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stansbooty · 6 years ago

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the sick and the tired

gift for @whatidoisxsecret for the @itfandomprompts secret santa! happy holidays!

ao3 link

words: 3040

warnings: language, violence (nothing graphic) and major character death

The rain fell from the sky with such a force that the roof sounded like it was going to collapse inwards. Richie knew that logically it wouldn’t. Despite being an old house, it was in reasonable shape and work had been done repairing and reinforcing everything possible. The house was essentially a fortress now. The roof was thick, leak proof and sturdy. The doors were steel and covered in a variety of locks. The windows were boarded. The fence surrounding the house tall and barbed. It had taken months.

“Everything okay?” A voice asked from behind him. Richie whipped around to see Beverly wrapping her arm up in a bandage, her face full of concern. “You’ve been staring out the window for hours now.”

He waved an arm in her direction. “Just waitin’ for the rain to stop.”

She finished wrapped her arm and sat next to him, watching the rain fall heavily and sighed. “We’ll find them. Don’t worry.”

“Pfft.” Richie tried to laugh it off. “I’m not even worried about that. Told ya, I’m just watching the rain.”

“Rich. We’ll find them.” She repeated with a sad smile.

Richie stayed silent for a minute. He focused in on the feeling of Beverly’s hand rubbing circles on his back and tried to loosen the tension building up in his shoulders. He fiddled with the ring on his finger.

“You really think so?” He spoke up.

“I know so. They’re smart and so are we.” She gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “Now c’mon, Stan made rice.”

“Stan always makes rice.” Richie grumbled but stood up nonetheless.

“It’s the only thing he knows how to make.” Bev whispered with a giggle.

The table looked empty, just as it had for the past week. Seven chairs sat around the table, but only four of them were taken. Mike was helping himself to rice and canned chicken and looked up to smile at them momentarily. Richie could tell that no one was feeling particularly chipper at the moment. Approximately 142 hours ago (Although who was keeping track? Certainly not Richie.), three of their best friends had been separated from them, and everyone was beginning to feel the toll of the failing search.

“We’re leaving as soon as the rain ends, right?” Richie spoke up.

“A lot will be flooded.” Stan responded without looking up.

“I don’t care.”

Stan sighed. “Where did you want to look next?”

“In town?”

“You think they’re in there?” Mike asked, speaking softly, hints of fear laced in his voice.

“Where else would they be?” Richie questioned. “We’ve checked everywhere outside of town. The center. The bunkers. Hell, me and Bev ran around the forest for hours. They could’ve been ran into town. Trapped. Why else wouldn’t they come back?”

Stan cleared his throat. “You have to consider the possibility that -”

“They’re fine, Stan.” Richie snapped. “They’re just stuck somewhere they can’t get out of. Ben is too strong. Eddie is too smart. Bill is just…he’s too Bill for them to not be fine.”

Stan turned his attention to Beverly. “And what do you think?”

“I can’t afford to not think they’re okay.”

“We’re in the middle of a fucking apocalypse. We could die at any point we step outside this house. You want to go looking in town, the overrun town, to find people who may or may not be alive.”

Richie slammed his hands on the table and stood up. “Shut the fuck up, Stan. Just because you lost Patty months ago doesn’t mean you can be a dick.”

“This has nothing to do with her and you know it.” Stan stood up as well, matching his tone.

“Yes, it does! These are your best friends you’re talking about!”

“And I don’t want to see they’re eaten corpses. And I’d rather not be eaten either!”

“We still have each other. We owe it to them to find our friends, our family!”

“Our families are dead!”

Richie pushed his plate off the table, the food spilling and the plate shattering. “We’re your family. I’m sorry you lost your wife. But don’t blame me for not wanting to lose my husband, too.”

Stan watched as Richie left the table and heard the slamming of his bedroom door.

“Stan, I -” Beverly began but was quickly interrupted.

“Don’t. I know. That was fucked up of me. I’ll apologize in the morning.”

It had been four years since the beginning. That day that everyone woke up and turned their TVs on and saw mass chaos happening around the globe. A new plague, they called it at first. The days went by and the world realized it was much more.

The thing was, the sick didn’t die. Not really. They got sicker and sicker by the hour, their bodies deteriorating and their minds turning to mush until they didn’t have an ounce of their old self left. And minutes after they took their dying breaths, they would attack. A whole cheesy 80’s movie concept and 100% a horrifying thing to live through.

The friends met at a refugee center only months after the sickness started. Three couples and two best friends had clicked together so perfectly that Richie had joked once that the plague was a miracle. And they had done really well together. Moving from center to center together, learning to stay healthy and kill the sick, functioning as one unit rather than the eight individual people. Years passed.

And then Patty died. Stan’s wife. It was a food mission gone bad and she got caught by one of the sick and couldn’t get away. Stan and Eddie had watched her get eaten alive right in front of them. Eddie dragged a screaming Stan back to the house. He locked himself in his room for a week.

142 hours ago, Ben, Bill, and Eddie had gone on a scouting mission and hadn’t returned. Hours of nonstop searching didn’t bring any luck. Beverly and Richie felt the heavy weight of their husbands’ absences as Mike felt that of his best friend. Stan assumed the worst. He always did.

Richie left at the crack of dawn. He knew it was stupid, dangerous, a bad idea, and he could hear Beverly’s voice in his head calling him a fucking idiot. But he could also hear Stan’s insinuating that Bill was dead and he knew he couldn’t stand being in the house for a moment longer.

His boots squished in the mud as he walked towards the town. It wasn’t far. Just enough distance between their house and the town that the sick wouldn’t wander over but close enough that they could monitor it if needed. The air was hot and sticky, despite losing all abilities to track time, both daily and in relation to the year, Richie felt it was a good assumption to believe it was summertime, probably mid-July. His hair stuck to his forehead as he trekked through the trees and the birds sang and the sun was high up in the sky.

He reached the edge of the town after about an hour of walking. They hadn’t really bothered trying to find the name of it, but they knew it was somewhere in South Carolina, as that was the last border sign they had passed. At this point, calling it a town was a little bit of a stretch, most of the building falling apart and every surface covered in various plants. There was an old refugee center that had failed years ago in the center of it all and that was Richie’s (fairly difficult) end goal.

As he approached the streets, his took his knife out of its sheath on his hip, pulled his bandana up over his face, and yanked the long sleeves of his shirt down. The less skin showing, the better. He moved slowly, carefully to not make any loud noises as he behind old buildings. He hadn’t seen any of the sick yet and he wasn’t looking to attract any.

He froze in his tracks as he approached an open street and two of them stumbled by. Richie pressed himself up against the wall next to him, holding his breath and stilling any movement. His fingers itched around the knife in his hand, gripping it tighter when one of them would stumble ever so closer.

Richie watched as their forms got smaller and smaller as they walked further away and let himself relax a little against the wall. The relaxation was short lived as a screech broke out next to him. He whipped around in time to see one of the sick running towards him at full speed and he let out a curse as he braced himself.

It was towards him and he tucked down before it could reach him, rolling and successfully tripping it. It lost its balance and fell to the ground, growling and screaming.

“Shit, shit, shit, shut up.” He whispered and plunged his knife into its skull, stopping its noises.

He looked behind him to see that it was too late and the noises had got the attention of others.

“Fuck!” He yelled harshly and began to run.

Richie didn’t bother looking behind him, being able to hear the growling and screams coming from behind him as he willed himself to run faster. The newly infected sick were as quick as a healthy human and were as savage as they were smart. A fire escape on the side of an old building came into view and he jumped up the first couple steps, climbing as quick as he could. Unfortunately, the sick followed.

He grabbed an old piece of metal from the grate beneath him and threw it at the closest window, smashing it and allowing him to crawl inside. Once in the building, he pushed as much junk, including a table and many chairs, towards the windows as possible in only a few seconds and ran out the room. He sprinted up the stairs of the building, skipping as many steps as his legs allowed. The building was big, probably a dozen stories tall and full of rooms, an office building before all hell broke loose. As long as Richie got enough space between him and the sick he could barricade himself in a room and they would never find him.

He paused the moment at the top of another set of stairs, willing his breathing to calm down so he could listen for the tell-tale signs of being followed. When all he could hear was his own heavy breathing and his heart beating harshly, he turned the knob of the nearest door and used his body weight to open it up, quickly locking it behind him. He walked down the hall but froze when he began to hear voices. Not grunts and screams, but the familiar sound of other healthy people. He concentrated on the sound, following it down the hallway until it became less faint and more present.

Richie was outside of the door when he was certain he could make out Ben’s voice. He rapped on the door firmly, not loud enough to echo down the hall but certainly loud enough that he could be heard from inside the room.

“Ben! Ben, oh my god, open the door, holy fuck!” He pressed nearly his whole body against the door, trying to get in.

“Richie?” He heard from the other side of the door.

“Thank god.” He sighed and nearly fell as the door swung upon inwards.

“Richie, what – what are you doing here?” Ben asked as Richie threw his arms around him tightly.

“I’m here to help you guys.”

“By yourself?”

Richie shrugged. “Where’s Bill? And Eddie?”

Ben froze and swallowed hard. “You see, they…”

Richie eyes scanned over Ben’s face, taking in his nervous demeanor. “Where are they?”

“Eddie’s gone.” Ben squeezed his eyes shut. “And Bill…well he’s hurt, real bad.”

“Where is he?” Richie asked, panic building up in his throat.

“They’re in the other room, I came out to get you.” Richie could see Ben attempting to blink away tears.

Richie fell to his knees when he stepped foot into the adjoining room and saw Bill, sprawled out on the floor, blanket held tightly over his body.

“Baby, oh my god, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He crawled towards him, tears already streaming down his face as he ran a hand through his husband’s hair.

“Richie?” Bill croaked.

“I’m here, don’t worry, I’ve come to get you.”

“Eddie…” A cough interrupted him for a moment. “He’s gone, I tried to save him, I couldn’t.”

“I’m sure you did your best.” Richie cradled his cheek.

“I got hurt.”

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Richie glanced behind him at Ben, standing next to a sheet, draped over something lumpy. He let out a shaky breath.

“Is that?”

Ben just nodded.

“I didn’t know what to do. Bill can hardly move, and I couldn’t carry him and Eddie back. And I wasn’t going to leave him alone.”

Richie ran his hands down Bill’s body until he reached his hands, holding them tightly. He didn’t look away from the injured man as he responded to Ben. “I’m not blaming you. I get it, I’m glad you didn’t leave him.”

“This is my fault.” Bill croaked.

“Be quiet.” Richie snapped. “None of this is your fault.”

“Eddie…he fell and I didn’t get there in time.”

“This. Isn’t. Your. Fault.”

“Leave me here, Rich.” Bill voice was strained, as if he was attempted to hold back sobs.

“Why the fuck would I do that? I’m here now, Ben can carry Eddie and I’ve got you.”

Bill shook his head. “I’m dying. You can’t get me out of here.”

“You’re not fucking dying.”

“Richie…” Ben whispered from behind him. “He’s getting worse every second.”

“I’m not gonna make it another hour, baby.” Bill smiled softly.

“Stop.” Richie felt a sob build up in his throat. “Stop it, yes you are. You’re Bill Denbrough, you can make it through anything. Everything.”

“Stay with me.”

Richie looked back at Ben with his lip trembling. “What do I do? Ben, help!”

“I’ve given him medicine and I’ve tended his injury, I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have any supplies.”

“You have to think of something!” Richie

“You don’t think I’ve tried?”

“Richie.” Bill said and he immediately snapped his attention back to his husband. “Ben tried his hardest. Please. Just hold me. And do what you have to do when it comes to it.”

“Like hell I will.”

“You have to.”

Richie finally truly took in the appearance of his dying husband. A large bandage covering his torso where he could see blood seeping through. The greenish tint spread across every inch of his skin. The dried blood around his nose and mouth. The redness to his eyes. Richie had seen in before in many people over the years. And to this day, a cure had yet to be found.

Richie laid down next to Bill, knowing the only way to catch the infection was to be injured by one of the sick, cradling the dying man’s head into his chest and letting out a deep sob.

“You’ll be okay, Rich.” Bill whispered.

Richie shook his head rapidly, unable to bring himself to speak as hot, wet tears streamed steadily down his face. His chest felt tight and shook with sobs. Richie heard Ben leaving, not wanting to step in on the moment.

Bill and he had gotten married when they were freshly 18 years old, had gone to the courthouse on a whim one afternoon and done it with no questions asked. That was nearly eight years ago. Since then, they had made a decent life for themselves before all this. College degrees. Good paying jobs. A house to share. Plans for a family in the future. But now, the love of his life lay in his arms, losing a bit of life with each passing moment.

“We were gonna adopt remember? You wanted twins. We were supposed to have the meeting that Friday.”

“I remember.” Bill whispered back.

“All I wanted was a little girl to spoil. And to be a dad with you.”

Richie didn’t know how much time had passed but he noticed when Bill stopped speaking, only giving hums in response to Richie’s words. And then when the hums stopped. And then when the rhythmic sound of Bill’s breathing stopped.

Ben came back in the room when he heard a sharp scream, running in to see Richie draped over Bill’s body.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why, Ben, why him? He never did anything wrong!” Richie’s face was red and splotchy and wet with tears.

“I’m sorry.” Ben repeated, this time a little wetter.

“I have to do it, don’t I?”

Ben nodded.

Richie grabbed his knife from his side. He reached up to Bill’s face, pushing his eyes to close. Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you.”

Ben tried to look away as Richie pulled the blanket up over Bill’s face and positioned the knife against his temple.

“Will you help me?” Richie asked him, sounding like a child who had lost everything.

He stepped forward, nearly next to Richie and grasping the knife as well, rubbing his thumb on the back of Richie’s hand in an attempt to provide any comfort. Together, they pushed the knife in, cringing at the squelching sound. Richie fell into Ben’s chest harshly, crying into his chest.

The time after that moved in a blur for them. Wrapped up their friends’ bodies and planning their escape route. Ben through Eddie over his shoulder as Richie did to Bill as they navigated their way out of town. They ran into Mike, Bev, and Stan outside of town, they had left the house as soon as they realized Richie had left alone.

The friends all sat barely inside the woods, just far enough in to be hidden, and mourned. They all whispered encouraging words to Richie but to no avail.

They told him tomorrow might be kinder to them. Richie didn’t know if he had a reason to stick around to see it anymore.

#okay you said no perfect happy ending and this is literally absolutely not a happy ending and i'm very sorry #mine #bichie #i will proofread better in the morning i am sorry #it

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