Chapter Text
The water in the ancient rusty pipes of Derry Townhouse can’t be that much cleaner than the water in the filthy lake, but its comforting warmth descending upon Eddie’s skin feels like heaven right now.
Layers of dirt and blood and grime fall to the floor of the shower beneath his feet, swirling around slowly before draining into the pipes. All this filth will probably leave a ring around the drain, he thinks to himself as he watches it go. He wonders what the housekeepers use to clean in here. Bleach? Ammonia? Cheap disinfectant wipes? Plain ol’ soap? The porcelain looks stained. Do they even clean these showers between every stay? What if they just give them a little rinse and call it a day?!
Eddie shakes his head and takes a deep breath in, banishing the dreadful thought.
At least there’s a complimentary bar of soap and a tiny bottle of 2-in-1 hair wash. He was so focused on making sure he remembered all his medications that he forgot to bring his pre-packed bag of travel sized shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and face wash. Stupid. Hopefully this cheap, strangely colored soap doesn’t give him a rash. It better not have any sulfates or parabens. And it better be fragrance free!
He holds the bar under the water, then gently rubs it on his forearm. Watches. Waits. Rinses. Examines. Okay, no redness. No itchiness. No tingling. It’s safe.
Beverly took the liberty of cleaning all the blood off the floor for him, but the tear in the shower curtain from Bower’s knife offers a harsh reminder of what happened earlier. Not to mention the waft coming from the broken window, which is currently being plugged up by the thick townhouse duvet. Richie said he could use his shower, “I’ll even guard the door, make sure there’s no surprise stab attacks this time,” but Eddie declined.
A measly cheek stabbing from his deranged childhood nemesis isn’t enough to deter him from taking a shower in his own goddamn bathroom! Besides, Richie already saved his life today, Eddie’s not about to go hoard his shower too.
The memory floods his brain while he squeezes a dollop of the shitty 2-in-1 hair wash onto his palm, rubbing his hands together before raking his fingers through his hair. Usually when trying a new hair product, he’ll do a test patch on the back of his head first, just in case it makes all his hair fall out or turn grey or something. But there is (what he assumes to be) literal mud caked on his scalp right now, so there’s no time for that.
If Richie hadn’t shoved him to the ground when he did, with shockingly fast reflexes for a middle aged, out of shape, comedian, Eddie would be dead right now. He would’ve been impaled straight through the chest by that fucking spider-crab-claw-arm thing. In fact, he probably would’ve died instantaneously, right then and there. He can envision the whole scene in his head so clearly.
A giant, gaping hole in his sternum. Bleeding out in the dark, dirty depths beneath the house on Neibolt street. Richie hovering over him, terrified, panicked, trying to get him to stay awake. Not even being able to get his final words out. Dying a pointless death, knowing all his friends will surely follow soon, and they’ll all be stuck down here forever, forgotten and-
“AH!”
A pain, so violent yet so unfamiliar, shoots through Eddie’s scalp so suddenly it has him doubling over in the shower, falling to his knees as if he’d just been shot.
“Ggah! FUCK! Fuckmyfuckingassshitfuck- what the fucking fuccck!”
He shouts every curse word under the sun, his naked body flailing around on the dirty shower floor like a fish out of water. It feels like someone’s cutting his head open with a fucking steak knife. Two fucking steak knives, actually. At the same fucking time. His hands fly to the top of his head, patting blindly, trying to find the source of the abrupt, gruesome pain.
“Ah- owowow- fuckingJesusfuck!”
And just as his fingers brush something unfamiliar, something raw and hot and bulging and- and furry-?
“Nonono- ggah! FUCCCCCK!”
A second sharp pain floods his body, this time emerging from his lower back. Right at the base of his spine, only about a half inch above his crack. Eddie’s vision goes white. He crumples in on himself, writhing like a worm on a hook, grasping desperately at the edge of the tub as he struggles to hoist himself out, struggles to get his limbs to function - then he sees it.
Fur. Tail. Furry tail. Furry tail belonging to a creature of unknown origin is brushing against his naked thigh.
Unknown creature is in the shower with him. Unknown creature is attacking him. He is being viciously attacked by an unknown creature while he is naked in the shower. It must have come in through the broken window! Fox? Gigantic squirrel? Raccoon?! Oh god, rabies!
Eddie screeches a screech so loud, so shrill, it surely would’ve scared the unknown creature off if there was one.
He flings himself out of the tub and hits the bathroom floor with a wet thud. The shower curtain comes with him, and he’s screaming and cursing and flailing around in it for a good thirty seconds before he manages to free himself.
The pain is gone by the time he scrambles over to the door on his hands and knees, replaced by raw, throbbing sensations in his scalp and back. But he hardly even notices it, brain still set on fight or flight mode. His eyes flit around the room, scanning, searching for the creature.
The creature he is absolutely positive must be a rabies ridden raccoon. Because of course, of course he would narrowly escape death by space-clown, only to succumb to the deadly rabies virus transmitted to him by a raccoon in a townhouse bathtub. Of course that would happen to him.
Except, there is no raccoon. There is no creature. The broken window is still plugged up by the duvet. The adrenaline from fight or flight fades to genuine bewilderment. Is he fucking losing it? He must be. Jesus, he’s officially lost his fucking mind-
Shit, there it is again!
“Whah!”
Eddie jolts upright, squealing as he smacks the furry tail off his thigh and practically jumps to the far corner of the room to get away from it. But it follows him. Somehow, it follows him. He can still feel its fur tickling the back of his thigh, lightly brushing against his bare skin.
And Eddie’s wheezing and yelling and cursing, hopping around the bathroom like an actual madman, swatting at the fluffy appendage in a mindless panic, wondering what the fucking fuck it’s attached to and why it’s following him and if there’s a feral raccoon clinging onto his back right now and he just can’t see it-
Then catches a glimpse of his reflection in the foggy mirror. Freezes. Blinks. Stares. Blinks a couple more times. Rubs his eyes. Wipes the condensation off the glass with his palm. Blinks again, slowly.
“…what… the actual… fuck…”
Are those… are those fucking cat ears? Are those two fluffy goddamn cat ears on the top of his goddamn head? His hand instinctually shoots up to grab one. He gives it a harsh yank before he can think better of it and yelps in pain, releasing it immediately. Fuck, that fucking hurt.
Eddie whimpers, an embarrassingly high pitched noise, so pitiful he can’t believe it came from his own throat. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, gripping the edge of the sink, praying that when he opens them again - his new appendages will be gone. One... Two… Three. Opens. Looks.
They’re still there. Shit. Okay, deep breath. Don’t panic. Deep breath. Assess the situation.
One fluffy brown ear twitches as Eddie slowly brings a finger up to poke it, gently this time. Cautiously. As if it might jump off his head and transform into a grotesque monster of Freudian invention at any moment.
When that, thankfully, does not happen, Eddie lets himself calm a bit. Okay. At least he hasn’t been attacked by a raccoon with rabies. Rabies is scarier than spontaneously sprouting cat ears, honestly. He swallows hard, steels himself, and turns around to confirm his new theory.
The theory that the creature of unknown origin that invaded his bathroom is him. Because the furry tail is, in fact, attached to his own fucking body.
It swishes when he reaches a shaky hand down to touch it, the fur soft and silky against his fingertips, albeit a little wet from the shower. It’s long, maybe a foot and a quarter in length, and the same color as his hair.
He gives it the tiniest of tugs, ever so delicately. There’s only a faint sensation of pressure- like pulling on your finger to crack a knuckle- and it doesn’t budge. Oh. Okay. Yeah, that is definitely attached to him.
Now is probably the time to call for help.
—
“Yelloh-?”
“Richie! Are you okay?”
The question comes out quick. Frantic. Eddie figures, logically, that if he just grew cat ears and a tail, the others might have to. Maybe they all did! Maybe this is the cruel and unusual punishment for killing a time-traveling intergalactic being. Maybe they’re all writhing around, naked and in pain on their bathroom floors, wondering what the fuck is happening to them, just like Eddie had been doing a mere few minutes ago!
Maybe this is It playing a trick on them, maybe It’s still alive, maybe It’s toying with them, playing a sick game of cat and mouse and taking it too literally-
“Eddie? Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Besides the uh, general trauma of the last forty eight hours and all. I guess my back does hurt a little. And my arms. And my legs… are you okay? Don’t tell me Bowers survived my axe attack to the head and came back for seconds-”
“No- no, I-I’m fine,” Eddie answers on instinct, voice shaking imperceptibly. “I mean, no, actually. I’m not. I’m not okay. I need you to come to my room. Like, right now.”
“Shit, Eds- are you hurt? Should I get the oth-?”
“No! No, don’t, just you. Please. And I’m not uh- hurt. Technically. I think.”
“You think? The fuck does tha-?!”
“Just fucking come to my fuckin’ room, asswipe! God-”
Eddie slams the receiver down with a dramatic huff, his brand new ears flicking with irritation atop his head. Unbeknownst to him.
There’s a hurried knock on his door no more than a minute later. Shit- did Richie fucking sprint here or something?! He thought he’d have more time to prepare himself! He’s still in a fucking towel!
“Eds? You requested my presence? Is uh- everything okay in there? It’s me. Richie. WentworthTozier. What’s up, buddy?”
Fuck- fuck! Eddie freezes in sudden panic, skin already flushing red with premature embarrassment for what is about to happen.
Should he put a shirt on? Ohgod- but his ears feel so sore, he doesn’t even want to imagine pulling a shirt over his head! And it’s not like he can put any pants on, where the hell is this foot long tail gonna go?! Maybe just his underwear, at least? He can just- just wear it low on his hips! Yeah. Yeah, that’ll work.
“…helloooo? Eddie? You in there? You’re kinda scaring me with this whole ‘helphelp come to my room right now Richie helppp!’ and then not opening the door thing, sooo I think I might have to kick it down now… yup, it’s about to happen, so if you’re near the door you should probably-”
“No! Wait- JesusChrist- just wait a fucking second! I’m naked!” Eddie quickly riffles through his suitcase, almost tumbling over his own feet as he pulls on the first pair of underwear he sees. Oh great, the Calvin Kleins. Now Richie’s gonna think he’s a douchebag that wears Calvin Kleins. Just perfect.
“…oh. Gotcha. Stepping awayyy from the door, heh. So, safe to say this isn’t a booty call th-?”
Eddie flings the door open, grabs Richie by the wrist, and yanks him inside before he can finish his stupid joke. And for once in his life, he’s grateful Richie’s such a fucking perv, because he’s so focused on the fact that Eddie’s half nude he doesn’t even seem to notice the fucking ears and tail.
“Wowza. Hey, uhh, Eds? I think you forgot your clothes, man,” Richie jokes with a dumb smile, not even attempting to be subtle as he gazes down at Eddie’s bare torso and deliciously exposed pelvis. There’s even a hint of curly brown pube peeking out of the tight briefs he has pulled low on his hips. “Not that I’m complaining of course! I mean, wow-”
“Richie.”
“-didn’t realize we had a Calvin Klein model over here-”
“Richie. Shut the fuck up and look at my head.”
“Oh, I’m looking buddy-”
“My actual fucking head, dumbass!”
“Okay okay, jeez, sorry, didn’t mean to objectif…” Richie trails off mid word as he finally averts his lecherous gaze to meet Eddie’s eyes, and spots his new fluffy features.
His amused expression turns sheepish, almost, the tips of his ears going red. He stares at them with wide eyes and an open mouth for a few long seconds, “wow. Wow. Ooookay, heh. I didn’t uh- heh- didn’t take you for the kinky type, Eds, but if this is what you’re into I’m totally-”
“What? What?! I’m not- this isn’t-” Eddie sputters out frantically, interrupting whatever lewd thing Richie was surely about to say. “Richie. Listen to me. This- these are real, okay?! Like, really real, just grew out of my fucking head and it hurt like a bitch real.”
Silence.
Richie just stares down at him in bewilderment, lips still parted slightly. Looking like he might start drooling at any moment. He lets out strained chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in that comedically awkward way he always does when he’s flustered.
“Hah! Good one, man. You really got me good, heh. Let me get naked and put on sexy cat ears and play a prank on Richie haha! Like, wow, truly tremendous effort buddy. I’m impressed, really. You stop at Party City on the trip down here-?”
“Sexy-? no, no I did not stop at fucking Party City! I’m telling you these are actually fucking real, okay?! It just happened, like, just now in the shower, and I’m really freaking the fuck out- and it’s not fucking funny, asshole!”
Tears are welling up in Eddie’s eyes without his permission, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight to keep them from falling. He turns his back to Richie, not wanting him to see his shame, and regrets doing so immediately when he hears-
“Hoh. Ley. Shit.”
-from behind him, followed by a gentle, curious stroke along the base his tail. Oh. Right, he has a tail now. He nearly forgot. Eddie yelps at the unexpected touch, the furry appendage tucking between his legs all on its own. Except, apparently, he didn’t yelp.
At least, he didn’t yelp how humans yelp.
“Holyshit. What the fuck- Eds, did you just fucking meow? Didyoujustmeowatme? What the fuck? Is- wait, what the fuck is going on? Were you being serious-?”
“Yes I was being fucking serious! Do you seriously think I would fucking lie about turning into a goddamn cat?! Why would I lie about that?!” Eddie shouts, positively enraged as he swivels back around to glare up at Richie, lips pursed in a furious line. He covers his bulge with his hands on instinct when he catches Richie glancing down at it, feeling bashful about his bareness now, for some reason.
Why the fuck did he call Richie first, anyway? Worst decision he’s ever fucking made. He should’ve called Mike. If anyone knows what to do, it’s Mike. Or Bill. Maybe Bill has heard of spontaneous human-cat-transformation while doing research for one of his books or something. Or Bev. Shit, what the hell was he thinking, he should’ve called Bev! She’d probably be just as clueless as Richie is, but at least she wouldn’t be making fun of him and ogling his junk.
“I- I don’t fuckin’ know, I just thought you were- like- I dunno! I thought- n-nevermind. Not important. Okay, uh, wow. I’m sorry. A lot to take in here,” Richie swallows hard, pulling what he hopes is a placating smile before forcing his face into a serious expression, “so- so uh, this… just happened, huh?”
Eddie rolls his eyes at Richie’s attempt to be serious while he’s clearly struggling not to laugh at this sorry state of events. He huffs, hoping his lips aren’t forming an angry pout.
“Yes. That’s what I said. Like, five minutes ago. I was in the shower and- and my head hurt really fuckin’ bad all of a sudden and then my back hurt and I thought there was a raccoon attacking me and-”
“Waitwait- there was a raccoon-?”
“No! The raccoon was me!” Eddie pointedly waves a hand at his backside, fluffy tail lashing back and forth. “And then I looked in the mirror and they were just- there.”
Richie nods his head slowly, stroking his chin. Processing. Contemplating.
“Right. Right, okay. So… do they, uh, hurt at all now? The ears and the- uh- tail?”
“…no. Not really, just… it’s kinda sore. Like, around where they’re… attached… it feels like I gave birth out of my back,” Eddie mumbles, feeling like he’s explaining his neck pain to his doctor. And the way Richie’s looking down at him right now, with this weirdly excited look on his face, is doing nothing to soothe him.
“You have a kid I don’t know about, dude? How do you know what giving birth feels like?”
“Obviouslyidontknowwhat- it’s called an analogy, dickwad!”
“Nono yeah, totally. I-I get it now. Makes sense, heh,” Richie coughs out a chuckle, absentmindedly rubbing his chest like someone whose just had a fright, “so they’re, like, really on there good, huh? Is it okay if I… uh-” he clears his throat, chuckling awkwardly again before putting on the worst British accent he’s probably ever done in his life.
“Might I please touch your ears, madam? Give ‘em a littol looksie?”
The furry appendages perk up on their own, the left giving a tiny flick, as though they know they’re being talked about. Richie has to hold back a coo. Cute cute cute.
“…sure, I guess,” Eddie grumbles softly, feigning indignation, even as he gets a strange, anticipatory flutter in his stomach, “just be gentle. They’re sensitive.”
Richie quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk - and Eddie can already tell what he’s going to say before he says it. Honestly, the man’s an even bigger pervert at forty than he was at thirteen.
“Not like that! Freak. Just, like, tender sensitive.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little headie my Eddie, I shall treat your sensitive kitty ears with the utmost care and consideration,” Richie grins, reaching his hand out before Eddie has a chance to change his mind.
The touch is… a lot, to say the least. Richie delicately strokes down the length of the left cat ear with his index and middle finger, before lightly rubbing the tip of it between his index and thumb. It’s soft. Both the fur and the texture of the inner flesh, almost velvety.
And to Eddie’s complete and utter horror, just as Richie’s fingers move down to gently scritch behind his new ear, a low, rumbling purr leaves his throat. A purr.
They both freeze instantly. Both flush bright red. Both exchange a flustered glance.
Then Eddie is jerking backwards and hurrying over to his suitcase, riffling through it with borderline manic speed in search of a shirt that isn’t impossibly tight. Like, c’mon, why did he only pack polo shirts?! He knows he’s bent over with his underwear halfway down his ass and his tail swaying in the wind, but as long as Richie can’t see his growing erection, that’s all that matters.
“…so uh, sensitive, huh-?”
“Do not. Say another word,” Eddie interrupts through gritted teeth, finally finding a loose sleeping shirt and pulling it over his head, being careful to avoid hitting his ears. He quickly grabs his discarded towel from earlier and wraps it around his waist, hiding his tail... and bulge.
Which appendage he’s more ashamed of right now, he doesn’t even know.
“Go. Get. Mike. Now.”
“Yup. Going. Going now.”
—
Turns out, Mike never heard any tales of spontaneous cat-transformation during his years and years of researching this accursed town and its accursed occupants.
And neither has Bill. Or Ben. Or Bev.
Or anyone in the entire fucking world, because of course, of course, Eddie is the first person in history to magically sprout cat ears and a tail. Just his luck.
Ben suggested they go to the hospital, to which everyone disagreed with immediately - especially Eddie. There’s no way in hell he’s letting a bunch of doctors touch all up on him now that he’s a goddamn scientific anomaly. He’ll probably end up trapped in a cage in Area 51 or some shit, getting invasive and humiliating tests ran on him every day for the rest of his life!
They went over various theories, and Bev held his hand while Mike carefully examined Eddie’s new furry additions. He took a bunch of pictures with his phone to look back on when he ‘does some more research’ later, whatever the hell that means. Like, how does one even go about researching something that’s never fucking happened before?! Eddie already knows he’s doomed.
Doomed to be a catboy- CatAdultMan- until he dies. Doomed to never be seen in public again. He was already on the verge of developing agoraphobia back in New York, might as well commit to it now. He can get a remote job. Get a treadmill for exercise. Get his groceries delivered. Hell, you can get anything delivered these days!
Maybe this is a blessing in disguise! Maybe he was always meant to be a hermit! It’d make sense, honestly. At least he won’t have to worry about catching any diseases anymore, now that he’ll surely never go outside again.
“Don’t worry, Eddie. It doesn’t seem like they’re posing any danger. And your skin has already healed around the exit points. I’ll look through my books and interviews and see if there’s any mention of… something like this, okay? We’ll figure this out, I promise.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mikey,” Eddie sighs dejectedly, giving Mike a small smile when he rubs his shoulder.
Mike smiles back, always a comforting sight, before gathering everyone’s attention with a low clear of his throat.
“Guys, guys- listen, I know we’re all worried about Eddie, and it might be a bad time to tell you all this, but uh… Stan called. About a half hour ago.”
Everyone stills.
“…Stan who?” Bill asks, tentatively.
“The Man.”
“…Stan the Man?” Richie echos, eyes big and hopeful behind his glasses.
“Yes. Apparently he’s ali-”
“What?!” “What?!” “What?!” “WHAT?!” “WHAT?!”
—
The drive to California was only supposed to take forty-six hours, but it ended up taking three entire days to get to Richie’s apartment in Los Angeles.
Everyone agreed that LA would be the best possible place for Eddie right now… given the new changes to his appearance. People there are so self-obsessed that they wouldn’t even bat an eye if they saw Eddie walking down the street with cat ears and a tail. They’d probably just assume he was an actor in costume, or doing some strange form of performance art.
Honestly, most people wouldn’t even notice.
As Richie had said, “it’ll be fine, man! We’ll get you a beanie. A bunch of ‘em, all different colors! You can totally pull off the hipster look. There’s tons of ‘em in LA. You’ll blend right in.”
They stopped at Eddie’s house in New York along the way to grab some of his things. Just the essentials. The rest of his medications, his folder of important personal documents, his iPad Mini, his laptop, as many of his clothes as he could fit in a trash bag, and his favorite pair of slippers.
It was a challenge, of course. With Myra. Richie distracted her while Eddie practically sprinted around the house gathering his belongings, wearing a pair of Richie’s huge sweatpants to hide his tail and a gigantic beanie to hide his ears. If Myra saw those things, who the fuck knows what she’d do. Probably call the police. Probably call the CIA, even. Maybe Oprah.
On the way out the door, Eddie shouted that he “wants a divorce!” as he and Richie ran giggling to the car, Richie screeching “holyshit go go go!” when Myra started bounding out after them.
Driving away from that house he never liked, leaving that horrible woman he never loved, with his long-lost best friend laughing beside him, ready to usher him into the next stage of his life… it was the freest Eddie had felt in years.
In forever.
Then he took two Ambiens and proceeded to sleep for the next eighteen hours.