Chapter Text
March 4th 2000:
Call it inspiration, that was the bullshit Richie was telling himself. He's been at the shitty hotel bar for two hours, trying to write his own material, but nothing was coming up. Nothing was popping into his head. So, he's keeping it real classy, snorting lines of coke on top of the toilet roll holder in the shitty stall of the dingy bathroom of the hotel bar. He can hear his manager of one year yelling in his ear 'you promised you'd stop doing that' and then Steve's replaced with a voice that sounds eerily like his girlfriend, telling him in a snooty way that he's going to hit rock bottom. She thinks she's so superior all because she does weed and not coke. Richie would love to remind Sandy of the time they both got shitfaced on speed and had the most mind boggling sex he's ever had in his life. Sandy's career was doing better than his. She'd been signed onto SNL, and so she'd cut back on the hardcore stuff and had just become a stoner. Richie doesn't know where he'd be without a little coke and alcohol.
He shakes his head, ridding of his conscience, before he flairs his nostrils, pockets his little baggie, shoves the ten dollar bill back into his wallet, and unlocks the door.
There's a guy at the sinks, gripping the ceramic so hard that he's gone white knuckled. He's staring at himself in the mirror, his dark eyebrows furrowed, his big brown eyes angrily staring back at himself. He's in a suit, though the suit jacket has long since disappeared and his tie has loosened, the dark cummerbund incredibly ill fitting around his waist. His dark brown hair is a wreck, sticking up in tufts like he's run his hands through it a bajillion times. Richie's heart clenches when a rush of familiarity hits him, though he's sure he's never met this handsome stranger before.
The man's eyes flick to Richie's, and Richie is praying to the God he doesn't believe in that there aren't any remnants of white powder under his nose. He just stares back at the guy before he's shuffling over to the sink beside him to wash his hands. He wasn't raised in a barn, and this guy clearly thought he'd been taking a hot steaming dump, and so the next step was to wash his hands even if he hadn't actually used the toilet. The guy doesn't pay him any mind, the silence of the restrooms being filled with the running of Richie's tap and the sounds of Only You by Yazoo floating over the cheap, staticky radio in the corner of the room. Richie sniffs. The guy just looks down at the ceramic below him.
Because he can't bare silence for more that two minutes, Richie opens his dumb mouth and says," you look like you're about to blow some serious chunks!"
The man just looks at him in the reflection of the mirror, and that's when Richie notices that he's trembling a little. They look to be about the same age, the man could be a couple years younger, but it's hard to tell because the bags under his eyes are so huge. Richie's eyes flicker from the man's face to his hands that are gripping the sink like a vice. He can see the wedding band on his ring finger. There's a wedding in the function room across from the bar that Richie had been toying with the idea of crashing just for the sheer hell of it.
"Congrats." Richie says, looking back to the man's reflection. He quirks his brow in a way that's so familiar it makes Richie's head spin." I'm assuming it's your wedding in the function room, given the gleaming silver band on your finger."
"Oh." The man speaks for the first time, the word coming out less like a word and more like a strangled punch of air. He clears his throat and then looks back to Richie in the mirror." Yeah...thanks."
"You don't seem too thrilled." Richie states, taking to leaning his hip against the sink. The man blinks at him.
"What business is it of yours?" He asks with a bite, and Richie's lips quirk up into a challenging smile, arms folded across his chest. The man looks away.
"Hey, I'm not the one that's about two seconds away from having a panic attack in a hotel restroom the night of my wedding." Richie shrugs on the defence. For the first time, the guy actually turns to face him instead of glaring at his reflection in the mirror. His dark eyes make Richie's heart stutter and his stomach twist with odd nostalgia that burns with attraction. He gulps it down, tucks it away, he's got a girlfriend, for Christ sake!
"Don't touch the other boys, Richie"
It's something he hasn't heard in a while, the voice sounding foreign to him, and he prays his high hits him soon enough so that the voice will drown out. He must look a little crazy as he screws his eyes shut, tight, before he opens them again; being met with those giant brown eyes staring at him with confusion. Richie just smiles weakly.
"If you must know, it was getting crowded in there. I needed some air." The man says and Richie snorts out a," so you came to the bathroom?"
He's met with a glare from the man that makes him want to pinch his cheek and call him cute. But he doesn't. Instead, he just listens as the guy snaps out a," I needed to splash some water on my face. To cool off! Asshole."
"You didn't do that, either." Richie comments with a smirk. The guys face is bone dry. He runs the tap, places his fingers under it, and flicks the water onto Richie's face. He gasps as the droplets hit his glasses, and then he bursts out laughing." Wow, short stack, you got off a good one!"
"Beep beep, Richie!"
"Short stack? I'm literally average height!" The guy says, exasperated, brows furrowed even more.
"Yeah, if you're from The Shire." Richie teases and the guy bites back a laugh, trying to seem irritated. It's incredibly hot.
"Maybe you're just obnoxiously tall. Were your parents giraffes?" He bites back and Richie chuckles to himself before he responds with," mom's freakishly tall for a woman, dad's freakishly short for a man...and I'm just a freak."
Richie laughs at his own joke, suddenly nervous, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. The guy is staring at him quietly, brows still furrowed to the point where Richie's sure they're going to stay that way permanently if he doesn't un-furrow them. Everything feels so familiar, the ghost of a past he can't remember daring to reach out and touch him. It's almost suffocating. Richie feels like he can't breathe.
"Anyone ever tell you that you look like Anthony Perkins?" Sometimes Richie's sure he doesn't even think before he speaks. He's pretty sure he just opens his mouth and words fall out. It doesn't make it any less true, though. This dude really does look like Anthony Perkins. (And Richie should know. Because he had the biggest crush on Anthony Perkins as a teenager. Not that he currently remembers that)
"Anyone ever tell you that you look like a botched version of Buddy Holly?" The guy rebuttals and Richie laughs some more. It's kind of true. Richies always had the biggest prescription known to man for his glasses, he's gangly— still not having grown into his limbs just yet even at twenty three, and his teeth are all crooked. His father had begged for him to have braces. Richie had refused. His fucked up teeth gave him personality, in his humble opinion.
"Why the fuck am I the struggling comedian? It should be you!" Richie states and the guy just rolls his eyes, albeit playfully." Well, speaking of, I should get back and try to get some writing done. If you need anymore 'air' I'll be at the bar...and if not, I'm in room 237. Fully stocked mini bar. If you want the company of a complete stranger."
The guy just watches him as he leaves, and Richie feels like he can breathe for the first time in an age the minute he steps out of the restrooms. He just wipes at his nose and continues on back to his spot at the bar, pulling his notepad back out and ordering a bourbon. He stares down at his blank page, the previous ones all full of scribbled out material, and he lets out a groan.
7th September 2016:
Richie Tozier doesn't believe in miracles. Well, pre-clown amnesia from 1993 to about yesterday Richie Tozier didn't believe in miracles. But he does now. Defeating a demon clown twice, once at thirteen, will do that to a guy. But this is crazy. They're stood there, both of them, clean and tidy and incredibly alive. Which isn't possible! Richie had watched Eddie die, watched as he'd been ripped from his arms, impaled straight through the chest. And as for Stan, he hadn't even been in Derry, he'd died before they'd even stepped foot over the county line. But they're both here, and they're talking, and they haven't noticed the other five crowding the entrance of the Townhouse bar, covered in grime and muck and blood, staring at them in complete shock.
Stanley looks just like he had as a kid, just visibly older and slightly taller. His curls have darkened with age slightly, and he wears little wire frame glasses that really live up to the librarian nickname Richie gave him when they were fourteen. He's in a white T-shirt and jeans, and he's talking quietly with Eddie, who looks like he's on one of his rants that go 100mph. Eddie, who when Richie had last seen him only an hour ago, had been dead. There was no doubting that. Eddie had died, in Richie's arms, with Richie's leather jacket pressed against his chest and with Richie covered in his blood— blood that he's still covered in. The last time Richie had seen Eddie, he'd had a giant gaping hole in his middle. Now, though, Eddie's fine. Perfectly fine. He's stood in a white T-shirt and jeans, just like Stanley, and the bandage on his cheek is gone, and he's doing that choppy motion he does with his hand when he gets passionate about something; and Richie can't help the strangled sob that leaves his throat. His knees feel weak, and he feels someone (it's Bill, but he doesn't know that) wrap a securing arm around his waist so that he doesn't go hurtling to the floor.
Someone else (Bev) wraps their arms around him, and then the rest follow suit, almost back in that group hug they just shared a mere half hour ago. Richie manages to keep his tears at bay, ignoring the few that have escaped, but he can't stop the nausea settling in his gut. This had to be the clown, one final hurrah before It had died. Stanley makes his way over, but Eddie just remains a by the bar, watching with his big doe eyes.
Stanley Uris, his oldest and dearest friend, who he's only just somewhat remembered, and who he'd last known to be dead, is standing two feet away from him. Hes staring at him, cautiously, not knowing if he should approach any farther. The group are all huddled together, staring back, the silence becoming unbearable.
"This better not be some clown bullshit." His voice is hoarse and strangled, but Richie Tozier cannot stand silence for too long.
"You killed the clown." Stanley states." All of you...you killed It."
"So how the fuck are you here right now?" Richie spits out. He's being hit with so many emotions that he feels like he's drowning. Anger, confusion, hurt, sadness are all welling up within him and it's painful. His eyes are laden with tears and he sniffs them back desperately.
"There was a deal." Stanley says, slowly, trying to make sense of it himself. He looks over his shoulder at Eddie, who just nods quietly." You guys killed It, and we were in this...this waiting room. I was alone for the most part but then Eddie arrived, and we sat, and we waited. Then there was this turtle, something about it being the keeper of the universe or something. Like we're all living on the shell of this giant turtle in space."
"Maturin." Mike states, voice soft, almost a whisper. They all look to him." Maturin, it's Pennywise's opposite in a way. Where It is all bad, the turtle is all good and all knowing."
"So God really doesn't exist then." Richie says and then he looks at Stan." Looks like you've devoted your life to a bunch of bullshit, Stanny."
"Shut the fuck up!" Stan cusses but it doesn't have its usual bite. Instead, it's full of emotion, and tears are beginning to line his eyes too. He swallows his emotion back." Anyway, this turtle— Maturin—whatever, gave us a choice. A reward, I suppose, for the fact that you defeated It. In exchange for killing Pennywise, the turtle granted that Eddie and I come back to you guys. We are the Lucky Seven, after all. We come back, we keep our memories, and stay in contact, live our lives how we always should have. That's the deal."
"And it's permanent?" Bill asks from where he's leaning his head against Richie's shoulder. Stan and Eddie nod.
"What, so you just woke up here?" Ben asks, brows furrowed, trying to make sense of all of this information they've been hit with. Eddie and Stanley nod once more.
"In matching outfits?" Beverly asks, and that makes Richie giggle a little. They're stood in matching outfits, this fucking turtle has dressed them the exact same, and Richie is so fucking exhausted that it's making him laugh like a mad man!
Stanley and Eddie are alive, by some miracle, and they're wearing stupid matching outfits, and Richie's so so tired that he's stumbling out of the pile of five and staggering towards Stanley, arms outstretched as he wraps him up in a hug. Stan relaxes, arms slotting around Richie's waist, and Richie has to close his eyes against the dam that's about to break the tears. Beverly makes her way over to Eddie, and then eventually the five are passing the two between each other in the weirdest game of pass the parcel ever.
When it's Richie's turn to hug Eddie, they spend one moment just staring at each other. Richie had Eddie in his arms over an hour ago, cold to the touch, eyes not seeing. But here he is, staring at Richie, all big brown eyes and dark eyebrows, his chest rising and falling with every breath. He practically collapses into Richie's arms the minute they're outstretched, and Richie holds onto him tightly. They're both shaking, just a little, and if a tear falls from Richie's eye, no one will know from where his face is smushed against Eddie's neck.
Eventually, they all head off their separate ways to their separate rooms. Ben recovers Eddie's suitcases from his smashed up room, depositing them into Bill's room whilst Richie heads off for a shower. He needs this grime off of him. He needs Eddie's blood off of him. The water is hot enough to leave his skin all red, and he just sighs against his fatigue the minute the water hits his face. He doesn't dare open his eyes. He can't stand to see the water turning red from the blood that he's covered in. Instead, he just half heartedly washes his hair, and then scrubs at his skin so hard that it's red raw.
He's in the shower for an hour, and once he's out, he spends another twenty minutes just sitting on the bathroom floor in a towel staring into the blurry space in front of him. So much has happened in such a short amount of time, and he's exhausted, and he can't wrap his head around it. In his mind, Eddie is still somewhat dead, his grief is lingering, even though he knows Eddie is two doors down annoying Bill about something. On the floor of the shabby Townhouse bathroom, Richie allows himself to cry. It's quiet a first, and then it's loud, shaking sobs that hurt his chest ever so slightly. Every inch of him is aching for a drink, something to numb every single emotion that's flooding through him. He was in rehab for drug abuse, not alcohol. Still, he's had more to drink these past few days than he has since 2002.
Eventually, he hauls his heavy feeling limbs up off of the floor, secures his towel around his waist, and pads into the main room. He changes into some grey sleep shorts and a God awful lilac t-shirt with 'Fish Want Me, Women Fear Me' written on it that his sister had gotten him one year for Christmas, and then he's towelling off his hair and sliding his spare glasses on; his other ones sitting in the trash, cracked and covered in Eddie's blood. Reluctantly, he reaches for his phone, and he grimaces at the amount of missed calls he has. There's a handful from Sandy, plenty from Steve, some from his parents and his sister that makes him feel a little guilty, and then there's a DM from Bev on his Instagram. He clicks on it.
@bevmarshdesign we're all staying in Bill's room. Bring a comforter and pillow...and some alcohol from the bar if you want xoxo
Richie grins to himself, and then hauls the comforter and pillows from off of his bed. He ditches them outside of Bill's door before he's heading off downstairs to the bar and grabbing some bottles of alcohol, not caring about what he grabs. He just heads back up the stairs, struggles to pick his comforter and pillows back up, and then he's waddling into Bill's room. Mike helps him in, taking the comforter from him, and then Richie's placing the alcohol down onto the shitty little coffee table that's been pushed to the side of the room. He's the last to arrive, he learns, as they're all dotted around Bill's room, pyjama clad and freshly washed. Stanley's borrowed a pair of Eddie's pyjama's, though he's around an inch taller than Eddie so the clothes are a bit short in the leg. He doesn't seem to care.
Bev's in a red satin two piece, her hair halfway to being dry. Ben's in some soft looking tartan pyjama pants and a loose white T-shirt, Bill's in a pair of cotton underpants and a heather grey T-shirt. Mike, who Richie is assuming had left to go and get his pyjamas, is in a matching pair of blue and green tartan pyjamas with matching dark blue slippers and a grey robe; looking the perfect picture of comfort. Eddie is in a pair of burgundy sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt that's too tight for him, his bicep straining against the fabric a little. Richie swallows and avoids looking at his arm for fear of swooning. Eddie stares at Richie's own T-shirt and then rolls his eyes.
"Don't roll your eyes, it was a gift from my sister." Richie tells him, walking over and settling himself down between Ben and Eddie, who had been having a conversation with one another before Richie had barrelled his way into the room.
"How is your sister, Rich?" Bev asks with a slight gasp, and Richie smiles. The losers had all been fond of his older sister, but Bev, Ben and Mike hadn't really known her, so her enthusiasm and genuine interest in how his sister is doing surprises him a little. It's a pretty loaded question that Beverly's asked. He's sure the Tozier family are cursed to have horrific traumatic shit happen to them.
He thinks for a moment, unsure of how to answer, because his sister is good, she's finally happy, but it had taken a while to get there. As kids, they were incredibly close. Rachel is five years older than Richie, and she'd had that usual phase of finding her baby brother annoying, but she adored him. He adored her, too. He would follow her around, copy her, want to be just like her. She would sneak him packs of cigarettes at twelve, and always gave him her old, faded band t-shirts, and would indulge in his stupid voices and she taught him how to play Street Fighter. And then, she had graduated high school, and she was away in California during the clown bullshit, and she hardly called home to check up on them all, and Richie missed his sister more than he ever admitted. Rachel had gotten a boyfriend, a real nasty piece of work, and when the Tozier's had eventually moved to California to reunite with their estranged relative when Richie was seventeen, they'd learnt that Rachel had had a baby and dropped out of college.
She married her piece of shit boyfriend, could only visit with his permission, hid bruises and scratches and scars and broken limbs from her family, and the day they divorced when Richie was twenty and living in New York, he'd celebrated by doing mushrooms in the back of some shitty club that Sandy had gotten them into. The Tozier's then moved to New York to be with Richie, and then Richie had overdosed on cocaine and was put in rehab, and his sister visited him everyday. Sometimes with her daughter, other times with their parents, but most of the time she was on her own. It clearly hurt to see her brother in so much pain, even if Richie plastered on a smile and tried to crack jokes that never would land. And then, once Richie was discharged after three months, the Tozier's moved to LA and Richie was forced to no longer write his own material, and he got famous from telling other people's shitty, awful, vile jokes. And his sister couldn't understand why. She'd always said he was talented. She could always tell he was hiding something about himself from them all. But, Richie put up walls so thick and so high that not even his own flesh and blood could knock them down.
He's an uncle to the funniest little girl on the planet, who isn't such a little girl anymore and that feels weird, and he missed huge chunks of her life because her father was a piece of shit, and then because his own stupid self ended up in rehab, and then after that he would barely leave the house or he'd be super busy on tour. His niece, Harper Tozier, is twenty four years old and just as head strong as her mom. Richie adores her. He hates how much of her life he's missed.
"She's good." He chooses to reply. The others beam at that news." Yeah...she's great. Graduated culinary school, a bit later in life than most people, but she's a chef in a top class restaurant in LA. She's got a daughter, who's twenty four, and who probably has a worse Trashmouth than me! Can you believe that?"
"No." Stan comments in response and Richie chuckles a little, noticing the way Stanley's lips quirk up into a small fond smile. He's the loser who knows Richie's sister the most, considering he and Stan have been best friends since diapers.
"Are all of your family in LA, Rich?" Mike asks and Richie smiles softly at him before responding with," just the inner circle. Mags, Went, Rachel, Harper. The others, cousins and all that, are scattered around most of America. There's probably a Tozier in every state at this point with the amount of cousins I've got."
"Now that's my worst nightmare." Stanley says, earning laughs from the others. Richie just grins and throws a pillow at him as he says," beep beep, Stanley!"
"No fucking way did you just beep me, Richard!" Stan gasps and he catches the pillow and throws it right back at Richie. It hits him square in the face, and they all laugh, and familiarity blooms in Richie's chest and it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy.
After a while, they order take out from the Diner that Richie's mother worked at when they were kids. Bill and Mike head out to get it, and the others all stay behind in the hotel room, talking drowsily, swapping stories with one another. It's Eddie who begins pouring drinks, to everyone's surprise, and they all take some thankfully— apart from Ben. They're all beyond exhausted, but it's not even midday, and they haven't eaten yet. Richie's stomach clenches in hunger when Bill and Mike return with food, and they all spend a moment just handing out meals to one another until Richie's sat on the floor with his back against the wall and his legs on Bev's lap, who's leaning tiredly against Ben's chest. He's making a mess out of the grilled cheese sandwich he'd ordered, and Bev's hand is in his curls, scratching at his scalp. For the first time in years he feels at peace.
Stanley's telling them about his wife. Most of the food is eaten, Richie's half asleep and half way to being drunk, now resting against Mike's shoulder as Bev and Ben had decided to lie down together in Bill's bed. They're cuddled up and it's super cute, and Richie hates them a little because they're so cute. It's even worse hearing Stan's stories of love. About how he and Patty met in college at a party, and it was pretty much love at first sight. They hear about his wedding, and Richie wonders what that would've looked like if they'd never lost contact. Would he have been the best man? Stanley's got the softest smile on his face as he talks about his wife, and it's a joy to see what Stanley Uris looks like in love.
Patricia Blum-Uris is a kindergarten teacher, who loves to draw, and who has a keen interest in birds. Richie thinks she was made in a lab to specifically fall in love with Stanley. He shows them a photo of the pair of them together, a friend had taken it during a school fair, and Stanley's eyes are swimming with love as he looks at Patty. She's gorgeous, Richie may not be attracted to women but he can appreciate them. She's a little shorter than Stan, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and her smile is the image of kindness. Richie's desperate to meet her. To meet the woman who fell in love with his best friend and made sure he wasn't alone for decades. Like himself. Like Ben. Like Mike.
Richie had tried to have relationships, he had. But, he's a repressed gay man, being open and honest and in a loving relationship doesn't come easy to him. He's had exactly one girlfriend. They were together for five years, but she's his best friend more than anything. She was a closeted lesbian, and now she's out and proud and in a very loving relationship that he's so jealous of. He's had many hook ups with countless closeted actors, signed so many NDAs. Currently, he's in the longest somewhat relationship he's ever been in. With his manager. It's not labelled, but they've been sleeping together for about seven years, in private, at Richie's apartment, with the windows closed and the blinds drawn.
Three of his best friends are married—he's not including Beverly in that, considering she's now very obviously with Ben and getting divorced from her shitty husband (Richie's seen the marks on her arms, he's not stupid). But, Stanley, Bill and Eddie are all seemingly happily married, and whilst Richie's happy for them, he can't help but feel jealous. He's never had that with anyone. He probably won't ever have that with anyone.
Having all of your memories of your childhood rush back at once is incredibly overwhelming, and Richie's aware of those feelings he'd had for Eddie resurfacing. He's sure they were there at the Jade, he knew they were there when Pennywise had been taunting him on the Paul Bunyan statue, and he's well aware that it was written all over his face as Mike and Ben dragged him away from Eddie's dead body kicking and screaming. He'd wanted to stay down there with him, die with him, and if that wasn't enough to show that he's helplessly in love with the man, he isn't sure what is. They're there now, as he watches as Eddie talks with Bill, beer bottle in hand. He's got a sleepy smile on his face, his hair is unkempt without any gel in it, but he looks content. He's happy, and alive, and Richie's heart aches.
"What're you gonna tell Patty when you get home?" Richie asks when he and Stanley eventually end up in the same space. Mike's now talking with Ben, Bev and Eddie, and so Stanley had sidled up beside Richie. Bill's out in the hallway on the phone to his wife, and Richie presses his head against Stan's curls. Stanley 'I hate physical touch' Uris just allows Richie to cling to him a little.
"The truth." Stanley responds, and Richie chuckles lightly before he's saying without thinking," she'll have you committed."
"No, she won't." Stanley says and Richie can hear the smile on his face. He's just chuckles and leans into Stan a little more, watching as his chest rises and falls with each intake of breath, showing that he's alive. He's fiddling with his wedding ring, and that's when Richie spots the scars on his wrists. Suddenly, his mouth goes dry and he removes his head from the top of Stan's. He stares at his face. At the scars dotting his chin and temples and forehead from where he'd almost died in the sewers almost three decades ago." You okay?"
"Your wrists." Richie says, voice barely a whisper. Stanley's looking at him with concern, and then he looks down at his wrists, before casually saying," oh yeah, our battle scars are still going to be on us. The turtle didn't erase that." And then he watches as Richies eyes flick to Eddie, who's laughing at something Bev is saying. He's lying beside her on the bed, playing with her hair, a little buzzed from the beers he's consumed.
"Eddie's got a giant starburst on his chest and his back." Stanley tells him, as if to warn him, and Richie just closes his eyes; trying to get the image of Eddie dangling over him out of his mind." That scar is still on his cheek, too. The one from Bowers. He was telling me about that when you guys arrived."
"You two are just gonna have constant reminders of what happened?" Richie asks and Stanley just smiles softly and wraps him up in his arms as he replies with," it's a small price to pay to be here with you right now, Rich. I don't mind. I don't think Eddie does either."
"God, I missed you, Stan!" Richie says, voice incredibly tearful as he practically squeezes Stan in his arms.
"Don't get all weepy on me, Trashmouth." Stan responds, but he's laughing and his voice is laced with emotion as well. Richie then looks down at his palm, at where the scar from the blood oath had been, but now's it's gone. Stan puts his palm beside Richie's. His is gone, as well.
"Strange." Richie states.
"Nothing lasts forever." Mike calls over, and the two look at him. On the bed, they're all looking at their scar-less palms, too. Then, Mike grins and goes back to talking with Ben.
A memory flashes in Richie's mind then, of anger coursing through him, mixed with loneliness and fear. A pocket knife in his palm, carving into the wood of the kissing bridge, and praying that no one saw him as he'd mounted his bike and fled the scene. His eyes fall on Eddie, who's drinking another beer, and he tries to move his gaze off of how Eddie's Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. Stan nudges him in the shoulder, and Richie just looks to him with an innocent smile. But it's clear Stan knows. Stanley's always known.
Stanley takes a moment to go and call his wife, and Bill takes his place beside Richie, looking a little glum. Richie gets the urge to rib him about it, but it's clearly not the time for a "trouble in paradise" comment. Bill just sighs, scrubs at his eyes, and then grabs the bottle of whiskey and takes a shot without measuring it. He pours one for Richie, and he takes it happily before throwing the shot back and feeling the liquid burn his throat. He doesn't even wince.
When Stanley returns, he doesn't answer the questions about Patty, he just sits back down quietly. But unlike Bill, he looks pretty content. Eddie doesn't rush off to make any calls to his wife, he just remains lying beside Beverly, smiling up at the ceiling as he's offered a glass of wine from Bill. More alcohol is consumed by all of them, and Richie isn't sure who had suggested it, but suddenly he, Mike and Ben are dragging the mattresses from the other rooms into Bill's, taking up all of the space on the floor so that now they can only walk on the springy, lumpy mattresses.
The first to fall asleep, to no one's surprise, is Stanley. He's sharing a mattress with Bill— as Ben and Bev had stolen Bill's bed— and he's out like a light, tufts of curly hair poking out from under the comforter. Bill has a hand in Stan's hair, playing with his curls, looking happy to see that he's alive. Mike has a mattress to himself, directly beside Bill, and the two are talking sleepily. Ben and Bev are in their own world on the bed, arms around each other, looking so incredibly happy in love that it makes Richie feel sick; in the best way, he's happy for them. He's on a mattress with Eddie, both of them sitting up shoulder to shoulder, and it's the first time all day that he's been left alone with Eddie. It's the first time since Eddie died that he's been somewhat alone with Eddie.
It feels familiar, sitting in a shitty hotel room, in bed, pressed shoulder to shoulder with Eddie. But, Richie's sure they've never done this before. They never visited the Townhouse as teenagers, and they haven't seen each other in twenty four years. But it's nice, and he allows himself to have the physical contact, smiling as Eddie nurses one last glass of wine.
"I'm so tired." Richie yawns, leaning his head back against the wall. Eddie blinks up at him and smiles, looking exhausted." I haven't slept in like forty eight fucking hours."
"Go to sleep, then. Stan is." Eddie tells him, glancing over to where Stanley's fast asleep, and Richie just replies with," second to fall asleep at a sleepover is almost as bad as the first."
"Does this even count as a sleepover?" Eddie asks.
"We're sleeping in a room that's not ours, are we not?" Richie asks and Eddie shrugs with a small smile on his face." And there's no such thing as aging out of a sleepover. I could be fifty and staying at some place that isn't mine and I'd still call it a sleepover."
"You have not changed." Eddie chuckles and it sounds so fond that Richie's heart swells. He just smiles and fights the urge to wrap Eddie up in his arms." I feel like I should be giving you a sharpie to draw a moustache on Stan's face."
"Oh my God, you remember that?" Richie asks with a shock gasp of laughter, and Eddie grins as he nods, the memory hitting them both like a bolt of lightning." You always did indulge in my bullshit."
"That's because you were a bad influence." Eddie states.
"No fucking way! You were worse than me! You were a bad influence on me!" Richie says with an amused smile on his face, feeling giddy from the alcohol and just happy to have Eddie alive and by his side." Any other loser I could spend time with and seem somewhat normal, but put me with you and both of us were little shits!"
"I was not a little shit!" Eddie protests.
"You most definitely were. You just got away with it because you could flutter your little eyelashes on your big ass cow eyes and get away with whatever you wanted." Richie argues back." You could get away with murder just because you're cute!"
Eddie scoffs in response to that, and the two fall silent, Richie having run his mouth a little too fast. He'd called him cute before, plenty of times when they were kids, but it feels different as adults. Like it's not just a childish term of endearment but it means something heavier coming from an adult Richie Tozier. Richie just glances beside him at Eddie, who's looking down at the comforter with a small smile, before he's lying himself down; trying to get comfortable. Richie doesn't move. He just admires Eddie, who yawns and looks up at him; and then Richie smiles and settles down beside him, his fatigue hitting him once again.
Bill, as it turns out, had fallen asleep second, which isn't much of a surprise. Ben's halfway to being asleep, as well, whilst Mike and Bev talk quietly. And then Richie hears Eddie begin to snore beside him, and that familiarity hits him once more. As kids, they'd always sleep side by side at sleepovers, and Eddie would always fall asleep before Richie. And Richie would act annoyed that Eddie's snoring had kept him up all night, but it hadn't. In fact, he found it quite soothing, like white noise. And now, as Eddie snoozes beside him, his snoring lulls Richie into sleep.
March 4th 2000:
It's no surprise to Richie when groom from the restroom doesn't show up at the bar. He sits there for another hour, having two more drinks, and failing miserably to get anything good done writing wise. So, he takes himself off up to his room, resigning for the night. The hotel room is as shitty as the rest of the hotel, he really doesn't get why anyone would have a wedding reception here. The bed is broken, the slats on the base are all fucked, and there's a faint smoky smell— which Richie doesn't care about too much considering he's been smoking since he was twelve. The AC is stuck on heat, which also isn't much of a problem because it's March, but Richie sweats enough in his sleep anyway. A room on the floor above is playing their TV far too loud and it's travelling down into his room.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, lying down and sighing. The alcohol has kicked in, but the coke was shit and hasn't even touched the sides. He sits up and shrugs his jacket off, discarding it on the floor. His suitcase is also on the floor, open and unpacked. He just stares at it, at the mess of clothes inside, and he just lets out another long sigh. He's miserable, he's aware that he is, and he's been miserable for a long while. He doesn't know how to stop. He feels like there's something missing from his life, from his childhood that he can't remember, and he just lets out a frustrated groan. This is why he hates being left alone with his own thoughts and bad coke. His mind tended to remind him of how shit his life truly is.
There's a knock at the door.
There's a knock at the door and he jumps out of his skin. He's instantly on his feet, scrambling to look through the peep hole, and to his surprise it's the groom from the restroom standing outside of his door. Richie freezes for a moment, unsure of what to do. He wasn't actually expecting this to happen. With trembling hands, he opens the door, and the guy just stares at him like a startled animal, like he'd forgotten he was standing there. His cummerbund is no longer on, and his tie has disappeared, so he's just in a shirt and dress pants and his shiny ass shoes.
"Hello." Richie says slowly, and the guy is barging past him and into the room. Richie closes the door and watches as the guy goes searching through the mini bar." Wow...no nice to see you, how are you, my name is..."
"Eddie." He says and he doesn't look Richie's way when he pulls out a cheap bottle of wine and grabs two plastic cups." Kaspbrak...you want some?"
"Sure." Richie responds, watching as Eddie pours the wine into the two cups without measuring." I'm Richie, by the way."
"Richie what?" Eddie asks, walking over and passing him a cup of red wine. Richie takes it and glances down at it until he's looking back up at the man in the eye.
"Tozier." He replies and Eddie's lips quirk up into a somewhat soft smile before he's clinking their cups together in an odd toast before he's knocking back the wine without any thought. Richie watches the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows the drink, and he looks away, his cheeks burning with shame. He has a girlfriend, Eddie has a wife, he can't think any nasty thoughts.
Eddie just looks at him with a small smile, and Richie smiles back before he's also knocking back his drink. Eddie takes the cup from him, and begins to pour out some more wine. Richie just watches him do it, and he's noticed his brows are no longer furrowed, and he's actually incredibly attractive. A short brunette, with big brown eyes, and freckles dotting his nose; who seemingly could keep up with Richie's mouth from their small interaction. His exact type. He takes the cup back from Eddie, lets out a small exhale, and then knocks the drink back again at the same time Eddie does. Noticeably, his wedding band is not on his finger. Richie doesn't know what that means, but he finds himself smirking into his cup.
8th September 2016:
Eddie's dangling above him, wide eyed with fright, blood rushing from his mouth. One of It's claws is right through his middle, and Richie can feel Eddie's sticky blood covering his face. Can taste it on his lips. He just stares up in horror as Eddie is ripped away from him, crying out for him, and Richie— no longer dazed— tries to scramble to his feet as Eddie's thrown into a cave. Bev's screaming, but he can barely register it, the same way he can barely register Mike's hands on him, trying to help him up. He just needs to get to Eddie. He just needs to know that he's okay.
He's very much not okay, they discover when they reach the cave. There's a gaping hole in his middle, and Ben and Bev haul him up into a seated position, trying to be careful with him. He's got blood on his chin, and his eyes are droopy, and all Richie can do is stand in complete shock. This cannot be happening!
The clowns yelling some bullshit, but Richie doesn't fucking care, he's just staring at Eddie. Eddie, who's currently bleeding out via the giant fucking hole in his chest. Before Richie even realises he's doing it, he's shrugging out of his jacket and kneeling down, placing it onto the wound and applying pressure. First Aid 101!
"He's hurt. He's hurt really bad, we gotta get him outta here." Richie states, praying that Eddie can't see how badly his hands are shaking as he applies pressure to the wound.
"How are we supposed to do that, Richie?" Bev asks, and Richie just stares at her, fighting off his emotion. He just glances to Eddie again, who slowly says," I almost killed It...the Leper. My hands were around its throat. I could feel him choking...I made him small. He seemed so weak...seemed...he seemed so weak."
Eddie's clearly cracked the code to defeating It, but Richie doesn't care right now as Mike goes on about living things abiding by the laws of the shape they inhabit. All he can focus on is Eddie. Eddie, who's staring back at him like he's his whole world. Eddie who is bleeding out onto his leather jacket. Slowly, they move, with Bill helping Richie to move Eddie. They place him down against a wall and he winces. The others are off doing whatever the fuck they're doing with the clown, but Richie doesn't want to leave Eddie's side.
"Richie...I gotta tell you something." Eddie says, grabbing Richie's attention. He looks at him, not liking the serious expression on his face. Ben's joined them, Bill's sitting at Eddie's side, and Richie just sits down cross legged in front of him.
"What is it? What's up, buddy?" Richie asks, and Eddie— expression still dead serious— looks at him, his eyes roaming over his face before he says," I fucked your, mother" and the bastard has the audacity to laugh. Richie feels his smile fall and he just rolls his eyes before the others are all rushing over to the clown, and yelling insults at It, and to be honest, Richie doesn't really know what's going on. He just remains by Eddie, applying pressure to his wound.
"Don't leave...leave me down...here." Eddie breathes out, his breathing becoming shallower and shallower.
"You're just a clown!"
"I won't." Richie says, glancing away from Eddie to see what their friends are doing.
"A clown!"
"A dumb fucking clown!" Richie screams at the thing, and their plan seems to be working, as the monster is shrinking and backing away from them. They're bullying an evil space entity and Richie's shocked that it's working.
"Help them." Eddie says and Richie just shakes his head." Go...help them...Richie. I'm...I'm...fine."
"You're sure?" He asks, eyes trained on Eddie, who just nods. Richie stands up then, ignoring the protest from his knees, and he rushes over to where the others are hurtling insults at the clown/spider, which has shrunk considerably.
Anger consumes him as he storms over and rips off the leg that had torn through Eddie, and then Mike is reaching down and grabbing the heart right out of It's chest. Together, they crush it; watching as the entity dies, the deadlights dying with it and plunging them into a weird green darkness. Bill and Mike rest their foreheads on each other, Ben lets out a sigh of relief— his hand gripping Mike's shoulder, and Richie can feel Bev lean her head on his shoulder. But none of this matters right now. All that matters is Eddie.
"Eddie. Eddie!" He reminds them, rushing over to where he'd left Eddie mere minutes ago. His arms are heavy, the jacket is sliding off of his chest slightly, and he's staring ahead; unseeing. Richie just kneels down in front of him with the stupidest grin on his face." Hey man, we got Pennywise, man!" Eddie doesn't respond, and Richie places a hand on his bandaged cheek. He doesn't even flinch." Eddie?"
The whole place begins to shake, rocks and debris falling from the sky as it begins to cave in, but Richie doesn't care. All he cares about is Eddie. Eddie, who isn't looking at him, who isn't flinching from Richie's hand on his cheek wound, whose chest isn't moving. Mike's already crying, silently, and Bev is clearly trying to hold herself together. Bill's eyes are welling up and Ben can't watch them as Richie's eyes also begin to fill with tears as he repeatedly strokes Eddie's cheek.
"Richie." Bev sobs out, and then she tries to gain her composure, not wanting to make his tears worse.
"He's gone." Bill clarifies, a tear falling from his eye, and Richie manages to fight his own tears back as he looks over his shoulder at them and says with such conviction," he's alright, no he's just hurt. We gotta get him out of here, he's hurt. Ben...chill, he's okay. We've gotta get him out of here. Bev!"
And then he turns back to Eddie, whose condition hasn't changed since he looked at him two seconds ago. Whose chest still isn't moving. Cautiously, as if she's talking to a frightened child, Bev says," Richie?" And his head falls, emotion blooming in his chest that he's desperately trying to fight back.
"What?" He asks, looking at her again, at how she's crying. At how they're all crying.
"Honey...honey, he's dead." She says softly, and he turns his head away from her as the tears rush back to his eyes." We have to go, come on. Come on, Richie."
"We gotta go!" Bill confirms as Richie begins to cry silently.
He reaches forward, dragging Eddie into his arms, completely lifeless. And he holds onto him, and he clings onto him as he feels Ben and Bill's hands grab ahold of him. He wishes they'd let him stay. He wishes they'd just let him be crushed to death down here with Eddie in his arms, it'll hurt way less than living in a world without Eddie Kaspbrak. It's not like it's the first time he's attempted suicide. Stan had the right fucking idea. As they try to drag him away, he just holds on tighter, a hand in Eddie's hair, feeling his cold cheek against his own as he begins to sob.
"Come on, buddy, come on." Bill's saying, softly, grabbing onto Richie's arms.
"Let him go, man, let him go!" Ben says as he grabs ahold of Richie's shoulders.
"We can still help him, guys, we can still help him!" Richie yells as he's ripped away from Eddie, who slumps back against the wall, lifeless." We can still help him!"
He's dragged away from the love of his life against his will. At some point, Bill loses his grip, and Richie tries to turn and run back to Eddie, screaming his name the whole time. It's Mike who manages to get ahold of him again, and he and Ben practically carry Richie out of the house of Neibolt as it comes crashing down. When they're outside, he turns to sprint back in, but he's caught by Mike and Ben again.
"Eddie! Eddie!" He screams, fighting against them." We gotta get in there and get him, he's still in there. Eddie....Eddie!"
Richie wakes with a start, the memory so clear in his mind. His head is throbbing, his stomach is churning, and his nose is bleeding. The room is dark and blurry, and he just wipes at his nose with the back of his hand and slides his glasses on, trembling. He swallows back the bile once, and then twice, but then he retches and scrambles to his feet, rushing off to the bathroom and puking his guts up. Slowly, he rinses his mouth out, and he shakily returns to the main room where everyone else is still asleep. Ben's holding Bev, and they look incredibly content, and Stan's curled up in a little ball, facing away from Bill, who is lying forehead to forehead with Mike— who's arm is across Bill's waist. Eddie's also curled in on himself a little, he'd always been a fidgety sleeper, and his mouth is parted a little, his brows furrowed. He's snoring away, and drooling, and Richie just takes a moment to sit and watch him breathing, reminding himself that Eddie is alive.
He needs to get out of Derry. He feels fucking crazy, standing in this hotel room, watching his friend just to make sure he's breathing. Richie pads over to the dresser and opens up the drawers, finding what he's searching for in the top left drawer. He grabs the notepad, and then grabs a pen, leaving a note for the rest of them, complete with his phone number incase the clown amnesia still exists.
Had to get the fuck out of here, sorry - Richie
The note is placed on top of the bedside table, and then he's gathering his phone from the floor before he's sliding his glasses on his face and stumbling out of the room. He can feel his hangover creeping in, but he just ignores it as he goes back to his own room and grabs his duffel that he's thankful he never unpacked. He doesn't even bother changing, he just puts on some shoes and socks and a hoodie from his bag before he's rushing out of the room.
It's three in the morning, but Richie doesn't really care. All he knows is that this town is making him crazy, and his chest feels all tight with panic, and he needs to be somewhere else. He wants to be somewhere else, and he knows just the place.
He dumps his rental car at the place he'd picked it up from, not caring that it's closed, and then he manages to book a cab to Bangor airport. In the back of the cab, he books the next available flight to LA, and he hangs around the airport for three hours, nursing his hangover with shitty coffee and a donut from Dunkin. He replies to the messages from his parents and his sister, letting them know he's alive and that he's sorry for going M.I.A, and he continues to ignore Steve and Sandy for now. Just as he's about to head up to boarding, another message comes through.
Unknown: fuck you for ditching us, man! Eddie lost his shit
Unknown: this is Stanley, by the way
Richie cannot be bothered to type an apology right now. Instead, he just adds Stanley's number to his contacts list, pockets his phone, and boards his flight— disappearing off the face of the earth for the next almost nine hours.