#we stan big brother Kai in this household

[80srichie]

the boys next door

hey! this fic was created by the wonderful @80slieberher and i ! it’s based off of the original 2014 script where richie and billiam were neighbours. enjoy!

also, since lana’s a degenerate, she switched tenses halfway through so if you catch any weird phrasing, please know it was all her fault.

summary:  Richie Tozier and Bill Denbrough have been neighbors and best friend since before they can remember. However best friends at home, they don’t interact much outside of their separate friend groups at school - but this all changes when Bill and Richie each get a glimpse of a cute boy in their neighbor's window.

words: 2451

ships: major reddie and stenbrough

CHAPTER ONE: STREET FIGHTER

It wasn’t often Stan Uris went to his best friend Richie Tozier’s house. He much preferred to spend time in his own humble abode - away from the filth that was Richie’s room. But today was an exception - as Richie had just gotten the new Atari game that he’d been saving up for for the last year or so, with however much help his parents lent him.

Richie could barely keep his hands off of his shiny new game - he had mowed so many lawns to lead up to this, and now that it was here, it was hard to take him away from it even for a moment - hence why he’d invited Stan here instead of their usual Saturdays at Stan’s. He swore Stan was just as excited about the game as he was - even if he was much more reserved about it.

“Oh it’s so cool, Stan, you’re gonna dig it!” Richie babbled as Stan dropped his backpack on Richie’s bedroom floor, setting it against the bed and away from the mess.

“I mean, duh, we’ve only been waiting to play this for the last year,” Stan rolled his eyes humorously, “I dig it already and I haven’t even seen it.”

Richie grinned childishly and seized his best friend by the wrist, pulling him out of his room and down the stairs just in time for neither of them to hear the buzzing of the walkie talkie sitting on Richie’s desk.

The Tozier household smelled of pancakes and eggs, Richie’s mother - Maggie, she’d requested Stan call her since they were young - was careful to keep the menu kosher when Stan was over. Richie’s stomach growled when the scent filled his nose, but he was too focused on showing Stan his new game to pay any attention to it.

Soon enough, the two boys were sat in Richie’s living room, each with a controller in their hands, staring intently at the box of a television screen, the colors of the game reflecting in their irises. Richie heard his mother chuckle at them from the kitchen doorway, and saw her walk back in from the corner of his eye.

Their third game was interrupted by a knock on the door, but not just any knock - a code knock Richie had memorized for as long as he could remember. Three taps with the knuckles, one with the side of the fist - it was Bill.

The Denbroughs and The Toziers had been neighbors since years before either boys were born - their parents both very friendly with each other for a very long time. Bill and Richie had been inseparable for the first five years - only drifting a bit when making different friend groups at their school, but still the same best friends in the comfort of their own homes.

“I got it!” Richie called to notify his parents, still eating in the kitchen, and scrambled up toward the door - not even bothering to pause the game.

As soon as he opened the door, his friend sputtered out, “I’ve been trying to call you all muh-morning, don’t you have your wuh-walkie on you? I wuh-wanted to see if you wuh-wanted to go to the arcade.”

Again before Richie could reply, though he opened his mouth to, he was interrupted by Stan - who was trudging irritatedly up behind him, watching his keds slide across the wood floor, hissing, “Richie! We lost the game thanks to-!” Stan was cut off by his own volition when he looked up toward Richie, seeing the boy with the mop of curly black hair staring at him, before looking past him and to the tall boy with brown-red hair who gave him the same, open-mouthed stare. “Who’s this?” He changed his statement, now standing behind his friend.

“This is Billiam - my neighbor,” Richie glanced over his shoulder at Stan before looking back to Bill, who still stood on the porch but was now staring at something behind him, “Anyway, I can’t go to the arcade today, Stan the man and I have other pla-”

Stan barely listened to Richie’s statement, hearing it but not processing and he observed the boy in front of them. With bright blue eyes, freckles, and his mouth upturned in a somewhat lopsided smile, Stan thought this might be the cutest boy he’d ever seen. “We can go to the arcade,” He interrupted and kicked Richie’s heel, effectively quieting him and causing him to turn around and glare at Stan.

“Fine, let me go get my bag of quarters, then.” He huffed before bounding up the stairs to his room, retrieving his gallon bag filled hallway with coins and leaving Bill and Stan alone in his doorway.

“Muh-my names not really Buh-Billiam, buh-by the wuh-way. J-Just Buh-Bill,” The boy - Bill - smiled at Stan, accompanying it with a breathy chuckle, “He’s called muh-me that since wuh-we were kids.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Stan returned the smile at the thought of his friend, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “I’ve been dubbed Stan the man since kindergarten - along with probably a million others.”

Bill chuckled again, looking up from under his eyelashes at Stan, making Stan bite the inside of his cheek.

“Stan the man, huh?”

Richie’s return prevented Stan from answering and effectively broke his and Bill’s moment, but he wasn’t even paying attention as he slid a pair of converse on, yelling, “Mom! Stan and I are going to the arcade!” As he exited, Stan following.

“I have a friend whuh-who can come, so it’s not tuh-two on one,” Bill explained as he jogged down the stairs - Richie noticing that he seemed more joyful than usual. Maybe he got up on the right side of the bed.

Stan and Richie watched Bill jog up his own front porch steps, following after him to wait at the door while he went inside.

Bill returned with a boy much shorter than him, but Bill was always tall. Richie’s eyes were immediately glued to this small boy with neatly combed hair - something Stan didn’t fail to notice.

“Thuh-this is Eddie,” Bill explained, and Richie’s mouth was quick to open.

“Hiya, Eds, long time no see since Spanish class!” He grinned a goofy smile and slung an arm around the boy - who quickly ducked out of his grip.

“So you two know each other?” Stan rose an eyebrow - not believing this. Richie just had the gayest glint in his eye that Stan, as his best friend, couldn’t miss - like he was seeing this boy for the first time.

In actuality, Richie had never seen Eddie outside of school. School, where Eddie sat with his pencils neatly arranged on his desk and only spoke when spoken to. Outside of school, now with the sun glinting on his soft freckles and illuminating golden flecks in his eyes in a way that made Richie’s stomach do flips like it never had before. Richie’s awe was obviously covered by a hasty quip.

“C’mon, don’t be like that, Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie claimed, ignoring Stan’s question, “He’s probably just mad because me and his mom kept him up all night.”

“Ugh, shut up,” The boy rolled his eyes and scoffed, “That’s so disgusting.”

Before they could continue to stand there with the door open, shout from a young voice followed behind Bill. “Billy, Billy! Where are you guys going?”

The three boys watched Bill turn around to face a smaller boy, who looked almost like Bill but not quite. This young boy was shorter than Eddie, with lighter hair and darker eyes - but adorable nonetheless.

Richie was quick to move away from Eddie, attention quickly drawn to this new person who apparently was only actually new to Stan.

“Ay, Jee-man! How’s it hangin’, homeslice?” Richie leaned down and he and Georgie sack hands, once, twice, three times, wiggle their fingers and end with a fistbump - their ‘secret’ handshake, “Stan, this is Georgie, Bill’s little brother.”

“Yuh-yeah,” Bll said, drawing Stan’s attention to him once more as he seemed to shake his head, looking to be shaking a thought away, he turned to the boy, “Sorry, buh-bud, not today. We have fuh-four of us for even teams.”

Did he just look at Stan? Stan was sure he just looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“Aww, okay,” Georgie pouted.

“Cheer up, homie!” Richie beamed again, “We can go another day! Just you, me, and Bill!”

Georgie smiled and nodded, re-entering the house and closing the door behind him, leaving the for of them standing on the porch.

Ten minutes brings them pedaling in a diamond shape down Almond Road and past the library, Bill yelling “Hi-yo, Silver, away!” as his bike whooshed past all of theirs.

“Slow down, Bill! Your old lady bike is too fast for us!” Richie yelled behind his friend, pedaling faster in attempt to catch up.

They reach the arcade in minutes, the four of them bustling inside and Bill turning around to face the other three boys, “Suh-so, what first? Stan?”

Stan quirked his eyebrows, very not used to being singled out - Richie usually made the decisions for him with his big mouth - but parted his lips to answer before Richie butted in as usual.

“Street Fighter!” He exclaimed, bounding over to the machine - the rest following.

“Okuh-kay, Stan, do you wuh-wanna take first turn wuh-with me?” Bill turned to Stan again.

Richie laughed awkwardly, creasing his eyebrows, “This is kind of mine and Stan’s favorite game - we always play together. Mind taking next turn with Eds?”

“Don’t call me that, asshole,” Eddie chimed from a dejected-looking Bill’s right side.

“Uh, yuh-yeah, sure.”

Stan licked his lips, not sure how Richie was going to take his next statement, but spoke regardless, “Hey, Rich, I thought you wanted to beat your high score on Dig Dug? You and Eddie should try that first.” He ended, trying his best to sound helpfully suggestive enough to distract Richie.

Per his friend’s suggestion, Richie’s ears perked up. “Oh yeah! Good idea, Staniel! Eds?” He turned to Eddie with raised eyebrows.

“I just told you not to call me that, but fine, let’s go.”

Richie practically skipped to the game, listening to Eddie’s feet shuffle on the carpet behind him, “You want first turn, Eddie Spaghetti?” He asked, turning to the freckled boy behind him who now looked the way he did in school - face illuminated by the pale lighting of the arcade - but was somehow still different. Richie couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and pondered it distractedly while Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped forward, sliding a quarter through the slot and putting his hands over the controls. Richie briefly wondered what it feels like to hold those hands - but shook the thought away as quickly as it had occurred. He waited unusually patiently for his turn - cheering Eddie on and earning various, “Shut up”s in doing so.

“You know,” Richie says, in the middle of his game, eyes glued to the screen, “I heard of this one girl, like, ten years ago that got, like, two million on this. Aw shit!” He frowned as his character was caught by a pixelated monster, slamming his hand down on the machine.

“Let’s see,” Eddie shrugged, placing his hand absentmindedly over Richie’s and pressing on the up button. Richie hopes Eddie doesn’t look up as he feels the heat rise in his cheeks.  

Richie’s focus moved from Eddie’s hand on top of his to the screen once more to see, at the top and just right of the number one, the word ‘MADMAX’ next to a score of 1,996,746, causing both of their mouths to fall open.

Richie glanced behind him and spotted Stan and Bill, Stan with a smile on his face wider than he was used to seeing.

“How are you suh-so good at this?” Bill sighed but smiled anyway, and it sort of made Stan’s heart flutter.

“I’m not, Richie beats me every time, I think you’re just bad at it,” Stan laughed, turning to Bill after their fifth game. Eddie and Richie had never returned, and Stan figured Richie was probably dragging Eddie around the arcade and had forgotten about Street Fighter now. Stan wondered if it was wrong to be relieved, but he was just having so much fun with this cute boy from next door.

Stan and Bill walked together to several other games, and by the time Stan ran out of quarters, Bill’s cheeks were already so pink that they couldn’t get darker, so when he started paying for Stan’s games and Stan was pretty sure the heat in his face meant that his cheeks matched.

Eventually, Bill ran out of coins, too, and they were forced to scour the lot for their friends.

Richie and Eddie were found both holding onto one joystick, Richie’s hand on top of Eddie’s and the contact feeling like it was warming him even though Eddie’s fingers were rather cold.

Stan smirked at this, noting the way Richie was watching Eddie intently, following behind Bill as he approached them.

“Stuh-Stan and I ran out of quarters,” He announced, breaking Richie and Eddie’s eyes away from the game.

Richie looked at his watch, thinking about how neither he or Stan had eaten and now it’s three o’clock in the afternoon and he’s really hungry now.

“Yeah, we gotta bounce, I’m starving!” He gripped his stomach, feigning starvation and evoking an eye roll from both Eddie and Stan - both of them catching this and smiling at each other. Richie doesn’t fail to notice, “Back to the crib!” Richie emphasized, looking smugly at both of them.

Richie and Stan reached home first, each waving goodbye to Bill and Eddie as they dropped their bikes in Richie’s yard (Well, Richie drops his, Stan kicks down the kickstand and sets it upright) and climbed the steps to his house - Richie already talking.

“So,” He smirked, “Ya think Bill is pretty bangin’, huh, Stanley?” He wiggled his eyebrows before Stan elbowed him in the gut, walking past Richie and across the threshold into the house, murmuring, “Yeah, he was cool.”

“Well, not gonna lie, Eds is pretty slammin’, too,” He chuckled.

He didn’t anticipate the response he received from Stan - whose eyes widen as he proclaims, “Oh, I know!”

He squinted, closing his front door behind him and watching his friend walk into the kitchen from the foyer. ‘He knows?’ Richie’s eyebrows furrowed as he wondered silently, tossing the thought of the possibility of Stan taking the same liking to Eddie as he did around in his mind before his mother called him in the kitchen - informing him lunch was ready.

let us know what you think! part two? taglist? 

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emerson’s taglist:  @trashrichie @eddiekazpbraks @qxantxm @bloggerboy101 @losersclub101 @pancoon237 @strangerthoughts @peachycin @loverboykaspbrak @thelosersof1988 @spookyskarsgard @freecssu @mbates12 @trashmouthreddie @richie-tczier @summerxle   @joomtrash @acourtofbooks @trashmoutheds @hawkiye @aurordafni @strangerbeeps @reddieburnstheretoo @colorful-dodie @howellhxlic @somenates27   @eddierichietozier @emo-trash-overlord @rhubarberous @eddie-kaspjack @thesingingreader @thalialightwood @trashmouthreddie @cryttalized @karynrose @detectivejas @richiesloser @woahtherebuddyfriend @aurordafni @bcckybeaver @killerxqueer @sutterkeely @achievehuntress @rheddie @vapememikey @tozier-club @derrylossers   @myreddieheart @reddieornotasshole @eddies-inhaler @exceededexpectations   @toxzier   @spooky-risley @eds2fannypacks @myreddieheart @solbrenthimmel @80sbenverly  @linnssweatpants @standies @panicatbakerst @smol-and-annoying @justberrythings @losersclubreddie @daughterofslenderman @s-s-georgie @what-the-hell-is-graywater   @pastelreddie @that70skiwi @plebcake @petitephan @nie1polecam @vitomire @notagoodplace4gods @that70skiwi @vintagetozier

lana’s taglist:  @oureddiekaspbrak @r-richie  @the-awkward-lettuce-turtle

[saiyanqueenreads]

Constant Reminder

Summary: Not for the first time Stanley wondered if maybe… being banished from home might have been easier. Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing in Alex’s wonderful sandbox Warnings: A not-so-happy family environment and a heaping helping of self-esteem issues. But we already knew that…

Chapter 1: Fallout Cloud

Stanley Pines couldn't recall the last night he'd gotten a full night's sleep.  It must have been before... Before.  He stared sleepily at the ceiling above his head, still not feeling familiar with it even after all these weeks.  It greeted him each time his dreams woke him though, dark unfinished wooden beams so different from the familiar sight of bunk slats and the underside of his brother's mattress...

“Can you explain what this was doing next to my broken project?!”

“Ho-kay. I might have accidentally been.. horsing around-”

“This was no accident, Stan.  You did this! You did this because you couldn't handle me going to college on my own!”

“Look, this was a mistake!  Although if you think about it, maybe there's a silver lining. Huh? Treasure hunting?”

“Are you kidding me?  Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!”

“You did what you knucklehead!?”

“Stanley? What's goin' on in here?”

“Wait no, I can explain!  It was a mistake!”

“You ignoramus!  Your brother was gonna be our ticket out of this dump!  All you ever do is lie and cheat, and ride on your brother's coattails.  Well this time you cost our family potential millions!”

*Ggggggrrrrrrrrp*

Well if his dreams hadn't woken him, a growling stomach probably would have.  He'd been getting enough food to keep him going, but... well, it wasn't the second helpings he'd been used to up until that day.

Stan was tired.  Lonely and tired.  The kind of tired that came from not seeing any future on the path that lay ahead of you.  There were two more weeks until high school graduation, three weeks until his and Ford's 18th birthday.  Well, two weeks until Ford's graduation and Ford's birthday... he, himself, would simply be done attending school forever and age in a quiet inevitable march of time.     

Heh, inevitable... there's a fancy five dollar word coming from someone like him.       

“And since yer too useless to ever earn the fortune you've cost us, you're gonna spend the rest of your worthless life making it up to this family boy.  Now march!”

“Dad-”

“Stanford, go to your room.  It's yours now.  This idiot won't be joining you...”

“What?!  Let go'a me!  Stanford, tell him he's bein' crazy!”

Gray walls, cold stone and bare save for the storage boxes lining them, greeted him when his eyes snapped open again.  He felt the last remnants of spring's night chill in his bones and he clutched the blanket he'd been provided around his shoulders and curled his legs closer to his torso, hugging them to his chest.  It warmed his feet and, if he were being completely honest, it felt a bit soothing.  The basement was a miserable place.  Fitting, Stan had decided after the first week sleeping there.

Taking a moment to silently listen to the world around him, the younger twin could make out faint footfalls above him.  His mother.  No one else in the household was even relatively light on their feet.  He needed to get up then.  Maybe he could steal a few moments alone with her.  His mother was the only person who still l-   

Laying here wasn't useful to anyone. Useful...

Stanley was elbow deep in a sink full of breakfast dishes, relishing listening to his mother softly describe the latest neighborhood housewife drama while she replaced items into the refrigerator.  Before he wouldn’t have really cared.  He might have nodded along, but he wouldn’t have really listened to his mother go on and on about people that he only vaguely knew of.  But now…  Now being part of a casual conversation was wonderful, even a mostly one-sided conversation.  He shook his head as she described the possible torrid affair Mrs. Torez three doors down was having with Sunny, the neighborhood butcher.        

A reply was on the tip of his tongue when footsteps brought every movement of his body to a screeching halt.  Even his heart felt like it had paused in its beating.  There was no mistaking the commanding presence as it stepped into the kitchen, suit and tie already impeccably straightened, and sunglasses firmly in place.  In that frozen moment Stan couldn't help but note that he couldn't remember what his father's eyes looked like.  Couldn't remember ever seeing them.

Sunglasses or not, he could feel the heat of the glare directed his way.  He quickly averted his eyes and went back to scrubbing the grease out of the egg frying skillet he was holding, quickening his pace.  His small moment of reprieve was over now.  He needed to let those things go anyway.  His job, his purpose, was to make things easier for his family.  After everything he'd cost them it was the absolute least he could do.

“Fil-”

“NO Tamara!  This is the last straw.  It's one screw up too many.”

“You can't just throw him out onto the street!  He's just a boy!

“Man enough to ruin this family's shot at the big time.  And he's not going on the street, so you can sheath your claws woman.  Can't repay us if he skips town, can he?   But like hell he's staying here.”

“Then where-”

“If he wants to have a place in this home again he'll have to EARN IT!  Until then he can live in the basement.”

An slap to the back of his head brought him sharply out of his thoughts.  Had he fallen asleep?  Again his father's tinted glare burned into him.  “Get confused there meathead?  Dishes ain't that complicated.  Or are you just slacking off?”

“No sir,” Stan quickly rinsed the pan he'd apparently ceased washing long enough to garner the man's notice.  “Sorry sir,” he murmured.  He doubled his efforts and soon the remaining cookware was spotless in the drying rack.  Grabbing a towel from the bottom drawer he went about drying and storing the dishes as quietly as possible.  His father turned his attention to his coffee, his breakfast, and (most importantly) his newspaper.  Having the man's attention turned elsewhere unknotted a bit of the tension that seemed to have automatically formed in the younger twin's entire body. 

Through all the twisting and turning that came with replacing the dishes Stan caught his mother, who also seemed to have stiffened up since his father joined them, giving him a look that was difficult to identify.   It might be pity.   Which is silly, because it's just dishes.  It's just Pops.  It's just... how things are now.

Placing the final spatula away the teen finally turned to the additional plate of food that sat on the counter that he’d been pointedly ignoring since his mother had finished plating breakfast for herself, his father, and his still absent brother.   He’d made the mistake on that first morning of thinking he could sit at the table.  He, and eventually his mother, knew better now.  Eating at the table was for family.  And he was nowhere near earning back his right to be considered family.  He picked up the plate and walked out.

“There’s mail to be taken to the box again today,” his father’s voice drifted after him.

“Yesir.”  More of Ford’s college financial aid applications.  While Ford was smart enough to deserve his pick of nearly any school he wanted, the possible full ride he’d cost his brother was not forthcoming from other top colleges. Ford had been spending a significant amount of effort filling out applications, attempting in the weeks since The Incident to find money to attend college at all. 

Standing in the entryway, next to an end table with a stack of five letters all with Ford’s name on the upper left corner, Stan picked at his breakfast.  He’d really messed things up for his twin, and thinking of how badly he’d screwed him over left his appetite severely dampened and his breakfast tasting like ashes in his mouth.

Sometimes he wondered if things would ever be ok again.  Stanford hadn't said a word to him or looked him in the eye since That Night, and, despite being able to focus on nothing else, he still had no clue how he could fix things. Maybe he'd destroyed things beyond the point of being fixed.  

Setting the no-longer-appetizing plate of food down and picking up the mail, he sighed and headed toward the door.  “He'd have been better off if I'd never been born.  An only child with a bright future.”  

Closing the door behind him, Stan never noticed the human shadow frozen in the stairwell.