A LONG WAY FROM THE PLAYGROUND.

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DEAD BOY (book one).
°•        CHAPTER THIRTEEN        •°

"        YOU LOOK LIKE
YOU'VE SEEN A GHOST       "

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DAXTON WAS NEVER MEANT TO HAVE A FAMILY. His parents had never felt a connection from the day he was born. His first skin to skin contact had to be with a nurse because his mother cringed as the doctor held her new baby boy in her direction and declined to be the first to hold him close. Daxton believes that's where his mistrust towards people began because it only became worse from there. He grew up believing he was a burden on his parents. They would rather let him scream alone in his crib, and as he became older, that forced isolation imposed against him. He was afraid to get in their way. Then his father left, he got in his mother's way one day, and he's stuck with an ugly scar. The bottom line was, Daxton Shields was never born to be loved.

The days and nights of Daxton's life become calm as more days drag on. At least, that's what he showed. If he lives every day peering over his shoulder, on edge, waiting for a clown to pop out, it doesn't exactly matter. If he wakes up, trembling under his blankets with tears staining his pillowcase, Charlie doesn't need to know. Those were his secrets, his building fears. He was nearly killed. He thinks he has every right to keep them to himself and to be frightened.

He wakes up relaxed, at least, possibly because of the soft music drifting through the house. Daxton feels like his body was a vehicle currently running on empty as he got dressed and trudged down the stairs, a hand gripping the railing tightly. He doesn't hop off the last step like he usually does. Daxton doesn't even choose to eat up anything sweet for breakfast to savor it while it lasts. He tiredly swipes butter across toasted bread and poured a glass of water when he would have usually chosen fresh orange juice or milk.

The crumbs are swept away when he's done. Daxton trudges to the living room where he plans to waste the minutes of his day like he's done for weeks even if he was bored out of his mind. Haley is sat at the piano bench. Her wavy blonde hair which is usually in braids is free, brushing across her back. Daxton hesitates. Lucas was a child full of energy and light, Charlie was adventurous and brave, and Lia was as kind as she was protective over them. Haley, however, well... She mostly kept to herself. She smiled at Daxton and never offered any bad feelings harbored, but he could see his younger foster sister was talented if the tune drifting off the keys from her dancing fingers said anything.

"Wow." Haley jumps, her shoulders jerking in surprise at the new voice when she thought she was alone. Daxton offers what he hopes was a friendly smile, but probably came off as awkward and unsure. "You're really talented," he compliments genuinely and slides onto the bench next to her. Daxton believes this was the first time since he arrived many months ago that he made the attempt to hold a conversation with one of his foster siblings by initiating it first.

"Thanks," Haley replies shyly before turning the page to her music book resting on the piano's ledge. "Have you ever played anything?"

Daxton hesitates. He's never shown anyone before, but he shrugs before resting his fingers over the piano keys. They slowly have a mind of their own as they press onto them gently. He's clumsy at first, insecure, but eventually a mellow jingle fills the air. Haley is surprised, but she lets out a short laugh. "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?" She questions, amused.

So, Daxton wasn't talented by any means. He doesn't write or even read, sing, dance, play any other instruments, Hell, playing the piano was pushing it. But his mother used to. Daxton never had any fond memories of his parents, and if he did, he hated to think of them. But Olivia Miller knew how to beautifully play the piano. Sometimes, her son would hear more tones off key when she was wasted, but once in a blue moon, she'd play a more recognizable song. Sometimes Daxton would watch. On even rarer occasions, she'd let him try, but that wasn't as fun for him to think back to. He remembered how quickly she'd grow impatient and threaten to break his knuckles if he broke the old, ancient instrument. He was afraid she would, but the worst he'd get was a smack on the bones.

"I know a little more, but I'm no Beethoven," Daxton admitted. "Why don't you show me how it's done?"

Haley smiled so wide Daxton thought her lips would crack. She hummed under her breath as she took over. And Daxton listens. He doesn't move or get tired of hearing the music that she creates. Sometimes she wouldn't even glance at the pages as if she had every note memorized. It must have been an hour or so, possibly longer, before Miles and Jo returned from the local grocery store, Charlie bounding after them with Lucas wrapped on his back, requesting for help and interrupting the session. Daxton wondered what he did to deserve this.

This, being to feel loved. To believe he had a family that didn't have to share the same DNA or parents. He had a bond with all of them, something he never even had with his mother or father. Daxton loved them, and that's something he thought he could never feel or deserve to have the privilege of doing so.

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Recovering is possibly worse than the initial injury that has to heal. Daxton's life has been a road of painful wounds he had to regain strength from again. There are days he still doesn't trust the people he cares about. He still has nightmares. He sometimes finds himself continuing to build a strong, tall, unbreakable wall around him so no one could ever hurt him again. And he's recovering now from a twisted ankle so taking a walk probably wasn't the best idea he's ever had, but then again, it wasn't the worse either. Daxton's ankle was woven tightly with a thick bandage to protect it from further damage. It felt stable enough to put pressure on now that it's had a little over two weeks to heal.

Daxton stares longingly at what little the park has to offer. He felt a twinge of pity for the poor children of Derry - not because a killer clown was looking to sink Its teeth into them like the last piece of turkey on Thanksgiving, as Richie once put it so poetically, but they must be bored with the poor excuses for slides, monkey bars, and other various ones. Still, Daxton longed to know what the rush of being a happy child at that age felt like. He never had it. Even recesses before lunch consisted of him sitting either under a large tree by himself or on his own on a swing. And the one he chose to rest on wasn't exactly stable by the way it creaked under his weight, but he didn't care.

He also didn't give a shit anymore if the clown showed up. The small gravel spot with a basketball hoop was there, a few feet away, the exact same one that Charlie and he had their first encounter with It. That seemed like so long ago compared to what followed, so let It come. Daxton was still afraid, but he didn't want that fear to hold him back from living his life freely anymore. He wanted to sit on a stupid swing despite the chain threatening to break at any moment without worrying.

It's peaceful. Daxton isn't worried about his life or some clown for the first time in too long. That is, until...

Distant hands in the air and a loud, "What the fuck?! Funny seeing you here!"

Daxton tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes tightly when they met the sun. He prays to any being in the sky that he was only hearing things as he mumbles, "Oh, no." He looked forward again with a dull glare at his supposed friend. Daxton thinks he prefers to see the clown as he asks loudly, "How do you always show up when I want to be alone?"

Richie is practically hopping across the open field to find his way to the swing set. "Come on, don't kick a guy when he's down," he jokes. "I was just out here playing some ball."

Daxton doesn't have to look Richie over to check if he's even carrying any sport's ball because he knows better and snorts, "Yeah, right."

"Alright, you caught me." Richie plops himself in the swing next to Daxton's. "I somehow sensed your smell, like a dog, if you will." He was joking again. That was a good sign. He looked normal... Well, as normal as Richie could get, who almost always looked strange to him, considering the bold choice of clothing he wore, such vibrant colored Hawaiian shirts he never seems to takes off. It looks like he's already come back from getting punched in the face by Bill. Daxton can still see the faint outline of a bruise turning yellow, bright against his pale skin, blooming from his jaw to his temple.

But Daxton wasn't raised in a barn even if he's bounced from house to house and knows now to comment on it would make him a bigger dickhead. He doesn't appreciate it himself when he gets questions about the scar on his face. He feels like he's learned a lot since being in Derry and learned how to hold himself back better.

Richie doesn't offer the same courtesy. "I was about to ask you; 'Hey, Dax, what's new, see any killer clowns trying to chomp your face off lately because that bruise on your neck is starting to look sick' but then I started to think. I know, wow, right? Using my brain and all. But your name sounds like it was pulled out from fucking Star Wars, Return of the Jedi, so what the fuck, did your parents watch that shit?" He paused. "And by shit, I mean an absolute masterpiece."

He says it all so quickly that Daxton thinks he misses a few words. He blinks a few times and processes that. In all honesty, he did know the truth behind his name. His mother told him about it. Daxton could still smell the cigarette ash that she flicked into a tray as she drunkenly mumbled about how she really wanted a precious little boy named Jacob, but the same nurse who cradled him for the first time happened to call him the little blessing Dax and his father overheard after initially protesting the name Jacob for so long. After a small fight, they signed the birth certificate Daxton Jacob Shields.

"I think it's French or something," he says dumbly because he can't think of anything else to say. Daxton didn't want to rip off his ears or offer his life for Richie to stop talking for once but he still hated talking about his parents. So he changed the subject. "And I don't think I've ever seen Star Wars." Then Richie's jaw drops in shock, so he quickly continued before he could get a word other than a splutter out. "I mean, I've seen some parts. Scenes, whatever. Here and there." He shrugs. "It was okay."

Because the sociopath who had a taste for the movie in space, he wants to add, but he doesn't. These things always seemed to connect in his life. "You've just got to give it a chance," Richie all but pleas with him. He uses his pointer finger to push up his glasses, and Daxton was getting the feeling it was a nervous tick. Richie distracts him by spinning in a circle on the swing, twirling the chain, dragging his sneakers in the dusty sand. "When was it? Back in New Hampshire, right?" He asks.

Daxton was caught off guard Richie remembered. They talked for so long about his past homes and he hung onto every word. He ducked his head at the thought of hope before nodding. "Yeah. That shitshow," he mumbled with a snort.

"Shitshow?" Richie echoed with a loud laugh that made Daxton's heart feel like thunder the way it pounded in his rib cage. "Come on, you were so vague on what happened there. Give me a little somethin' else. How'd you get kicked out of there? What brought you to good ol' Derry?"

Not even Charlie knows what happened. The cigarette burns, turned into scarring blisters, were just inches away from the naked eye under his sleeve. But Daxton doesn't show him. He ran his tongue across his lower lip, wetting it, before he lets the first thing he thought of spill out to shield the truth in the most dramatic voice he could use. "So, get this. I totally snapped. I torched the entire town."

He expects Richie to laugh again, but he held it behind a smile and rolled his eyes. "No, you didn't."

"Really!" Daxton's voice turned to a pitch as he hid his own laugh. "Nowadays it's just a scorched spot on a map."

Richie swung his leg and lightly kicked Daxton's calf. "Come on! I'm an idiot, but give me some credit," he urged.

Somehow, Daxton found himself agreeing. "Fine, fine. No, I didn't burn any town. I don't even like fire. I just beat this creep bloody because he liked to use me as an ashtray." Or tried to, he thinks. The older boy was taller and stronger then him, after all, but to be fair Daxton got a few good hits in too since he started it.

"Christ! And they sent you here for that?" Richie asks. His eyes are large in interest like Daxton was the currently the riveting thing on this planet and every word only pulls him in further. "This town was created by the devil. They couldn't have picked any other town?"

"I don't know," Daxton confessed. Sometimes he believed he was meant to be here ever since he met the other Losers. Maybe Julia, the caretaker on his case, somehow knew that. "Maybe stuff like that is meant to be." He paused and thought deeper. "But I mean, I could have gone without some clown wanting to eat me because - "

Then he stopped. Because Daxton had a secret unlike any other, and It was going to turn it into his worst fear. If he believed he could live a happy life in his future, it wouldn't be with a wife, kids, running around in the backyard with a wooden, white-picket fence. It especially wouldn't be with a wife. Because Sonia Kaspbrak, It, and every other resident of Derry who believed it was wrong was right about him all along. Daxton Shields was a foul, dirty, disgusting boy who wanted nothing more than to jerk forward and close the space between them.

Bad thoughts, his mind scolded him in a scream. Derry held too many cruel people. And he knows what happens to boys who like boys and girls who like girls. And there was his secret, something you bury six feet below and never tell anyone.

Richie waved his hand like Daxton had lost himself in his thoughts. "Because what?" He pressed and stopped spinning on the swing. Daxton turns his own so he could face him. "Because you taste like a Happy meal?"

A snicker that turned into a laugh escaped before Daxton could stop it and keep it to himself so Richie wouldn't get that satisfaction. Someday, he would think back to this moment and believe this is where it went wrong. One second, they were laughing. Two boys who weren't afraid for the first time in a long time.

Then Richie moved, faster than Daxton could keep up with. His tumbling laughter came to a stop when he faintly felt the brush of Richie's lips against his own, but it's too quick, and a second before pain explodes over his nose.

"Fuck!" Daxton shouted at the same time Richie screamed, "Shit!"

The impact knocked Daxton off the swing's saddle. His tailbone ached as it hit the ground. He could feel warm blood trickling down his nostrils, but it doesn't register as anything but a dull ache. His tongue swiped across his upper lip and tasted the metallic liquid.

Richie was still cursing above him, but all Daxton can do is numbly mumble, "... Did you just try to kiss me?"

"I'm sorry!" Richie was shouting now. "Shit, Dax, I didn't mean to..." He can't finish his sentence and is about to offer his hand, but thinks better of it. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper and Daxton swears he sees his eyes wet. "I'm sorry. I was trying to... I didn't want..." Richie's stammer only ceases because for once, he can't think of something to say.

But Daxton doesn't think. He can't. Because if he did, he'd wipe the blood off his nose and cupid's bow before grabbing Richie's face and... No, no, no... He wants to rip his hair out and claw through his skull to his brain so he could stop the thoughts before they could win the race. "I'm not a fucking faggot," he spat out the first thing he thought of because he knows the quickest way to shut Richie up is to hurt him.

And shut him up it does. Richie's mouth clamps shut before his lower lip trembled. And Daxton knows he can't stay longer. He could swipe his sleeve across his nose to wipe the blood away, but he doesn't care if all of Derry sees it as he scrambles to stand and get away from the mess he made. It's pathetic, really, that he can't run, and he wishes he could. Daxton prays his feet could have kept up with his running mouth that spoke before he thought as he left Richie in tears there with a bruising nose in fear his secret was now free from it's locked box and in the air.

There's no gas keeping Daxton's statue running the way he slowly walks home. He's never had a home like this, but the Griffith's came pretty close, so did the Losers, and so did Richie. He swears he can still feel the feather light touch before it became more powerful and rammed him square in the face. His nose didn't feel broken, but he doesn't know what else he was supposed to feel. All Daxton wants to do cry, he wants to scream, but all of that seemed like too much energy he didn't have.

He doesn't even remember pushing open the front door and entering the house, but he does faintly hear a few of his foster family members call to him in worry. Daxton ignores them all. He climbs up the stairs in a struggle before he's able to burst through his bedroom door.

Daxton freezes in his spot over the carpet when he sees Charlie there, his limbs paralyzed. Concern is immediately brought to his features. "Dax? Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost." He throws away the toy he was fidgeting with and hops off his bed. "What's wrong - "

And then Daxton did something he hasn't done in a long, long time. He burst into tears. The walls he built around him had turned into a dam before breaking completely. Now, he was drowning in the flood.

It turns into sobs as Charlie throws his arms around his brother and embraces him as tightly as he can to keep the pieces together. "Hey, Dax, what's wrong? Come on, talk to me," He whispers as Daxton returns the action, his face burying into the crook of Charlie's neck. The tears don't stop. He's choking out endless, deep cries, everything he's held in for years.

Daxton knew he doesn't deserve Charlie's forgiveness or the comfort he offers. His brother still doesn't understand but he doesn't push it. He lets Daxton cry out everything he's hid in himself for so long and Daxton didn't deserve it. They're heavy, deep, awful sobs that sound gutted from his chest. He was so overwhelmed with all the emotions he never allowed himself to feel that had started burrowing under his skin the second he met Richie Tozier before they turned razor-sharp and cut it's way free. And it hurts.

And Charlie waits. He's patient, quiet, letting Daxton cry it out on him even if the tears wet his shirt. The flood hadn't stopped streaming, but he thinks maybe he won't die suffocating from it just yet when Charlie brings him to sit at the end of the mattress. Then he talks again, softly. "Tell me what's wrong. I'll help you."

"I'm stupid," is all Daxton can choke out. He furiously wipes at his cheeks before remembering the dry blood on his face. "I'm so, so stupid."

"Oh, Daxton," Charlie whispers in pity. "That's not true."

"Yes it is!" Daxton grits his teeth and scrunches his face. He doesn't want Charlie defending him. He fucked up badly. What made him better than Bowers? "I... I was at the park. And Rich - Richie, he... He tried to kiss me." God, his nose still ached, but he doesn't dare touch it yet.

The brown eyes locked on Daxton turned soft. He understood almost immediately what had Daxton a sobbing mess. "Of course he did," he says gently like he had been watching this unfold for too long and he noticed everything they were too afraid to express. He was an observer and he certainly wasn't stupid. Who gave him that permission? "Don't you like him, too?"

Yes, Daxton wants to shout. But it was like keeping your head under the blanket to keep the monster from seeing you. Or in this case, he was so far in the closet he couldn't see the light outside of the door. His hands curl into a fist so he can clench the blanket, but he doesn't answer right away. All Daxton could do is nod before he could let his fear get in the way.

"See?" Charlie brushes his hand over the back of Daxton's until his grip loosens. "I've always told you it's okay to be afraid. But you're allowed to be happy, too."

But Daxton doesn't know how much he deserved to feel that. He never deserved something like this. After all, Daxton was never meant to be loved.

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author's note:

this chapter was truly so painful to write. sometimes i envisioned it deeper and wondered if here is where i should place their first kiss, but i think it was truly well done.

please try to understand the pain and confusion daxton is going through, yes he was an asshole, but he's still just a kid and he didn't know how to react. doesn't justify his actions but those are things we're gonna acknowledge in the next chapter! he truly does have the sweetest heart and does like richie a whole lot, but he's JUST confronted his feelings for the first time. give him a break!

also, i've had this planned for so long and the idea of richie accidentally head butting daxton while trying to kiss him was just ,,, so funny and realistic that i couldn't resist. i'm laughing through my tears. they're so cute.

that's all i have, but i'm excited to see everyone's reaction here 😉 let me know any thoughts you have or if you liked it!

- koda

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