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hiyo-silver · 5 years

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Behind Blindfolds

Nobody expected the world to end the way it does until it starts. It was always thought to happen all in one go but instead it drags on for years of feigning really living when all they're doing is surviving. In this situation maybe, surviving is really losing.

Summary: The group realizes that they can't go on forever with just what's in Stan's house, and they have to find a way to venture out of the home and out into the world for supplies.

Chapter 1 2 + ao3

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @Thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose11 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt @aizeninlefox @sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler @yooonbum @coffeekaspbrak @sedanleystanley

Rations start to go down and now everyone’s moods are even lower. With two women growing children inside of them, of course the food goes quick. Better than starving the fetuses when they’re this far along. It would only make the losers feel inhumane. But their morality doesn’t make them run out of food any slower.

“You know we’re all just gonna die here, not of It, but of our own human needs. Frankly, human bodies are awful and I’m ashamed to have one,” Stan says, straightening his baby blue sweater on his torso as he paces the living room back and forth. They may all be in the worst time of their lives, but he still insists on fully dressing up, down to the polished black shoes. They click on the wood floor, it only reminds them how the clock is ticking.

For now they’re thinking of what they could do, “We could try and make a run for it? Make our way to the store, run with as much as we can carry,” Richie suggests, of course the hyperactive one suggests the one that takes the most physical activity. “We could even keep the blindfolds on, we’ll find our way there eventually,” his voice gets quieter and he shrugs embarrassedly as he gains the looks of doubts from his peers.

“Richie, how do I say this? You’re fucking stupid,” Eddie says, his voice coming loudly from his chest. Beverly hasn’t seen his hot head come out this badly yet, but it’s clear Richie is used to the behavior. “Even if we somehow could get there at some point, we’d expend too much energy! We need to manage ourselves better now, it’s not like we can consume all two thousand calories we need!” he rambles and paces even more angrily than Stan does. He’s had to be careful all of his life because his mom, but now he’s stuck here being careful again because of a monster he can’t even lay his eyes on. He can’t size it up, and that’s what scares him the most. He wants to know what he’s dealing with.

Richie slumps in his chair, picking at the skin around his fingernails, biting at it once he can’t do much more with his hands. He just wants to keep occupied, though Eddie’s ranting doesn’t phase him too much. They’ve known each other for a while, he’s been on the receiving end of this rage on more than one occasion. If he’s being honest, it turns him on a little, and that’s why he’s trying to ignore it.

“What about with some sort of camera night vision goggles? You could see what’s around you but maybe since it picks up heat signatures it wouldn’t get… that thing,” Ben suggests, his voice comes out nervously, he’s not much of a leader himself. But his writing has gotten him some ideas, if it works in the real world it’s all the better. He chews his lip as he watches Mike consider the idea.

“It could work, but we can’t risk it. Even some ghosts pop up on camera. But it’s something to try. Stan, can we test it out somehow? Any ideas?” Mike asks, letting his warm brown eyes meet with Stan’s hazel ones.

“Mike, you fucking idiot, ghosts aren’t real. My security system only picks up heat signatures for that very reason. It’s a lost cause though, Hanlon, we can’t risk it,” Stan says, sitting in his recliner with a huff. He really feels as if it’s hopeless. He hates when his perception of things change, change in general messes with him badly. He’s in shutdown mode with his anxiety, without his Patricia to comfort him like she had for years of their life together.

“Believe what you want, Uris,” Mike says, straightening up from where he’d leaned on the counter, walking around the kitchen island as he thinks. “Your control stuff for the cameras is in your office, right?” he asks, obviously very seriously considering it. He’s always had a self sacrificing attitude. He’s basically the most valuable member of this team aside from Bill. At the moment the two of them are damn near in a real power struggle. They both just want to be partners in this, but have too big of egos to actually let it happen.

“Michael, don’t you even think about it,” Beverly says, her voice smooth despite her fear. She doesn’t want to lose any of them, especially someone who plays such an important role in the group. She doesn’t want to see anyone else die, particularly someone she’s learned to be close to by now. But there’s no avoiding it. Risk one of them or risk all of them slowly and painfully.

“No, Bev, my mind is made up, if something happens it happens. If nothing happens, I can help save you guys, and your baby,” he says, going about the usual hero spiel. He gestures to her, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “But we’ll make it so nothing happens,” Mike says, opening his eyes again. “I know how, I just need your help.”

They all get up from their spots basically in sync, coming together to help him. He has them get rope and duct tape, to which Richie comments sounds “kinky.” they bring everything up to Stan’s office, though Stan stays downstairs in his spite. He knows it won’t work, they told him to stay there because they don’t need his negative energy.

They tie his back to the back of the leather chair, taping his arms down to the arm rests. They tie his legs together and then tape them to the chair as well. They want him completely immobile, it’s for his own safety. If he can’t move he can’t get hurt, right? He looks at Beverly as the others leave the room and wish him luck.

“You’re so strong, you’ll make it through this,” he says, his eyes welling with tears. It’s like he knows what’s to happen to him in the span of the next few minutes. “Now, little red, make your way downstairs to where it’s safe. I’ll see you guys all soon.” Beverly nods, evading his tearing eyes with her own. She turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her as he’s left to do what he knows he has to.

He pushes the button to turn on the computer. The screen comes up, panels of the security cameras coming up, mostly all aimed at the outside of the house, it’s fine at first. A bright light passes over the screen, his eyes flicker in response. He blinks quickly and shakes his head, he thinks he was just seeing something.

It’s only a few more moments until it gets worse. He feels pressure on his throat and in his ears. He sees another kind of light and lets out what he can of a scream. The group hears it from downstairs. They’d already been on the edge of their seats but the scream makes them jump into action. They grab blindfolds from the coffee table. They need to save him but they can’t see whatever has got him. It would only be counterproductive.

They push and shove each other up the stairs, throwing the door open, finding him on the wood floor, still attached to the chair, the chair had fallen with him with a crash unlike anything they’d heard before. The thump of a body combined with the fall of a heavy chair is a sound like no other. They fight to get the computer turned off without looking, and they finally do. It all feels like a blur of yelling and pushing. This must be what it feels like to be completely hopeless, Beverly believes. She’s the first one to remove her blindfold.

She sees him lying there, his eyes wide open, all black, his sclera covered with something dark, which she realizes later, realizes in the near future, was blood. There was blood coming from his ears, bruising all around his neck. It looks like a goddamn crime scene. She doesn’t want to be so emotional. She’s pregnant and hormonal, she’ll blame it all on that, but she falls to her knees and sobs. Eddie has to pull her out of the room by her shirt sleeve. They close the door, they don’t know what to do about his body. Probably nothing. They’ll probably just never open that door again.

They spend the rest of the day in complete silence, they dim the lights. It just feels right to them, they need to spend time honoring his life, and the man he was. They still need food though. Grief doesn’t stop time, even though it feels like it. They sleep together in the living room, but when morning comes they need to talk about what to do about their supply. It may be insensitive, but that’s survival. Sometimes survival breaks morality, especially in cases like this.

In the beginning there is no conversation to this meeting. Until finally Kay speaks up, “If we’re going, I want to go. It’s partially my fault that the food is running out. I need to help,” she says, looking around to see the reactions and opinions of the others. She’s met with disagreement.

“No, you’re more vulnerable,” Stan spits out. He’s still not the happiest about Beverly and Kay and their unborn babies. He thinks that they just make it harder to move on with the idea of dying. New life connected with the idea of dying is never a pleasant combination.

“What if we c-couldn’t see out of the c-c-car windows?” Bill asks, looking among the group. A plot hatches in his head. He’s used to ignoring his grief, which is probably why his mind is clear enough to even come up with a plan. For the rest of them his avoidance of his problems almost seems like a superpower.

“We could cover the windows like the ones in here, right?” Eddie suggests, crossing his leg over his other knee in a pattern that mimics a number four. Now they have the ball rolling on what they could do. It seems in natural order for Eddie to follow Bill’s lead, he’s obviously got an amazing and creative mind, he and Bill both do, they could put it to wonderful use. In this scenario and otherwise.

“Right!” Ben jumps into the conversation, it gave him another reason for his novel. As he listens now he scribbles in his notebook with his dull pencil. It makes Beverly smile, at least he can find inspiration in this. Watching someone benefit somehow makes this all that much easier. Keeping their hopes up is the best they can do now.

“We should get to it,” Richie says with an enthusiastic slap to his knee, getting up to his feet. He still never fails to try and be a beacon of sunshine and smiles for the group, he’s decided that’s his mission. He may not be the smartest when it comes to living, his mom still cut his food for him up until the day that he ended up in Stanley’s house. But jokes, he can do jokes.

They all head for the closed garage. Stan’s car isn’t the nicest, but it is good enough to still drive. They find cans of paint on the shelves, no more cardboard though, it’s all been used up for the inside windows. Paint will do, though Stan whines and complains about how he’ll never be able to use his car again. As far as they know though, the situation may never return to how the world was before. The idea of getting food now seems much more important than trying to get a new car when this is all over. God they can only hope it’ll get any better soon.

They go to work slathering thick layers of paint over the windows, they’re scared that missing a spot could be their entire undoing. It’s almost cathartic to paint on something that in their old lives would never be okay to ruin this way. It makes them feel powerful, they definitely needed that before the journey they’re bound to make later. It’ll take more than luck, confidence is the best they can do. Driving blind isn’t of skill, just of throwing away their fear and just going for it.

“Well, w-we’ve been avoiding this b-but. Who o-of us are going?” Bill asks, looking among his group, his blue eyes don’t shine so much in here, they look more like a dreary and dark gray. He doesn’t just look sad, he truly seems to be nervous in a way the others have never seen him. “I’m d-definitely going. I’m driving,” he states before anyone else speaks up.

Beverly raises her hand slowly, “I really need to get out for a while. I’m going stir crazy,” she admits, trying not to be ashamed of wanting to go, but it doesn’t stop it entirely. Bill nods in her direction, letting her know that he’ll allow it. It’s as if he understands her endlessly restless spirit.

Ben cowers near the door to go back into the house. Bill stops him as soon as he realizes though. “Hey! Y-you worked at the supermarket, r-right? Means you kn-know the security system. N-need you,” he says, gesturing for Ben to come back into the group.

“Eddie, R-Richie, you guys too, we need Eddie’s t-tactfulness.” Bill says, then he looks at Kay and Stan, “You guys st-stay here,” Bill commands.

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stupid-richie · 6 years

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Into the Dark (3/12)

Summary: Richie and Stan have seen and dealt with a lot of cases in the years they’ve been working together, from cults to cartels. A case in Derry, Maine, proves to be one of the most horrific for them and for the two local officers they’ll be working with. And on top of it all, Richie keeps remembering things he’d rather forget.

WC This Chapter: 1817

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The morgue is in a separate building across the street from the precinct, and thank god for small miracles that it’s cleaner. Sure, the exterior is in much the same grimy state, but the interior smells like ammonia and has waxed tile floors. Walking through it is almost uncomfortable for Richie, too quiet and clinical for his liking. Eddie doesn’t speak to him at all until they get to the room before the one holding all the bodies. He instructs Richie to put on scrubs, as though Richie’s never been to one of these places before.

Richie doesn’t bother with a sarcastic quip about it. Being funny is hard when on the other side of the door in front of you are dead children. He shuts his eyes when Eddie opens the door, trying to prepare himself to see what the pictures showed him in real life. This part of the job never gets easier.

Someone else is already in the room, a tall man maybe Richie’s age with baby fat still pulling at his cheeks. After some thoughtful studying of his face, Richie realizes he’s sweatshirt kid from the photo on Bill’s desk. That only leaves two people unidentified, but given the size of Derry, Richie will probably meet them soon.

“Ben, this is Richie, he’s helping us with the case,” Eddie introduces.

Ben smiles at Richie, his face pleasantly welcoming and warm. He seems the type to hug his friends and quietly read poems to himself late at night in front of a fireplace. Honestly, Richie can’t tell if he’s suspicious or not.

A gloved hand extends for Richie to shake, which he does, with a pointed look at Eddie over his shoulder. “Ben Hanscom, M.E. for the Derry police.”

“Richie Tozier, professional asshole.”

His joke makes Ben laugh, but not Eddie.

The two of them sober up quickly, once they remember why Richie and Eddie have come. Ben beckons them forward with two fingers and pulls the sheet off a body in the center of the room. It’s a boy, curly hair and broken glasses, chunks dug out of his stomach and thighs. Behind Richie, Eddie makes a small noise in the back of his throat, but Richie doesn’t flinch. He’s seen worse- seen the infliction of worse.

Stop crying, Richard.

Every injury is jagged, which is consistent with all the other victims. Now that Richie can see them closer, he agrees with the autopsy that reports the cause being something like a mouth. It’s not too large to be inhuman, but it’s certainly bigger than average. Maybe false dentures, or a large dog. The cause was definitely something with teeth, and the strength to cause damage like that. Ben starts to explain that, but Richie holds up a hand to silence him.

“When was he found?”

“This morning,” Eddie says. “No full report on the body yet, we were waiting for you to come take a look before Ben did anything too thorough.”

Richie nods and looks at the blood still coating the body. It’s dried now, but still bright enough to have only been a few hours old. The kid died today, shortly after the wounds were inflicted. He can’t see a cause of death right away, although Ben will tell him in a report later. Either way, he’s not here for the cause of death, he’s supposed to look at the injuries and see if that tells him anything about the psyche of the killer.

Teeth. Something bit this kid, and probably the others. Judging by how large the portions missing from the other victims are, it could be a dog or a wolf. They were alive when it happened, but something else killed them before blood loss did. Suffocation, usually. Handprints bruise the necks of some, but others never had the chance, even though their windpipes are crushed on occasion, vertebrae cracked.

The killer wanted them to suffer, but he wanted to be the one to take their lives himself. Once again, it’s clear that he hates children. He’s not a sexual predator, none of them are hurt like that. But Richie has to rethink his idea that the killer is a loner. He has too much hatred and anger to stop at just the children. It’s likely he has a wife, but no children of his own- at least, not currently. If he had any, he killed them. And he’s most likely abusive toward his current wife. That’s not a theory Richie particularly likes, but it’s something to go off of.

“Any others still here? Or are they buried?”

“The first few have been, but there’re some still here,” Ben says.

“I’d like to see them, please. In chronological order of being found.”

Richie looks at Eddie, whose face has gotten noticeably paler since they arrived. His eyes are cast to the ground, occasionally flicking up to look at the body- the little boy- lying on the table. Cold, just like the metal. He’ll never play outside or go to school or fight with his mother again, a reality that’s likely settling in for Eddie. None of the little kids will, not anymore. Their lives have been brought to an abrupt, painful close. Derry isn’t a huge place, murders probably aren’t common, let alone brutal ones like this. Neither Eddie, nor Ben, nor Bill are used to seeing the grotesque mutilations of children like this. They don’t live the same life Richie does, he has to remind himself of this.

“You should- you should probably go catch up with Stan and Bill, Eds.” Richie’s tempted to grab Eddie’s fingers and give them a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but then he nods and leaves, still glancing back at the body.

“Bill’s better about it than he is, dunno why Eddie came.”

Now Richie’s focused on Ben again, and in turn, the bodies. Thinking of them like that makes reality easier to block out. It was one of the first things he learned- how to separate actions from emotions. Eddie has a harder time with it, Richie supposes, and Ben is almost uncomfortable when he has to get too close to the bodies. A wave of something that ties his stomach in knots runs through Richie, a response to thinking about the circumstances. This isn’t something that most people are familiar with. Even police in big cities full of disgusting cases get sick at the ones Richie and Stan are usually assigned to. Pity, maybe, or something like it could be a name for whatever Richie feels thinking about Eddie.

The first body is the one Richie recognizes as the first one found. No one could identify her, because her face is missing and there’s no distinguishing marks on her body. She’s well into the beginning stages of decomposition, despite the efforts of the freezing temperatures and some chemicals that make the air smell rather unpleasant. Not that rot smells great either, but still. She has little burns on the palms of her hands, circular like cigarette butts. Some are older, scarred over. Others are from just before she died.

“Doesn’t match any missing persons, no one recognizes anything about her. I think she’s maybe six, and she shows signs of severe malnutrition and long term physical abuse. There’s poorly healed fractures on her right arm and three of her ribs. At the time of her death, she had nothing in her stomach and very little in her intestines. Either her abuser killed her, or she escaped her abuser only to be caught by a sadist.”

Another thing to confirm his latest theory. Victim #1 was most likely the daughter of the murderer, and the killing spree started with her. She matches the M.O., but it’s sloppy and unpracticed. No face, no ID, no tracking it back to the parents, but she was tortured before she died. The burns, the cuts littering her torso and and legs, and the cause of death. Ben tells him that it’s a fractured skull, and it killed her before whatever thing with teeth bit off her face.

He wants to feel something, looking at this little girl. Unloved. Hurt. Alone. Even in death, unclaimed. She’s so much like himself when he was younger. It’s unnatural to feel nothing staring at her like this, but that’s just the way Richie is now. No dead bodies, however horrible they are, affect him anymore. Even Stan, desensitized as he is, was visibly upset at the destruction of these bodies- children- bodies. Does it make him broken, to feel nothing like this? Did Mr. Gray break him, by showing him such awful things every day for months?

I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t you dare throw up again after this.

“The next one?” prompts Richie, tearing his eyes away from the body.

Another girl, about fourteen. Fifth body found. Her left hand is gone, and Ben theorizes it was the teeth thing. She has a face marred with bruises, nose misshapen and with two neat trails of long dried blood dripping from the nostrils. Ben says the injuries on her forearms are defensive wounds from putting her hands in front of her face to protect it from whoever was beating her.

Sixth body. A toddler. Missing both of his legs. Ninth. Ten years old. Eyes carved out of her skull. Eleventh. Teenager. Neck at an odd angle. Left arm gone. Twelve and thirteen were found at the same time. They were twins. And they got twin missing hands.

By the time they’re done, Richie has more to go off of for his case, but Ben looks sick to his stomach and Richie thinks he’ll lose it if he has to look at another body and almost wish he felt something, even a faint stab of pity. Anything is better than nothing.

He bids Ben goodbye and throws away his scrubs and latex gloves before he leaves. Stan texted him saying that he, Bill, and Eddie are at their temporary apartment, followed by Richie’s new home address and instructions to call a cab. They’re even supposedly going to save him pizza. Pizza, to satiate the appetite he doesn’t have. As it is, Richie has to eat more than he’s ever hungry for to make Stan worry less.

When he gets there, he’ll tell them what he thinks of the killer now. Their reactions are easy, even for the two Derry police officers Richie’s just met. Bill will be interested and take notes, occasionally asking a question like an engaged student. Stan won’t make a sound until Richie is finished, if he chooses to talk at all. Eddie will likely disagree for no reason other than the fact that he doesn’t like or trust Richie all that much, a fact that’s more painful than it should be.

@heterophobic-thezoomer @ariamalik19 @bobert-newby @pucaaaaaa @thavwrecka @sodaoutsiders @bxxpbxxprichie @bitchierrichie @bleepbleeprichie @coolfijiwater

#reddie #stenbrough #it (2017)#fic #itd #mine

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