand to his mouth to avoid spilling the drink pooling behind his teeth. Contemplates spitting it out into the sink before he finally swallows roughly, shuddering. "What is this?"

"Coffee," replies Richie simply.

Eddie pulls a face. "It's terrible."

"Yeah, I don't know how to make coffee."

Eddie places his mug on the counter, desperately needs something to wash out the disgusting taste in his mouth. He frowns as he watches Richie lift his own mug to his lips.

"How can you drink that?" Eddie asks.

"Coffee is disgusting to me either way, so it doesn't make a difference. I just drink it for the caffeine," Richie explains. "It's easier if you do this." Then he pinches his nose between his fingers and downs the rest of his drink in three large gulps. Eddie gapes at him.

He can't believe that last night he was reassured by the fact that Richie was an adult, because he seems like that farthest thing from one right now.

Though, Eddie is a little impressed that Richie managed to drink all that.

"You just can't unplug your nose until you eat something else," Richie says, voice nasally. "Because the taste'll linger in your mouth. You know, I think I heard once that if you do this, eat something horrendous and then unplug your nose, the sudden change from tasting nothing to tasting something disgusting can make you go into shock."

Eddie furrows his brow. Richie plucks an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a bite.

"Is that really true?" Eddie asks.

"Dunno. Think so. You have to eat something really gross though."

"Like mouldy cheese?"

"Blue cheese is mouldy cheese," Richie points out. "And some people love it."

"Blue cheese is fucking disgusting," Eddie says, wrinkling his nose. "I don't trust anyone who likes it."

Richie laughs around a mouthful of apple. "That's fair."

The sound of the front door interrupts them, a very sweaty Violet entering the room. She gives Eddie a quick, breathless smile, kicks off her shoes, and then pauses. Glances back at the disgusted look on Eddie's face, and breathes in the odd smell in the air.

"Oh no," she says, eyes widening at Eddie. "Richie gave you some of his awful coffee, didn't he?" She fixes Richie with an exasperated look. "Jesus, Rich, you really trying to poison my friend?"

"Hey, I'm drinking it too," Richie says.

"Yeah, but I don't care if you get poisoned."

Richie lets out a gasp, placing a hand over his chest, dramatically offended. Eddie presses down a smile, which is much harder to do when Violet catches his gaze, grinning herself.

"I can't believe you're friends with someone so mean," Richie whispers loudly to Eddie, leaning over as though that's just supposed to be a secret between the two of them.

Violet rolls her eyes. Richie throws his apple into the air and catches it. Eddie watches him leave the room.

And maybe it is weird, the absence of a parental figure at the Tozier home. Maybe all of it's weird; the wooden house, the wayout location, the fact that Richie and Violet are related. But when Eddie's back home, later that day, sitting on the couch (which is covered in plastic) and breathing in the air (which smells of cleaning detergents) as his mother bombards him with questions about his night, and fusses over a new bruise that had somehow formed on his knee, he misses the Tozier house as though it was own home.

It becomes his favourite place.

He spends his days after school in Violet's room, listening to her sewing machine whirr, letting her pin fabrics around his waist, his legs. They stretch out on her bed and talk idly about school and Violet's friends. They make popcorn on the stove and watch movies on the couch. They go running down the The Lane, in that sweet spot where the sun has gone down but it's still light. They listen to music on the kitchen floor and dream about Wonder Violet.

It's like living in a different world. Where Eddie would once spend his days alone, or at his mother's side. Living a life that was neatly ordered and full of restrictions. Don't touch this, don't talk to them, don't think those thoughts. He now spends his days with Violet Tozier. And, sure, she is a neat and orderly person. Sure, she has her routines and her restrictions. But she has a life. A full, bright wonderful life. With Violet Tozier, Eddie wanders through the trees behind her house, hands brushing bark, listening to her tell tales of her childhood. With Violet Tozier, Eddie bakes a triple layer cake, just for the fun of it, and gets frosting all over his shirt. With Violet Tozier, Eddie is happy.

There's still no sign of parents around at their house, though. And Richie comes and goes. His bedroom empty more often than not. But Eddie doesn't pay it much mind.

It's been just over two weeks since Eddie's sleepover at the Tozier's when Eddie finds himself in town by himself on an Wednesday evening. It's odd not being with Violet, but he has some errands to run for his mother. Pills and groceries, the usual. In fact, everything about this evening is very usual, but Eddie walks with his back much straighter than usual, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips.

He's got his new red shorts on for the very first time. Violet had given them to him at school, and he'd tried them on the moment he got home. They fit so much better than any other pair of shorts he owns, are far more comfortable. And they look, surprisingly, good. Eddie had stared at himself in his room's tall mirror for a very long time, twisting this way and that to get a good look at them. He'd never thought much about his legs, except for when he wished they were a little more muscular, a little less skinny. But they...somehow...look nice in these shorts.

He makes a mental note to tell Violet she's a genius.

He wears the shorts now, as he wanders down the streets of town, checking off items on his shopping list. Despite the fact that it's getting a little chilly, a slight breeze whipping at the fabric of his grey sweater, the sky cloudy and dull, darkening with dark oranges and grey-blues as the sun sets. The roads are quieter here, as he nears the edges of the main roads to get to a little health food store his mother swears by.

He's leaving the store, poking through his shopping bag, when he hears laughter. The cold, snarky kind that makes his skin prickle.

"Look at this," he hears someone say. "Look. Ever seen him before?"

Eddie tenses, glancing around, certain that the voice is talking about him. He gaze catches on wisps of smoke wafting from an alleyway, and, as he moves a little closer, the people it belongs to.

"Hey." There's a group of teenagers huddled in the alley, sporting lit cigarettes and unfriendly smiles. Watching Eddie as he walks. The boy speaking has a choppy brown mullet and a shark-like grin, looks Eddie up and down. "Whatcha doing out here all by yourself, hm? With your legs out?" He licks his teeth. "Not very safe."

"Look at his little gay shorts," snorts another boy, with an equally as terrible mullet. "You looking to get some, eh, fag?"

The little group erupts into a chorus of snickers. Eddie blushes bright red from his toes, the heat from both embarrassment and anger. Mouth opening to snap something back, but closing in shock when he notices a familiar head of dark curls behind the group.

Richie. He has his shoulder leant against the bricked wall of the alley, but his body angled away from Eddie. Is smoking and chatting lazily with a few other teenagers, completely unperturbed by the scene playing out next to him.

"Wanna smoke?" the first boy asks Eddie, and Eddie tears his wide eyed gaze away from Richie. "Aww, look at his little scared face!" the boy laughs. "Queers are so funny. It's just weed, no need to piss your pants."

"Shut up," Eddie finally blurts, voice tight. "Seriously, fuck off."

Behind the group, Richie turns his head and meets Eddie's gaze. The group continues to laugh.

"Come on, don't be a pussy," the second mullet boy says, waving his joint out in front of him. "Have a smoke."

"I don't want one," Eddie says icily. His heart is pounding and the foul smell of weed is so thick he swallows it and it gets stuck in his throat. He needs to get the fuck out of here. "That shit's disgusting."

The taunts continue, full of "pussy" and "fag". Bristling, Eddie takes a step away from them, but a hand shoots out and grabs his arm. Eddie tears away from the grip so quickly it's as though he's been burnt, staring at the first mullet boy in outraged shock.

"What the fuck --" Eddie begins, the same moment Richie steps up into the group and says, "Hey, man, leave him alone."

The boy glances at Richie with a raised brow. "What do you care, Tozier? You know messing with fags is fun."

"Come on, dude, he's like half your size. You look like a douchebag," Richie says.

"The fuck, Richie?" mullet boy asks, looking genuinely surprised, and affronted, at Richie's words. The attention has lifted off Eddie now, and he takes it as an opportunity to slink away.

He hears a shout follow after him as he marches down the street, and he thrusts his middle finger into the air, then ducks his head and walks faster. Nausea rolls over in his stomach, as well as sharp, hot anger, because what the fuck? What the fuck? Richie Tozier hangs around with assholes. It's not like Eddie's ever been particularly fond of Richie, he hardly knows him, but he never thought that he'd be the type of person to hang around people like that.

And sure, Richie stood up for him, but...it doesn't really feel like it. The whole thing makes Eddie feel uneasy, uncomfortable. And pissed off.

He walks for what feels likes ages, turning down random roads, going around in circles, because he's too busy ranting angrily in his head to focus on where he's going. It's dark now, the streets littered with glowing streetlamps and bright car headlights. And cold. Eddie shivers as he pauses to squint at a street sign. Wandering around town really wasn't the best idea, considering Eddie doesn't know it all that well. He's lost.

"Shit," Eddie mutters, rubbing his cold fingers across his equally as cold nose. None of the roads around him look familiar. "Goddammit." He's going to die out here, isn't he? Carrying bags of sugar-free everything.

You know, he's always wondered what his funeral would be like. Before, he'd pictured a quaint little church with his mother sobbing on the front pew, a funeral directer in a dark suit standing by his casket, and the rest of the aisles empty. Now, he imagines Violet would be there too. Dressed in a neat black dress, silent tears rolling down her face. Her makeup would still be perfectly intact.

"You know, Eddie was always my favourite," Violet would calmly tell his hysterical mother. "I much preferred him to all the girls I hung out with. I say 'hung' because I don't hang out with them anymore. I don't think I can ever have another friend again. Not after Eddie. He was truly my best friend."

And Eddie's pretty happy with that thought. Though, he wishes he didn't have to be dead for that to happen, because he kinda wants to hear Violet say that himself.

The sound of a loud, grumbly engine breaks Eddie from his thoughts, and a car slowly rolls up next to him. Eddie blinks against the light of the headlights, and he isn't afraid. Because he recognises the sound of the engine immediately.

"Need a taxi?" comes Richie's voice, through the rolled down window. "Free of charge."

Eddie is a little split in half, because he's relieved to have someone rescue him, but Richie is also the last person he wants to see right now. He lies, "I'm good."

"You're gonna walk home by yourself in the dark?" Richie asks, sceptical. "It's getting cold, man, come on."

"I'm fine, dude, really..." Eddie starts. Richie reaches over the centre console and pushes open the passenger door.

"You gotta be crazy not to accept a free ride," Richie says. "Plus, you look lost, so I think I'm saving your ass right now."

Eddie sighs, shoulders sagging. "Fine." He flops onto the passenger seat, sets his bags down by his feet, and pulls the door loudly shut. He keeps his body rigid, jaw tight, hopes to give off a haughty, unapproachable vibe that'll prevent Richie from speaking to him.

Richie pulls away from the curb, and Eddie's gaze slides over to Richie's wrists. The way the streetlamps flicker onto the leather bands, colourful braided string, small silver bracelets, that slide from the sleeve of his denim jacket to the base of his hand as he steers. When they pull up a stoplight, Richie rests his elbow on the door and puts one of the leather bands beneath his teeth. He glances at Eddie.

"I'm not friends with those guys, by the way," Richie says.

Eddie picks at his fingernails and doesn't look at him. "Why were you hanging out with them, then?"

"They sell me cheap weed." Richie shrugs, watches the stoplight. He chews again on the leather band, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel with his other hand. Gives off a jittery, nervous energy.

"Right." Eddie's not sure what to think. "Well, thanks, for sticking up for me." Eddie's also not sure if he means that, but it feels like something he should say.

"Yeah, 'course," Richie replies. You're my sister's best friend."

The words hit Eddie with a little force, leaves his eyes wide open. He thinks back to where Richie had stood, right behind the little group containing the two mullet boys. He had turned as soon as he'd heard Eddie's voice, which means he could hear what was happening, but had been ignoring it all up until then.

"So if I wasn't Violet's friend, you wouldn't have done anything?" Eddie asks, voice turned cold.

"Wha - ?"

"How many other people have they harassed like that? Do you just ignore them?" Eddie continues, looks at the side of Richie's face. "Do you join in?"

Richie turns his head quickly to gape at him, "What?" He looks back at the road. "Jesus, Eddie, I..."

"'Messing with fags is fun', right?" Eddie quotes, bitterly.

"No. Fuck, no. I don't do any of that shit, what the fuck? I just saved your ass, man, why the fuck are you pissed at me?"

"I didn't ask you to do anything of this shit," Eddie snaps, heated. "And you didn't 'save me', I was fine by myself."

"Whatever. I helped you. And I would've done it whether I knew you or not," Richie replies angrily. 

Eddie huffs, folds his arms over his chest. He doesn't know if he believes him, he has no reason to believe him.

A few uncomfortable minutes pass. Richie's fingers fidget over the steering wheel, he glances back over at Eddie. "I'm really not friends with them," he says. Eddie locks his jaw. "I'm not that big of an asshole."

It doesn't matter. Anything Richie says...it's just going in one ear and out the other. Eddie has been harassed by assholes like that his whole life, by groups of rough-looking boys who will tease and mock and push him around. And sure, in all of those groups, there are the boys who just laugh, or just watch. But Eddie hates them, too.

And as far as he's concerned, Richie is one of them.

The rest of the ride is carried on in tense silence. Eddie stares straight ahead and thinks of what he's going to tell Violet. Does she know? That Richie hangs around people like that? Has she tried to do anything about it? Richie probably hides it from her. Sneaks off all the time. It explains why his bedroom is so often mysteriously empty.

They turn onto Eddie's street. It's weird to think that just a few hours ago he had walked down here, all excited in his new shorts. He picks at the white-trim hem now and feels a little stupid. Look at his little gay shorts.

"They look good," Richie says, noticing the way Eddie fidgets with them. They've stopped in front of Eddie's house. Eddie meets Richie's gaze, those dark eyes behind his glasses, steady and serious. "Really good, Eddie." 

"Thanks," Eddie replies. But the word is sharp, because he doesn't mean it.

He grabs his things and climbs out the car before Richie can say anything else.

He wonders if Richie would go to his funeral. He wonders if there's a way to make sure he doesn't. 

The moment Eddie shuts himself in his room - groceries left on the kitchen table - he considers calling Violet. And crying. And doing both at the same time.

But he and Violet have never done anything like that before - crying in front of each other. They don't really talk about their feelings or emotions or anything like that at all. Eddie's not sure if friends are supposed to talk about that stuff. Or if you're only supposed to be vulnerable in front of your mother. Which he is, he's cried in front of her many times. And his ma's hugs used to be so comforting as a child, but they're not now. Not now that he's sure she's been lying to him for so long.

So Eddie sits on his bed and cries alone. Hot, salty tears that are both angered and sad. He tugs his shorts off, bunches them up in his hand, and stops himself just as he's about to throw them at the wall.

Who gives a fuck? he thinks to himself, in a voice that sounds eerily like a mixture of Violet's and his own. Who cares if those douchebags don't like his shorts? Think they're gay or whatever? He likes them. And maybe he is...

He stops that thought quickly. And pulls his shorts back on.

Violet does know about Richie's asshole friends, had tried to convince Richie to stop hanging out with them years ago. But it was no use. ("Because he just cares about the weed," she had said, bitterly. "He doesn't give a fuck about what they do, or the kind of people they are"). So Eddie was right. Richie just lets those douchebags harass people on the street.

Eddie avoids Richie as much as possible. Which is both hard, because he now practically lives at the Tozier house, and easy, because he spends most of his time in Violet's room, and Richie is hardly at home anyway. There are still the car rides after school that he has to deal with, though, because Richie always picks them up. Thankfully, Richie usually has his music too loud for there to be any possibility of conversation, and lets Eddie sit silent and sullen in the back seat. Sometimes he'll try and ask them about their day, jokingly prod for some school gossip, and Violet will either swiftly answer or tell him to shut up.

And so the days go on. But, despite the whole Richie complication, they really are the best days of Eddie's life.

It's been about a month since his first sleepover at the Tozier residence when Eddie has his second one. There's no nerves this time, no overthinking, because Eddie is at the stage where he knows which cupboards hold the glasses and which holds the bowls and where he needs to look if he wants cereal. He's comfortable, lounging on the couch while Violet looks through the VHS tapes, listing off names of movies. It's dark outside, the trees only tall shadowy figures through the windows, the room only lit by the blue screen of the TV. Richie isn't home.

"How about a horror?" Violet asks, poking her head into the cabinet beneath the television. "We have a ton of those. Richie's obsessed with them."

"I don't know..." Eddie says. "I mean, we're home alone. It's already scary enough in here."

And, as though the universe heard him, someone tries to open the front door.

Eddie and Violet both jolt, startled. Eddie scrambles up to look at the door so quickly he almost falls off the couch. But then Violet laughs and says, "It's just Richie."

Eddie settles. The door swings open. It's not Richie.

The moment Eddie realises that, he almost shits himself. The moment when he sees a face and doesn't recognise it. But it only lasts for a tenth of a second, because Violet says, mildly, "Oh! Mom, you're home." And the woman at the door looks up at them and Eddie can't believe he was ever scared at all.

She has the same dark hair and pale skin as her children, though her hair is wispy and cut into a bob around her round face. And she's a little, fragile looking thing. With bony elbows and slender wrists. It's almost a wonder that she manages to carry the overnight bag that she shuffles through the door with her.

Eddie still hasn't gathered up the courage to ask Violet about her family life, but he's collected up enough information to know that Violet and Richie live with their single mother, and that she works a lot. It shows, in the dark bags under her eyes.

"This is Eddie," Violet says. "I've told you about him before. He's sleeping over."

"Oh." Violet's mother nods and gives Eddie a small smile. "Hi, Eddie."

"Hi, Ms Tozier. It's nice to meet you."

"Please." Her smiles becomes much warmer. "Call me Maggie."

Eddie smiles back, "Hi, Maggie."

Maggie gives another little nod and then looks around distractedly. "I'm going to go put my bag away. Where's Richie?"

"Dunno." Violet shrugs, already turning back to the VHS tapes. "Out."

"He's out a lot, isn't he?" Maggie asks. "Is he with friends? Or does he have a girlfriend?"

Violet laughs, throws her head back and cackles. "Richie. With a girlfriend. Can you imagine?" She looks at Eddie, a glint in her eye, like he's in on the joke. Eddie can't really imagine Richie with a girlfriend, so he supposes it's funny. "You know what..." Violet continues, suddenly thoughtful. "I think there is a girl he likes. She hangs out with that group of assholes. Oh, it all makes sense now. That's why he's with them all the time. You cracked it, mom."

Maggie smiles politely, like she has any idea what Violet just said. "Richie doesn't have nice friends?"

"Nah, they're all kinda dicks. But I don't think you can really call them 'friends'," Violet replies.

Maggie hums, presses her lips together. Brow furrowing thoughtfully. And it's so weird, how little she knows about her children's lives. Eddie is so used to his mother knowing nearly every aspect of his. Except she still doesn't know about Violet, thinks Eddie is spending all this time with that nice boy named Joe.

"Right. Well, do you kids need anything?" Maggie asks, after a moment.

"We're good. Go rest, mom. You look tired," Violet says. Maggie doesn't argue with that, instead tells them both goodnight and shuffles down the hall.

And that's Eddie's first experience with Maggie Tozier. It's a bit jarring, at first, her quiet and timid nature, considering her children are so confident and bright in their own different ways. But she's incredibly kind, and thoughtful, and not overbearing in the slightest. Eddie likes her a lot. And she seems to like Eddie. Even though they don't see each other often, and she's quite distant and easily distracted, she remembers a lot of little things about him. Like how he has an affinity for Skittles. Eddie hardly remembers telling her, but she comes home a little earlier from work one day, while Eddie is over, and pulls a packet of Skittles out from her purse. Eddie almost consumes them all in one breath, because he so rarely gets them.

And she doesn't mind at all that Eddie is over so often. She welcomes him into her home with open arms. Says he can stay over whenever he wants. She even buys him a toothbrush, to keep in the bathroom, and Eddie almost cries, because it's perhaps the most touching thing anyone's ever done.

It feels like this is where he's supposed to live. Like the Tozier's are his real family.

Except. There's Richie.

They still hardly speak. Eddie's not angry at him anymore, because it's been long enough that the anger has faded. But he still doesn't particularly like him.

But he's curious about him. Namely, he's curious about the girl he's supposedly into. Eddie can't remember seeing a girl that night he had found Richie hanging with those douchebags, so he just wants to see if she actually exists, is all.

That's why he's follows Richie into a place called the Barrens one Saturday afternoon.

Before you get any thoughts: he's not stalking Richie, or anything. He hardly even followed him. It's just, Violet has gotten him really into running, but she's a bit under the weather, so he was running on his own today. And he'd happened to see Richie's car parked on the side of the road, and had decided to check it out, because maybe it'd give him something to laugh about with Violet later.

He'd found Richie and his group pretty quickly, because he all had to do was follow the sound of obnoxious laughter and the smell of foul smoke. They're just sitting around under the cover of trees, passing joints to one another. Eddie keeps a fair distance, but he circles around them a couple of times. He can't see any girls.

Eddie watches them for a few more minutes before he gets bored, and decides to explore a bit. He gives the group the finger before he turns around, even though they can't see it, because looking at them just reminds him of that night, which makes him nauseous, so he thinks he deserves that private satisfaction.

There's a shallow river only a few metres away, and he toes his way over the rocky bank to dip his hands in the cool water and wash the sweat from his face.

It's nice out here. Peaceful. With the soft sounds of the river running and faraway birds chirping and leaves rustling. He and Violet should come down here together some time. Maybe Violet could make him a pair of swimmers, because he doesn't have any, and they could splash around in the river when the weather gets really warm. Surely the water gets deeper a little further down.

An odd, strangled sort of chirping noise catches Eddie's attention, and his gaze is drawn to the other side of the river, where a little bird lays, injured, on the bank. It flaps one of it's wings helplessly, rolling around a bit in the dirt.

"What happened to you?" Eddie asks, as though the bird could possibly understand him. He dips his feet into the river, water soaking through his sneakers, and treks over to the other side. The bird chirps frantically at him as he gets closer. "Do you want some help?"

If it was any other day, Eddie would be able to reach into his fanny pack and pull out a bandage, or some Band-Aids, or something to help the bird. But he's not wearing it right now, because it gets a little annoying on runs.

The Tozier house isn't too far from here. Maybe, he thinks, he could walk the bird over there and Violet could help him.

He also thinks, though, that the bird could be covered in germs and riddled with disease, and he doesn't really want to touch it.

"I'm, um, not really sure what to do here," Eddie confesses. The bird squawks impatiently at him. "Ok, fine, I'll take you to Violet, jeez."

It takes a little while to psych himself up to touch it, but finally Eddie scoops the bird up in his hands and crosses back over the river, muttering, "ew, ew, gross, ew," under his breath the whole way.

He's just stepping onto the rocky bank when the bird jolts in his hands with a loud screech, and the suddenness of it causes Eddie to miss his step, slipping on the rocks' surface. His foot falls into a small hole between two rocks as he tips forwards. And he drops the bird in a frantic attempt to catch himself.

He doesn't. He falls completely. With his foot still stuck in the rocks.

The pain that flares up in his ankle is so white-hot that he screams.

"FUCK." Tears burn his eyes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Holy shit, Eddie?"

Eddie lifts his head and, through the haze of tears, can see the group of assholes surrounding him. Richie stands at the front, eyes wide. Eddie hadn't even noticed them approach.

"Shit, Eddie, are you okay? Fuck," Richie continues, stepping closer. It's a dumb question, considering Eddie is a sobbing, blubbery mess, and he had a screamed bloody murder only a minute ago.

"Is the bird okay?" Eddie asks weakly.

"The what?" one of the asshole's snorts, and the rest snicker. "What the fuck is wrong with him, Richie?"

Richie ignores them, gaze travelling down Eddie's leg. "Fuck, your foot," he says quietly. "It's stuck." He crouches down, and Eddie can no longer see him, but he already knows what Richie's planning to do.

"Don't fucking touch it," Eddie says quickly. "Get away from me, I'll do it myself." He tries to pull it free, but hisses loudly at the pain. "Just...don't..."

"I won't," Richie says. "What were you talking about before? A bird?"

"Y-yeah, I found an injured bird. I was trying to help it -- " Richie grabs his leg and pulls it free without warning and Eddie breaks off with a loud yelp. "What the fuck!"

The assholes erupt into laughter. Tears spring into Eddie eyes, and he scrambles up into a sitting position, ankle throbbing.

"Had to do it like a Band-Aid," Richie explains.

"No! No you didn't!" Eddie yells, tries to bring his leg toward him but pain shoots up his entire body. "You could've done it gently, you fucking idiot!"

Richie's face falls. Like he hadn't thought of that. Fucking idiot. "Oh."

God, why did this have to happen to him? He's broken his fucking ankle and the only people around to help him are a bunch of cackling assholes and Richie fucking Tozier.

He feels light headed.

"I need an ambulance. I think I'm going into shock," Eddie babbles, tears dripping from his chin. The scene around him sways a little. "My ankles broken, it's fucking broken, I need a doctor."

"Oh my god, he's such a fucking pussy," one of the assholes says. Eddie's pretty sure it's one of the ugly mullet boys. "Let's get out of here."

"We can't just fucking leave him," Richie says. His face is a little blurry in Eddie's vision, and Eddie can't tell if it's because of his tears or because he feels like he's going to pass out.

"Yeah we can," the second mullet boy says. "We have joints that need smoking."

"I'm your ride, dipshit," Richie points out.

"Then give us the keys."

"No."

The first mullet boy steps forward, rolls up his sleeves, and Richie straightens up on his feet. There's some scuffling, mullet boy trying to snatch the car keys from Richie's pocket. But Eddie doesn't watch. Squeezes his eyes shut, whines "fuuck, fuck fuck, shit fuck..." under his breath and tries not to focus on the screeching pain in his ankle.

He opens his eyes when he hears a loud oof, and sees that Richie has been pushed down onto the rocks, glasses hanging from one ear and clothes dishevelled. Mullet boy stands victoriously before him, car keys hanging from his fingers.

"Thanks for the car," he snickers. "Have fun with the fag." He and the rest of the assholes leave, laughing.

"Have fun sucking your dad's dick, you fucking asshole!" Richie yells back. He fixes his glasses, catches his breath, and then turns to Eddie.

"That's your fault," Eddie says. "For still hanging around them." His head is swimming. He thinks maybe this is what it feels like to be drunk.

"You're right," Richie says. Moves closer. "Come on, I gotta get you some help. Home is probably the closest. You reckon you can walk if you put your arm around my shoulders?"

Eddie tries to stand, but his ankle screams in protest whenever he attempts to put any weight on it. And he's too short to hook an arm over Richie's shoulders anyway. Richie grips Eddie's side to keep him balanced as he sways on one foot. His hand feels big, fingers digging in below Eddie's ribs.

"How about I carry you?" Richie suggests.

"No."

"Hop on my back," Richie continues, ignored him, "that's probably the easiest way."

Eddie blinks, very slowly, so he sees a lot of black, bursts of colour behind his eyelids, before he's looking back into Richie's worried, pale face.

"What about the bird?" Eddie asks.

"I don't see any bird," Richie says, a little impatient now. "Come on, Eddie, we really need to get you some help."

That's true. Eddie finally nods, reluctantly, and Richie turns around, crouching over and gripping Eddie's thighs. He pulls Eddie up onto his back easily, even though Eddie can't jump to help him, and it's almost like he weighs nothing. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie's neck, his stomach doing a weird jolt.

"Good?" Richie asks, as Eddie tries to settle comfortably on the warm expanse of his back.

"I guess," Eddie mumbles, feels dizzy. Richie's hair tickles his face. "The bird probably ran away."

"Probably," Richie agrees.

Eddie is quiet for most of the walk. Richie rambles angrily about the assholes taking his car for a bit, but soon he finds talking and walking too hard, and they continue most of trek to the Tozier house in silence.

Eddie is sure that having his leg hanging like this isn't good for his ankle, because it really fucking hurts, but he doesn't say anything about it, because there's not much else they can do. Instead, he buries his face in Richie's neck, focuses on the sound of Richie's heavy breathing, and the feeling of Richie's large hands gripping his bare thighs. Every now and then Richie will murmur "You good?" and "Almost there", giving Eddie's thighs a reassuring squeeze. And it's...nice.

He feels relieved when they finally make it to The Lane, those familiar tall trees watching over them. Richie's breathing has become laboured, grunts out "Almost there," every few steps, more to himself than to Eddie.

And then they're on the front porch, and Richie pushes the front door open, and they're greeted with the image of Violet on the couch in her pyjamas, surrounded by tissues.

"Vi," Richie says, voice terse. She looks over immediately.

"Oh my god. What happened?"

It's all a bit of a haze, Violet helping him onto the couch, icing his ankle, strapping it up. But Eddie remembers the way Richie had changed as soon as Eddie slipped off his back. Violet asked Richie question after question, and the calm, reassuring Richie from the walk home vanished, and instead became an anxious, rambly thing.

"He got his foot stuck in some rocks and, fuck, Vi, it just didn't look right. It's probably broken, shit, should we call an ambulance? Can we afford an ambulance? Maybe I should drive him to the hospital."

Violet, on the other hand, is calm. She gets Eddie comfortable on the couch and props his leg up on some cushion, inspects his swollen ankle. Richie watches from a little way behind her, running his fingers through his hair. The whole scene is bleary from Eddie's tired eyes.

"I mean, it's hard to tell," Violet says, "but I don't think it's broken. It looks a lot like your ankle did, Richie, when you sprained it. Remember, when you were, like, twelve? And you cried all day?"

"Do you really have to bring that up now?" Richie asks, still tense. His wide eyes land on Eddie. "Should I call your mother, Eddie? I should probably take you home."

"No, don't," Eddie answers immediately. Richie looks a little taken back, but there's no way Eddie can face his mother right now. She'll probably burst into tears. "Oh my Eddie, my poor Eddie! I'm never letting you outside again!" she'll sob. Or something dramatic like that. Just the thought makes him anxious. "I don't think I can move around too much," is what Eddie says. "Too painful."

So Eddie stays right there on that couch. And Richie disappears fretfully into his room. And Violet puts the TV on, gets him a glass of water and something to eat.

"I've never broken a bone before," Eddie rambles to her, stressed. He's still thinking of how worried his mother will be, and how worried Richie appears to be, and how worried he is. And now that his head has cleared a bit, he can express it. "Or sprained my ankle, or anything like that. I've never...the worst injury I've had was when I fell off my bike and scraped a shit ton of skin off my knee. Will it take long to heal? Will I be okay?"

Violet doesn't say anything. She sits down on the couch and lifts Eddie's head onto her lap, carding her fingers through his hair. A gentle, comforting gesture, her fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp. As far as Eddie's concerned, Violet is not a touchy person. The most he and Violet do is put their feet in each other's laps when they're watching movies. So this is new for them, for him.

And Eddie completely melts into it. Into the reassurance of her touch, the warmth of her thighs. Has to stop himself from nuzzling down into her lap. But he can't help the little content hum that rises from his throat.

"You'll be fine," Violet says, in a soft, but sort of no-nonsense manner. "No one's died from a sprained ankle. And I won't let you be the first."

Her fingers ghost over his forehead, brushes away the hair that is threatening to fall over Eddie's eyes. He can't remember the last time he was touched like this, with care, with thought. His mother's hugs were warm but smothering. And he's had no one else. Perhaps this is the first time he's ever been touched like this at all.

"Thanks, Violet," Eddie whispers, eyes fluttering shut. And he loves her. So intensely. He loves his best friend. And he knows she loves him.

Both Violet and Richie offer to let Eddie take their beds, but he doesn't want to impose, and also he's not sure he can move, so he sleeps on the couch. Well...he doesn't actually sleep. He slips in and out of a very light form of unconsciousness, eyes fluttering, because the pain in his ankle makes it hard to feel anything close to relaxed.

Now, it's a little after midnight, at least, he's assuming it is, and he's almost wide awake. Right in his line of sight are the glass sliding doors that lead out the back. The curtains aren't fully drawn, so he can the shadows of trees under a dark moonlit sky. The way the leaves sway in wind. He thinks of the little injured bird. He hopes it's doing better than he is right now.

Even though he had been adamant about not seeing his mother, he does kind of wish she was here. It's so stupid, he's sixteen years old and wanting his mama. But, he feels safe with her, and she would know what to do about his injury. Maybe if he was home he'd actually be getting some sleep right now.

He wishes Maggie was here too. She'd be able to nurture him in that motherly sort of way he's so desperate for, without being overbearing. He kind of thinks of her as mother, even though he sees her so rarely. She treats him like a son. Would that make Violet his sister? He likes the thought of that.

The thought of Richie as his brother doesn't sit right though. 

Footsteps pad down the hall and Eddie cranes his neck to try and see over the back of the couch. "Violet?" he asks.

"Yes, it is me, Violet," is the reply, the voice monotone, almost robotic sounding.

"That sounds nothing like her," Eddie says, wrinkling his nose. Richie comes around the side of the couch, standing near Eddie's feet. He wears an old, loose fitting shirt and boxers, hair a wild nest as is it always is when he gets out of bed, and no glasses. Eddie's never seen him without them. Richie looks even more unfairly beautiful when his eyes are normal sized. Sleepy and soft.

"What are you talking about? It sounded exactly like her. Vi's a robot," Richie says, with a small grin. "She has like, no emotions."

"Yes she does," Eddie huffs, gives him a dark look. Richie holds his hands up as though surrendering.

"Sorry, I won't ever say anything bad about her again," Richie teases. Eddie huffs again. Richie's eyes land on his injured leg, and his smile fades. "How's your ankle? The pain keeping you up?"

A sharp bullet of pain shoots through his ankle at Richie's words, as though it heard him. Eddie sighs, resting back against the cushions. "Obviously." Okay, that's a little harsh, tries again. "Yeah. It kinda sucks." He quirks a brow. "Why are you up?"

"Needed some water." Richie shrugs. "You wanna sleep in my bed? That couch probably isn't doing you any favours."

"It's fine," Eddie says. "I don't wanna kick you out of your own bed."

Richie snorts. "You won't be kicking me out because I just offered it. Come on. You might actually get some sleep."

Eddie does really want some sleep. To be relieved of the pain for at least a few hours. He just kind of wishes it was Violet offering him her bed right now, because the thought of sleeping in Richie's is a little weird.

"Okay," he relents. Sits up, and slowly swings his legs over the edge of the couch. Walking there is going to be quite a task...but Richie is leaning down and hooking an arm beneath Eddie's knees before he even has a chance to plant his feet on the floor.

"Alley oop!" Richie says, his other arm behind Eddie's back, picking him up bridal style. Eddie startles at the sudden movement, and clutches a fist into the fabric of Richie's shirt.

"Some warning would've been nice," Eddie says, as Richie adjusts him more comfortably in his arms.

"Had to do it quick. Like a Band-Aid," Richie says. Eddie smiles despite himself, still gripping Richie's shirt.

"Shut up."

The walk from the lounge to Richie's room is only short, but Eddie still has time to think a plethora of thoughts. One being the fact that Richie is warm, and his grip on Eddie is strong and steady. Another being the fact that when Richie had carried him earlier, he had smelt of smoke and weed. Now, Richie smells of soap and fabric softener and, beneath all that, a distinct scent of boy. The kind of scent that comes from musky body spray and the tiniest bit of sweat. Eddie tips his head against Richie's shoulder without even realising it, because he's too busy breathing the smell in and wondering whether he likes it or not.

(He does).

It's only once they've reached Richie's room, and Richie is kicking open his door carefully with his foot, that Eddie thinks to be embarrassed by the fact that he's being carried to his best friend's older brother's bed in said best friend's older brother's arms right now. Because this is weird, right? It's weird.

Sure, Richie had carried Eddie all the way home earlier that day. But that had been  a piggyback, which feels far less...intimate than the way Richie is carrying Eddie right now. And Eddie had been in too much pain to really think anything of it at all.

Richie slowly lowers Eddie onto the bed, and Eddie is thankful that the lights are off, because he'd probably die if Richie could see how red his face currently is.

Richie arranges some pillows under Eddie's injured foot to keep it elevated and then pulls the blanket up around Eddie, right up to his chin. And Eddie lets him, even though he could very much do this all himself, because he's too embarrassed to say anything.

"Good?" Richie asks. He's leant over so Eddie can see his face, even in the dark. Pale and shadowy, his brown eyes flicking between Eddie's own. He still holds the edge of the blanket, where it's pulled up around Eddie's chin, and in his peripheral vision, Eddie can see the way Richie softly thumbs over the fabric.

It's a quiet moment. A soft moment. An odd moment.

"Yeah," Eddie says, in a near whisper. "Thanks. You know. For...for everything." Because he hasn't said that yet, and he really is. Thankful for all Richie's help. He could've left Eddie alone in the Barrens, when all his friends left. But he didn't. Not even when they took his car. He didn't think Eddie wasn't worth the trouble. Never mind the fact that they hardly know each other. Never mind the fact that Eddie goes out of his way to avoid talking to him. He carried Eddie home.

"Sure thing," Richie says, with a crooked smile. He gives Eddie's hair a little pat before pulling away. "Just give me a shout if you need anything."

Eddie watches him cross the room. "Wait," he says, just as Richie opens the door. Richie turns to him. Eddie opens and closes his mouth a few times before he spills the words, "Did you get your car back?"

"Yeah, I did." Eddie's hoping that Richie will continue, will tell him that he also dropped those assholes and will never see them again. But Richie just steps from the room. "Night, Eddie," he says, and pulls the door shut.

Richie's bed is far more comfortable than the couch.

Eddie falls into a heavy sleep, the kind where he sinks into a dream that feels like reality. So it's a surprise that a bit of scuffling is what wakes up him that morning. He blinks, groggy, squints against the morning sunlight washing over the chaos of Richie's room. It takes a few seconds to determine what exactly the noise is, but then he sees Richie, sorting through the clothes in his cupboard.

He's still wearing his boxers but he's shirtless; Eddie watches the muscles in his back flex as he picks out a t-shirt. Richie looks like such a skinny, lanky thing, but he's surprisingly toned, with fit arms and nice broad shoulders. And Eddie can't stop looking until Richie's bare skin disappears under a shirt.

He closes his eyes hurriedly when Richie pulls on a pair of jeans and turns to leave; doesn't want him to know he was watching. 

Eddie supposes he could sleep again, after the bedroom swings shut, but his eyes decide to travel around the room instead. The floor is covered in clothes and litter and an old pizza box that Eddie wonders has any pizza left in it. The walls are covered in posters, so the room feels crowded, and darker than it actually is. Most of them are of bands that Eddie's never heard of, and posters for horror movies that Eddie's never seen.

But, between a poster for an obscure rock band and The Shining, there's a little handmade poster for Wonder Violet. With the same design Violet had printed onto a t-shirt.

Eddie tries to imagine ten year old Violet making that for twelve year old Richie, but he can't. He certainly can't imagine Violet making that for Richie now. Violet and Richie aren't particularly close; the kind of siblings that would want nothing to do with each other if they weren't related. It's not that they hate each other, or even dislike each other, really. It's just that they're two very different people, have nothing in common but their parents.

Maybe that's because Eddie is thinking of the Richie who smokes with assholes, though. He knows Violet doesn't like that Richie. But, she might like the Richie who gave up his bed for someone he wouldn't even consider a friend, who carried him home.

Eddie thinks he might. 

Three weeks later

"...the chocolate and peanut butter combination follows the same principle," Violet is saying, as she stirs the brownie mix. "Salty and sweet just works."

"That's all very interesting, Vi, but I just wanted to know if we could add Reece's cups into the brownies," Richie says, sounding as though he didn't find it very interesting at all. "I didn't need a life lesson."

"Jesus, Richie, if anyone needs a life lesson, it's you," Violet retorts. "Anyway, Eddie found it interesting. Didn't you, Eddie?"

It's a peaceful kind of night. They're in the kitchen, making brownies. Or at least, Violet is. Eddie and Richie are sitting on stools around the kitchen island, watching her.

Eddie's ankle has almost completely healed. It turned it was just a sprain, like Violet had said. That didn't stop his mother from almost having about seven aneurysms when she saw him the following day, however. She'd kept him locked away in his room for almost three weeks, only allowed to leave the house for doctor visits. He'd missed school and everything, despite the fact that he could've gone if his mother had allowed him a pair of crutches.

It had been torture, not seeing Violet. He'd gone over her house as soon as he could, which had been around four days ago, though his mother hadn't let him stay out long. And now he sits happily in her kitchen. Back to normal.

"I loved it," Eddie says now. Richie laughs, gives Eddie a grin that also feels a bit like an eye roll.

"Sure, you did," he teases, nudges Eddie's arm playfully.

"I did. I'm sorry you don't have the intelligence to enjoy it," Eddie teases back.

And, okay, maybe things aren't completely back to normal. He and Richie have been acting sort of like...friends these past couple days. Well, they talk a bit more. Only in passing, because Eddie is here for Violet, but Eddie doesn't try to avoid him anymore. So that allows for nights like this, where the three of them are all together, and Richie is smiling at him, glasses glinting in the kitchen light, and Eddie is trying very hard not to smile back.

"All of our parents' intelligence was given to me," Violet says. "Speaking of, mom's coming home tonight, isn't she?"

"Probably. Give us a taste of that brownie mix, would ya?" Richie leans across the counter, Violet snatches the bowl away.

"Get your grubby hands away from it," she snaps. Richie snorts. Violet smiles sweetly at Eddie. "Do you want to lick the spoon?"

Feeling a bit like a child, but also not really caring, Eddie licks the spoon clean while Violet puts the brownies in the oven. From the corner of his eye, he notices Richie watching him, with an odd sort of expression on his face, and the heat of the oven must be getting to him, because his cheeks are tinted red.

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. Richie looks away and clears his throat, sliding from his seat.

"Whatever," he says, "I bet your brownies taste horrible anyway, Vi, they don't even have weed in them. I'm out."

"Aww," Violet coos. "Is someone sad they couldn't wick the spwoon? Poor wittle baby."

Richie flips her the bird, but Violet is too busy laughing to care. "Do you want me to look for some Reece's cups?" she asks in jest. "To cheer the wittle baby up?"

Richie folds his arms over his chest. "Yes."

Violet rolls her eyes, but she opens up one of the cupboards, and begins to search through it. She's opened the cupboard full of jars of sauces and spices accidentally, rather than the snack cupboard, but it doesn't really matter, because it's not like she's actually looking for them.

"Hey," Violet says, with a little frown. She leans up on her toes and reaches into the very back of the cupboard. "Who's are these?" She pulls out a bottle of wine, then reaches back in and pulls out a bottle of vodka, reaches back in and pulls out another, another. Until there's six bottles on the counter. Gives Richie a look. "Are these yours?"

"They are now," Richie says, making a grab for one. Violet swats him away.

"There's a shit ton of alcohol here." She furrows her brows at the bottles. "Do you think...?"

"That's what you call a shit ton?" Richie snorts. 

"Shut up, Richie," Eddie says, at the same time Violet says, "shut up." Their eyes meet, and a little amused smile flickers across Violet's face. "We'd make a good Richie-hating duo," she says, lowers her voice, as though that'll make it a secret, despite the fact that Richie is standing literally right there.

"I'm literally right here," Richie says. Violet just laughs. Eddie laughs too, at the little grumpy look at his face. And he's still laughing when the phone rings, and Violet cleans her hands off on a tea towel to answer it, gives the bottles a look as though saying she'll deal with them later. His laughter simmering down to a smug smile as Violet greets her aunt on the phone, and Richie lightheatedly glares at him. His smile fading to nothing when Violet goes silent and then whispers, "no."

There's something in her tone that acts as a vacuum, sucking in every last ounce of noise until they are left in a void of deep, bone rattling silence. Everything is deathly still.

"No," Violet says again, clutching the phone tight against her face. "No, you're...that can't be..." Her breathing quickens, dark stormy eyes stare desperately at the kitchen floor. "No, no, no."

"Vi...?" Richie asks, uncertain. He and Eddie share a nervous look. All lightheartedness stripped from them completely. 

"How do you know?" Violet demands into the phone. "No. I don't believe it. How do you know?"

"Violet, what's going on?" Richie tries again. "Who are you talking to?"

Violet stumbles back, leans against the counter, lip quivering. Eddie watches her, can't take his eyes from her, his mouth dry, chest tight, as she bursts into tears.

"No," she sobs. "God, please, no."

Violet Tozier. Pristine, perfect Violet Tozier, who lives untouched by the world around her, who's always so composed and level-headed, crumbles before them. Eddie's jaw is a little slack, clutches at the hem of his shorts, he thinks its perhaps one of the most harrowing things he could ever see. 

The phone clatters to floor as she does, her back thumping against the cupboards as she falls onto the tiles.

"Violet," Richie demands, though he sounds terrified. "What the fuck is going on?"

It's hard for her to answer, because she's breathing so rapidly, choking on her tears. "Mom," she gasps, looks up at him, though she can barely keep her eyes open, they're so full of tears. "She..." A wail escapes her. "A-a cr-ash." Her voice breaks, becomes something shrill. And they all know what's coming. Because what else could it be? What else could make the air feel like this? Could flip a switch so suddenly, and turn pleasant warmth to cruel ice? It doesn't feel real, as Violet opens her mouth, hiccups, lips forming around the words. Eddie wants to cover his ears. It's a heavy dream. A dream that feels like reality. A dream you can't wake up from. "She didn't make it."

And the whole world crumbles too.