They finally killed that fucking clown for real, and they had barely made it out alive. Eddie had been on death's door by the time they managed to rush him to the hospital, Richie barely able to see through the muck and blood on his cracked glasses. Or the tears in his eyes. The whole time he begged Eddie to stay with him, with them. He couldn't leave after being such a big damn hero.
They had lost Stan without any chance to help him or say goodbye, they couldn't lose another fucking Loser.
Richie thought he knew what pain was. Rejection and loneliness, the pain of hiding who he really was. Playing the "trashmouth" he was always so good at being. Getting what attention he could. It was all various levels of pain, some handled better than others with age. Derry, of course, brought all of these memories and then some back to the surface. There wasn't nearly enough alcohol to deal with any of it.
And then Richie discovered a pain that he has never known was possible. The boy he had fallen in love with, now a man he still loved, stabbed in front of him, tasting Eddie's blood after it sprayed onto his face. Pain that rain through his own blood, into his limbs and bones once the shock wore off.
Eddie couldn't just die like that. This couldn't be the end for them.
He couldn't just leave him like this after they finally saw each other again.
He barely remembers how they got Eddie out of the house. He barely remembers arriving at the hospital. Just that his legs gave out and unable to get off of the floor as Bill and Mike tried to explain what happened. Bev and Ben kept trying to keep him from passing out right there. All he could do was silently pray to whatever deity would help make this miracle a real thing, hands splayed flat against the hard floor, the coolness of it a vaguely calming sensation while he felt like he was dying.
Eddie had been rushed into surgery, the rest of them there in the emergency room covered in shit, blood, and God knows what else. All of them stayed in the emergency room like that, huddled together, until they heard Eddie was out of surgery. Though Richie hadn't been awake to hear the initial announcement.
He doesn't remember being given the sedative. Just that when he woke up, the fear had returned in full force until he was told Eddie was alive. He was in ICU, but it was possible he would make a recovery. Richie had wept openly at the news, letting the other Losers hold him, so he wouldn't go onto the floor again.
Weeks passed, and Eds was finally in a room of his own, Richie spending more time there than Eddie's wife. No one had called her. She came on her own and sounded too much like Eddie's mom, threatening them with lawsuits. Richie clenched his jaw shut and refused to look at her. For once in his life, he kept his mouth shut.
All that mattered was Eds waking up again. If he could just be given that, he'd... let the other shit go. It was a familiar ache that he had to swallow down, once again willing to let that love go if it was easier for the other man. He couldn't just come back and wreck his whole life because they suddenly remembered they were friends. And Richie had a secret he had never told anyone else. No matter how badly he wanted it this time...
The other Losers were out getting lunch to bring back, Bev outside getting a smoke and Eddie's wife - he didn't even bother remembering her name, as petty as it was (and he knew it was) - was back at some hotel. He was sitting on the toilet lid in the bathroom, hands rubbing up and down his face, the exhaustion of so many nights of sleeping in a chair catching up with him more and more. He needed to keep taking these private moments for himself, trying not to break down crying again.
Coming back out of said bathroom, Richie didn't expect to be greeted with seeing those big brown eyes open again. ]
fix-it au @ eddiespaghetti
They finally killed that fucking clown for real, and they had barely made it out alive. Eddie had been on death's door by the time they managed to rush him to the hospital, Richie barely able to see through the muck and blood on his cracked glasses. Or the tears in his eyes. The whole time he begged Eddie to stay with him, with them. He couldn't leave after being such a big damn hero.
They had lost Stan without any chance to help him or say goodbye, they couldn't lose another fucking Loser.
Richie thought he knew what pain was. Rejection and loneliness, the pain of hiding who he really was. Playing the "trashmouth" he was always so good at being. Getting what attention he could. It was all various levels of pain, some handled better than others with age. Derry, of course, brought all of these memories and then some back to the surface. There wasn't nearly enough alcohol to deal with any of it.
And then Richie discovered a pain that he has never known was possible. The boy he had fallen in love with, now a man he still loved, stabbed in front of him, tasting Eddie's blood after it sprayed onto his face. Pain that rain through his own blood, into his limbs and bones once the shock wore off.
Eddie couldn't just die like that. This couldn't be the end for them.
He couldn't just leave him like this after they finally saw each other again.
He barely remembers how they got Eddie out of the house. He barely remembers arriving at the hospital. Just that his legs gave out and unable to get off of the floor as Bill and Mike tried to explain what happened. Bev and Ben kept trying to keep him from passing out right there. All he could do was silently pray to whatever deity would help make this miracle a real thing, hands splayed flat against the hard floor, the coolness of it a vaguely calming sensation while he felt like he was dying.
Eddie had been rushed into surgery, the rest of them there in the emergency room covered in shit, blood, and God knows what else. All of them stayed in the emergency room like that, huddled together, until they heard Eddie was out of surgery. Though Richie hadn't been awake to hear the initial announcement.
He doesn't remember being given the sedative. Just that when he woke up, the fear had returned in full force until he was told Eddie was alive. He was in ICU, but it was possible he would make a recovery. Richie had wept openly at the news, letting the other Losers hold him, so he wouldn't go onto the floor again.
Weeks passed, and Eds was finally in a room of his own, Richie spending more time there than Eddie's wife. No one had called her. She came on her own and sounded too much like Eddie's mom, threatening them with lawsuits. Richie clenched his jaw shut and refused to look at her. For once in his life, he kept his mouth shut.
All that mattered was Eds waking up again. If he could just be given that, he'd... let the other shit go. It was a familiar ache that he had to swallow down, once again willing to let that love go if it was easier for the other man. He couldn't just come back and wreck his whole life because they suddenly remembered they were friends. And Richie had a secret he had never told anyone else. No matter how badly he wanted it this time...
The other Losers were out getting lunch to bring back, Bev outside getting a smoke and Eddie's wife - he didn't even bother remembering her name, as petty as it was (and he knew it was) - was back at some hotel. He was sitting on the toilet lid in the bathroom, hands rubbing up and down his face, the exhaustion of so many nights of sleeping in a chair catching up with him more and more. He needed to keep taking these private moments for himself, trying not to break down crying again.
Coming back out of said bathroom, Richie didn't expect to be greeted with seeing those big brown eyes open again. ]