Chapter Text
There’s not much of a panic when it happens the first time.
His bed ablaze, Richie wakes up from his sleep, looking around and taking in his surroundings. He squeezes his clammy warm hands, not sitting up yet. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the reality of the situation he’s in. It has to be a dream, but if it was a dream then why is it so damn hot? The room is burning, grey flannel sheets charred a deep black, curling at the edges, embers carrying it away. The flames licking at his skin feel like nothing more than the gentle tingle, occasionally being a tad annoying.
Stan had warned him about it before, how to handle the sudden appearance of so called “gifts”. He said to be prepared mentally to handle whatever the divine creator had gifted him, but Rich could’ve never imagined it be this bad. The trashmouth handles things uncharacteristically quiet, getting up despite the groan of his aching muscles to grab whatever needed to put the fires out. He had disabled the fire alarm in his room by taking it down long ago, back when he and Bev frequently found themselves in the comforting embrace of a good high, laughing at everything and letting their worries melt away. Fire blanket, extinguisher, water. That was about as prepared as he got before Stan came by to take down all his posters and lock his valuables in fireproof boxes.
They say that you know what it’s going to be before it appears. The gift comes in the form of a dream, vivid, memorable, symbolic dreams that hint at what is to come with the gift. And what did Richie see?
Destruction, Carnage, Death of Self.
But at least he got the heads up he wanted, and now here he is, watching his bedroom burn at three-thirty in the morning as he lazily attempts to put it out. And when its finally completely out, he opens up the window and pulls a cigarette from one of the many fireproof lockboxes, and lights it. He takes in the gentle sway of the trees blowing in the soft autumn breeze, inhale, and watches the sleepy stillness settle over of his home town of Derry, exhale. He repeats this as he finishes not one, not two, but three cigarettes. The tension blowing out of his body through each exhale. A soft buzz sounds from one of the many boxes, to which the lanky male feels inclined to ignore, but doesn’t as he grabs his phone from the unlocked box.
Staniel 3:46am:
I got the feeling. Are you okay?
The message stares up at him, he stares back blankly before letting a sigh and dropping his cigarette butt out the window.
3:50am:
did ya miss me that much stanny boy? I know I’m irresistible, but you’ll see me at school soon,
Staniel 3:51am
Fuck you, I’m going back to sleep.
Staniel 3:55am
Safe to say you’re okay..?
[ Read 3:55am]
Is he okay though? This gift is nothing more than a ticking time bomb, the destruction and pain he’s bound to cause is only a moment away. Who knows who’ll be caught in the path of that?
4:05am:
peachy