#to be fair to ben five is the only person he can touch and outright interact with

[in-tua-deep]

Angsty au idea, five makes it back except he arrives dead and only Klaus and Ben can see him. (What happened to his body? Could be that his body got stuck between space time or he drops off as his thirteen year old sib and thats gonna traumatize the sibs probably) (Ig he could have also either died from wounds because the commision figured that he'd be turning and got strained from the time travel or an error in equations)

me, resurrecting myself over here

okay okay okay i’m going to take your idea and tweak it just a teeny tiny bit and produce:

Time travel isn’t viable.

Not the way five travels. Not without a conduit. Not when he’s essentially harnessing all of time, all of those endless possibilities, within the heart of a human being. It’s so much. It’s too much. Five died the moment he blinked away on that street outside of the Hargreeves mansion. 

But Five doesn’t know that. 

He doesn’t notice that no one gives him a second glance when he appears out of nowhere on those bustling streets. He just jumps again, because why not! He’s excited, he’s proving his father wrong, he’s liberated! And then.

And then.

He’s in the apocalypse.

He doesn’t notice that he can’t interact with anything until he touches his Luther’s corpse and his hand goes right through. And then, his first thought isn’t - I died. It’s - something went wrong with the last jump.

Which makes sense to him. He’s managed to get himself trapped on some kind of in-between plane. And that’s why his time travel powers aren’t working! Because they don’t work right on this plane! 

Five wanders the apocalypse, and it’s a little better than in canon because he doesn’t need to eat.

(Oh, he misses eating.)

He’s a smart boy. A brilliant boy. He’s thirteen, and he thinks he’s invincible. But his powers are jumping, and he can take himself apart molecule by molecule, and eventually eventually after years and years have passed he manages to solidify his hand enough to pick something up.

The first time he turns a page in a book feels like victory. 

He camps out in the destroyed remains of a library. Being solid enough to pick something up is... exhausting. He can’t do it for long periods of time. But he has a little stack of useful books, a little pile of chalk, the store mannequin he likes to talk to (he named her Dolores), and a blanket that has seen better days. He can’t exactly feel the ground when he curls up on it, and he can’t really sleep in this messed up pocket dimension or wherever he’s stuck, but he closes his eyes and pretends with all the power of the child he isn’t.

He’s in the apocalypse for a long time, trying to figure out a two-fold problem: how to get out of his pocket dimension and back into the ‘real world’ and also how to get back to his siblings when he does. He isn’t stupid. Time travel when he was capable of it was a crapshoot, he needs a way to get more exact.

And then the woman comes. Pristine and blond and carrying a suitcase. She frowns when she steps over the rubble in heels that click click click and frowns harder when she presses gloved fingers against Five’s equations written in chalk.

Five hides behind some rubble, but gets brave. Gets curious.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

He comes out, he says “Hello?” and isn’t sure what he expected when she doesn’t even turn around. Five goes towards her with silent footsteps, footsteps that don’t disturb the dirt and chalk dust of the apocalypse because they don’t exist. 

He doesn’t know who she is, but he’s curious what’s in her suitcase, and waits patiently for her to open it. He’s also planning on following her back to whatever settlement she came from? He hadn’t thought there were any people alive, but clearly she is proving him wrong. 

So when she walks away, he puts his hand on her suitcase so that he doesn’t lose her, because even if she wouldn’t feel it putting his hand on her and watching it go through would be... demoralizing. 

And then she opens the suitcase, and suddenly they’re somewhere else. Except not somewhere else. Its bustling with people and the woman’s heels click loudly against the tile floor and someone walks right through Five and he trails after the woman because everyone seems to give her a wide berth and being walked through sucks. 

Someone addresses her. The Handler. That’s not - that’s not a people name, Five is pretty sure. That’s a title. But no one addresses the woman by name, so the Handler it is. 

Five doesn’t know how old he is, but he still looks thirteen. (He doesn’t feel any different, because he isn’t. His growth is permanently stunted, he will always have died at thirteen-years-one-month-and-nine-days-old.)

So he lives at the Commission headquarters for a few years, invisible and a tiny bit mischievous. He can travel through the walls if he wants, so no door is locked to him. He makes himself a little den in one of the vents where he gets a small collection of office supplies that he steals from the assholes as punishment. He doesn’t do anything major. 

He finds out what the commission does. He tags along with some assassins on occasion. He once distracted Cha-Cha by shoving a glass off a counter and breaking it to try and give a child witness time to flee.

(Hazel found her in the closet, terrified and silent with huge glassy brown eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips and quietly closed the closet door. He yelled “Clear!” to Cha-Cha, and then he and cha-cha and Five all left. Five looks at Hazel differently, after that.)

(Hazel has a soft spot for kids and bird-watching diner owners. This is important.)

Five scribbles equations on the walls of the vents. He gets more data every time he travels with the agents so he starts traveling with them a lot, even though he hates it, even though he sees so much death and destruction and he can’t stop it. He helps, sometimes. As much as he can. It’s not enough.

Five finds something, one day, when he’s wandering around. He finds a picture of Vanya, framed. He recognizes her immediately, from the back of Vanya’s book that he found in the apocalypse. They have lots of pictures of famous people around the commission, and lots of pictures of ordinary people. All of them significant in some way to the ‘preservation of the timeline’.

He goes to the Handler’s office, and among her many souvenirs he finds a cracked violin, and he remembers the background music that made up his entire childhood. 

(He steals the violin and puts it in his vent nook. He flips it over and traces the tiny V that’s shallowly carved shyly into the bottom, the same one Vanya has been putting on every violin she’s ever had since she was seven-years-old, after Diego and Luther broke hers and tried to claim that it was just a random violin, not her violin and it wasn’t their fault she didn’t take care of her possessions -)

(Why is Vanya’s violin in the Handler’s collection of weapons?)

Five is aware of something. He thinks the commission has something to do with the apocalypse. They protect the timeline of whatever, right? And yet the apocalypse happened. Which means it must be planned. 

Five has been trained to fight ‘villains’ since he was tiny, and he recognizes a villain when he looks at the Handler’s shiny smile and too long nails. 

Vanya has to have something to do with it. Do the commission kidnap her? Do they kill her? She’s important, somehow.

(Maybe before he traveled he would have doubted that. Vanya was ordinary. Why would she be important? But Five has tagged along on so many missions where they killed perfectly ordinary people in order to spark a chain of events. In fact, it’s almost always ordinary people.)

Five solves one of his equations on a regular, ordinary day. It’s the time travel one. Not the one about his... unfortunate circumstances.

So Five finds a nice empty room, and he gives it a try. He’s not expecting much, since the pocket dimension bullshit fucks up his time travel anyway (though he can still spatial jump curiously enough) except - it works. He splits the world apart, and it’s hard. Way harder than he remembers it being. 

He chalks that up to the whole pocket dimension effect.

He pushes and pushes and then - something breaks. Like ice shattering for a spring thaw, and he’s through. He’s on the ground, winded. He looks up and - it’s them. His siblings. Older than he remembers, clearly the equation wasn’t exactly right, but they’re here and they’re alive and Five can feel himself tearing up and he lets it happen because none of them can see him anyway and - 

“Five?” 

Two voices, overlapping. Five’s head snaps over, eyes wide with shock and alarm and - 

It’s Klaus and Ben. Both staring at him, equal alarm and shock in their eyes.

“You can see me?” Five demands loudly, patting at his body frantically. Is this it? Did he kill two birds with one stone? Did coming back undo whatever bullshit he put his body through - ?

“Klaus, why would you say that.” Allison scolds automatically, “That was in poor taste.”

Five looks at her, and her eyes scan straight over him, in the way that’s been familiar for - for - 

(Five didn’t bother to keep track of the years. Not when he was unaffected by time, by seasons, by weather. What was the point?)

Five’s eyes snap back to Klaus’s, who hasn’t taken his eyes away. It’s weird, Five thinks absently. His skin crawls under the attention, not used to it.

(Isn’t that strange, in a boy who used to demand attention with every breath he took? Isn’t that odd?)

There’s a hand on his arm and Five just about jumps out of his skin, whirling around and flailing and - oh look, that’s Ben on the ground, looking absolutely shocked. Five is also shocked, because he hasn’t been touched in - in forever. 

“Ben?” Five half-asks, voice smaller than he’d like with a tremble that he kind of wants to kick in the gut. 

“Five.” Ben responds, kind of sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. Actually he might have been, Five was never very gentle when it came to removing his limbs from others grasps.

“Well!” Klaus says loudly, making Five and Ben look over. “If the crisis is over, and we’ve lost a perfectly good fire extinguisher to the void, i’m going back inside!”

Klaus gives Ben a significant look as he turns on his heel and marches back in, and Ben winces. “Come on,” He whispers to Five, getting up and brushing himself off. “It’s better to talk when no one else is around.”

Ben hesitates, and Five hasn’t spoken to anyone but himself in a very long time. It’s been even longer since - well. And Ben looks so lost all of a sudden, that it’s really for Ben’s benefit when Five takes Ben’s hand in his own and tugs him in the direction of the mansion, “Well get a move on.”

Ben looks like he’s about to cry, looking at their joined grip, but nods and leads Five into the building. He gives Five’s hand a squeeze, as though making sure he’s real, and Five allows it gracefully.

Finally, they’re tucked into Klaus’s bedroom, Klaus sprawled across the bed and staring at Five like he’s something entirely alien.

“I don’t understand.” Five says, because the silence is getting awkward. “How come you guys can see me, but the others can’t?”

And Five is very confused when Ben’s face just - crumples. He looks like he’s about to cry. And Klaus, the contrary bastard, starts laughing, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Take a guess shortstack.” Klaus wheezes out, “What’s my power?”

It’s seeing the dead, of course. But Five isn’t dead he’s just - in between. Right?

Besides, there’s a glaring flaw in Klaus’s theory.

“Uh, Ben can see me.” Five points out, lifting his and Ben’s conjoined hands where Ben’s grip is actually getting a little bit painful.

But isn’t a good kind of pain. Five hasn’t felt pain in - equally long. 

Klaus’s laughter cuts off and Ben makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped on. “Yeah,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically serious, “Well. You missed a lot, kiddo.”

“Ben’s not dead.” Five protests, because he’s not. Five can see him. He’s right there, and he’s never had Klaus’s powers. He turns to Ben and - 

Ben envelops him in a hug, a tight one. The kind that Five would never have allowed unless absolutely necessary before he’s left, but now just sort of - melts into. It’s the pressure of it, honestly. Ben’s a good hugger.

“Five I’m so sorry.” Ben whispers, pressing his face against Five’s hair. It tickles a little, where Ben breathes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls back, and brushes trembling fingers against Five’s hair. “Five, Five. Haven’t you - haven’t you wondered why you can’t - Five. You’re still - it’s been so long and you’ve been alone and - ” Ben breaks into sniffles.

“I’m just stuck.” Five says blankly, trying his best to process, “I’m just - I jumped wrong, and I got - I got stuck in between. I’m not - I’m not dead.”

“You’re deader than a doornail, kiddo.” Klaus interjects loudly.

Five, never one to take that lying down, untangles himself from Ben just enough to pick up a knicknack and hurls it at Klaus’s head with a scowl. “I’m not a kid.”

Except now they’re both staring at Five again, even as Klaus presses a hand against his forehead where Five had whalloped him (his aim was a good as ever, clearly).

“How -” Ben stutters, staring between Klaus and Five with alarm.

Klaus sputters as well, “What the fuck! How did you do that!”

“Well you see, Klaus.” Five says, voice toxic with the sweetness he exuded, “When someone leans down, and picks something up, they can exert a force on it. This force interacts with other forces to form the trajectory of an object - ”

“Not that!” Klaus sputters, “You picked something up!”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Five says dryly.

Ben prods him in the side, making Five look over (up, if we’re being technical. Grown-up Ben is... kind of tall, actually. Compared to Five.) “How did you do that?”

And Five isn’t dead. He isn’t. But - he remembers the early days. How terrifying they were. How he couldn’t interact with the world around him at all. And if Ben is going through the same thing - “It... it took me a while to figure out. Um. It’s - it’s kind of hard to explain? Because like, when I jump it’s - it’s kind of like taking myself apart and then putting myself together somewhere else. And it’s like, like taking that feeling, except instead of putting yourself together somewhere else you like, layer it over yourself as you are? Like, making yourself denser somehow, I dunno.”

“If you can do it, then I can, too.” Ben says ferociously, a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll finally be able to throw things at Klaus when he’s being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Klaus protests, looking very offended.

This is all very nice, but Five did come here with a mission... so he tugs at Ben’s arm. “Ben, what’s the date?”

Ben shrugs, because why should the dead care about the date? He looks at Klaus. Klaus looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Um.” Then he brightens, “Right!” He grabs something from his pocket, it’s rectangular and flat. There were lots in the apocalypse, though Five has never figured out their functions. Except when Klaus clicks his, it lights up. 

“Uh, March 24th.” Klaus says, squinting at the screen.

“What year?” Five asks, leaning forward.

“2019.” Klaus says.

“Fuck,” Five says, with feeling. “A week.”

“What’s a week?” Ben asks warily as Five flails and untangles himself from his grasp to stand up and pace.

“You don’t understand.” Five says, turning to them both, “I haven’t just - just been traveling the world as a fucking ghost. I time traveled. It worked. But - the future - ”

“Five?” Ben asks, all concern and love and it’s painful.

“The world ends in seven days.” Five tells them both, voice cracking, “There’s nothing but - but rubble and ruin and - and - ”

He remembers their bodies, remembers them splayed out in the rubble. 

“You died.” Five told Klaus, “You all died. The whole world died. Everything was - ash everywhere. I was there for - for...”

“The courtyard scene.” Ben realizes, reaching out as something like comprehension dawns on his face. Five dances back a few steps, his breaths coming in funny little pants. “You came back from - the future?”

“Breath, Five.” Klaus advises, sounding a little bit worries himself.

“If I’m dead why do I need to breath?” Five snarls, and Klaus’s face drops and he curls in on himself a little looking pathetic. It’s enough for Five to toss out a mildly panicked “Sorry” because? That’s what you do right?

(Five hasn’t interacted with people who can talk back in decades and it shows.)

And Five tells them everything, in halting uncertain breaths. He winds up curled up on the bed with Ben’s arms around him, steady as a rock, while Klaus manages to somehow sit in the desk chair in a manner that makes Five a little uncertain that his brother possesses bones and ligaments. 

He tells them about the future, about finding their bodies, about learning to - to condense himself just enough to interact with the world. He tells them about the woman, about the suitcase, about following her. He tells them about the Commission, and how he’s sure they have something to do with it - the Handler had Vanya’s violin - 

By the time Five is finished talking, he’s exhausted. The sun has slipped below the horizon already, and he feels like dead weight in his brother’s arms. At some point, Ben had started running a hand through Five’s hair, and the repetitive motion is soothing.

“That’s - that’s a lot.” Klaus says, and something must have shocked him a little bit out of his goofy persona. 

“I just wanted to go home.” Five mumbles.

“You are home.” Ben tells him, squeezing him tightly, “And we’re going to make sure the apocalypse doesn’t happen. Right, Klaus?”

Klaus shuffles, awkwardly. “I mean. I’m not exactly uh, number one choice for team apocalypse you know?”

“Ben’s number one choice for team apocalypse.” Five points out, flopping his head against Ben’s arm. “You’re an okay second choice though, I guess.”

It makes Klaus bark out a laugh, and Five can feel Ben’s snicker through his chest.

“Vanya’s gotta be on the team.” Five mumbles, loud enough for them to hear. “She’s important. Gotta make sure, make sure no one uh, no one kills her or anything.”

Ben and Klaus exchange a look over his head that he doesn’t see.

“We’ll plan everything tomorrow.” Ben tells him gently, “In the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay.” Five agrees absently.

The dead don’t sleep, but they can get - tired. Being in the living world is exhausting, and Five closes his eyes and just. Ignores the world. Just for a little while. The dead don’t dream, but that’s okay, because Five’s dreams have never been anything approaching peaceful.

Five made it back. He might be a ghost, but he made it back. An impossible goal, and he accomplished it. After that, taking on the apocalypse will be a piece of cake. 

(And if Ben and Klaus think Five is going to give up on his idea to un-dead himself, they have another thing coming.)

[skeletonscribbles]

At Least It’s Not Sports (Part Two: Sophomore Year)

continued by popular demand :)

Title: At Least It’s Not Sports (High School Drama Club AU)

Pairings: Reddie, Stanlon, Benverly, some blip on the radar Billverly

Rating: we’re in T territory still because they’re only sophomores

Summary: “Things will work out,” Ben continued, sweet and reassuring. “For both of us.”

“I hope you’re right, Ben,” Eddie sighed. “I’m going off headset now.”

“Fair enough,” Ben said. “Talk to you when Stan freaks out midway through the act one closer.”

“I can hear both of you,” Stan said flatly.

Warnings: some almost sexual situations, the pacing is shit, and I made myself sad :( oh well

Part One - Freshman Year / Part Three - Junior Year / Part Four - Senior Year pt. 1 / Part Five - Senior Year pt. 2

Read on Ao3!

Sure enough, as soon as Eddie got the e-mail about drama club starting up again, he marched over to his calendar and circled the date of the first workshop in red sharpie. He had been cooped up with his mother watching Jeopardy virtually all summer, and he was more than ready to see his friends again. Bi-weekly trips to the diner or the park were fun, but not enough.

He was so desperate for their company, he was almost ready to overlook the dread he felt at the thought of seeing Richie.

He’d been careful during the summer to only attend group hangouts that he knew Richie wouldn’t go to. The idea behind this was that not seeing Richie would help his crush subside before he went back to school, and that everything would subsequently go back to normal. Of course, Eddie’s life being how it was, things couldn’t be that simple. Absence was unfortunately only making the heart grow fonder, and Eddie found himself daydreaming about Richie during the moments that his mind wasn’t occupied with anything important...which was most moments, in the summertime.

Eddie’s last and only hope, then, was that Richie had miraculously either grown ugly or adjusted his personality severely over the last three months. It was a long shot, but barring that, Eddie was going to have to suck it up and deal with his feelings, so he held out hope for it.

Said hope was, of course, in vain.

“Spaghetti, thank God.” It was the first day of school, and too early in the morning for Eddie to be properly prepared to see Richie. God fucking damn it. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been asking after you all summer.”

Eddie looked at him, and immediately wished he hadn't. Richie had grown several inches since Eddie had last seen him, and his freckles had gone dark from the summer sun. He was wearing a tye-dyed Ben and Jerry’s t-shirt, his hair was pulled back in a sloppy, low ponytail, and there were a few bristly hairs around his upper lip and chin. His glasses were, somehow, thicker than ever. The combination of all of those things should have been absolutely horrifying, but for whatever reason, Richie’s new eyesore status was making Eddie’s heart do jumping jacks. What the hell.

“Take a hint, asshole,” he said, biting his lip and going back to hanging up flyers for the first drama workshop.

“You can’t escape me that easily, Eds.” Richie cornered him, putting his hands on either side of the wall around Eddie so that he was trapped. Eddie clenched his fists and looked at the floor, trying to pretend that he wasn’t affected by their new position. “I thought we were friends. I missed you.”

“You’ll see me,” Eddie muttered, waving the flyers in his hand for emphasis. “I know you’re going.”

“Of course,” Richie grinned, still boxing him in with his arms. “And probably in English, and maybe some other classes, too. Es muy emocionante, si?”

“I don’t take Spanish,” Eddie said, frowning.

“Exciting,” Richie explained. “Eeez veddy exciting, Señor Spaghetti.”

“Go to class, nerd.” Eddie could feel a blush creeping up his neck. If he spent any more time with Richie, his whole face would be red, and he absolutely could not have Richie see that. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“It’s a date,” Richie winked and pulled himself away from the wall, moving to adjust his backpack. “Nice tan, by the way. Brings out your scowl.”

“See, I went out and got the tan to emphasize this, so...” Eddie held out his middle finger threateningly, but Richie was already walking away.

Fuck. Eddie had expected things to be awkward, but that was a whole new level of emotional badness.

Maybe his ticket to getting out of this whole feelings nonsense was to push Richie away. He was going to have to step it up with the insults.

----

Insults worked, but only kind of.

The first workshop was much like Eddie had remembered it being the year before, only this time he didn’t have to participate. Instead, he sat smugly with Stan on the sidelines.

Richie was in rare form; he was obviously trying to show off for the freshmen, and he kept glancing back at Eddie excitedly. Eddie returned his excitement with scowls and rude gestures, trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach at bay.

“I take it you haven’t discussed your feelings,” Stan said, watching Eddie disapprovingly.

“What feelings?” Eddie lied, tightening his shoulders. “I don’t have those anymore.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Stan turned in his chair a little bit so that Eddie could better see the exasperated expression on his face. “It’s not healthy to bottle your feelings up. You’ll explode.”

“What feelings?” Eddie asked again, wishing that Stan weren’t so goddamn observant.

Stan watched him for another minute, and then turned back to the stage. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Hey Eds!” Richie was waving at him from the stage. “This is a partner game that requires a lot of touching. Wanna team up?”

“If I was actually an artist and you were the clay I was supposed to sculpt with, I would change professions,” Eddie snapped.

Richie looked back at him blankly. “So...no?”

“Leave me alone, Richie,” Eddie all but yelled, sliding down in his chair.

That seemed to sting more for Richie than the insult. He went back to the group of acting hopefuls, shoulders a little more slumped than they were before.

“And now you’ve embarrassed him.” Stan rolled his eyes. “Very nice, Eddie. Great rapport with the actors.”

“Everyone else likes me just fine,” Eddie muttered. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You better,” Stan warned. “My job is yours next year, and I don’t want to find out that I chose the wrong fucking kid to mentor.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie said stubbornly. “It’ll be good.”

It wasn’t as good as he imagined it would be.

Because tactically avoiding Richie seemed to work better than insulting him outright, Eddie tried his best to steer clear of his bespectacled crush for the first month and a half of school. He could tell that Richie was pretty hurt by his behavior, but Eddie figured he’d get over it after a while and move on to annoying someone else...so that was fine.

What was less fine was the fact that his rift with Richie was affecting their friend group. Bev and Bill didn’t really understand what was going on, but felt a little bit like they were being forced to take sides...and so instead of doing that, they chose to isolate themselves, becoming closer to each other and spending less time with the other members of the drama club. Richie didn’t really know what to do, and so was apparently biding his time with upperclassmen, and Eddie...Eddie was alone, which really pissed him off. The whole point of getting over his crush was to not ruin the friendships he’d made last year, damn it - and not only was this process actively tearing those friendships apart, but he still couldn’t shake the fucking crush. Un-fucking-fair.

Stan was the person that paid him the most attention on any given day, but Eddie knew that he was disappointed in him, too. Stage managers were supposed to be building trust with the actors, and Eddie was effectively doing the opposite of that. Letting Stan down hurt just as much if not more than losing friends, and by mid-October, when the fall play was going into tech, he was considering quitting the drama club, just so he could escape the scrutinizing gaze of Stanley Uris.

That was when Stan gave him The Assignment.

Stage management was technically not supposed to do stage crew work; they had enough responsibility in making sure that the actors, the lights, and the microphones were all doing what they were supposed to. This show was meant to be no different...except that there weren’t really enough crew members to cover all of the menial things like prop resetting. Stan really had no choice but to give Eddie a task.

“Eddie,” Stan came up to Eddie and pointed to a place in his heavily annotated script. It was about halfway through the first Saturday of tech weekend, and the entire crew was stressed beyond belief. “You’re not supervising anything during this stretch of Act One, so I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?” Eddie asked, pulling out his own script to make a note.

“Richie has a quick change here that he can’t make by himself.” Stan indicated a specific line on the page. “I need you to help him.”

Eddie felt like Stan had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. “Me? It has to be me?”

“It has to be you,” Stan confirmed. “There’s a scene switch there, too. I need the rest of my crew on stage.”

“I--” Eddie started to protest, but Stan held up a finger.

“I don’t care about your self-destructive feelings, Eddie. I care about the show. Get over it.”

Eddie swallowed, nodded, and tried in vain to silence his singing nerves.

An hour later, Richie sprinted offstage to change costumes, and all of Eddie’s “progress” in getting rid of his crush was undone.

“Eds?” Richie asked, confused and out of breath. “What--”

“You need a dresser for this, dumbass.” Eddie flushed and held out a pair of pants, already unbuttoned and ready for Richie to step into. “Strip.”

“Well, shit.” All the bravado seemed to drain from Richie’s face. He stared at Eddie, seemingly frozen to the spot. “Uh.”

“Now,” Eddie hissed, brandishing the pants again.

“Right, okay.” Richie made quick work of his suit jacket and pants, and was left in his boxers and a collared shirt. He started in on the buttons, which gave Eddie a couple of seconds to take in the sight of Richie before him, semi-undressed.

It fucking sucked to be fifteen and hormonal. Eddie was grateful for the dark as he discreetly reached down to adjust himself in his jeans.

Fortunately, Richie didn’t seem to notice. He got the shirt off, and stepped towards Eddie cautiously. “Uh.”

Shit. They were already almost out of time. “Okay, that took too long, I’m gonna have to help you with it next time.” Eddie shivered at the thought. “Now, pants.”

Richie folded his hands over his almost naked body, seemingly...embarrassed? “As much as I wish I were that tall, Eds, you’re, uh….gonna have to kneel down for this.”

Fuck.

Quickly, Eddie sank to his knees, holding out the pants and trying desperately to think of anything but his proximity to Richie’s crotch. Richie all but leapt into them, apparently also hoping to get the moment over with as soon as he possibly could. He reached his hands down to get the button, but Eddie swatted him away. “Put your shirt on instead. I got it.”

“You really don’t have to,” Richie said quickly, voice cracking a little on the last word.

“It’s fine.” Richie’s aversion to Eddie’s hands around that area soon became apparent; to Eddie’s surprise, Richie was noticeably half-hard himself. It wasn’t weird, though - in fact, it was kind of a relief to see that he wasn’t the only horny idiot around. Eddie chalked it up to puberty, and used his deft hands to do up the button and zipper swiftly and neatly.

“Fine?” Richie asked warily, with his t-shirt half over his head.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Eddie stood up and helped him pull the shirt down. They didn’t have to talk about it. There was nothing to say.

“No reason.” Richie took half a second to look at him curiously, and then turned to the stage. “Gotta blast.”

“Break a leg,” Eddie whispered after him, watching fondly as Richie’s face lit back up as soon as he was under the stage lights.

He’d been an idiot, hadn’t he?

He could live with keeping his stupid crush to himself if it meant that he could have his friends - have Richie.

Why did it take being inches from Richie’s dick to bring him to that stupid conclusion? Christ, being fifteen was the fucking worst.

The rest of the week saw things veering closer and closer to normal. Richie realized after about two days that Eddie wasn’t flinching away anymore (from his boner or otherwise) and slowly but surely, their banter resurfaced, as well as Richie’s flirting and casual touches. This drew Bev and Bill back in, and by the time the show rolled around, the group of them were sitting together after rehearsal again, trading jokes and insults like nothing had happened.

Most friends wouldn’t be so forgiving, Eddie knew. He was lucky.

Stan told him as much before the first curtain. “I see you took your head out of your ass, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie nodded, sliding his headset off of his ears and around his neck. “I was being a moron. But you know that.”

“I do.” Stan adjusted a newspaper on the prop table. “That’s why I gave you the task of changing Richie’s pants.”

Eddie groaned. “Stan, that’s hazing.”

“No, it’s strategic.” Stan was having trouble hiding his smile. “And nobody else around here has as much of a vested interest in Richie’s penis as you, so it made sense.”

Eddie pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt up and over his head in horror. “Stop talking, oh my god.”

Stan smiled, satisfied that the prop table was in order, and turned to Eddie. “I don’t care about your terrible taste in men, Eddie. I’m just glad you got your priorities sorted.”

“Did you ever have to dress Mike?” Eddie asked, changing the subject.

Stan scoffed as he exited towards the dressing rooms. “Have to? I volunteered, every time. Eventually he got the hint.” He paused before he left, looking back at Eddie. “It’s a legitimate strategy. Just a thought.”

“I’m done with pants duty after Saturday,” Eddie said hotly. “Mike probably didn’t subject you to Smurf pattern underwear.”

Stan didn’t stop laughing until he was all the way down the hall. Eddie listened to it echo, and felt warm.

He did end up volunteering to dress Richie for both the winter play and the musical, to Stan’s great amusement. It was less and less awkward for Eddie with every show, but Richie never really stopped being flustered about it - and for whatever reason, he’d become increasingly flustered around Eddie in general as the months went by. It was so out of character for him that for the musical, Bill and Bev came around to watch the ritual clothes change.

“Having fun, Rich?” Bev called, leaning on the prop table in amusement as Eddie tugged Richie’s belt through the belt loops of his jeans. “Haven’t you had this exact same fantasy the last few times you went into the bathroom to--”

“Shove it, Marsh.” Richie gritted his teeth. “You and Denbrough get up to kinkier shit, I’m sure.”

Bill wrinkled his nose. “Is that what you thuh-think about when you’re jacking it, Rich?”

“Your stutter’s getting better,” Richie commented, ignoring Bill’s remark.

Bill and Bev had announced in January that they were dating. Nobody was surprised; they’d spent virtually all fall together in an attempt to ride out the wave of Richie and Eddie’s rough patch. They were sort of a strange couple, though, in that they didn’t really have anything in common - they just sort of drifted together, connecting but not really connecting. Eddie imagined they’d be finished by the time the drama awards came around.

“I’ve had some help,” said Bill, giving Bev a small smile.

“Richie!” April, the junior girl Richie was playing opposite (they were the B-plot romance, which was pretty impressive, given that Richie was only a sophomore) ran over, clearly frazzled. “They’re like, three lines away from our cue.”

“Gimme my hat, gimme my hat!” Richie grabbed for the ridiculous straw cowboy hat in a hurry, abnormally eager to escape his friends. Eddie watched him, concerned.

“Richie?”

“C’mon, April!” Richie said, ignoring Eddie and taking April’s hand to pull her over and around to the back entrance of the set.

Eddie looked back over at Bill and Ben. “Was that weird?”

Bev shrugged. “Kinda. But she and Richie are close now, or whatever. They’ve been spending all kinds of time together.”

Eddie had noticed that, too, and it didn’t make him very happy. Bev bringing it up was really just the cherry on his paranoia sundae, and it led him to check in with a third, more honest source.

“Yeah, something’s up with Richie.” Mike Hanlon’s character had a break during the ballet in act two, and so Eddie was able to catch up with him quickly and easily. “He’s been like...agitated...since whatever happened between you guys in the fall.”

“Is he mad at me?” Eddie asked, trusting Mike to tell him the truth.

“He might be,” Mike admitted, adjusting his plaid costume shirt. “I don’t think he realizes if he is, though.”

Eddie sighed miserably. “I’m not ignoring him this time, though. I’m even trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, well.” Mike looked up at Eddie, shrugging. “That might be the issue, actually.”

“What does that mean?” Stan was saying something to Ben Hanscom, the new lights guy, over the headset. Eddie willed himself to ignore it.

“I don’t think Richie ever expected you to flirt back,” Mike said softly, “and he’s probably kind of scared of it, you know?”

Eddie didn’t understand, and told Mike as much.

“Well,” Mike tried, “fantasy and reality are really different, right? Like, when I had a crush on Stan, I was totally freaked when Stan started showing interest, because it was just...my mind hadn’t actually let me think that positively about it. I didn’t know what to do. I’m not the type to run from stuff, though. Richie...I don’t know.”

“What about April?” Eddie asked, wringing his hands.

“I don’t know about April,” Mike admitted. “She likes him, that’s obvious, but I can’t read Richie well enough to say.”

“Eddie,” Stan’s voice yelled through the headset, “stop flirting with my boyfriend backstage and get to your goddamn station.”

“Fuck you too, Stan,” Eddie called, rolling his eyes. “Thanks, Mike. Sorry to drag you into all this.”

Mike smiled, and Eddie fleetingly wished he had fallen for somebody with the kind of gentle countenance Mike had. “Happy to help, Eddie. Come back anytime.”

“Eddie!” Stan yelled, and Eddie hightailed it backstage.

He spent the next week trying to dial back his kindness to Richie, but it seemed the damage was done. Richie was barely interacting with him at all; instead, he was spending most all of his free time with April. Any suspicions Eddie had before were well on their way to being confirmed.

“Why her?” he asked himself quietly during the first night of the show, watching the two of them onstage and feeling a little bit like throwing up.

“You know your headset’s on, right?” Ben Hanscom called. Eddie groaned, mortified.

“No. Sorry, Ben.”

“It’s okay,” Ben said softly. “I know how you feel.”

That was new. Eddie hadn’t paid Ben much mind over the course of the last year (which he felt bad about, but it was hard to pay attention to anyone but Richie most of the time), but from what he had seen, he hadn’t picked up on Ben having a crush.

“Things will work out,” Ben continued, sweet and reassuring. “For both of us.”

“I hope you’re right, Ben,” Eddie sighed. “I’m going off headset now.”

“Fair enough,” Ben said. “Talk to you when Stan freaks out midway through the act one closer.”

“I can hear both of you,” Stan said flatly.

“Bye,” Eddie said, switching off his headset and returning to wallowing alone in his feelings.

When the end of year awards rolled around, Eddie hadn’t talked to Richie in three weeks, and it hadn’t been his prerogative. Richie hadn’t been talking to anyone but April. Needless to say, his feelings were hurt, and watching Richie win award after award after award wasn’t helping. Stan was really the only thing keeping him grounded - and this was Stan’s last night in the program. He was a graduating senior, and that fucking hurt, too.

“I’m sorry,” Stan whispered, after the ceremony concluded and all of the awards were passed out. Eddie had won a fair amount of them himself, but he still felt shitty, and Stan’s leaving was pushing him over the edge a little bit.

“Don’t be,” Eddie whispered back, pulling him into a hug. “Thanks for everything, Stan.”

“You make it sound like we won’t see each other over the summer,” Stan mumbled, voice uncharacteristically shaky.

“Also, I have your number,” Eddie said, blinking back tears, “so really, you’re never getting rid of me.”

Stan pulled back and looked seriously at him. “You’re coming back to this next year, right?”

Eddie didn’t have to ask why Stan was asking. He could see Richie and April laughing together in his peripheral vision.

“I’m not gonna like it,” Eddie said honestly, “but I promise you that you didn’t waste your time with me.”

Stan smiled, eyes watery. “I know I didn’t.”

“Go suck face with your stupid boyfriend,” Eddie smiled back weakly, patting Stan on the arm.

“I will.” Slowly, Stan turned on his heel and departed in search of Mike. Eddie watched him leave, feeling heavy with the knowledge that a chapter of his life was ending. Things wouldn’t be the same without Stan and Mike.

“Eddie?” Eddie heard Bill and Bev walking up behind him. He turned to find that they had their coats on, and were looking at him piteously, for whatever reason. Ben Hanscom was also with them; he was not looking at Eddie, though, preoccupied instead by staring wistfully at Bev.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh.

“Let’s go get pizza,” Bev suggested softly, taking Bill’s hand. Ben looked away sharply.

“Why?” Eddie looked back at the three of them, suspicious. “Why are you being so--”

They stared at the ground, uncomfortable, and Eddie’s heart sank. He turned around.

Richie and April were tucked away in a corner of the auditorium lobby...and they were kissing.

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly, unable to tear his eyes away from them, “pizza sounds good.”

“Let’s go,” Bill suggested, guiding Eddie towards the doors. Bev came around his other side to wrap an arm around Eddie’s waist, and Ben followed the three of them out.

It was a good thing he had such good friends, Eddie figured, because there was no way he was going to survive junior year otherwise.

Theatre was great, except when it wasn’t.

Tag List: (this is everyone who liked my tag list post. lmk if you want off.) @nymphadora @sun-nugget @reddieaddict @peonyromance @should-i-gay-or-should-i-go @its-stranger-than-you-think @forever-a-lonely-valentine