missing, if seen, please report to- [ teen!richie x teen!reader x teen!stan ] .3
summary: it’s the 90′s and richie tozier is still in love with you. in an unexplainable turn of events, the losers are led to believe that pennywise is back. and that you’re missing because of him.
chapter summary: beverly tries to find some clues but her investigation is stopped when richie and stan get into a fight
warnings: mentions of blood(very brief)
a/n: if anyone wants to be tagged lemme kno. this fic is so inspired by twin peaks that i CANT
“Students, if I may have your attention please…” A tired voice speaks from the speakers and the class falls dreadfully still. Beverly’s breath hitches in her throat; outside the window ominous dark clouds gather overhead, dulling the sparkle of her pretty amber hair, “There has been an… The police have informed me that a student of ours, (Name) (Lastname) of Year 3 Class D, has gone missing.” Hushed murmurs spread like wildfire. The teacher, with a fierce frown permanently fixed on her face, shushes them, “Posters with further information have been placed at school and around town. If anyone knows anything, anything at all, I urge you to step up. In the meantime, the police suggest enforcing the curfew again. This is the one and only reminder you will get regarding this matter. All classes are to end till 3pm, extracurricular activities – till 5 pm.” He falls quiet, “Again, if you know anything, please come talk. Help the family and your friend. Thank you.” The line goes dead, but no one dares to say a thing.
Beverly stares into the speaker as if her eyes could pierce right through it and see the various wires and mechanism’s its composed of. Her heart clenches painfully enough to spring tears and she smacks a palm over her lips. Missing. You are officially missing. That flimsy hope she held onto – that perhaps you are fine, and what they had accidentally overheard from the sheriff was simply police incompetence, - is promptly crushed to dust and she feels like a wilting flower seized by the cold Autumn weather.
She glances at Richie. He sits lifeless, staring into space; behind her she hears Jocelyn hiccup. Beverly hunches over the table. The world spins in strange vertigo and it feels as if she dives into a pool of icy water of memories.
“You like him!” Beverly exclaimed, grinning cheekily and feeling o-so-clever.
Summer of ’89, before IT, before you quit and said goodbye to the Losers forever. You and Beverly had found a perfect spot in your backyard that to her child eyes appeared so vast and green, with flowers and bees buzzing around and tall old trees that seemed to reach the sky. A tire was hung on one of the sturdier branches and Beverly had slid into it and swayed softly in the air, watching your expression. Your hair was short. It had been long yesterday. There was a visible bruise on your cheek – your mother had slapped you in fright you had informed her lazily, - and Beverly couldn’t help but worry. After all, you followed in her example. Wasn’t this her fault? But you wore such a carefree look…Perhaps your glasses were so thick that they masked any inner pain you were afraid to show. Beverly would’ve know, would’ve understood you. She lived with a monster, after all.
You blushed like a rose in the morning sunshine; your fingers went to hook (colour) hair behind the tip of your flaming ear, but the hair promptly fell back. You still weren’t used to the new haircut, that you did yourself might I add. You picked on a few weeds and daisies. Lastly, you shrugged, “That obvious, huh?…” You muttered, glancing up at Bev and fixing your glasses – an action identical to Richie’s (or was Richie’s identical to yours?). Beverly couldn’t help but laugh. You looked so adorable when flustered.
“It was clear from day one to everyone except Richie himself,” Beverly stated cheerily, “for being such a ‘profound love expert’ he sure is dense.” She added. You agreed with a shaky nod. “But…be honest with me, okay?” She leaned in, “What do you see in Richie Tozier?” You blinked, “I mean, not judging, but…It’s Richie. Dorkiest dork of the century and half of his jokes are…-“
“-Not funny?” You finished for her with a raised brow. She nodded. “Yeah, I know. But he’s just so…cute.” A small smile bloomed on your lips, one that could be described only as lovely, “With his fluffy hair…and his big eyes…and he wears glasses, too, so I feel less lame.” You finished dryly; Beverly giggled.
“Yeah, well, when you finally do ask him out – because there is no way in hell he will do it, - don’t forget your best friend.” She winked at you.
“Of course not, Beverly.” You said, quite seriously at that, “You know that I love you.”
Beverly hardly contained a grin, “…I love you too, (Name).”
She was so happy then, possibly the happiest she had been in a long, long time. The two of you sat outside all day, occasionally going to steal snacks from your kitchen and to inform your mother that the two of you were: alive, hungry and waiting for desert. When evening came you dragged her to your room – such a drastic change of scenery from her small gloomy bedroom- gave her your favourite pyjamas and ordered her to stay over. Which she gladly did. You brought out the girliest magazines you could find and the two of you had read them all night, painted each-others nails, attempted at hair braiding but both of your locks were much too short. When your family was finally in bed and snoring, you had sneaked out to get the Polaroid camera. You put the timer on it, placed it on your nightstand and hugged Beverly just as the flash pierced the dimly lit room.
“To a million more.” You wrote on the picture with a black sharply. That night, you had used up your fathers tape.
But Beverly kept only the one with your chicken-scribble on the back.
She had excused herself to go to the bathroom, shaken and choked by tears she left the classroom without looking at anyone. The hallway was cold and empty. Once she reached the girls’ bathroom, she inhaled a sharp whimpering breath and pushed it open.
The white tiles shine brighter than ever. A scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, and Beverly herself feels the sudden need to smoke, too. As she enters the bathroom she sees only one person. Laura, your new best friend and partner in crime, stands in shambles, leaning onto the bathroom wall and starting into the depths of the mirror with the cigarette slowly burning away between her fingers. Beverly always considered Laura to be a bit boring. Kind-hearted and inspiring at times, yes, but for the most part Laura cared only of the latest trends and how her make-up looks. Oddly enough, Laura reminds Beverly of some girl from Twin Peaks – short curled black hair, a striped blouse, long denim skirt and different colour socks.Aren’t those your clothes? Her face is in a state of permanent allure; her brows arch strangely and her eyes are always narrowed as she examines each and every person from head to toe without missing a detail.
Now all of that beauty is melted – her skin is dyed in red spots, the mascara has run down her cheeks and she almost looks like a bad portrayal of a sad clown. Laura notes Beverly stand by the entrance, sniffles a bit before wiping a few stray tears with the back of her palm, “What do you want, Marsh?” She asks through gritted teeth, her voice raspy and numb.
Beverly gulps, “Do you…Do you know where she is?” And it is as if the question physically hurt Laura because she shuts her eyes and shakes her head violently.
Laura takes a long drag from her cigarette before she leans off the wall, “Do you know—“Her watery eyes meet Beverly’s, “-do you fucking know what happens when someone disappears in Derry?” She sways to the sink, pinching the bud, “They are found two weeks later. In a ditch. Dead.” She spits the last part, “He might as well have told us to prepare for a funeral…”
“Don’t.” Beverly whispers, “Don’t you dare say that.” Laura looks away, “Please, you have to know something…You’re her best-friend.” Perhaps this is what Laura needed to hear because she glances up with a spark of hope in her sad eyes. Hugging herself, she sniffles again.
“Do you think I’d…be here, in the bathroom, crying if I did?” She asks, “All I know is that…Is that she hasn’t been sleeping well. And she looked tired. And she was having problems with—“And she promptly shuts up. Her eyes grow wide in alarm, “Never mind the last part.”
“What do you mean having troubles?” Beverly pesters, “With whom?”
“Why do you care, Beverly?” Laura questions tired.
Beverly freezes. Why does she care? Well, because one time last summer you were her best friend in the whole world, a sister – something she never had and still doesn’t till this day. She doesn’t know why you stopped talking to the Losers. Stan never alliterated, simply stated that “(Name) won’t come anymore”. It had broken her heart and she would be lying if she said that she didn’t cry herself to sleep the first night when she came to visit your house and you shut the door right in front of her. She was back to living in her small world, a small world you had broadened with your positivity and love, but she was back and now she knew she will never escape again. The boys are her only friends, good friends and she appreciates them a lot, but she want a girl to share her troubles with, she wants you.
And she is still hung up about you leaving, you changing. She still cares about you, too much to put into words but her heart sings when she sees you happy even if you will never return the feeling or even look in her direction.
“…Because she’s a good person.” Beverly says firmly, “And she doesn’t deserve this.”
Laura takes a step closer, now more composed, “Just…please don’t tell anyone. Especially not Jocelyn and the rest…” She murmurs before taking in a deep breath, “She was having troubles with…Everyone, really.” She squeezes out a sad smile, “Before she…she…” Laura gulps, “disappeared, she only really talked with that…Uris boy. Stanley? Your friend, I think. The last I saw her I was finishing my shift at Tea House…She stayed to clean up and I…left.” She finishes hollowly, “I can’t help but think that…that if I would’ve stayed, maybe she wouldn’t—“
“Do you have any idea who could’ve done it?” Beverly interrupts before Laura can spiral into grief, again. She shakes her head.
“I told you. I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
“He knows something…” Beverly murmurs to Richie, watching Stan Uris in the hallway. The said boy stands further away by the message board – your poster is right next to the cheerleading try-out sheet, - staring at it intently as if he could read something no one else could. The hallway stews with students, loud chatter and sombre whispers echo and bounce off the walls. The hottest topic of the day, possibly the year even, is your disappearance and everyone has to put their two cents into it. It makes Beverly angry. She hears people talking about you as if they had known you, the real you. She shouldn’t feel the way she does, she knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help it. Their fake sympathies and theories are nothing compared to the pain she feels, what Richie or Stan feel, what your family and other friends feel.
Richie frowns softly, “You think?”
Beverly shakes her head, “I know.” Her eyes trail from Stan to the boy beside her, “Laura told me. She said that he has been the only one (Name) was talking to before she disappeared…”
“I knew it. I fucking knew he knows something. And he didn’t even bother telling us. That prick…” There is a note of fiery anger in his voice and his eyes glaze over with hatred. Stan Uris slowly pinches the poster off the board, gives it one more good look - his face twists with grief before he can control it –turns on his heel and starts walking to the exit, poster still in hand.
Before Beverly knew it Richie had fallen into motion, swiftly following after Stan and was out the door before she could catch up. When she pushes the entrance open a cold shower of rain hits her along with Richie’s “Stan!”. Stanley turns and grunts when Richie grasps him by the collar. The yard full of exiting students stills and everyone pokes their heads in to see what’s happening. Beverly gulps. Her quick strides lead her down the stone steps and she tries to make way through the thickening crowd of people, “Anyone told you you’re not only a coward but also a fucking liar?”
“Get off me, Richie.” Stan warns.
“What’s going on here?” Beverly hears Bill’s voice somewhere behind her.
“Excuse me…Let me through!”
“You fucking know what happened to her.” Richie insists.
“I told you all I know.”
Just as Beverly finally struggles her way through, she sees Stan push Richie harshly with a fierce frown on his face. Raindrops dot the surface of her hot skin and lashes. Your poster had slipped from Stan’s grasp and sadly floated to the ground, into a dirty puddle, dissolving within minutes into a mushy inked mess. Beverly springs into action; she grasps Richie’s upper arm and drags him back, “Richie, stop it.” She hisses.
“We know you’re lying, asshole.” Richie spits, “I bet it’s your fault she’s missing, too.”
The unthinkable happens. Beverly shrieks. The crowd cheers and gasps and their faces twists with smiles and winces of pain. Stan had punched Richie square in the nose and he had stumbled back. Bill grabbed a hold of Stan, whilst Beverly still kept her grip on Richie, her lips open in shock. Stan struggles against Bill’s grip as Richie slowly brings his hand to his bleeding nose, “Don’t you dare blame this shit on me, Tozier. Because unlike some of you,” Stan’s fiery gaze goes from him to Beverly as he tries to break free again with another harsh tug, “I actually fucking care about her. Not the person she was six years ago.” And his voice cracks. He falls quiet. His lower lip trembles trying to contain a snarl, “I’m the only one of you who even knew her.”
“Then tell us!” Beverly cries, “Then tell us what you know, we want to help!” Tears start picking at the corners of her pretty crystal eyes and she shuts them along with her lips to hold in a painful sob. Stan regards her with an unreadable look.
He shakes his head, “You don’t fucking deserve it.” Bill’s grip on his loosens and he finally jams himself free; Stan stalks to the crowd and fearfully they let him through.
“Shit…” Bill mutters, “You okay, Richie?”
The rain hits harsher. Blood mixes with icy drops and dyes Richie’s cupid’s bow in its sultry color. The boy nods shakily. Beverly hides her face in her palms.
What a mess, what a fucking utter mess she had created and they are no step closer in finding you. This is all her fault. Now Stan definitely won’t say anything. This is all her fault.
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