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Sound.
It was sudden, soft, and comforting; Almost as though it was bursting through a deep darkness that Eddie had found himself trapped in. It was something he felt as though he hadn't experienced in a while - A faint voice came through the ring in his ears. What were they saying? He could barely make anything out. The words sounded jumbled and muffled, and - Why couldn't he make his eyes open? Why couldn't he move? Everything hurt. Where was he? His home? A hotel? Somewhere with Myra?
Derry.
Memories rushed into his mind as he struggled to open his eyes. He had come back to Derry. Mike Hanlon had called, and they — They had all come back together. The Loser Club. They had Chinese food and drinks. They reminisced and laughed and joked and shouted — The fortune cookies.
Pennywise.
Eddie felt his breath catch in his throat, but something kept it steady. Was something helping him breathe? His chest ached. Why did it hurt so badly? He was vaguely aware of tubes and wires and the pressure on his chest. But why the hell were they in him? Why were there so many things poking at him? Damn, why did it hurt?
Richie.
Pennywise had him caught in those lights. The deadlights. He couldn't break out of it. He was dangling limply in the air, his eyes blank, staring into nothingness. The fence post. 'It kills monsters if you believe it does.' The words Beverly had spoken to him echoed in the swirl of memories filling his head. He had to do something. Eddie couldn't let Richie die; He wouldn't. He threw the post, convincing himself that it would hit. He made himself believe that it would be enough to save Richie. He remembered thinking that he had done it. That everything was over. He was sure he had redeemed himself and saved everyone — Then it was dark.
Richie...
It was Richie's voice that had broken through that thick darkness. The emptiness he was feeling — the hollowness in his chest and throat. But he knew now that the words he had been hearing were Richie's. Though, there was a tone to his voice that Eddie didn't recognize. Almost a crack in and between his words.
"Eddie, please..."
It was soft. Sad. Was Richie crying? Why in the hell would Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier be crying? No, he never cried. He cracked dirty jokes and spat on his hand then tried to rub it on your face. He was the one that always made everyone laugh. He always made Eddie laugh...
Touch.
Eddie felt a gentle warmth against his hand. Calloused fingers desperately brushed against his own. Richie's hand closed gently around his; He was shaking. "Please..." Eddie felt a shift in weight and felt a tickle of curls against his skin. Richie's forehead was pressed against his hand. "I can't lose you, dipshit. Please," he continued, a quiet whimper breaking his words. "Don't leave me again."
Richie.
That was enough to keep him grounded. Enough to force himself to pull away from the darkness; To focus on the breath filling his lungs and the steady beat of his heart. Eddie made himself listen to Richie's voice as the sound of it became more and more stifled. Behind his closed eyes, he could feel the world spinning. Where was his inhaler?
"Eds... Eddie..." A sob.
Richie...
Nothingness.
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Hunger.
How long had it been since Eddie had felt hungry? Or anything, for that matter. The air around him was thick and cold, and damn did it smell horrible. But it was familiar. He had been in hospitals enough times to recognize that he was in one now. He moved. Fucking hell, he was stiff. How long had he been stuck in this place? His fingers twitched against another's hand. Callouses.
Richie?
Eddie squeezed his eyes tight before slowly opening them. The room he was in was dimly lit; Dull sounds came from the small TV hanging against the wall. He strained against the sting of air as he readjusted to sight and tilted his head just slightly enough to see the man sleeping in the chair next to his bed.
"Richie..." His voice came out as a soft hum, his throat burning with each syllable. He barely recognized it. In the pale light, he could tell that Richie hadn't shaved in a while. "Rich..."
"Nngh..." Eddie felt Richie's hand twitch against his own. "Fuck'ff... 'm stayin.." Drool ran down his chin. Eddie cringed.
"Hey... Richie..." He tried to move, every bone in his body screaming in protest, begging him to stop. With a deep, even breath, he gathered every ounce of energy he had to nudge Richie's hand off the bed. "Hey."
"AH! What the fuck!" Richie jumped three feet off of his chair, his weary eyes wide, panicked. "What..." He reached up to rub at the sleep still lingering on his face and adjusted his glasses. "E - Eddie?"
"Hey, Rich..." Eddie cracked a smile, fighting back the urge to vomit. The room felt like it was spinning.
"H - Holy fuck, Eddie!" Richie lunged forward, gently setting a shaking hand against Eddie's cheek. "Eddie! Holy shit. Holy fucking shit." He was smiling, but - Tears filled his eyes, his voice was cracking. Eddie could count on one hand how many times he'd seen him this way. Richie had always seemed unbreakable. Unwavering from his comedic front, but now - It was almost as if he didn't know what to do. His thumb rubbed quick circles into Eddie's skin. He kept rocking forward but hesitated at the last moment, like he was resisting the urge to throw himself onto the bed. "Jesus, we thought you would never wake up..." His head leaned forward, defeated. "Fuck you, man..." Eddie heard a few drops hitting the rumpled bedsheets. His hand dropped from his cheek and clenched tightly onto the hospital gown covering Eddie's weak shoulders.
"Hey," Eddie managed, shifting his head to the side to press a warm cheek to Richie's still trembling hand. "Relax..."
"Don't you fucking tell me to relax, Kaspbrak." He didn't lift his head. He barely even moved. "I thought that I -" Richie cut himself off and paused before quietly continuing, "I thought I lost you... And I - I had barely just gotten you back, dipshit..." His shoulders jerked. "I saw your stupid face in that," he scoffed and shook his head. "In that fucking nasty restaurant and I... When I remembered you - I realized that I'm fucking sick of living in a world without you and..."
Eddie felt his heart flutter, his breath leaving his lungs. Who was this man that was sitting at his bedside? He was tired and broken. He was so soft, so quiet. Eddie closed his eyes, nuzzling into Richie's fingers. He remembered when they were younger - More than once, Eddie snuck out of his house when his mother was being particularly hard on him. It was never too early or too late for him to show up at Richie's home. His parent's always welcomed him with open arms, offering anything he could need. He always appreciated their kindness but, the only thing he ever really needed was time with Richie. He smiled, remembering the countless nights they had spent hiding in Richie's bedroom, reading comics, watching stupid movies, doing homework, or just talking. They talked about everything. School, parents, music, the other losers, crushes...
Rumors.
He remembered one night in particular. One of the only times Eddie had ever seen Richie truly break - School had been rough that day. Henry Bowers was relentless, calling Richie some horrifying names, and then the rumors started circulating; And of course, being in middle school, it happened fast. Eddie could tell that it was all getting to him - Even though he insisted that it wasn't. So when he showed up at his house later that evening, he wasn't shocked to find Richie sitting at his desk with his face in his hands. He yelled and cried and hit his fists against his thighs. He didn't make one stupid joke.
They slept in the same bed that night. They held hands. Eddie vaguely remembered watching him cry himself to sleep, wishing he could do more to help.
More than once, Eddie was the one crying and yelling - More often than not, about his overbearing mother and how she had been giving him more and more medication. Things with weird side - effects now. They made him dizzy. They made him sick to his stomach. So maybe the pills had never been placebos in the first place... But no matter how upset, no matter how sick he got, Richie always brought him back from it. So -
"I - Richie..." Eddie closed his eyes. What in the hell was he supposed to say to that? 'Oh yeah! Sure, sure! I'm sick of that too! Let's get fucking married!' Holy fuck, he needed some pain killers. He could tell him that everything was okay; That he was okay, and that it was all over. He could tell Richie that his voice was what anchored him to this absolute shitstain of a life he had been living - But all he could manage was, "I'm sorry."
"What the fuck are you sorry for?" Richie snapped, almost offended. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He had lifted his head, eyes puffy and red.
Eddie blinked, "I -" and stopped.
"If it weren't for you, I would be dead," hesitation. "We'd all be dead, Eds."
Was that true, though? Eddie had also almost gotten Richie killed and... He grimaced. It was a memory he wished he could forget. "...Don't fucking call me that."
"Man shut the fuck up." Richie smiled, Eddie grinned. He had gotten what he wanted. "I am trying to have a touching moment with my best friend that almost fucking died. Like twelve times. Let me call you Eds."
"Better than fucking 'Eddie Spaghetti...'" Eddie smiled and tilted his head downwards to avert his gaze, but it wasn't lost on him what it did to Richie's attitude. He saw him choke on a bit of a sob, then hide it with a laugh. "Don't laugh at me, I'm fucking right." He raised a brow, waiting for the snarky reply or another silly nickname - But it was silent for a moment before Richie spoke again.
"Don't... Don't distract me, you piece of shit." Richie reached out and grabbed Eddie's hand, holding it tight in his own. "I have to get this out now before I lose my fucking nerve and end up having to wait another 27 damn years."
Oh, God.
"I almost lost my chance, okay?" Richie's face tensed. Eddie could tell he was fighting off tears again. "I don't want to lose you. I can't. I don't know what the fuck I would do." He tilted his head, forcing their eyes to meet. Eddie could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks.
'For fuck's sake, Eddie, you're 40 years old. Stop acting like a fucking school girl.' He bit his lip, waiting for Richie to continue.
"If you had died, Eds - I... I don't think I would have been far behind."
Eddie felt his heart skip a beat, the breath leaving his lungs. "Don't - Don't say that -"
"I'm a little bitch, Eds. I wouldn't have been able to last without you. Not after remembering all these fucking..." He chuckled to himself. "Do you remember the kissing bridge?"
"How could I not?" Eddie smiled, letting his fingers lace together with Richie's. "You got shit on by a bird on that bridge," his smile faded, "and then you tried to wipe it on me. Fucking asshole."
"Would you expect anything less of me?" He shrugged. "If I recall correctly, you kicked me in the shin, so I'd say we're even."
"Even?! You wiped bird shit on my fucking face! I should have kicked you in the di -!" Eddie cringed, gripping at his stomach. "Jesus fuck..." He closed his eyes tight, then leaned his head back against the pillow. There were eyes on him.
"Eddie..?" Richie's voice dropped, his fingers brushing against Eddie's pale arm. "Hey, I'm trying to fucking confess here, don't go... Don't crash on me... Eddie."
Eddie could hear the panic in Richie's voice. He needed to pull himself together. "I'm fine, Rich. Stop worrying so damn much." He opened his eyes; a soft smile spread over his lips. Richie looked so tired... "Listen -" He stopped and broke the gaze between them, reaching up to grab Richie's hand. It was so familiar in his own - It was just like when they were kids, though much bigger now. Eddie's lithe fingers laced through Richie's clumsier ones. "Why... Don't you try and get some sleep?"
Richie stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on their entwined fingers. He tightened his grip, trying desperately to hold himself together. "This fucked me up, man..."
"I -" A pause. "I'm sorry."
"You should be Goddammit." Richie's eyes stayed focused on their hands, but Eddie could feel the tears stinging them. "I... I almost lost my," A pause. "I almost lost my fucking chance to tell you and..."
"Richie." Eddie shook their hands, trying to break him from his daze. What he said next shocked him. It was nothing but word vomit, and he was surprised his pride didn't get in the way. Maybe it was something induced by the insane amount of drugs running through his system. Perhaps it was real vomit? "Shut the fuck up and stop being a damn coward. Fucking do it."
Oh, God.
Sound.
The chair Richie had been sitting on screeched against the ground, and there was a new weight against Eddie's chest. He hadn't even seen him move. He barely noticed Richie's hand leaving his own.
Touch.
Richie's lips pressed desperately into Eddie's. They were chapped, thirsty, sad, tired. A hint of cigarettes lingered for a moment before he stopped caring. They kissed for seconds, minutes, an eternity, making up for so many lost years. Eddie's stomach ached, his muscles screamed in protest but -
Richie.
"It's about fucking time," a voice came from the doorway.
Richie fell back into the chair, wires tangled around his arm. "JESUS CHRIST, MAN." His face was burning red, Eddie's head buried in his pillow.
"When were you going to come and tell the rest of us that he was awake?" Stanley leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, brow raised.
"Fuck you, man. Do you have any fucking idea how long I've waited to do that?" Richie stood, a finger pointing accusingly in Stan's direction.
Stanley grinned. "Yes. I have. You were 12 when you started pining. So what? You're 41 now... That's 29 years?"