Work Text:
October 31st. 1962.
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The moon was fat and full in the sky, sending long, heavy beams of moonlight down onto Derry on Halloween night. The frigid air nipped at every uncovered piece of skin it could, settling into bones like a seed of unease. Jack O’Lanterns grinned hideously from porches and windows, their dead eyes taking in the scene of chaos on the streets of Derry. Ghouls, goblins, and ghosts, monsters of all kinds filled the streets and ran around them free as could be. They pried treats from plastic bowls and metal bins like vultures with the innards of a deceased creature, before sprinting back out into the street and to the next house. Despite the restrained presence of potential seasonal chaos and anarchy, when he strolled down the street, the creatures were forced to clear a path, to make way for the knight.
Rich had never felt bigger in his entire life. Sure, he hadn’t grown an inch since the fire, but he wore his newfound strength like a coat of armor. He drew so many different kinds of stares-envy, awe, fascination, wonder, curiosity and amazement-that he couldn’t track them all. Rich knew the truth; he knew more than a few of the stares were shock, pity, and even anger, that the adults who looked at him turned away just in time to whisper things like “survivor” and “lucky kid”, that he shouldn’t be here with so many good people dead. Rich didn’t care as much as he really should’ve, no. Every other day of the year, he resented the stares, tried his hardest to shrink beneath them. But tonight was different. Tonight, with his silver breast plate gleaming in the moonlight, he took the stares and used them as stilts, making him feel so damn tall.
Her castle was a small, stout Colonial home situated at the end of a cul-de-sac. TRUMAN was pasted neatly on the mailbox in small red letters at the front yard. The castle short and squat, a fat, white colonial cottage with a few Jack O Lanterns already starting to brown on the porch, as well as some paper cutouts of screeching black cats and moaning white ghosts plastered on the windows and front door. The light of the television inside was flickering from out of the front window, bathing the porch in a dull white light. Rich took the liberty of popping an Orange Fruit Chew into his mouth as he rang the doorbell, rocking on his heels and sighing with contentment as he awaited the opening of the door. Inside, his fair maiden awaited him.
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“Mom!”
Marge screamed from inside the bathroom, groaning in fury as the wooden door rattled. Two pairs of footsteps and two pairs of giggles sprinted away from the door the moment Marge threw it open, but she still stuck her head out of the doorway and shouted furiously.
“JIMMY, JERRY, CUT IT OUT, I NEED TO GET DRESSED!”
The two twins shrieked with laughter as they sped into the living room, leaving Marge shaking her head, hissing in infuriation, and turning back to the mirror with a pout on her face. She frowned upon seeing her reflection, gripping her eye drop bottle in a death squeeze. The year had been as kind as possible as it could be to Marge after The Black Spot and that fucking clown, but she was still healing, still recovering. She’d had a little growth spurt, shot up another two inches and gained about ten more pounds, continuing to fill out her frame. Her eyelid was still thick, plump and swollen, but had gotten somewhat lighter, the scar shooting down the middle of her eyebrow was still an ugly pink scratch instead of a gross purple slash, but if someone looked her in the eye, they could still see her hazel brown pupils through the amalgamation of bruised flesh. If someone was to look. But no one looked into that eye. She wouldn’t let them. No one could do so but her Rich.
At the thought of Rich Santo, Marge’s grip on the squeeze bottle got so much tighter. He’d be coming at 7, he’d told her fifty thousand times in the days before, and she still hadn’t been able to get ready on time. It really wasn’t her fault-she had been shopping and grabbing last minute Halloween groceries and chores with her mother until 3 today, she had to drop off some last minute cookies her mother had made for the Derry Middle Monster Mash, she had to go grab a poet blouse from Lily’s home and then take Lily to the Hanlon home so Lily’s Halloween didn’t consist of sitting in her room staring at the wall, she ha-
Another series of incredibly hard slams rocked the door frame of the tiny bathroom, causing Marge’s grip to tighten to an iron vice and squirt her eye drops around the bathroom. Marge yelped in fury, throwing open the door once again and screaming.
“MOM!!!”
Jennifer Truman stuck her head out from the kitchen, the tiny bundle of joy nursing at her breast going and squealing when Jennifer pulled away to scream at her daughter.
“WHAT!!”
Marge paused for a moment, looking at both Lucy and her mom and taking a deep, heavy breath to calm down best she could before she yelled at her mother once again.
“GET JIMMY AND JERRY TO QUIT BOTHERING ME-I GOTTA PUT IN MY DROPS!”
Jennifer Truman seethed at her daughter’s words, but turned towards her sons almost bare breasted, yelling at the twin boys as they approached the bathroom door once again.
“JERRY! JIMMY! YOU QUIT PICKING AT YOUR SISTER RIGHT NOW, RIGHT NOW!”
Marge slammed the door shut once more, locking it hard behind her as she leaned over the sink. Two sharp, deep breathes tore from her chest before she looked up and drip drip dripped six fat drops into her eye. Tears sprang into both eyes as she desperately tried to blink the drops down, forcing Marge to gulp down heavy bouts of air as the pain washed over her. The drops, necessary as they were, always felt like a fire running through her head when she used them, and fire, ANY sort of fire, made her think of the goddamn Black Spot. Marge looked down at her left forearm, pulling up the sleeve of her blouse and touching the hazel colored patch of skin, running her hands over the sandpaper like strip of flesh. Even after all those goddamn fucking hours in the hospital, all those grafts and surgeries, it still just looked as if someone had ran a brown paintbrush down her arm. It’d never be fixed, it would never change. Looking down at herself, Marge squeezed her forearm hard, half expecting her pearl colored bone to shoot back out at any moment. The f-
A softer knock suddenly rang out, but a knock all the same, snapping Marge straight from her stupor. She spun around enraged, and threw open the door to absolutely nobody. Looking around, Marge’s eyes landed on the Truman family grandfather clock, and she gasped upon seeing the hands at 7 and 1. Marge hustled past Jerry and Jimmy splitting a packet of M&Ms as she slipped her eyepatch back over her eye, exhaling once more before throwing open the door and gaping in shock.
Rich looked absolutely impeccable. He wore a silver tunic fitted perfectly to his scrawny frame partnered with a pair of silver breeches. Atop the clothes was a real, genuine silver and elm green breastplate, the illustration of a roaring lions head placed firmly in its center. Two chain mail bracelets adorned his wrists, and the chain link hoodie atop his silver head covering sparkles in the bright moonlight. Rich put away the wooden sword he’d been playing with into his holster, his eyes massive and filled to the brim with adoration as he looked up at Marge. His smile reached the moon as he spoke to her, his voice light and overjoyed.
“Hey Marge!”
Words failed Marge as she stared at his wonderful, wonderful outfit and into those beautiful brown eyes. She had never felt more embarrassed and unprepared than right now, dressed in only blue jeans, a red bandana, a poet shirt, a brown sash, and her dad’s pair of leather boots, but that anxiety and unease washed away like a tornado as Rich’s gaze washed over her.
“Heya Rich! Jeez….d-do you look, just….just amazing, Richie.”
Rich blushed brightly at Marge’s words, before Rich and Marge both delved into giggles as Marge stepped onto the porch, nothing and everything being absolutely hilarious to both children.
“How the heck did you make that, I-i mean, just….you could afford all this?”
Rich grinned, puffing out his chest pridefully as he spoke to Marge.
“I’ve been helping out over at Secondhand Rose, so she gave me all the scrap she could find.”
Marge giggled at Rich’s response, shaking her head as she took in his costume. The real chainmail was so damn impressive, and perfectly rich. Marge turned to look behind her, biting her lip once before shouting out over her shoulder into her home.
“IM GOING TRICK OR TREATING! I’LL BE BACK AT NINE!”
No one responded. No one lifted their head. Marge dropped her head as she gingerly took the pillowcase Rich offered, shame flooding back inside of her. Silence was violence, and hearing nothing in return to anything she said made her feel nauseous. So, choking down the irritation in her mouth, Marge turned to Rich, and everything negative melted into a puddle as she stared at his handsome little face poking out from underneath his chainmail cap.
“What’s the route?”
Rich beamed in excitement at the question, a wolfish grin popping across his face as he drew a scrap of paper. Stumbling together off of the porch, the two of them reached the end of the driveway before they crowded around the map. Rich quarterbacked the route as Marge stood next to him and let her heart thump hard in her chest at a boy so serious about something so goofy.
“Ok, ok, we’re at Wichita, so we’d gonna hit West Broadway, that’s obvious. The Standpipe has some big party they’re doing, but I think the PTA made it, so there’s no way they got anything besides bobbing for apples there. Kansas’ll get us some good ones, but Costello’s the gold mine. I heard they give out full size bars there. Ones with nougat, peanut butter. Bottles of freaking soda too, the name brands. We’ll hit there hard before we wrap up with Kossuth before heading back here.”
Rich leaned back, hands on his hips as he stared at Marge. Marge, bent at the middle, looked up at Rich through her blonde curls, before standing up and bursting into giggles. She waved away his fears away, still giggling hard as she stood up and cocked an eyebrow when she spoke to him.
“Screw knight, you’re a full on crusader of candy, Rich. Liberator of Tootsie Rolls and Hot Tamales everywhere!”
Rich blushed hard, needling Marge as well as the two of them set out from her driveway, looking up at her and sneering out his words.
“You’re the pirate, YOU should be the one looking for the treasure out here. Here, you get the treasure map. It fits.”
Marge giggled as Rich handed her the map, looking away as their fingertips brushed. She sighed contently, and, after a few more moments of walking beside the boy of her dreams, let it happen and spoke softly.
“I got the treasure.”
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The pirate and the knight joined the rest of the ghouls and goblins on the streets of Derry, looting and swiping sweets off of unmanned porches and charming their way into handfuls of candy when doors opened up for them. Pillowcases swelled with M&Ms, Tootise Rolls, Root Beer Barrels, Hot Tamales, Wax Bottle Candy, Smarties, and Peanut Brittle, but the candy soon fell to the wayside the longer the night went on. Walking side by side, listening to his chainmail clink and clack with every step, seeing the one lone curl peeking out from underneath his hood as he walked was sweet enough for Marge, and watching Marge’s blonde curls sway in the evening breeze, the cotton of blouse rippling fairly as she walked, the leather of her eyepatch catching the moonlight was sweet enough for Rich.
Upon their travels, the duo ran into soldier boy Will and vampire Ronnie, as well as Hiker Lily, who was just Lily wearing Mr. Hanlon’s army green backpack, a t-shirt, and shorts. Halloween wasn’t for everyone. Rich didn’t, but Marge also saw the Pattycakes walking down the opposite side of the street, all three of them sporting all white nurses outfits. If looks could kill, Patty, Rhonda, and Elaine would’ve keeled Marge over right there on the side of the street in the gutter, but all Marge had to do was drum her fingers against her patch and suddenly the front lawn around the girls became fascinating to The Pattycakes. Marge grinned at the sight and hummed happily, but whisked Rich away from the scene nonetheless. He had no stake in her battles, she made sure of that.
They reached The Standpipe quickly, and true to Rich’s prediction, it was mostly fat moms sitting and talking and skinny kids running and dancing in a field. The Tingler was playing on one side of their hideout, Vincent Price cowering against some creepy crawly parasite. Rich frowned as he surveyed the scene, but it was Marge who led him away with a click of the tongue and a head shake.
“Nah. You were right. C’mon.”
Rich nodded, allowing himself to be whisked away from the scene. The duo continued down the stretch of asphalt, heading towards the red and white bridge as Rich sucked on a bottle candy, and Marge chewed Peanut Brittle. After a moment, Rich downed two more bottle candies, and turned to Marge, cheek bulging like a chipmunk, and spoke to her quizzically.
“Marge. What’s your favorite scary movie?”
A click of the tongue and a shake of the head did what a sentence did, and Rich nodded his head in agreement. After spring, scary movies, books, tv shows, everything was off the table. Rich swallowed down his gelatin coke bottle as Marge spoke.
“I like West Side Story a lot. The Jets and the Sharks, New York City. It looked fun. Only the Sharks though, the Jets creep me out. It’s really chaotic, but it’s pretty fun.”
Rich hummed in agreement, popping another bottle into his mouth as he responded, his eyes trained on Marge’s face and Marge’s eyes trained on his as they both spoke.
“Mines Navarone, The Guns of Navarone, you seen that one? My dad showed it to me, man, that was wicked. They just run around, blowing up Nazis and bunkers and stuff. Wow. The Alamo’s the same, it was really good, but they just blow up Mexicans. My dad didn’t like that one.”
“No way! That was two and a half hours, both of them were! And you can’t sit still for fifteen minutes, let alone three hours!”
“Oceans Eleven then! My Tio Raoul showed me that one, man, it was amazing. He loves Las Vegas and he loves Angie Dickinson. It was really cool. I wanna visit Las Vegas sometime. Oh! I liked Mysterious Island too! That crab was creepy, but when they ate it, that was sick. My mom took me to see One Hundred and One Dalmatians, but I dunno, it was too like, babyish.”
“No, I like Disney movies! Sleeping Beauty, The Shaggy Dog-those are good ones. Oh! Li-last week, Ronnie let me and Lily in to the theatre at like, 10, to watch Some Like It Hot with her! That. Was. Hilarious. It was like, really inappropriate, and I didn’t get the whoooooo-oh-oh…..”
Marge froze the moment her foot touched the wood of the Kissing Bridge, her jaw dropping, her shoulders slumping, and her entire body pausing in shock and terror. Her mouth open and closed like a dying fish, and Rich tore his eyes away from her beauty to stare at the horror before him.
From the darkness of the inside of the bridge hovered a single red balloon.
Rich yelped as Marge shrieked, and both of them stumbled back from the sight. Not one of their little group had reported The Clown after The Black Spot, but that didn’t matter now. There was no coincidences in Derry. The balloon floated gently in the darkness, swaying from a breeze that didn’t exist as the children stared in terror at it. Marge was heaving in terror, a cold sweat pouring down her face the bandana didn’t catch, but Rich had swallowed down his fear, his young, soft face set in stone. He ran a trembling finger down the pommel of his sword, and opened his mouth to scream into the darkness, to let It know he wasn’t scared anymore.
He closed it immediately when he saw the white arm.
The long, lean tendril extended from the darkness like a warped measuring tape, the gloved hand gripped the string of the balloon tightly. Marge was gripping Rich’s shoulder in fear, and that dark, black, churning feeling began to swell inside of Rich’s gut as they heard the giggle, and that sickly sweet soft little voice cooing from the darkness.
“…..hello Rich. Hello Marge.”
Marge swallowed down bile, the acid searing her tongue as she fought off the urge to vomit. Her feet had taking a massive step back, as far as she could go while still holding Rich, who stood there like a statue. Another bout of giggles poured from the darkness, the sound tearing into Rich and Marge’s ears and pouring like concrete into their skulls as the two children trembled.
“Awwww…..look at the little loverbirdssss going to loverbird lannnnneeeee.”
The balloon began to ripple from a breeze that didn’t exist, swaying back and forth in the middle of the bridge as The Clown finally stepped from the shadows, slumping forward in the darkness. It was Rich’s turn to stumble backwards and fight back the boiling bile in his throat, which made Pennywise slowly shuffle towards him, swaying his arms back and forth and continuing to giggle as he taunted the children.
“Two babies lost in the woods. WELL! Tonight’s my FAVORITE night of the year! Soooooo much terror, sooooooo much horror…..soooooooo. Muuuuuccccchhhhh. Feeeaaaaa-“
A faint woosh cut through the now stifling night air, and everyone’s eyebrows raised in shock as Rich stood in front of Marge, his silver and green wooden sword now out of its plastic sheath. Rich clenched his hands around the grip until the splinters dug into his palms, sweat dripping into his eyes. He’d stopped trembling, only because Marge was holding his shoulders so damn tightly, but the laugh which clawed out from Pennywise’s throat made polar shivers shoot down his spine.
“Ohhhhh……you’re one baddd….braaaave…….knight…..huhuhuhu….”
Pennywises sneer grew massive on his bone white cheeks, his smirk diabolical as flames shot up around the children. Screams of the damned twenty three began to echo around Marge and Rich, their howls and wails slicing through the inferno that the atmosphere had become. The scars they’d both fought damn hard to bury sizzled now; the flesh on the soles of Rich’s feet and his lower back roasted once again, and Marge’s forearm blistered and broiled, the skin popping and bubbling up in fat, wet, white boils that leaked creamy pus the closer that goddamn clown got. Pennywise got on all fours and crawled forward towards them slowly, leaving a slick trail of drool behind him the closer it got towards the two children, both of whom were fighting off the flames lapping at their body. Marge was swinging furiously at the blaze that had jumped onto her clothes, sharp whimpers and yelps ripping from her chest as she desperately fought for her life. Her body was popping into more and more boils and blisters all over, her eyes drying from the flames. Marge swatted away the flames beat she could, her voice skipping with terror as she did so.
“R-ric-Rich! Ri-Rich, Rich help, he-hel-help me, HELP ME!”
Marge slipped to the ground hard, shaking wildly, yet still managed to draw her head up to see Rich standing in front of her. Rich was in a half crouch, his sword steady between his sweating palms as he stared up at Pennywise. Pennywise had stopped as Rich stood before him, snarling at the two of them with repressed fury; Rich squeezed his grip tighter and took a step forward, his teeth gritted tightly as he stared into the yellow eyes of the beast. Pennywise snorted hard into Rich’s face before he pulled away disgusted, his expression morphing into a potential bout of joy as Rich’s sword burst into flames. It clapped his hands together and as Rich squealed in agony, yet sighed furiously as Rich didn’t let go, even with tears pouring down his face and his little hands charring almost to bone. Pennywise stared down Rich for a few more moments, before he took a crawl back, and back, and back and back, enraged as he slunk back to darkness. Marge wobbled up to her feet next to Rich, both of them heaving hard as the temperature around them simmered down, leaving them covered in sweat and filled with exhaustion. Marge gulped hard, eyes fluttering in exhaustion as she stammered.
“Do-d-you go-got ‘em?”
To answer Marge’s question, a flood of bright red balloons poured out from the darkness, all of them with WELCOME TO DERRY plastered on the front. They swarmed around both children, a rubber plague of locusts that Rich IMMEDIATELY began to swing at with his burnt up sword. Each and every hit was a home run, each and every smack from his wooden blade popped the balloon and sent it fluttering harmlessly to the ground. Marge stepped back quickly, her head on a swivel to avoid any part of The Clown gripping hers, but still couldn’t avoid being clipped from the wooden blade; a small red welt rose up underneath her right eye as Rich spun around on his toes wildly, forcing Marge to duck and cover as Rich cleared up the cloud around them. Upon bursting the last balloon, Marge stood up once again with a small trail of blood slowly rolling down her cheeks, panting hard as Rich and her stared into the darkness of the Kissing Bridge once again. The harsh, sharp, agonizing squeal of a poorly maintained car horn ripped out from inside the darkness, and now, it was Marge who lifeboated Rich, pushing him out of the way before leaping back herself, both children narrowly avoiding being plastered by the cherry red ‘58 Plymouth Fury blasting down the road. They could not see the driver for the tinted out car windows, but that didn’t stop Marge from scooping up a rock and hurling it towards the back window of the quickly fleeing automobile.
“WATCH IT YOU MANIAC!!”
Marge gasped for air as she saw the tail lights of the Plymouth disappear into the darkness of the night, putting her hands on her knees and gasping for air. She tilted her head up to look at Rich, wincing immediately at the sight. His soot covered face was absolutely soaked with sweat, his jet black curls sticking to his damp forehead, and his palms were burned a dark black, though they turned back to their normal shade once he ran his hands against his chest plate. Rich winced as he gingerly touched his metal chest plate, biting his lip in order to not whimper, to not make any pained or hurt sounds whatsoever, less It came back upon hearing him. It was a mighty battle to do so, as his costume was absolutely ruined. His chest plate was warped and dull now, the lions head drooping into a curled mess of a green puddle, his chainmail was blackened, and his wooden sword was indeed nothing more than a crumbling toothpick that he waved around weakly, before the tip fell off and it clattered to the ground. Rich sighed hard, now suddenly having to blink very hard to fight off a typhoon of tears upon the sight, before his feelings of despair and pain were thankfully overwhelmed with shock the moment Marge threw her arms around him and squeezed him into the tightest hug she could manage.
“CHRIST, Rich, I thought It was gonna rip your head off!”
Marge squeezed him tightly as could be, only letting go once she felt his chest plate digging into her body, once she was sure that his body was firmly in her arms. She pulled away slightly panting, face falling alongside Rich’s.
“…..do-don’t be sad, Rich. T-“
But Rich shook his head, biting down on his lip hard. His eyes were swelling with tears he was holding back like Atlas, and his voice snapped like a twig as he spoke.
“It RUINED my-my-our costumes, I-It ruined our-o-our candy, It ruined tonight!”
Rich threw his hands up as he stared into Marge’s eyes, his bottom lip shaking and quivering as Marge stared down at him, before looking at both their costumes. Much as she didn’t want to admit it, their costumes were charred and fire damaged, and their bags of candy were little more than melted gelatin and cane sugar dripping onto The Kissing Bridge. Marge looked away as Rich rubbed both eyes hard, sighing upon slipping her hand into his.
“…..let’s go, ok? C’mon.”
Marge tugged Rich’s hand gently and set forward into the darkness of The Kissing Bridge, her head held high as she led Rich through the darkness. The sounds of his sniffles in the darkness absolutely shattered her heart, but she knew not to look over at him and make him feel even more on the spot. He’d done so much for her, but now he was crumbling. Marge felt no fear as she strolled inside of the darkness of the bridge, yet her heart was overwhelmed with sorrow for the knight by her side.
Marge and Rich both exited the darkness of The Kissing Bridge hand in hand together, and Marge let go of Rich’s hand, letting him take two steps forward to go and lean up against a wooden guardrail. He’d fought back his tears best he could, but one from each eye had streaked down his face, leaving a tiny path of soot washed away on his cheeks. Rich held his head high, but even he couldn’t hide the disappointment and shame in his voice as he crossed his arms over the warped chest plate and pouted into the night.
“…..its ruined.”
Marge stared at Rich pitifully, running her pinked hands down her soot covered and flame charred blouse. Marge stepped forward, going to clutch Rich’s hands into her own as she looked down at her knight, and whispered softly to him.
“No it’s not.”
Rich gulped like he was swallowing fire as Marge wiped his sweat plastered curls from his face, her touch soft as cotton as she caressed his face, brushing away all the pain she could. Marge wiped tears from his eyes as Rich squirmed underneath her, that bright feeling sparkling like popcorn inside of both of their chest. The two of them panted and heaved hard, exhaustion and stress leaving their bones in the sweat pouring off of them and being replaced with that bubbly feeling deep inside of them, before Marge let it all out with a whisper and a lean forward.
“No. It’s not.”
Marge’s soft, gentle fingers tilted Rich’s chin up to meet her own, a warm grin spreading across the knights face as his pirate took the charge for him; their smiles connected gently with one another, before they morphed into soft pecks of love and adoration and obsession and joy, their lips peppering curiously and carefully against each other. He tasted of sweet, high processed corn syrup, gentle, lighter tones of sugarcane chocolate, tangy, adrenaline fueled sweat, and something so uniquely Rich it made her toes curl inside of her socks. She tasted of bitter, chalky peanut brittle, darker, harsher tones of dry, clinical antiseptic, and adrenaline fueled fatigue, all of which shook into a thick cocktail of a taste so perfectly Marge it made Rich’s hands tremble and flinch. Only when they slid carefully against Marge’s hips did they stop shaking, the trembles and quakes being inserted into every single other part of Marge and Rich’s body.
The pirate and the knight trembled in each others arms, shock on both of their faces before they dove right back in. The tone of Marge’s face matched the exact tone of her cherry red bandana yet somehow got more and more crimson the longer Rich peppered her flush, sensational, divine lips with his boyish pecks, until she was writhing in his arms in order to fight and to free the fireworks burning through her chest. She pressed his back deep into the pine guardrail of the bridge as he dug his fingers deeper and deeper into the weight on her hips. Loud, arrogant whimpers and whines fluttered and flowed freely from her body as boyish moans ripped out of his chest, the night filling with their noises. Their shuddering lips crashed against one another hard enough to bruise and with enough power to cut, shattering the night together and as one. Only when the oxygen between the two ran out did they pull away, neither able to stand properly for the first few seconds, and both of them unable to say anything at all for what must have been years before Marge opened up her mouth and let her words slur from her mouth and tumble to the earth.
“…….yo-yo-your-n-you’re an-n a-am-amazing kisser.”
Rich hummed up at Marge, his eyelids fluttering with every insatiable fresh breath he drew. A dreamy flutter crossed his face as he looked up at Marge, his voice croaking out as he whimpered out his question slowly to her.
“Do…..d-do you…..do you have any money?”
Marge spiked from obsession to confusion in record time, her head twirling in turbulence and bewilderment as she looked down at her grinning knight, before a confounded smile crossed her own face as she muttered out her word.
“…..what?”
Rich’s blush deepened staring up into the eyes of his pirate, rolling his eyes after his words set in for both of them.
“O-or a knife, or a-a rock or something to carve….i-I-i…..”
Rich turned, prying his back from against the wooden guardrail to show off a fat patch of untouched wood hidden behind him. Marge’s shoulders slumped with shock, before a massive smile dawned across her cheek when she blinked hard a few times before she spoke once again.
“……ah-no, no I….h-hold on.”
Marge patted her pockets for a few moments before coming up with her house key, holding it out to Rich and batting wonderful eyes at him.
“Here, here c’mon.”
Marge scooted past Rich and took his hand into hers, the two of them clutching tightly to one another while they dug into the pine flesh of the guardrail together, hands over one others. Marge strained to not snap the key in half as Rich and her pressed deep into the wood together, concentration and determination shared. It was a long and arduous struggle to engrave the words deep into the pinewood, but when they pulled away, the words that looked back up at them grew each others smile to gargantuan proportions.
“RICH/MARGE-HALLOWEEN62-PIRATE/KNIGHT FOREVER”
Rich and Marge beamed together in the darkness of the night at the sentence, christening the marking with a trade of embraces that them left dizzy and light. Marge sighed as she sunk her hands into her pockets, her shoulders slumping once again with another mutter of her words.
“……how are you so brave, Richie?”
Rich had been all sorts of red before Marge asked this, yet still incredibly managed to turn a share of maroon Marge had never seen upon hearing her question. He grinned as he grinded asphalt underneath his boot, tone low but strong as he spoke.
“…..dad. He said I can be little or scared, but not both, so….”
Marge didn’t love the answer, so she silenced him with a peck on the cheek that relocated to a kiss on the lips which sparkled all over her. She pulled away with their noses touching, her words light her so strong and assured.
“You’re not little. You’re…..bite sized.”
“M&MS ARE BITE SIZED!”
“So? M&Ms are delicious!!”
Rich bent over with laughter as Marge spoke, shaking his head at her words as the duo fell over one another with heaps of humor. When they caught their breath and didn’t have to use the guardrails to hold themselves up, Marge gasped for the millionth time, her voice quivering as she tugged on his fingers.
“C’mon. Let’s go get s’more sweets tonight for they all run out.”
Rich nodded gleefully, and the two children took off into the darkness hand in hand, both already knowing nothing they could ever find would or could taste as sweet as each other, and neither of them caring.