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Daemons are a tricky thing to understand. No one understands why it is that every person is connected to one or why they settle the way they do, not even people who spend their whole lives studying them. Some staunchly believe the form they settle into is based solely on the career one would be the best with, while others are advocates that they are physical representations of a person's most defining characteristics, and more argue still that it’s all up to chance and whatever defining moment is happening during their puberty. There is very little about daemons that many people could agree on, actually.
But if there is one thing Eddie thinks just about anyone could agree to, it's that his daemon, Nike, must be some sort of mix up. He doesn’t remember her settling, or much of his childhood for that matter, but that's normal right? No one remembers shit that happened when they were a kid. He has some remembrance of a fiery redheaded girl that must have been his friend and her daemon, constantly shifting from one cat form to another until the day it settled into a massive black jaguar every bit as fierce and daring as she was. It’s strange that he remembers a hazy outline of her kind smile but nothing else about her besides her hair and the day her daemon settled, but he doesn’t worry about it too much. It’s been years since he thought of.... his hometown and the people in it, so it’s natural to forget most of it. Right?
Actually, he remembers his childhood friend's daemons better than the friends themselves. A stuttering boy with a daemon that flitted most frequently between an eagle and a husky before settling into a bighorn sheep that was just as stubborn as he was. There had been a boy, obsessed with birds and sure he would get a bird daemon like his father, but it mostly stayed in the form of a bumblebee until it settled into a slow and steady potto, which is an animal Eddie has no right to know other than for that particular friend alone. Another boy, overweight but sharp as a tack and full of love for his friends, who had a never ending reel of birds before she settled into a swan whose beauty and bite couldn't be rivaled by anyone. One boy that spent most of his free time in the library with a tremendous fear of birds - he wasn't sure why that bit of information stuck around, but it felt so important - usually had a dragon, sometimes a snake curled around his arm while he read, before it had ironically settled into a wide eyed lesser sooty owl.
And there was another boy. His features were hazy at best, just like the rest of them, but he knew he wore glasses, big thick frames that were held together by tape and hope that magnified his blue eyes to huge proportions. His daemon was every bit as fucking annoying as he had been, shifting at least once an hour and always into whatever would possibly be the worst thing in that moment. A wailing howler monkey during quiet study periods or a tortoise when he was running away from bullies or a fish in the middle of class and he would have to dart to find some water for him. He was the last of them to settle, in the summer before high school. He had been changing less and less frequently and had taken to sporting dog forms more often than before, which was a laugh because Eddie could distinctly remember the boy had a penchant for getting in trouble because he wanted to "stick it to the man" and never followed rules unless it benefited him. At fourteen, he already smelled like cigarette smoke and cinnamon and boy, a smell Eddie associates with him still, even if he can’t remember the boy in question all that well. But then he settled into a graceful eastern coyote and it made so much sense to him, even if the kids at school didn't understand. Something playful and cunning, but dangerous when need be and one of the noisiest animals on the continent. He didn't know why that was so fitting for that boy, but he knew that his daemon made more sense than anyone else's he had ever met, even to this day.
He also feels more important than the others in some way, but only just barely. All of them feel like the only important things from his childhood worth clinging to and if the only way he could do so is through remembering their daemons, then he would. There are other things, flashes of hot summers and cool waters and bikes and a sense of belonging he’s been left chasing the rest of his life, but they are brief and rarely hang around in his memories like the daemons do. Even without remembering each person, he still knows in his heart that all of their daemons fit them so well. They are every bit as clever or strong or brave as the person they’re connected to, like somehow the universe managed to get it right for just the six of those friends he had as a kid.
So he isn't sure where he fit into the equation. His daemon doesn't... reflect him, like theirs did. The girl had been the strongest person he had ever met, just like her massive cat that prowled at her side. Bird boy may have wanted something that could fly, but his potto was a calm creature until it was cornered and it would fight tooth and nail for what it believed in, just like him. The stutterer was their leader, if they had to name one, probably just because he was so goddamn stubborn like his ram. The swan was protective and loving, just like their overweight friend had been with them. Owls were meant to be wise, just like the library boy and his endless knowledge about... the past? History? Something like that. And a wily coyote for a wily boy with a wolfish grin and a penchant for trouble and a mouth that never stopped running. So how did he end up with friends whose daemons were so perfect for them and he was the exact opposite? How the hell did he end up with a fossa, of all things?
Someone had once told him Nike’s melted chocolate colored fur was the same color as his eyes. Had it been that boy with the glasses? Probably not, probably just Myra and her endless chattering about illness and how it was somehow related to something she was sure he had that week.
Fossa are considered the apex predator on their native island with a commanding presence that sent other creatures running, while Eddie worked contently as a risk analyst for people who bitched at him day in and day out for him to reply yes sir or no ma'am quietly. He’s more likely to do the running than to inspire fear in anyone. The only time he feels half as powerful as his daemon is when he drives alone in his car and feels comfortable to scream at the New York traffic with every expletive in his arsenal. They are sure footed and dangerous, neither of which Eddie could claim to be at a whopping five-foot-eight with all the grace of a fish on stilts. He is a creature of habit, marrying a woman that fussed at him just like his mother had before her, and fossa are known for never returning to the same den twice. All its closest relatives, cats and mongoose and civets, are strong too, while Eddie and his entire family suffer from every illness known to man including but not limited to lung cancer, anxiety disorders, gout, just about every allergy anyone could imagine, asthma...
That’s something they have in common, he supposes. His asthma came in spurts, mostly when he panics about something, and his breath wheezes and heaves. Whenever it happened, his daemon would make harsh gasping inhales that mirrored his asthma. He had read somewhere that it’s the fear call of fossa, which would make sense since her stupid human was potentially choking on his own wasting lungs. The only thing she probably fears is him dying a stupid, early death and leaving her to disappear too.
Other than that, he can't think of a single reason the physical embodiment of his soul is a fossa. She has never even spoken, not even to him in the dead of night when no one else is listening, despite the fact that he could hardly ever find it in himself to shut up. He avoids puddles whereas she jumps into them full force, splashing about like a kid. She chases butterflies and sometimes even grasshoppers and he gives them a wide berth.
It made his heart ache for her. Nike deserves a human that is every bit as strong and sure as she is and instead she got stuck with the boy who lived with his mother until he met a woman that dangerously resembled her in both looks and actions - through his mother's book club of all things. The man, if anyone could actually call him that, who let his mother, then wife, make all his decisions for him, from what he would study in college to what job he would take to where they would live, doesn't deserve a proud and strong animal like her.
She doesn't seem to mind as much as he does. They are hardly ever a foot from each other if they can help it, even if they are able to withstand being apart longer distances than most pairs. Her preferred method of travel is riding in his satchel but with her head popped out to keep the same watchful vigilance she always had for him, although she is also quite fond of hanging over his shoulder and he always let her, even if she is a bit heavy. As far as daemons went, she’s extremely affectionate with him, always curling up in his lap at work or nuzzling her way in between Myra and himself in bed, like she thought she could single handedly protect him from all his mistakes on her own.
Myra's daemon, a bronzed cowbird named Hermes, is always trying to weasel its way between them, but on more than one occasion he had woken to find Nike snapping at him with a growl like he was an unwelcome guest. At the beginning of their marriage, Myra had asked him if it was something to do with her, but he’s every bit as confused about it as she was. Sure, he doesn't love her, but in her defense, he doesn't think he’s capable of loving anyone and he doesn’t remember a time that he could. It’s like that part of him had long since broken and he couldn't access it.
But marrying her made her happy and his mother happy and that would have to be enough for him. All of his life had been about blindly making other people happy, so why shouldn't he simply keep at it? It’s probably the only thing he’s good at anyway.
He tries, though, he really does. He reaches out to Hermes, but touching him felt sickeningly wrong, like touching the stovetop even though he already knows irs going to burn, and it makes his skin crawl. He never had been comfortable with anyone touching Nike, not that anyone would since it was taboo, and he figures it just had something to do with that.
Nike feels more like a mother protecting her child than a chunk of his own soul at his side, but he supposes that’s one of the most fitting things about her. He always let his mother protect him from disease and bad decisions and dirty people, so maybe he just somehow willed his daemon do the same thing subconsciously. It was the closest thing he could get to a rational explanation and he readily accepts it, even if it only barely made sense.
At least, he does until the day he got a call from Mike. Mike , the boy in the library with a fear of birds and a wonderfully beautiful owl daemon that trilled and chirped as they lavished her with scratches like it was the best thing she had ever encountered. Puzzle pieces that he could only barely before suddenly see start snapping into place with ease after that. Mike tells him to come back to Derry, their hometown where... something terrible had happened that he can’t quite remember, but that isn't what was important. What should have been important is the fact that his car had just been T-boned and it's definitely his fault and the taxi cab driver that hit him is screaming, but it isn't important either. The only thing that is important is suddenly those nameless friends whose images of their daemons he had clung to in his worst moments aren't nameless anymore. It isn't a complete address book of their information yet, but as his breath slows despite the panic inducing an asthma attack he should have been feeling about his first car accident since... Bev? crashed her car in high school with him in the passenger seat, its enough for him to look at Nike with an awe-filled smile as they flow into his head freely for the first time since he left for college.
Beverly. Bill. Stan. Ben. Mike. Richie.
Richie . The boy with the glasses and the coyote daemon and the wolfish grin. The boy he is... was closer to than anyone else in the world.
The Losers Club. His friends, his family, his everything .
He’s going back to Derry. Nike chitters at him as if to say 'took you long enough' and he utters an incredulous laugh and assures Mike he’s fine, that everything would be fine, that he can be there by tomorrow.
He’s going home.
***
Derry may have been his hometown, but as soon as he crosses the county line and shudders violently with some long forgotten memory of pain and fear, he realizes it had never been his home .
No, that honor is bestowed to the Losers Club. The unease that settles into his bones in the town is lifted, if not completely then at least mostly, when he walks into the Jade Orient and lays eyes on Bill and Mike. The three of them stand for a moment, staring at one another as if not quite believing, before one of them shoots forward and then they are all one mess of tangled limbs and happy tears in the middle of their private room. Nike climbs onto the back of Bill's ram - he remembers suddenly her name is Boudicca - and curls protectively around Mike's owl, Hathor, like she is going to mother them the same way she tries to mother Eddie. It's strange since she has been so averse to touch even with the daemons of his closest friends in New York, but at the same time, it feels right. Vaguely, he recalls a memory of harping at the entire Losers Club about not taking good enough care about their vitamin C intake and it feels even more right to watch her fuss over the other two daemons like he used to fuss over their human counterparts.
Stan shows up next, dropping off Amelia, the potto tucked just inside his jacket, in the corner where their daemons have curled into a heap and even petting Nike on her head in some brave attempt at familiarity that no one should try to have with another person's daemon. But instead of snapping at his fingers like she often did with Myra, she arches into the touch like it isn't just allowed, but welcomed.
In that moment, more memories flash by in his mind's eye: a black panther laying across his lap while he read comics, a coyote licking at his face while sitting in Ben's lap, a swan tucked in between himself and Beverly. Their daemons tangling up with them just like they did with each other, touching in a familiar way that is supposed to be reserved for someone's spouse later on in life with the same ease as how Richie used to sling an arm around the closest Loser while they walked - usually Eddie because finding one of them without the other was a hassle ever since they had met. He hides his astonishment at the memories as best he could by sipping at the gin and tonic he had ordered as soon as he had arrived so they couldn’t see him struggling, and losing, to fight down a silly grin.
Beverly, Ben, and Richie all walk in together, their daemons - Vulcan, Aine, and Loki, respectively - already engaging in some game of tag behind them. As soon as the three of their daemons catch sight of the other four, they abandon their game in favor of joining the cuddle pile in the corner. All seven of them somehow make it work, with Vulcan, Loki, and Boudicca curled around each other like triplet commas, Aine tucking up close to where Vulcan is at the edge of the pile, Amelia on Boudicca’s back, and Nike curled close to Hathor on Loki’s. They all nap, seemingly content to be near each other after all those lost years, while their humans make up for lost time by drinking and catching up.
Richie picks a fight with Eddie. Typical. Stan tries to get them to stop since he’s sat between them, if not for his own anxiety's sake, then for the other customers in the restaurant, but he quickly gives up in favor of trading Richie seats to lay his head on Beverly's shoulder with an exasperated sigh. Ben stammers when he tries to talk to Beverly, but he was as well spoken and smart as always whenever he got the words free from his lips. Bill is stuttering again, and that worries Eddie because he remembers that by high school he’d seemingly completely overcome the problem, but it doesn't stop him from arguing with Richie about anything and everything. Mike is quiet, quieter than Eddie remembers, but he is so busy smiling that maybe he forgot he’s allowed to talk too. It's like he still can't believe they are all together again and honestly, neither can Eddie. It has been ages since they last saw each other and - why? Nothing has felt this natural since he left Derry. It's like instead of twenty years since they had all last been together, it's only been twenty days.
Surprisingly, Richie is the first to mention it. He tells them of the instant panic that struck him in the gut and spilled his lunch from his gut before his show and they all admitted to similar stories, knowing something terrible happened in Derry and they had to return, but not what it was or why. It goes south pretty quickly after that, what with the past quickly rising to the surface of their memories and the absolute terror that is setting in once they have enough memories to tie together what bonded them all in the first place. They all seem panicked after the awful things that crawl out of their fortune cookies, but Stan seems the worst off. He doesn't talk for the rest of the night, lips pressed in a tight line and his hands fidgeting with the bottom of his jacket just like they had when they were kids and he was getting chewed out by one of their parents.
The rest of that night goes to shit as well. Richie is determined to leave that instant and Eddie is set on going with him. He isn't sure if its the childhood nostalgia of always agreeing with their resident Trashmouth on the big, important things as a kid or if its the weird tugging sensation in his gut that tells him to gladly follow Richie to the end of the earth if he wanted, but he knows that he’s going to listen to it. Nothing has ever felt as important as following Richie, not in that moment or any of the moments he can now trudge up in his memory. They probably would have left too, if they hadn't stopped by Stan's room to beg him to go with them and found him with his wrist slit in the bathtub. Eddie has never been happy about his nagging motherlike instinct to make sure everyone is okay before, but that makes him so fucking thankful for it when he ends up crying in Richie's arms.
Once Stan has gotten situated at the Derry Hospital, he follows Richie to the bar in the Derry Townhouse, where they get increasingly plastered with Beverly. Richie goes to bed first, leaving the two of them to giggle and whisper secrets in the night time that no one else would hear, just like old times when he would talk about his mom and she would talk about her dad. Their daemons are curled around each other on the bar between them, accepting scratches and pats from them both, while Beverly admits her husband has been hitting her. Eddie almost left to kill him that second, feeling more like his fierce Nike than he had in years, maybe ever - the only thing that stops him is that she tells him of the damage she had managed to do before she left and her intentions of never going back. It makes him remember how much he has always looked up to her, their ferocious fighter who stopped taking shit from anyone the day she knocked her father down as he chased after her one last time and Vulcan had settled in that moment, running resolutely next to her. It makes him proud in a way he thinks only parents are supposed to feel, a burning feeling in his gut that warms him to the core and makes him feel protective of her.
He lets it slip how Myra makes him feel smothered in the same way his mother did and Beverly tightens her grip on his wrist, but it feels concerned rather than shackling like Myra’s did. She starts in on an argument that he felt like he had a million times and - well, he had. Its the same one that she had with him in their childhood every time he talked about his mother and the new illness she was sure he had, that not all abuse was physical and he shouldn't let other people make all his decisions for him and that things could hurt without being physical. And he knows, he does, on some level, that she is right. The way he feels around the Losers Club is how friendships and relationships are supposed to feel, caring for one another and protecting each other and being there when they need someone, and he had never felt that with Myra. She just serves as the last reminder of his mother's chokehold over his life and he is so desperate to cling to it once she had passed because habits and structure are all he knows. That doesn't make what they have between them any less toxic, but it makes sense at least. It isn’t comfortable, but it is familiar.
But they are too drunk to do anything about it right then so she swears that once they both survive - because she doesn't doubt for a second that she could single handedly keep the entirety of the Losers Club alive with her sheer force of will - that she will help him through a divorce and he can help her through hers too. They stumble up the stairs clinging to each other, giggling as they hush each other to not wake the others, and then she presses a kiss to his forehead before sending him to bed, making him feel more loved in those sparse seconds than he had in just shy of ten years of marriage.
The next day is better and worse. They have to go around the town to remember more of their past, some of which is downright amazing to recover after years of so many blank years in his history, but they have to go alone and he hates the zombies of his past literally chasing him. As if his love of baseball needs to be tarnished with more than just the memories of his mother keeping him from playing it, Belch crawls up from the dirt with his ghastly panda daemon lumbering after him. Nike turns and hisses at him, sounding infinitely stronger than himself while he gasped for breath and started running without her.
That night, they reconvene at the library. Old habits die hard, apparently, since he lets Richie manhandle him into a more comfortable position on the couch while the others laugh. He ends up tucked into Richie’s armpit but not without ample amounts of complaining. Bill makes fun of them, to which Eddie replies Ben and Beverly aren't much better on their own couch curled around each other, but Mike argues that it's easier to get away with making fun of them. It is a comforting sort of normal - it feels tilted sideways with Stan in the hospital, but still infinitely better than anything prior to his memories of the Losers surfacing.
Things are fine even once they start to recount their old memories, starting with the fun ones their daemons all in the wrong laps with Loki spread across Beverly protectively and Hathor in Ben's lap and Boudicca tucked into Richie's other side and Vulcan spread across Mike like he owned the room and Aine in Eddie's lap and Nike in Bill's. All too soon, Eddie's prune juice and gin sour in his stomach as they all remember the smoke hole and then Pennywise tries to taunt them with Stan's head in the fridge and they are all screaming. It's fucking stupid, but its enough to make Eddie make a frantic call to the hospital to reassure them that he is, in fact, still alive. They all breathe a sigh of relief and go on telling stories that they wish they could have left in the past.
By the end of it, Eddie is a jumble of nerves as they head back to the Derry Townhouse. Mike stays behind to clean up the mess they leave in their wake, despite their best attempts to argue that they should stay to help. The five of them end up piling into one car, not wanting to be any further from one another than absolutely necessary. Beverly follows Bill to his room and for a split second, Eddie thought she might be making a huge mistake, but knows her better than that. Whatever is going to happen between them will be alright in the end. The two of them arguably love the Losers Club the most, so he trusts them not to disrupt the delicate balance they have with Mike absent and Stan in the hospital. Ben rushes himself to bed, which leaves Richie and Eddie on the wrong - or right, depending on who was asked - side of tipsy to giggle their way up to Eddie's room, where Richie collapses onto his bed. He curls himself around Nike and he doesn't feel the disgust of a strange person touching his daemon like he should, only the blissful rightness of being close to the Losers Club he’d been drunk on since the second he saw them in the Jade Orient. He falls asleep curled around Loki, his back pressed against his human, and tries to not think about how comfortable and easy it is, unlike trying to be near his wife in bed.
Henry Bowers interrupts their blissful sleep with a knife to Eddie's face. He screams, hurt and angry and vicious , and in that moment, something inside him snaps. He hears Richie shout his name at some point, but it is a distant noise as he rains down a righteous fury on Henry unlike anything that has come from him since nearly twenty-seven years ago when he helped the Losers Club almost kill IT the first time. By the time he comes back to himself, there's blood on his hands and he isn't sure if it belongs to the now still body of Henry at his feet or his face, where he can still feel it flowing freely down his chin and dripping off his chin. He’s proud, he thinks to himself for a moment, that he finally stuck up for himself and protected not only himself but Richie who is looking at him with awe in his eyes, but then the metallic smell of blood registers and he rushes himself to the bathroom to puke up everything he had consumed in the last ten hours. At some point, Richie shuffles into the bathroom to rub his back soothingly but he barely notices it any more than he notices the fact that Loki hadn't left his side once since he lept into action.
They don't know what to do so they call the only person they think will. Bill shows up with Beverly and Ben in tow and quickly gives orders which they all follow without question. Henry's body is the least of their concern; they are much more worried about Stan and Mike since they are the only Losers separated from the group. Once they find out Mike is in the hospital right alongside Stan since Henry went to the library first, they're worried but less than if they couldn't have gotten a hold of him. But he's with Stan, which means he's as safe as he can get apart from the rest of them.
Bill says they can't wait any longer and as much as they all hate to agree, they follow him back down to the house on Neibolt and then down the old well and into the sewers. Without a word, they turn to Eddie and he leads them through the winding paths like he is holding a map and knows the place like the back of his hand, even if he hasn't been down there in exactly twenty-seven years.
Everything blurs together in the way his still foggy memories of the first time do - one moment they're in the sewer tunnels and then the next they're in front of a tiny door they all remember seeing once before and then there’s an all consuming pain radiating from his left side just after he shoves Richie out of the exposure from the Deadlights. He's aware of the pain dimly in the back of his mind, but even more so, he's aware of the baleful howl that is torn through the air. Soon after, it's followed with harsh bleating and a deafening roar and angry honking and he knows his friends are going to avenge his death, which he is probably going to accept a lot more readily than they are. Instead of their daemons out fighting by their sides though, he knows they're all surrounding him in a protective circle. He can feel the tight ring of them around him even if he can’t keep his eyes open to see them.
Nike nudges at his arm as if that might somehow staunch the bleeding from wherever it's coming from. His biggest regret is knowing that if he dies, she does too and she doesn’t deserve to have her life cut so short.
He closes his eyes for what he assumes is the last time, thinking about how even if it sucks to die, at least he’s surrounded by his best friends while he does.
It's not though.
When he opens his eyes next, he's not in the sewers anymore. He isn't sure quite where he is; his head is cloudy, but he feels significantly safer than he had in his last waking moments. There's something soft and warm pressed into his side and he turns to look at it, coming nose to nose with the soft blonde fur of a coyote in his bed and he wanted to cling to him but he couldn't make his body move. He drifts off again shortly after, breathing in the smell of cigarette smoke and cinnamon and boy.
He comes to again and he's not sure how long it's been, but there is a ram protectively laying its head on his chest. There are whispered voices, like they’re trying not to disturb him, but he can't make out what they're saying, still only barely conscious. He lets the two voices lull him back to sleep. He dreams of soft touches to his forehead and a hand tangled with his and a kiss pressed to his cheek and thinks that if that is what heaven is like, it won't be so bad to be dead.
The third time he's lucid enough to make out the blinding white of the ceiling, he turns his head to find the blurry shape of Beverly at his side. Panic sets in instantly now that he isn't so high he can't think.
"Hey." She murmured softly, running her fingers gently through his hair. "Can you hear me?"
He stares at her and a morbid thought crosses his mind - if Beverly is there, does that mean she died too? "No." He croaks, unable to express all the emotions running through his veins like red hot fire, lighting him up from the inside out. "No." He repeats and shakes his head side to side as fast as he could; which is to say, extremely slowly because his body feels more sluggish than every time he had contracted the flu combined.
"Sh, it's okay, Eddie. I'm here. We're here. All of us. Stan is asleep in the bed next to you and Mike has already been discharged." She drags her nails down his scalp and it is such a solid feeling that he hiccups in relief, which makes her lips curl up in a smile. "Yeah. Bill and Ben went out to get some food. Richie won't leave the hospital. He's been here since he carried you in."
Richie carried him in? He feels like he should make some jokes at his expense, about his lack of muscle mass or his noodle arms, but the only thing that comes out is a choked sob. He finally manages to ask, "It?"
"Gone. Forever. Fucking dead. We made sure of it." Her voice is pitched low and dark and her expression matches it, filled with such a sudden ferocity that reminds Eddie of watching a lion just before it made a kill. Or her jaguar the moment he leapt at It's throat when they were kids.
He can't form coherent words after that, partially because of the drugs, partially because of his sobbing, and partially because Richie woke up and climbed into bed with him without asking permission, followed by Amelia. Eddie lets him pull him close and sobbed into his chest when he realizes it isn’t that he’s not able to feel his left arm, but that it's missing entirely from his body. He wishes that memory stayed buried in his subconscious but as soon as he looks at the stump he remembers his arm being ripped from his body as easily as the head of a Barbie from the rest of her doll. He remembers each and every excruciating detail of that moment.
Things are startling with the impending threat of the clown suddenly taken care of while he was unconscious. His nerves are still running on overtime, expecting It to show up at any second since he didn’t actually see It’s death, but the Losers remain steadfast in their support of him. Mike sneaks in some Oreos like they used to snack on in the library and Ben patiently listens to him bitch about not having his other arm and Beverly steaks his phone away whenever Myra calls or texts and Bill spins a tale to distract him from the slow moving pace of time and Stan is his roommate in the hospital so he’s never alone and Richie...
Richie does what he does best. He fills the hours with dirty jokes and Voices and endless chatter. He smiles too wide and laughs too loud and stays awake too long, putting on his brave face so that Eddie and Stan can be weak. Eddie fucking hates it and hates that the reason he has to act like he isn't also dealing with the irreparable damage It had on their lives is because of him. All he wants to do is tell Richie to go to LA and forget about the entire mess and live his fancy celebrity life, but he doesn't. He doesn't want Richie to leave, not really. He doesn't understand the intricacies of the relationship he knows they should have grown out of, but he knows that things are better - had always been better - whenever Richie is with him. And he is just damn selfish enough to indulge in his attention as long as he will let him.
The Losers Club is together again, united in that funny little way they had been as kids. It shocks all the doctors and nurses in the hospital when they come to check on Stan or Eddie to find them underneath a pile of daemons that did not belong to them or their significant others, but they are polite enough not to mention it. Apparently other patrons of the hospital are less accommodating, some parents dragging children away, muttering about the indecency of it all, when they see Richie holding Amelia and Hathor perched on his shoulder. A few of the most scandalized even have the nerve to tell them to stop, but that only earns them dark, angry looks from a whole host of daemons and they quickly excused themselves. That is something they were used to as kids, though, so they laugh it off and curl up together anyway. Everything is looking up overall.
Except Nike won't touch him.
She’s normally always within arm’s reach, but ever since It, he hasn't so much as been within three feet of her. Everyone in the Losers Club has, but him. She will curl into Beverly's arms or wind around Bill's neck or clamber up Mike's arm, but she won't get into bed with Eddie. Ben can run his fingers through her fur and Stan can nuzzle his face into her belly, but she won't climb into his outstretched hand.
In the few times Richie has been convinced to leave their hospital room, Nike curled up with one of the other Losers or their daemons, but she won't so much as look at Eddie if she could help it. Instead, she spends all the time she would have initially been with Eddie attached to Richie, fussing at the cuts on his hands or licking at his face or nudging at his ankles to make him pick her up. Half the time Richie is in the room, he’s carrying her around bundled up in his arms like a baby and Eddie isn't sure how he feels about it.
After years of his unhappy marriage where Nike treated Myra like the scum of the earth, he isn't sure what to do about her actually liking someone at all, especially well enough to touch. It has been weird when the first Loser touched her and he didn't feel an instant panic the way he did with Myra but rather a comfortable sense of belonging. Instead of the revulsion he felt when he let Hermes perches on his shoulder, he feels safe when he places a hand on one of their daemons. It's all too much to process in general, not to mention while simultaneously trying to heal from major blood loss, revisiting the most traumatizing thing that has ever happened to any of them a second time, and learning to live with only one arm, but somehow with Richie its even... worse? Better? He isn't sure which yet.
When he isn't curled up at the foot of Eddie's bed or draped across his lap, Loki sits himself at his bedside like a guard dog, ready to chase off anyone he doesn't trust that got too close to Eddie in a show of overprotective growling that he'd only ever seen the summer Eddie had his cast on his arm. Nike, however, will only sleep wherever Richie is, be it in Stan's bed, the chair squished in between their beds, or the pallet on the floor he had slept on when they were both too injured for him to jostle them much. Those things made him feel welcome and safe the same way all the Losers and their daemons did, but there is something deeper there, something unspoken and massive that Eddie has thought he would never be able to feel and it scares the absolute shit out of him.
He has absolutely no idea what to do about it either, so he panics silently in his bed, blaming his mental absence in the conversations happening on the good pain killers he’s still being pumped full of. He is pretty sure most of them didn't buy it, but nobody really prys. Well, almost nobody.
In one of the few moments they have just to themselves - Richie has been forced back to the Townhouse by Beverly and Ben to shower after they complain about his smell, Mike is tying up loose ends at work, and Bill is passed out in the chair in the corner, sleeping like the dead - Stan finally snaps. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Kaspbrak?" He sighs, never one to mince words. They were always deliberate and concise and planned down to the very letter. Knowing him, he already has thought up every argument Eddie might try and meticulously planned for each one of them. It had surprised him that he didn't become a lawyer instead of an accountant with how damn good he was at arguing.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He knows damn well what he’s talking about.
Stan scoffs. "Who do you take me for? I know something is up. Fess up."
In a vain attempt to seem nonchalant, he shrugs, though he’s not sure how well that comes across with no arm attached to his shoulder. "I really don't know what you want from me, Stan. I'm fine." And really, he knows how not fine he sounds, but he doesn't want to talk about it. Not until he knows what it even is.
"Bullshit." Eddie isn't looking but he knows Stan rolled his eyes. He’d seen that look too many times not to know. "But fine. Just... We're here for you, okay? No more clown. No more forgetting. You've got us again, now and forever, okay? Don't shut us out."
He knows that. How could he not? They have been there the entire five days since he woke up fully, helping with boredom to blind panic and everything in between. But knowing that and feeling like he can say the tumultuous thoughts bouncing in his skull like those old annoying screensavers are two very different things. How is he supposed to tell them what he’s dealing with when he isn't even sure what it is himself?
There is something about Richie, something he remembers but is refusing to fully understand - that doesn't sound right either. Maybe he never wanted to understand in the first place. Whatever he feels whenever Richie is in the room - calm and sweaty palmed and happy and panicked and so fucking safe and on edge all at once - has been too much for him to handle when he was eleven, fourteen, eighteen and it’s too much now too.
That isn't exactly true either. He knows exactly what it is he was feeling and he always has, but he’s also always been extremely good at burying it under a layer of doubt and repression and false confusion.
But that feels less important, even if he doesn't really think anything has ever been so important. It's an old problem, so it can wait for him to get around to it when he can. The more pressing issue is that instead of just not being an accurate representation of himself, Nike is, for whatever reason, not even looking at him. That has to be big right? Something has to be wrong because that isn't supposed to happen. What does it mean that his daemon seems to hate him?
How is he supposed to say any of that to Stan though? His poor friend has enough to worry about, with his wife flying to Derry any day and the explanation he’s going to have to come up with for everything that has happened and the cuts on his wrists still so fresh that they bled when he twisted wrong?
He can't, so he says, "okay," and leaves it at that. "I'm going to sleep."
"Eddie..." Stan murmurs, not able to hide the displeasure from his voice at all. Then he sighs and says, “Sure.” That probably won't be the last he hears of it, but for the meantime, he gets off fairly easy. He rolls to his right side and curls into a tight ball and tries not to think about the fact that Nike is in Stan's bed instead of his.
***
Showers can only keep Richie away for so long. Not even two hours pass before he’s strutting back into their room with a woman on his arm. A white hot flash of something - pain mixed with annoyance with a dash of anger - hit him like a punch to the gut. Jealousy flashes through his mind but he discards that notion because there’s no reason to be jealous as she flings herself away from him and into Stan's open arms the moment she lays eyes on him. Her hummingbird lands on his head and pecks at his hair with something that can only be called fond annoyance while Amelia scrambles out of Eddie's bed and forces her way in between Stan and Patty, chittering happily.
Their reunion is tearful, filled with promises to never do anything so stupid again and soft touches that make Eddie feel like he’s intruding. As if he senses it, Richie pulls the curtain between their beds closed for the first time. The noise wakes Bill and the three of them dig into the lunch that Richie sneaked in past the nurses.
The three of them try to act like they can't hear every single word of their conversation, but only Richie is the only one able to do a halfway decent job of it. Stan tells her everything and Patty doesn’t say a single word before flinging the dividing curtain back open, staring with wet eyes at the three men on the other side, her face unreadable. For a moment, no one says anything and then Richie opens his mouth, probably to make a joke because that’s how he always deflects uncomfortable conversations he doesn't want to have.
She doesn't let him get that far though. "Thank you. If you hadn't found him..." Tears spill over onto her cheeks, but she’s smiling weakly. "Thank you."
And then they only become a bigger problem for the nurses because Patty hunkers down with the Losers. They all adore her instantly. Hell, Richie had already been smitten with her before she knew the truth, from their short walk from the nurse's station to Stan's room, but she fit herself into the minute cracks the Losers Club didn't even know were there. She’s a whirlwind of a woman, strong and sure footed, but she is also kind and funny. It isn't hard to see why Stan looks at her like she hung the moon just for him.
Eddie tries to do a better job of acting normal, but after a week of Nike ignoring him, it gets harder, not easier.
Stan gets discharged, which they all celebrate by Richie and Beverly sneaking champagne into what is now just Eddie's room for the non-hospitalized to partake in and a bottle of sparkling cider for Eddie so he doesn't feel left out. All eight of them fill the room for the night, but Stan and Patty start talking about going home soon. Bill starts talking about his own divorce from Audra, which has been in the works since before Mike's call but he hasn't wanted to talk about it until then. Beverly admits she was working on one herself and has no where else to go, to which Ben offers up his place to her - he hadn't been subtle as an awkward teen and he isn't much better at thirty-eight, blushing and looking down at his feet as he talked. Mike talks about finally getting out of Derry, already training someone to take his place at the library but no plan on where he is going besides Florida first, which Bill invites himself to join him. Ben is able to work remotely, so he isn't in a rush to get anywhere. Richie stares at the side of Eddie's face while they all talk about what they were doing. Eddie can feel his eyes boring into him, but he isn't sure what he’s waiting for. So he doesn't say anything, not even when Richie announces he canceled and refunded the entire second half of his tour to give himself time to decompress from Derry and write new material.
For a second, all eyes turn to him, waiting for his plan. But what was he supposed to tell them? He hasn't even let Beverly talk him into calling a divorce lawyer yet and who knows if he is even able to go back to his shitty life with his suffocating wife since he's been ignoring her for over a week? Does he even want to go back? What does he even want? He doesn't have an answer for any of his own questions, so how is he supposed to answer all of the ones that were shining in their eyes? It is silent while they all wait until Richie cuts in and asks if they want to hear some new material he’s working on, announcing loudly that they are obviously the best guinea pigs for it. They all seem to ignore the fact that Eddie has barely spoken in the last two hours.
***
Bill is the next one to try to get him to talk. After everyone falls asleep that night, he throws himself onto Eddie's bed with a grin. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." He says, even if it was the furthest thing from the truth. Could he really be considered fine when his entire life had just been derailed and now he is short an arm with zero clue where to go from there?
Nike is squished in between Richie and Beverly where they had passed out sitting up on the floor. She isn't asleep but she was looking at the ground instead of Eddie, who is looking at her. "Do you want to talk about it?" Bill asks.
Eddie scowls. "About what? I just said I was fine."
Bill isn't smiling anymore. "You normally don't shut up and now we can barely get two words out of you. Talk to me."
"What does everyone want from me? I said I'm fine and no one believes me." He hisses back, careful to keep his voice low so he didn't wake the others.
Bill's shoulder bumps against his. "Would you believe any of us if we said that?"
He opens his mouth to argue that of course he would because they are the Losers for gods’ sake, of course they will be fine. All of them are so amazing in their own right and have made something of their lives despite not remembering their childhoods and the things that they have overcome. Each of them are so strong and he knows they will be fine in the end.
But then he remembers the look on Stan's face every time he catches sight of his own wrists and how Beverly flinches when anyone raises their voice and Ben still making himself small and Mike still checking every corner like he's waiting for something to pop out of the darkness and Bill's distant stare at young boys who look like Georgie and Richie's smile that doesn't quite hit his eyes sometimes. They are all wound too tight and struggling with old and new demons. So maybe they aren't fine.
Yet. But they will be. They will all be fine soon and he knows it in his heart. He believes in each and every one of them with a fierceness he has never believed in anything before, not medicine, not his mom, not anything.
"Yeah." He says finally, barely loud enough for it to even reach his own ears. "I would believe you guys. You're strong. Maybe not now, but you'll be fine."
And he isn't like them. He isn't harboring some strength deep down in his core that makes him brave enough to face down his worst fears and overcome them. He can't leave his miserable job or his abusive wife or his inhaler behind. He hadn't even been helpful with It in the end. He just laid there and nearly bled to death while they took care of everything, including saving his useless ass.
"Eddie..."
He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't need to see the pity on Bill's face either, so he turns his head in the other direction. "Meds are making me sleepy. I'm going to bed."
Bill sighs. "Alright. Fine. Goodnight." He doesn't get out of his bed though, just drops his head onto Eddie's shoulder and pulls the blanket up higher on both of them.
Eddie doesn't sleep for another hour and a half, too busy trying to unweave the tangled mess of thoughts in his head. Nike doesn't sleep with him that night either.
***
The next person to try is Ben.
It's only slightly subtler than Bill's attempt. Ben stays behind while the others go to shower the next morning which isn't out of the usual. They haven't left him alone since they brought him into the hospital, taking shifts for showers or naps in real beds instead of squished into Eddie's with him. Aine settles herself onto his chest while Eddie scrolls aimlessly through Reddit in an attempt to distract himself from his increasingly loud inner thoughts and Nike is in Ben's lap in a tight ball while he works on a crossword in a puzzle book Patty gave to Eddie to help him pass the time, not knowing he had zero patience.
"Do you need anything?" He asks without looking up from his lap.
Eddie shakes his head. "I'm alright."
"Okay." His book closes anyway though. "So, it’s boring in hospitals, right?"
"Yeah."
Ben nods along with him like he said something of great importance instead of just a one word answer. "Yeah. So we should talk." Eddie has never been good at hiding how he was feeling, so he’s sure he is scowling as soon as Ben suggests it and that's why he hastily adds, "You know. Since it's boring."
"Fine." Eddie growls, dropping his arm and phone onto the bed. He turns his head towards Ben, careful not to disrupt Aine even if he is irritated with her human. "What do you want to talk about, Ben?"
"How's physical therapy coming?" That's not what he wants to ask and they both know it.
"Fine. Anything else?"
"Do you know when you'll be discharged?" Closer, but still not it.
He drops his phone to clutch at the sheets. "Probably in the next week."
"What are you going to do when you get out?" There it is.
Eddie sucks in a deep breath between his gritted teeth. "I don't know."
"Are you going back to New York?" He has the decency to sound a little more hesitant at least. Not much, but a smidge.
He releases the sheets to pet Aine, trying to keep himself calm. Anger is bad for his blood pressure, but more than that, Ben doesn't deserve his anger. He’s mad at himself, after all, not the Losers. "I don't know yet."
Ben tries a different approach. "Well, you could always stay with me and Bev, you know? I have enough guest rooms for all the Losers honestly. Maybe Richie could join us?"
"I have a job, Ben." - that he hates and should quit - "And a wife." - that he doesn't love and can't trust and should divorce - "And responsibilities." - not really, he barely even has friends in New York - "Not all of us can just run off whenever we want." He can, probably. He has enough money in savings since he doesn't really do much besides work and exist. He hadn't even burned through his accumulated sick days with the whole Derry trip yet, not even close. They are all excuses to avoid having to say that he is too scared about what it would mean if he finally cut that last thread of his safety net of familiarity that Myra represents to actually run away with them, even if that's what he wants more than anything.
It's just a bunch of excuses for him to say the same thing he thought when he was a kid: he didn't belong in the Losers Club because he wasn't like them. He isn't strong or brave or witty or anything like they are. He’s just the imposter that had somehow wormed his way into their group so they drug him around like an annoying kid brother.
For some reason, Ben gives up any pretense of trying to dance around the subject. "You can't really be planning on going back, Eddie. Please, we're all here for you. Just let us be here for you."
He is a coward and all he knows how to do is run away, so that's what he does. "I was wrong. I need more painkillers and I haven't eaten. Could you go grab me food?"
"Eddie..." He looks heartbroken and it kills Eddie to see, but he can't do it. He needs to figure his own shit out for once in his fucking life instead of letting everyone else take care of it for him. After a second, Ben sighs. "Sure, man. I'll be right back."
Stan and Patty leave the next day, much to everyone's displeasure. Richie tries to get them to stay, just for another day, but Patty is a teacher and, even though school isn't in session yet, she is still missing training and her time to prepare. Stan needs to get to work as well because, unlike Eddie, his marriage is a very happy one and they have taken full advantage of his PTO for vacations. Of course, Stan promises to text as soon as the plane lands to let them know he remembers them.They'd already promised to spend Christmas - after Beverly promised to have a menorah for them - all together in Ben's house. Patty presses a kiss to Eddie's temple and Stan pulls him into a tight hug and Eddie tries to not feel like a part of his soul leaves when the door closes behind them.
***
Then it's Mike's turn.
He fares better than the last three, but only because of the circumstances. Eddie tripped in physical therapy that morning, smacking his face into the wall and reopening the wound on his cheek with a spike of pain and quite a bit of blood. They gave him a higher dose of painkillers with lunch and numbed his cheek to be stitched again, so he was still coherent, but only barely. Since he seems like he might take a nap soon, Beverly demands Bill, Richie, and Ben follow her to buy new clothes. They have been wearing the same three shirts the entire time they’d been in Derry, but Mike escapes her wrath since he still has full access to his closet. He dresses better than them anyway, according to Beverly as she drags Richie by the sleeve out the door.
"They're a mess, aren't they?" Mike laughs, pulling out a book to read since Eddie seemed content to nuzzle his uninjured cheek against Hathor's stomach and watch Law and Order: SVU reruns. Its calming; Mike has that effect on people, but then again, it might just have been the drugs.
He only responds with, "Mm."
Mike snorts another laugh, shaking his head. "You feeling pretty good over there?"
"Yeah." Eddie gives him a thumbs up.
They sit in silence for half an episode until Mike finally decides to take his shot. "So, do you know what you're doing when they let you out?"
The corners of his mouth tug down into a frown. Well, the right side of his mouth does. The left side is still numb. "No." The question irritates him before his brain catches up and realizes why it does. "Stop asking." He slurs his words and resolves to just not talk anymore at all if he’s going to sound stupid and Mike is going to ask things he doesn't want to answer.
"You know you're one of my best friends, right?" Mike rests his hand on top of Eddie's and his brain is too slow to tell him not to flip his hand to grasp at Mike's. Once it caught up, he figures it's not worth pulling away since he's already done it. "I'm not kidding when I say that. All these years, I wasn't able to make friends like you guys ever again. I missed you all so much. The Losers Club is the only family I have left."
"Missed you too." Not talking didn't last long. He curses the good drugs pumping through his system. "Best family ever."
"Yeah. Yeah, it is. And that's why we're all worried about you." He gives his hand a squeeze and it makes warmth bloom in Eddie's chest and dread settle in his stomach.
He shook his head. "Don't be."
Mike laughs again, but this time it’s not full and warm like it should be. It's more of a hollow laugh, like just the barest shadow of one. "How do you expect us not to be worried?" His tone is light, but the conversation isn't what wants. He wants to cuddle with Hathor - if he is being honest, which he isn't because he is a world class liar to himself, he wants to cuddle with Nike because she’s a familiar presence that he’s missed so dearly over the last week - and watch his stupid reruns while Mike read and occasionally made scathing comments about television ruining the brain. He wants, if only for a handful of minutes, to pretend he is meant to be there with the Losers, that he belongs, that his life isn't shit and everything will actually be okay. Lying is second nature to himself and he wants nothing more than for them to just let him lie for a few more days, a few more hours, a few more minutes , to be happy and not crippled with the realization that he will never be enough for them or even his own daemon. Is that too much to ask?
"Leave me alone." He groans, turning from the television with his whole body. It's hard since Mike is on his right and both his injuries were on the left, but he does his best. Hathor pecks at his hair and rubs against his cheek, but he doesn't turn back towards her.
Sighing, Mike tugs their hands towards himself. "Come on, Eddie. Talk to me. We used to talk all the time, don't you remember?" He’s still pouting like a kid, but he gives him a couple sulky nods. "Yeah, we used to hide from your mom in the library or the clubhouse and talk. We talked about everything back then, right?"
"Yeah." He croaks, still facing the wall.
"I told you about not going away to college first. You know that right?" Eddie didn't know that, so he shakes his head. He figured Bill would have known first or Beverly. "I used to tell you everything first. You were the easiest to talk to. Ben always wanted to help so bad that he ended up freaking out more than I ever could about anything. Richie was an ass and he just made everything a joke-," Eddie snorted a laugh. "Right? He did. Still does, but now he gets paid for it at least. Lucky bastard. Bev was great, but come on, we were all a little intimidated by her. She was cooler than us and just didn't wise up fast enough. Stan's so hard to read that it made it hard to tell how he was taking the news. Bill..." Mike squeezed Eddie's hand again. "Well, it's not like I ever kept my feelings for him a secret very well, especially from you. I couldn't tell him, not when he thought we were going to go to college together..." There’s a moment of silence and Eddie loses track of the conversation. It feels like Mike needs to say something important, so he rolls back around to look at his friend. "You never hid anything. You were always loud about how you felt and I knew I could count on you to tell me what you thought about my decision. And you would rip me to shreds if you thought I was stupid, but you wouldn't hold it against me. I needed that."
They share a smile and Eddie feels calmer. Mike is damn good at making people feel at ease with his kind eyes and wide smile. "Of course. Somebody had to tell you guys when you were going to get yourselves killed or do something fucking stupid." His words hardly make sense in his own ears, but he hopes Mike would understand him. "Especially Richie. He's an idiot. Can't believe he lived twenty-something years without me."
"Me either, Eddie." His smile falters for a fraction of a second, but even doped up, Eddie catches it. "He needs you again, you know?"
"Mm-mm." He pressed his lips into a tight line and shook head. "Richie is fine without me."
"You know that's not true. You're smarter than that."
That's the thing though. He is smart enough to know that he is right and the Losers just feel too obligated to keep up their charade to agree with him outright. "You'll all be fine, Mikey." The urge to clap his other hand on top of Mike's is so strong that he frowns when his arm doesn't move to do so and he looks over at his stump. Right. He settles for wiggling their joined hands. "You guys are amazing. Super strong. You'll be okay."
"Fine? Yeah, maybe. Okay? Sure we would eventually." Mike lifts their hands to press the back of Eddie's to his cheek and lean into it. "But we're better with you, when it's seven. You make us better Eddie. Let us help you get better too."
Eddie frowns at him. "I'm fine."
"You're lying."
If thinking about the chaos in his head is hard with a mostly clear head, it's positively disorienting with his mind muddled up with drugs. He can't think of any of his carefully crafted lies, so he says, "I don't want to talk anymore." Because he knows if he keeps going, it will all come fumbling out of his mouth, exposing his very soul to Mike after keeping all of his doubts to himself for thirty-eight years and he doesn't want that. His neat little fort of lies will all come tumbling down around him before he really got the chance to enjoy his last few moments with the Losers Club.
The only reason Mike doesn't get any further is because he's too nice for his own good. "Okay." He nods, his cheek brushing against Eddie's hand as he does. "Okay. No more talking. SVU reruns until everyone gets back then. But don't expect me to watch your mind melting television with you." He looks sad and Eddie fucking hates that, but he is so thankful and selfish he can't bring himself to say anything back. He just keeps holding Mike's hand and turns to face the television again. He ends up napping after that, drifting off to repetitive television and Aine's chirping in his ear. When he wakes up, Mike isn't in the chair next to him anymore. Bill is in his place.
***
At the rate they are going, Eddie should have known Beverly would be next. All the Losers are taking turns trying to pry off his shitty mask and peer at the turmoil underneath like it's their job. He is dreading her turn because if there’s one thing about the way Beverly Marsh fought that everyone knows, it's that she fought to win and she doesn't know how to lose. He is actually surprised it takes her as long as it does to try her hand at it since they know she’s their best shot at getting him to finally talk.
It doesn't make it any less frustrating when it actually happens, though.
They give him the next day off from their prodding questions, either because the drugs wearing off left him grumpier than usual or because Mike told them to, which is only moderately better because it leaves him alone in his own head.
He can't sleep that night either once the heavier pain medication wears off, so he’s stuck with nothing to do but over analyze every thought in his head. Richie is sleeping in a chair, his head pillowed by his arms on the edge of the bed and drool pooling on them. It’s fucking disgusting and for some reason also endearing, just like everything else the asshole does. Nike is still in his lap, hidden underneath the blanket he had draped over his own shoulders and Loki is in bed with Eddie, just like he is anytime Richie is in the room with him. Beverly and Ben head back to the Townhouse to sleep, probably together if the way they have been acting is any indicator, and Bill heads back to Mike's with him because neither of them want to be alone, not that any of them could blame them for that. Eddie feels a sudden need to make a needling joke about Mike's crippling crush on Bill like he would have in their youth, but he holds back because his brain, still dimmed just enough by the drugs, can't supply funny enough.
The television is too loud, so he turns it off shortly after Richie falls asleep, but his face smarts too much to try to focus on reading or the infernal puzzle book - not that he would have done that anyway because he would end up throwing the book across the room after a handful of minutes with one single puzzle. With nothing else to do, he buries his fingers into Loki's fur and busies himself with scratching just behind his ears like he liked or rubbing his stomach when he rolled onto his back. It only takes a fraction of his concentration though, since it's more like muscle memory than a conscious action, so he’s left alone with his thoughts.
Nike still hasn't touched him and it's been two weeks now. He misses her, but he doesn't exactly blame her either. Richie is his favorite person as well and he would choose to spend time with him over himself any day. Underneath his layer of terrible humor and too big glasses, Richie is kind and smart and the best damn friend anyone could ever ask for. He loves his friends dearly and when it comes down to it, he will do anything for them. Sure, he looks like a thirteen year old dressed him and his stomach is starting to get a bit pudgy, but he is still the most eye-catching person in the room.
If Eddie is being honest, which he only is because there was no one else awake to catch him in the act, Richie has always drawn his gaze in. When they were teenagers, it was impossible for him to even try to look away from Richie, no matter what was going on. But they were best friends, so it was normal to look at him and make sure he wasn't doing something stupid for once in his fucking life. What wasn't normal was the way he would stare when his shirt rode up as he stretched or how his gaze would be drawn to his lips as they wrapped around a popsicle. That hadn't been normal as teenagers and it’s even less normal as a thirty-eight year old man, always tracking his best friend's mouth as he talks, drinks water, or drools on his arms.
No, the way he looks at Richie has never been normal, has it? On some level, he’s always known that, but he spent his entire life denying it so vehemently that without his memories of Richie, it was almost easy to believe. More puzzle pieces of his commandeered life fell into place as he watches his best friend sleep. The part of his heart that loves someone had never been broken, not really. It's just that he had already fallen so deeply in love with one person that it was impossible for him to ever find it with anyone else.
Eddie loves all of the Losers. He really, truly does. They had become a family forged through fire and blood and he would never trade that for anything. But that isn't quite it, is it?
He loves Richie Tozier in a different way and he always had.
Fuck.
He can't sleep at all that night until a nurse comes in to check on him around one in the morning and offers some medicine to help with the pain that she thought is keeping him up. He doesn't correct her on it and swallows them dutifully, but it still takes him another hour and a half to drift off.
When he wakes up the next morning, there is no Loki snuggled into his side and Richie isn't in the chair beside him anymore either. Beverly has taken his place and she is looking down at her phone with a pinched, pointedly uninterested look. It only takes him one deep breath for her to look up from her phone and stash it into her purse.
"Good. You're up."
He looks around for Bill or Mike or Richie or Ben to save him from the inevitable, but they are gone. She probably sent them off herself. Nike is sleeping on a pallet on the floor that Richie had relinquished for their daemons, engulfed by Vulcan's body. There is no escaping Beverly's eyes pinning him to the spot. He grits his teeth. "Yep. I'm awake." He decides to take one out of Richie's book and goes for a joke to lighten the mood. Maybe it will be enough to convince her he’s fine. "Think they'll let me have caffeine today?"
"Cut the crap." Or not. "We need to talk, Eddie."
Groaning, he tosses his head back into his pillow like a sulking child. "We really don't."
"Why are you avoiding our questions?"
"I'm not." He argues.
She snorts, giving him the barest hint of a smile. "Sure. That's why Ben and Mike think you're mad at them, Stan is worried you're going to do something stupid, Bill has put off his own court date to make sure you're okay, and I'm here looking up New York lawyers for you in secret because I think you'd argue with me that you need one."
"Richie thinks I'm fine then." He says, but it sounds more like he's asking.
"No." Bev shrugs. "Richie thinks you'll come around. He has faith in you."
Eddie rolls his eyes. "And none of you do?"
"When have you ever come around without one of us to kick you in the ass?"
It's quiet while he considers that. The true answer is never and he damn well knows it. Without them, he gave into everything his mom said and lived a miserable life with a wife that loved the idea of him rather than who he actually was and a job that he never would have picked himself just because it was what other people wanted for him. If he had stuck around, had kept the Losers in his life somehow, magic be damned, he might have pursued the engineering degree. Maybe he would have said fuck it and just became the mechanic he always wanted to be. He might have gotten away from a loveless marriage. He might have finally said it out loud....
"I'm in love with Richie."
It isn't what Beverly wants, but it's something. It is better than telling her the heart of things. Better than admitting he doesn't belong with them, that he’s just a coward sheep hidden in a cloak among wolves like the Losers. Better than telling her that he will inevitably go back to being the perfect idea of a husband in his miserable life.
She sighs heavily, shaking her head. "I know."
His heart pounded in his chest. She knew ? How did she know? But then....
Richie is settled in the hammock well before Eddie gets to the clubhouse, reading a Superman comic because he has terrible taste. When they first made the clubhouse at eleven, others had wanted to use the hammock but after the last four years, most of them had given up at this point. Eddie blames it on the fact that Richie always hogged it, but maybe that’s only half the truth.
Eddie allows it when he first gets there, even though Nike darts from his side to crawl into the hammock with Richie. He doesn't say anything, just reads his Batman comic - because he has good taste in superheroes - with Loki across his feet since he doesn't fit in the beanbag with him anymore. But after exactly ten minutes have passed, he closes his comic and hops up, making a beeline to them. "Your ten minutes are up, Trashmouth."
"What?" Richie doesn't even have the decency to look up from his comic, just keeps flipping through the pages and petting Nike as she snuggles in close.
He knows damn well what he’s doing. They both do. It’s the same dance they do every time they’re in the clubhouse together: Richie stays in the hammock until Eddie finally demands to be given a turn and it devolves into chaos from there. "Get out, asshole." He growls, giving him a halfhearted shove.
Richie grins. He is perpetually entertained by the strange way they talk to each other. "I don't know what you're talking about, Eds. We never agreed on a ten minute rule."
"You know we did, you piece of shit!" Eddie digs his knee into Richie's side and then when he laughs, he adds, "And don't call me that!"
"Come on, Eds! I'm comfy! So is Nike! Just let us stay! Pretty please with a cherry on top?" He doesn't wipe the smirk off his face, but he tries to give Eddie puppy dog eyes anyway, completely missing the mark and looking like a jackass.
Eddie only ever entertains him for about thirty seconds and they are up. "Fuck you!" And then he makes a very big deal about cramming himself into the hammock with Richie. Both of Richie's legs are hanging over the edge of the hammock, and Eddie sits himself in between them throwing his legs over the top of Richie's thighs and shoving his foot into his face for good measure. Nike wiggles out from under his leg with a huff, curling back up on Richie's chest directly.
When they were eleven, even thirteen, there had been plenty of room for both of them, but Richie had some obnoxious fucking growth spurt during their first year of high school and that is not still the case. Eddie is essentially in his lap and pressing up against him in ways that two boys of their age had no right to be. It should have been embarrassing and uncomfortable and awkward. But it isn't any of those things. In fact, that is the exact reason he continues to climb up there after he had done it the first time. It’s an excuse really. He never cared about the hammock that much, but by cramming himself into the small space between Richie's legs, he got to touch him without anyone batting an eye at it. No one could look at him and call him the nasty things the bullies that took over for Bowers called them at school and no one would know the real reason he’s there.
No one will know he was in love with his best friend and doesn't know what to do about it.
Well, he has never exactly been subtle, has he? And to think he used to think Ben was bad.
"Okay whatever, you knew. Fuck off." He groans.
She just laughs. "Eddie, please. You know we don't care, right? I mean, Ben was in love with me and we all knew it and it didn't matter."
"It mattered to Ben." He says, just to be petty. Of course it had mattered to Ben, but he knows what she meant. They are always going to be together no matter what, feelings involved or otherwise.
"Yeah, it did." She sighs. "I should have done something about it earlier too and it probably would have saved me a lot of heartache."
He considers it and finds that he agrees, but it’s not like he can hold it against her. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty, after all." She hums in agreeance. Silence settles over them and it makes him antsy. He wishes she would just come out and say whatever it was that she was sitting on because, while he knows he doesn't want to talk about it, the wait makes it worse.
Finally, she asks, "Why won't you let me call a lawyer for you? I've already called one for me. Bill's going through his divorce too. You would have us to help you. We could be a proper support group."
"I don't want to talk about it right now, Bev." His voice is small and it suddenly reminds him of the day he broke his arm at eleven. He feels every bit as small as he did when his mom told him that he would never see his friends again.
"Tough shit." His mom would never have talked to him like that. It’s probably stupid to be happy about being yelled at, but he can’t help it. It reminds him that he’s not eleven, even if he still is scared. "We love you and you need to talk about it with someone."
"Bev, please…" He's too tired for this. He's been too tired for this and he's not sure he'll ever not be too tired for this conversation. "Can we just drop it?"
"No. Eddie, Myra is-"
"I don't want to talk about Myra!" He shouts, gripping his sheets in a tight fist. "I don't want to talk about her, okay? Fucking drop it."
Bev stares at him, her jaw dropped and her eyes wide. The look only lasts half a breath before it's covered up in the same determined look she gave every bully that ever bothered them. He had never been on the receiving end of it and he's suddenly very glad for that. "No. We aren't going to drop it, Eddie." She stands abruptly, pushing the chair back with a harsh scrape against the floor, and calmly sets her hands down on the bed next to him. "We need to talk about it because I'm starting to think that Stan is right and you're going to do something stupid."
"Like what?" He snaps back, glaring back at her. He isn't feeling half as confident as he sounded, but she doesn't need to know that.
"Like," She huffs, "Like go back to Myra! Like pretending everything is fine. Like..." She drops her head and lets it hang there, talking to her shoes now. "Like cut us off, Eddie. I'm scared you're going to go back to Myra and let her tell you that we aren't good for you and shut us out and we're going to lose you again." She lifts her head and her eyes are shining, full of tears she refused to let fall. "We already lost you once, Eddie. We almost lost you again. I refuse to let that happen again. Do you hear me, Kaspbrak?"
His eyes fill with tears, but he's not as strong as her. They pour down his cheeks freely. "Bev..." He knows he still doesn't deserve them - no, quite the opposite, actually. This only proved how selfish he was for sticking around when they deserved a friend that was strong like them, not someone who nearly dies and leaves them all to suffer and worry in silence while he only thinks of himself. They all had too much to deal with already, he doesn't need to be adding to that and making it worse. But he also knows he can't say that to them because they would just argue, like Beverly is doing now without even knowing the truth. "I-,"
The door is thrown open then, just before Eddie can finish saying whatever the fuck is about to come out of his mouth. "Did anybody order a steaming hot plate of sexy comedian with a side of hunky lumberjack, scrawny writer man, and chocolate thunder?" Richie grins like he's rather proud of himself for that.
"Beep beep, Rich." Mike sighs behind him, still smiling while holding up a paper bag. "We brought some hot cakes and McGriddles for you two."
Ben is the first to notice the look on their faces and his face falls entirely. "Um, guys, maybe we should give them-"
"A McGriddle sounds amazing." Eddie croaks, looking away from Beverly and scrubbing at his face to try to hide his tears.
He hears her sigh. "Eddie...." But he refuses to look back. Looking back would mean that he would have to get back into that conversation or admitting that there is more to talk about when there isn't. He’s already made his decision. They will be better off without him and he’s through being selfish. He doesn't deserve the Losers Club.
"Can you pass me one?" He asks, clearing his throat like that might knock his heart out from where it's lodged in there.
The tension hangs there for a heartbeat, Ben looking quizzically between Eddie and Beverly, Richie's grin slowly falling off his face, Bill blinking sleepily, and Mike frowning. No one seems to know what to say, all waiting for someone else to make the first move, so Richie does what comedians do best and breaks the tension. "Sure, Eds. I made sure to lick it all over just for you." He murmurs, his voice too soft for the joke, but it does the job.
"Beep beep." He sighs fondly back, his lip curling up the smallest amount just because Richie is there and it is impossible for him not to smile around him. "Give me that thing and if I find any spit on it, I'll kick your ass."
"No promises, Eddie Spaghetti."
***
Honestly, he's not sure what he expected. Five out of the six Losers had already come to him to try to get him to talk, so he's sure it's only a matter of time before it's Richie's turn. He knows it's coming so he does his best to prepare for it every time they're alone, which is a lot. If feels like he's always alone with Richie, between Ben and Beverly making arrangements to fly out to his house in Nebraska soon and Bill calling about his divorce and book deals in the hallway and Mike with his real person job that can't be avoided with an excess of built up PTO. It makes him feel like he's constantly on guard, ready for any sudden movement or sign of attack.
But Richie just keeps making his stupid jokes and Eddie keeps laughing at them like nothing is bothering him. Loki spends most of the time in his bed or at his side as he does his physical therapy or pacing the halls with him once he's clear to do that. Nike spends most of her time coddling Richie like an overgrown pup, licking or fussing over or cuddling him. Eddie isn't sure what the fuck to make of any of it, but it scares the shit out of him knowing that any minute he's going to have to face Richie's big fucking puppy dog eyes.
They spend so much time just the two of them that the nurses have started an inside joke. If they happen to come by while Richie is sleeping, which is a ridiculously large amount of time seeing as he seems to nap at least twice a day, they coo about what a good husband he is like they don't all know his wife is the one who has been making crazed phone calls to the hospital at least six times a day. He always corrects them, chiding about how they're just best friends. just like how he is with the rest of the Losers, but they don't ever take him seriously, just nod with a knowing smile on their faces like they would if a kid was talking about being a superhero. It's demeaning and infuriating and stupid and it makes his heart flutter weirdly in his chest and he fucking hates it.
It goes on like that for days. He's getting discharged from the hospital the next day after three weeks. Ben and Beverly are on a date , their first, which is long fucking overdue if ask him, and Bill went home with Mike again, much to Mike's delight, so it's just the two of them again. No one has asked him what he's doing the next day, not even the nurses, and the only person who might have less of a clue what's going to happen than they do is himself. He doesn't have a plane ticket back to New York, but he doesn't have one anywhere else either. He doesn't want to inconvenience them any further, but that doesn't mean he wants to go back to Myra.
He put it off as long as possible, like maybe if he just doesn't think about the fact that he’s never going to see the Losers again after tomorrow then the day may never come. It's stupid and childish, but after this, he's officially leaving every last bit of his childhood behind forever, so he feels like it's okay. All he had wanted for his last three weeks with them was just to enjoy the days as much as possible before he lost it forever and he got it. It should have been wonderful.
It is somehow worse.
But he isn't going to think about it, not on his last night with his favorite person in the whole world. He's going to think about the fact that Loki is licking his face and he hates it, but not really, because really he loves it. He's going to think about the fact that Richie is rocking Nike like a baby, singing some awful version of Rock a Bye Baby that involves motorcycles and press on nails. He's going to think about the fact that everything is exactly what he's always wanted and he's going to enjoy it in silence because it was the only way he was going to survive until tomorrow.
It's all so perfect that it feels like the perfect moment for Richie to strike and catch him vulnerable.
"Christ! Can't you just fucking ask me already? I can't take it anymore!" He yells, throwing his hand up from where it had been holding Loki and his ridiculous at bay.
Richie looks up from Nike in his arms, his jaw slack and his eyes too big behind his ridiculously thick glasses. "Uh. Ask you what, Eds?"
"What I'm doing tomorrow! What everyone has been bothering me about!" Richie just keeps looking at him like he's not understanding the situation. "Fuck, man! I can't keep sitting here waiting for you to take your turn to interrogate me! Fucking, just- Fuck! Goddammit, Richie, just fucking ask me and get it over with okay?"
"Uh. Okay. What do you wanna do when you get out of here tomorrow, Spaghetti Man?" Richie finally asks with a lopsided grin. "Bet you're going to say something stupid, like disinfect yourself. You fucking hate hospitals."
Eddie stares at him, not sure what to say to that. He’s been waiting to be interrogated once again, cornered and coerced into revealing the secrets he is holding close to his chest, not given the same dorky grin he had gotten when Richie asked him to go stag with him to their senior prom. "I- Rich- Fuck. I don't know."
He didn't seem too concerned about it, just shrugging. "Alright. How about a shower? A really hot one? Like burn your skin off hot? You always were a freak that liked his showers too hot."
"I'm- Can't you take this seriously?" Eddie cries, torn between giving into the charade and screaming in annoyance.
Richie snorted at him. "Showers are serious stuff, Eduardo. You have to get all the germs off. You used to tell me that lava hot showers were, like... what was it? Autoclaves? Sterilizing your skin or some shit like that." He looks down at Nike with an expression that isn't joking anymore. No, it’s much too fond for that. "I think he was just giving an excuse for liking showers so much. He always did have to try to explain everything, didn't he, Nicky?"
He can't take it anymore. How is he supposed to just sit there and wait for Richie to find the perfect moment to make him confess? "Just- Fuck! Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" He looks back up again, his glasses sliding down his nose. He pushes them back up with his shoulder so he didn't have to jostle Nike in his arms. "What am I doing, Eds? I thought you wanted to act like everything was normal."
"Everything is normal!"
"Uh huh." Richie doesn't look convinced at all, but he also doesn't look worried like all the others did. He just looks... amused? "And when everything is normal, you just, what? Scream about how everything isn't normal?"
Eddie hates him so much. He wants to throw his pillow at him or better yet, punch him and break his stupid fucking glasses. He hates himself more, for thinking everything about him was so fucking perfect and for falling so far in love with him that he knew he was well and truly fucked at age twelve. "Fuck you!"
"Fuck you, man. I'm just trying to sing to my favoritest girl in the whole world and you're yelling and shit." Richie presses a kiss to Nike's head and that’s it. Eddie snaps.
"Fuck off! I don't want you to sit here and pretend everything is normal just so you can try to get me to answer questions! This is stupid!" He's so mad he's seeing red, ready to burst if Richie doesn't just get it over with. "Fuck this, man! I don't want to talk about shit so why bother asking? Fuck!"
Richie has the fucking nerve to laugh and it makes him want to scream. "Eds, I didn't ask you anything."
"But you were going to! Everyone has! They won't stop fucking bothering me about it!"
He shrugs. "Well, yeah. They're worried about you."
"And what? You're going to tell me you aren't?" Eddie spits the words at him and glares like it's all Richie's fault.
Richie considers it, looking down at Nike with his eyebrows scrunched up together on his forehead and his bottom lip stuck between his teeth before shrugging again. "Not really. I never really have to worry about you, Eddie Spaghetti."
"What?" He hisses. "What does that even mean?" Did that mean that he didn't feel the same way anymore? Was Eddie not his best friend? It makes sense. The other Losers probably made better friends than him when they went off to college. Of course they would find people better than Eddie. They don't need him hanging around and dragging them down anymore since they had moved on.
Finally he looks back up at Eddie. "Eds, you're the toughest guy I know. You'll be fine. Why would you need me to worry about you when we both know that you'll come out on top in the end?"
Eddie stares at him, all the words he wanted to shout getting stuck in his throat. "You... what? You really think that?"
"Duh. Eds, were you, like, present for when you literally killed Bowers? You're the scrappiest mother fucker I've ever met. Even when we were in high school and dipshits were making fun of me for Loki, you were fucking fearless." Richie grins and looks back down at Nike again. She's looking up at him like he gave her all the stars in the sky... which is probably how Eddie is looking at him too. "You know, I always thought the whole daemons settling thing was bullshit when I forgot about you guys. Like sure, a coyote for me makes sense. They're tricksters and all jazz, you know? And I had been tricking everyone my whole life into thinking I was some straight guy. But I thought most people just got lucky, you know? Like seriously, you're a good carpenter and you have a beaver? Okay yeah sure, it's luck or you saw your daemon and decided to just emulate that."
Richie is saying a lot of words all at once, which is probably why Eddie feels the desperate need to interject, even if it is just to be an asshole. "Emulate? That's a pretty big word coming from you."
"Hardy har har. Fuck you too, Eds." He takes the interruption in stride, grinning wider at it even. "Anyway. Yeah, I just thought that's what happened, you know? But the second I got Mike's call and I remembered my best friend being a short ass mother fucker-,"
"I'm not that short, Rich. The national average-,"
"Yeah yeah national average and other bullshit. I remembered my best friend being a scrappy, short dude who would take on the whole world if anybody so much as looked at any of us wrong. I remembered the time that what's-his-face, Colton? From sophomore year? Called Bev a slut for hanging out with us and you ripped him to shreds. Fucker cried, don't you remember that? Bev didn't even fucking care, but you jumped down his throat so fast his head had to be spinning. And in seventh grade when that shithead Matt tried to steal Stan's lunch money and you kicked him in the shin and told him he was a piece of shit? Dude, you, like, barely came up to that dude's shoulders and you did not care. What about the teacher that made fun of Bill's stutter? Don't you remember getting sent to the principal's office for calling her a third rate teacher and a fourth rate person at best?"
Richie paused for a breath, so Eddie murmurs, "My mom thought that it was your fault somehow." She always did. She blamed any outburst on one of his friends, but she thought Richie was the worst thing to ever happen to Derry, let alone Eddie.
"Fuck, if I could have said something that perfect for the moment. She sent you to the principal because she was going to cry, man. And don't even get me started on you joining the track team with Ben in high school because of that prick gym teacher that told him he was just a fat kid. Your mom would have killed you if she knew you were on a sports team. I'm still not sure how you got away with that one."
"I told her I joined the debate club for meets." He had to. If she had known the truth, she would have taken him out of school and probably never let him outside again.
"Yeah! And when Mike first started school with us in high school and everyone was making a big deal about him sitting in the cafeteria with us because it might have been the eighties, Derry still acted like segregation was legal or something? You walked right out there and sat with Mike and flipped off the kid who said something about him."
"I was just the first person in the lunchroom. You all would have done the same thing." That had been why he was able to do it in the first place, knowing the others would have done the same and they would be there soon.
"Yeah sure, maybe for Mike, but you didn't even give a second glance. What about that time you stopped Zach from junior year when he and that other dumbass tried to give me a swirly?"
Of course he remembers. Up until that day, he had avoided most of the physical beating from bullies but.. "I got punched in the face and my nose broke. I wouldn't call that very heroic, Richie."
"You also called him the stupidest thing to happen since Nixon and shoved him into the toilet paper dispenser. So. There's that." Eddie shrugs and Richie snorts. "Eds, you always worried about us like it was your fucking job, but I never had to worry about you. Because that shithead broke your nose and you told him to shove a cactus up his ass and he left after that. You've always been the bravest and strongest person I've ever known."
Brave? Strong? Him ? "I'm... I'm not..." He isn't. He knows he isn't and he has always known it. Words like that are reserved for the other Losers, not for people like him.
Richie seems to sense his loss for words. "What about your mom, dude?"
Eddie asks, "What about her?"
"You stood up to her. When you broke your arm and she told you that you couldn't hang out with us anymore. You called her on her bullshit with the meds too. Like, standing up to bullies is one thing, but you stood up to your own goddamn mom when you had to live with her for the next seven years anyway."
"But I didn't. I still let her force feed me pills for all seven of those years." He argues, sighing.
"Dude, you were a kid!" He laughs incredulously. "I swear, man. Most people will never be as badass as you sneaking out your fucking second story window to go hang out with us in the Barrens. Or lying to her to be on the track team. Or demanding to get to go to prom with the Losers all together senior year. You stood up to your mom all the time even if you didn't realize it."
Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head. "It's not true. I was scared, that's why I always snuck around."
"Why do you think you have Nike?" He asks suddenly, looking down at her in his arms.
"What?" Eddie really couldn't keep up with the way his brain worked.
"Nike. Your daemon. How did you get a badass fossa, Eds?"
"I..." Eddie looks at her and she's not looking at Richie this time. She's looking straight at him, every bit as confused as he is. "It had to be a mistake."
"A mistake? How do you figure?"
He groans. "Because! Fossa are badass! You just said that. They're fearless and strong and amazing! Everything is scared of them! And..." He looks back down at his hand in his lap. "I'm just..."
"Just what?" Richie sounds mad now, like this was finally the straw that broke the camel's back. "You're just what ?"
"Pathetic! Weak! I'm sitting here missing a fucking arm because I was too weak to do anything against It! You all went out and made careers out of things you loved! Ben is an architect and Bill is a writer and Bev's clothes are reserved for snobby rich assholes and Stan is the richest accountant in the US and you're fucking famous for telling dick jokes when you used to do that for free! Mike stayed here and god if that doesn't prove that he's so strong because he managed to live in this shithole even after we all left and was the one who pieced it all back together! I just let my fucking mom run my life and because of that I'm in a job I hate and married to a woman that makes me miserable and is basically my mom! You all got out and did something with your lives and I'm just the fucking loser of the Losers Club! I don't even deserve to be called a member of the Losers Club! You would all have been better off without me and so would Nike! I'm not good enough for her or you or any of the others!"
Eddie could practically hear Richie's teeth grinding. "Shut the fuck up, man."
"No! I'm done! You guys all wanted me to talk about it and here it is! I'm worthless! You guys always took care of me and you're doing it still and you all deserve better than a fucking piece of shit like me! You happy?" He snaps, glaring at Richie, who was glaring back every bit as fiercely. Loki nudges at his arm with his nose, but Eddie doesn't unclench his fist from the sheets. "I'm doing us all a favor by fucking off tomorrow!" Nike bolts from Richie's arms and at first, Eddie thinks she's going to run to him, but Loki hops off his bed and the two of them tuck themselves in the corner together, watching their humans with anxious eyes.
RIchie throws his hands up in the air. "You don't get to make that decision! You don't get to fuck off out of my life again, alright? Fuck you, dude!"
"Fuck you! You don't get to tell me what to do!"
He puts his hands on the bed, just like Beverly, looking down at Eddie through narrowed eyes. "Someone has to tell you to stop being fucking stupid!"
"When have you ever not been stupid in your life, dipshit?" Eddie leans towards him like a challenge, throwing out harsh words to cover up the fact that he really has no idea what he's supposed to do from there.
"I'm not the one telling my best fucking friends that I'm going to leave them because I think I'm weak!" Their noses were just inches away now, like they both were waiting for the other to lean back and calm down. Heaven knows neither of them had even been good at letting something go though. "That's fucking bullshit, Eddie and you know it!"
The sound of his name on Richie's lips pisses him off more than anything else. "This is why I didn't want to say anything! I knew you guys would argue with me! I just wanted to enjoy my last night with you and-,"
"Fuck that." And before Eddie can argue like he wants, Richie grabs him by the face and presses his lips to Eddie's.
For a moment, he wonders what the hell he's supposed to do. He should push him off, right? He's married and even if he's an asshole and she's one of the meanest people he's ever met, he shouldn't cheat on her. But then he remembers that he's also selfish and that maybe it's okay to embrace that. He tangles his fingers into Richie's hair and uses it to try to pull him closer, but he ends up knocking them both off balance. Eddie falls onto his back and Richie surges forward because of Eddie's grip on his hair, following him with a knee on his bed and his hands next to Eddie's head to keep him propped up above him.
They kiss for only a handful of seconds, but it feels like years. By the time Richie pulls away, Eddie is convinced that he could kiss him for the rest of his life. Actually, he could die happy in that moment now that he's finally finally kissed Richie after a good twenty-seven years of waiting. He just lays there, looking up at Richie's eyes over the top of his glasses that have slid back down his nose again. He let go of the fistful of Richie's hair to push them back up with his index finger and finally sighs. "Fuck you, Trashmouth. I was talking."
Richie barks out a laugh and rests his forehead against Eddie's. "I fucking love you so much, you asshole."
"I..." Eddie blinks, feeling tears prick at his eyes and wills them not to fall. "I... you do?"
"Yes. Always have, Spaghetti Head."
"Don't fucking call me that when you're professing your love for me."
"What are you going to do about it, huh, Eddie Spaghetti?" He gives him a cheeky grin. "You gonna shut me up?" He doesn't answer, just grabs his hair and crashes their lips together once again. It's so easy and so much fun and so perfect that Eddie never wants to stop. He's about to see what it's like to pull Richie's hair when the door to his room opens.
"Mr. Kaspbrak, are you alright? We heard some shouting and- Oh! Oh my! I'm so sorry to interrupt!" They let go of each other to look at the door where a nurse is now standing, flushed bright red and covering her eyes. Luckily for him, it's Becky, his favorite that's been with him for the full three weeks. Out of all the nurses that had been in and out of his room, she is the only one that didn’t seem put off by how close the Losers were to each other. In fact, she seems genuinely happy for all of them, if not just a tad bit jealous that he has such a strong bond with so many people. Of course, that didn't stop her from being embarrassed about what she just walked in on. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt you and your husband, Mr. Kaspbrak-,"
"Husband?" Richie asks, looking back down at Eddie with the stupid fucking grin again.
Eddie sighs. "Not another word out of you, asshole."
"Aye aye Captain Kaspbrak." But of course, he couldn't just leave it there so he smacks a wet kiss on Eddie's cheek.
"I'm going to kill you."
"Sure sure, whatever you say, Eds."
"You're the fucking worst, you know that?"
"I am not. You love me." He singsongs it like a twelve year old and Eddie doesn't want to smile and let him know just how endearing he thinks Richie really is.
"I'm just... going to go, okay? Let me know if you need anything!" Becky squeaks in before darting out the door.
Richie laughs and kisses him quickly again. "Does this mean you're done being stupid now?"
"If I say no, will you kiss me again?"
"I will kiss you if you say yes."
Eddie sighs and shakes his head. "I didn't want to hold you back. Any of you. It's all I do, Rich..."
"You're an idiot, but it's okay because you're cute." Richie bops him on the nose with his finger and Eddie scowls.
"Fuck you, man. I'm trying to explain myself here."
"Just tell me that you love me and you wanna run off into the sunset. I don't give a shit about the explanations on why you were being stupid in the first place." Richie cups his face in his hands. "That's a lie. I do care because it's stupid and you're brave and funny and strong as hell and I don't want you to ever think you aren't ever again, but, like, I'm also kind of sweating about the fact that I just outed myself as being in love with you for the last twenty-seven ish years and you haven't responded yet."
He laughs and leans into Richie's hand. "I do. Love you, I mean. I love you, Richie. Fuck, I always have. I thought that something was wrong with me and I was broken or some shit like that, like I couldn't love anyone, but it just turns out I fell in love with your stupid ass and never recovered."
"Oh thank god." Richie leans in to press a quick kiss to his lips. "I swear, I'm going spend every day for the next twenty-seven years telling you that you're stupid for not knowing that you're the bravest mother fucker I've ever met, Eds." He interrupts his sentence a few times to pepper Eddie's face with kisses.
"Oh yeah? What happens after that? You going to leave me?" Eddie asks and it's supposed to be a joke but it comes out just a bit too raw and honest.
Richie pushes him back by his shoulders. "Fuck no. I'm never leaving you again. You're stuck with me for fucking life, Eddie Spaghetti, so buckle the fuck up, Buttercup. You're stuck on the Tozier Train forever."
He laughs because what else can he do when Richie is so fucking ridiculous? Richie rewards him with a huge, stupid grin and a kiss and he thinks maybe, just maybe he can actually believe Richie. He's never lied to him before after all, not for the important things. Lying about getting girls in high school and about forgetting his comics at home so he had longer to read them doesn't count, especially when Eddie knew the truth in the first place.
Something bumps into his left side and he thinks it's Loki, so he turns, ready to get licked in the face, but then he sees Loki sitting at the foot of his bed. Nike is there instead, pressed to his side protectively, like she hadn't spent the last three weeks making him sick with worry about the fact that she wouldn't fucking touch him. It's infuriating but then again, of course she would be. No one knew how to piss him off like himself, after all.
***
The next morning, he’s released from the hospital and Becky pushes him in a wheelchair that he's absolutely livid to be stuck in, even if it is hospital policy. Richie waits in the car, having brought it up to the front so Eddie didn't have to go far.
As soon as he stands, Becky wraps her arms around his chest and hugs him tight. "Don't be a stranger, okay? I made you add me on Facebook so I can see all the adorable pictures of you and your husband later."
"How many times do I have to tell you that Richie isn't my husband? You've talked to my wife on the phone, Becky. Please." He groans, shoving her away playfully.
"Please. Maybe not yet, but you two look at each other the way my parents used to." She grins, shoving him back.
"What's that even supposed to mean?"
"Like he's somehow simultaneously the most annoying creature on the planet and like you love him more than anything else in the world." She pulls him into another hug, not taking no for an answer. "Don't let him go, okay? I know it can be scary, but I really can see how much he loves you."
Eddie looks over her shoulder at Richie in the front seat. He's doing an air drum solo to a Wheezer song, so into it he's headbanging and flinging his stupidly long arms around. He looks stupid and Eddie can't believe how much he loves him. "I kind of like him too." He smiles since no one is looking at him to see him do it.
Becky pulls away, catching his smile. "Oh, there it is. That's the look."
"You can fuck right off." He snaps without any real heat behind it and she giggles. "Thank you. For everything."
"Thank you , Eddie. This place has never been livelier." She pats him once more before turning to push the wheelchair back into the hospital.
He throws the door open. "Turn that shit down. Do you want to go deaf before you hit fifty? Loud music like this is how you kill your hearing, dipshit."
"Good to see you too, Spaghetti." Richie says as he turns the music down. He turns to Eddie and smiles wide, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
It makes Eddie question how he could have ever doubted how Richie felt about him when he looks at him like that. His heart pounds in his chest and he wants to say it again, over and over, just to make sure Richie knows. Instead, he says, "You just saw me." Loki pops his head in between the seats to lick right up the front of Eddie's face, which leaves him spluttering. "Loki! Get off!" Richie laughs as he tries to push Loki away, so he turns to glare on him, only to find Nike already in his lap, rubbing her face against his chest. "Everyone in this car is out to get me, aren't they?"
"Oh yeah. Definitely." Richie agrees, looking at him with that dumb fond expression again.
Eddie gives up on holding Loki back and ends up with his lap full of coyote, but it's a small price to pay to reach across his chest to grasp Richie's hand in his own. Without another word, Richie starts driving, back to the Derry Townhouse before to the airport. Eddie decided to fuck off to Nebraska with Beverly, Ben, Bill, Mike, and Richie. It seems like the best option and with three of them going through divorces, at least they'll have each other to lean on for it. Richie hasn't told the others yet, so that conversation was going to be fun.
He isn't worried about that though, not yet. He's simply too happy to be there holding hands with Richie, his first and only love, with Nike curled up safe in his lap and Loki on his own. There are a lot worse ways he could be starting off his new life.
"I love you." It comes out before he means to say it. He panics for a moment before he remembers he's allowed to say it, so he says it again, louder, just to make sure Richie heard him. "I love you, Richie."
Richie takes his eyes off the road and Eddie wants to chew him out for it, but he doesn't because it's brief enough that he can't say anything before he's facing forward again. His grin turns smug and Eddie dreads whatever is about to come out of his mouth. "I know."
He gapes at Richie. "Did you just Han Solo me?"
"I absolutely fucking did, baby." He cackles, squeezing Eddie's hand.
"I fucking hate you. You're the worst, you know that? Beep fucking beep, Trashmouth." Richie just laughs harder.
Once he regains his breath, he shakes his head. "I love you too, Eds."
And yeah, Eddie wants to kill him half the time they're together. Sure, they argue most of the time they're together. He thinks Richie is absolutely disgusting too, but so what? There's no one in the world that he loves like that asshole either.