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Eddie didn't know where he was, which was most certainly a first for the man who had a compass in his head and a map in his heart. He always knew where he was going… at least, physically he did. Mentally, he always felt lost in his life, never sure where he was going or where he was meant to be. And he never, ever knew who he was supposed to be. That part was always figured out for him; for the first twenty years of his life, it was his mother that barked orders at him because, well, she was his mother, and don't all mothers do that? After he met Myra, it was a whole new set of orders. Different dog, same breed (not to compare women to dogs, but those two were something else, Eddie had realized too late in his life).
They do it out of love, Eddie would tell himself as he drove home from work, each day eyeing those entrance ramps to the freeway a little bit more. And as he looked back on those moments in his life, he almost cried. It was bullshit, they never did it out of love at all. There was no love involved in any of it. They did it because they were out of love.
And Eddie followed those orders each and every moment because he had all the love in the world to give. It's all he wanted, really, and it was a shame that he had to be the one to give out so much when he'd get nothing in return. To Eddie, it wasn't all nothing, of course, nothing ever was. It was during his imprisonment to those two women that he really hit his breaking point, where he started to stand his ground and demand his independence. He never said those things out loud, but Eddie was certainly on his way there. He just needed time.
He'd almost booked a "work trip" enough times, he'd almost looked at apartments on the other side of the country enough times, he'd almost dropped off that letter of resignation enough times to know he was a caged bird that longed to be free. He needed to be free, lest he die in captivity with those claws in him so deep not even his soul would be free.
And then, as fate would have it, a man called Mike Hanlon decided to give him a call.
Eddie crashed his car not out of fear, but hope. This is it, he had thought. This was his moment, his excuse, to get away. To send that letter, to book that trip, to rent that apartment. And he was not going to do it alone, he wasn't going to be alone. They were there, his friends, the only people in this crazy world who actually loved him. It was the first time in years, in decades, that he felt happy. He was home.
But, like all birds who spread their wings too quickly, who left their cages and never looked back, who dreamed dreams that were a little too ambitious, Eddie fell. And because that cage of his was kept too far away and too separate from everyone and everything in the hopes that he would forget about the big beautiful world around him, he suffered a little more than a broken wing.
As fate would have it, Eddie Kaspbrak would never fly again.
When he first arrived in that place, Eddie almost thought it was a dream. Everything felt too calm, too nice. Of course, he couldn't feel anything at all except the warm sun on his face.
Eddie knew what had happened to him, it was impossible not to; how does one simply forget their own death? But that place, with only one guess as to what it was, wasn't at all what he was picturing. It was desolate, save for the soft sounds of a few streams and songbirds here and there, but no one was to be found. If this was Heaven, all the angels must have left long ago.
Not to say that place wasn't beautiful, of course, Eddie supposed it might be the most beautiful place he'd ever seen. Trees everywhere, though it was nothing but soft green grass beneath his feet; if he kept walking, he supposed there would be a meadow, an endless field of beautiful flowers. It was, it will be, and it would always be the most peaceful place anyone could ever create, but Eddie could not do anything but panic. He was lost for the first time in his life, he had no direction to walk in, nothing to tell him where to go. So he sat down, cursing when all he saw of himself were those smooth legs of his, those skinned knees that belonged not to the Eddie whose body was, what, decomposing in some grave somewhere? No, no, those were the legs of a confused thirteen-year-old boy who, somewhat ironically, wouldn't go on to be any stronger than he was then.
Despite all the feelings he held in his heart, when Eddie sat down in the trees and began to cry, it would have been the first time that tears had run down his face in at least ten years when he had realized on his thirtieth birthday that he had surpassed his father in age. Frank Kaspbrak, a great mystery in Eddie's life, was only twenty-five when Eddie was born, and he later passed away from that terrible cancer of his five years later. It felt silly, now, to cry about something as ridiculous and unimportant as time, but at the same time, he was crying about the loss of it. He was now frozen, never moving. Stuck. Caged.
As his broken sobs ceased to exist, a new sound filled the air, something a bit more pleasant. A soft humming appeared out of thin air, though Eddie could not figure out where it came from, it was echoing all around him. So, Eddie did what Eddie was best at, and he picked himself up and ran.
"Where are you going?" Eddie asked as he focused hard on that coloring book of his, currently coloring each spot on the giraffe with a different crayon from the box.
"I'm not very sure," his father answered softly, never wanting to scare Eddie. Never wanting to scare his son whom he'd never get to see grow up. Frank was certain of that. "But it will be far away. Is that okay?"
"Will you come back?"
Frank Kaspbrak never knew how to talk to his son about it, the big bad thing that was taking him away. Even when he was confined to a hospital bed with so many tubes and wires coming out of him that Eddie laughed and asked if he was really a robot. Frank could only smile at that, sighing as he watched his wife glance around the room in fear. You're only making it worse, he'd beg his mind to allow him to say. You're scaring him, Sonya.
"I… I don't think so, buddy," he replied, watching as Eddie stopped coloring and looked up at him. Like he always did on his visits, Eddie sat right on Frank's lap, which only got a little uncomfortable after a while. "I'm sorry."
"That's not true, Eddie, honey," Sonya had pleaded, glaring at Frank while she spoke to their son. "He's going to be okay- he has to be okay. Daddy's going to be just fine, okay?"
Frank felt bad for Sonya, he had to, of course, as her husband, but he mostly felt sorry for his son. His son who'd grow up with… with her. He'd grow up in fear of the world, he'd have a dependency on medicine. This beautiful boy with those big brown eyes full of nothing but curiosity and love for this world would be reduced to a frightened kid all because of this. All because he had to leave.
"I don't want you to go," Eddie whined, dropping his blue crayon and letting it roll off the edge of the bed and fall onto the floor. "Stay."
"You don't have to be scared, buddy, it's okay. It's just… a big adventure that I'm going on, that's all. A big grown-up adventure. You don't have to be scared because I'm not going anywhere scary, I'm going someplace nice and wonderful."
"But it's sad… Mommy's sad."
"It's okay to be sad, Eddie. I know you'll miss me, and that's okay, but please don't be sad for too long. And I'll be sad because I'll miss you, too, but that's all. I'll be happy after that, and I hope you will be happy, too."
"You'll be sick though," Eddie frowned, hopping off the bed and looking for the crayon. Sonya could only watch in horror as Eddie crawled under the bed (so dusty, of course), emerging from the other side holding the crayon in his small hand. "You are sick now so you will be sick there, too."
Eddie was always too stubborn for his own good, Frank knew, shaking his head as he thought. It was almost relieving when the answer came to him, a way to provide comfort for both him and his son. "My body is sick, but I'm not taking my body with me when I leave," he explained, biting back a chuckle when Eddie gave him a look that was equally disgusted as it was puzzled. "You… you know how when you go to sleep and you have those wonderful dreams? You get to do amazing things and have fun, though you're not really here. That's- that's where I'm going, I think, buddy. It'll look like I'm sleeping, but I'll be in a wonderful place where I will be okay. I won't even be sick anymore."
"Dreamworld," Eddie nodded, mesmerized by the idea of living in the crazy places he often traveled to in his dreams. "Can I visit you?"
"Maybe," Frank smiled. "Just for a little while, though. I don't want you coming to see me forever for a very long time."
"I don't want you to forget me," Eddie said quietly, fumbling with his backpack that sat on a chair next to the window. With a thick pad of stickers, he rushed back to his father, pressing a glittery, smiling sun on his arm, giggling as Frank looked at him in feigned surprise (because, truly, would Eddie have done any different?). "That's so you don't miss me too much. To remember me."
"Thank you," Frank smiled, if only to hide the emotions that were quickly making their way through his entire being. Glancing up at Sonya only hurt his chances of hiding those feelings, that angry glare of hers couldn't be more apparent and couldn't cut any deeper if it had wanted to. "I love you very much, Eddie. I hope you remember me, too."
Three weeks later, on that terrible and cold spring day, Eddie was forced to stay behind in the waiting room, something he knew was never good when his mother was led through the hallways. He had to sit in the waiting room, playing with an obnoxiously boring wooden bead toy while his aunts muttered words to each other that the five-year-old boy couldn't understand.
It wasn't until after another young boy around Eddie's age was carried through the doors that his mother returned, following that other boy and his mother, that Eddie had some idea as to what was happening. Well, not entirely, but it certainly wasn't good.
His mother left down the hallway once again, causing Eddie to break down in his own tears as his nicer aunt grabbed his hand, telling him that they were leaving. But, but... no, no, no. It was Sunday, Eddie knew, and Sundays were Dad Days. He couldn't leave without even seeing him, he just couldn't, because that would mean… that would mean...
Two young boys left the hospital that afternoon in Derry, Maine. One of them was screaming in joy as his mother spun him around, laughing as she tickled him as she buckled him in his car seat; having been in the hospital for just over three months due to a terrible stomach infection, that cold spring day was the day he was finally going home. He had a beautiful blue balloon tied to one wrist and a bright, rainbowy beaded bracelet on the other. And as for the other boy, well, he was screaming out of fear, out of pain, sadness, agony, bawling and kicking his feet as his aunts would not let him go, would not let him see the one person he wanted to see more than anything at that moment. His face was red with rage as he ranted, the hatred in his heart only growing as fought desperately to not be put in the car, to not be restrained in that seat that was nothing but his enemy keeping him from his father.
Two young boys left the hospital that afternoon in Derry, Maine. Only one of them would go home to jump into their father's arms, just lucky to be there.
Eddie knew that boy, the one from the hospital, even when he tried not to. He thought about that as he walked through that sunny forest, the one he was lost in. As he kept walking, he didn't know whom he was angrier with; his father for lying to him or that boy for being so happy on one of the worst days of Eddie's life. He was laughing, smiling, beaming with happiness as his mother wrapped him in nothing but true, actual love and handed him a cookie from her purse. That boy couldn't have experienced the amount of pain Eddie had that day, that boy was hopeful, that boy was proud.
That boy, albeit eight years older, was sitting in the shade of a beautiful cherry tree, humming to himself as he ran his fingers through the small stream that was next to him and seemed to carry on for miles and miles into some horizon Eddie couldn't see. Those white shorts were just as clean, that button-up just as bright and blue, that skin just as pale and devoid of any and all imperfections, that hair just as golden as the sun, and of course, of course it was, why wouldn't it be?
It was Stanley, after all. Stanley never changed.
Disbelief would be the word Eddie would use to describe it, really. There he was, the boy in question, and all Eddie could do was stare down that gentle hill at him. After everything he put him through, Eddie started to question whether Stan deserved to be this happy, humming to himself in tune with those birds in the trees up above. Eddie didn't know if he should laugh or cry at the sight of him.
Instead, he settled for simply walking towards him in that determined march of his and kicking him lightly in the shoulder. Once those too familiar caramel eyes met that angry glare of Eddie's, Stan sat up slowly, turning and looking at Eddie and blinking wildly at the boy who could only look as though he was about to murder him.
Stan seemed to find the humor in that, chuckling to himself despite Eddie's unwavering anger. And as soon as his ears were able to register that chuckle (Stan did always have the absolute best laugh), that anger transformed into sadness, into bitter relief. It was Stan, after all.
They were both silent when Eddie reached down and wrapped his arms around that pale boy, though it was very apparent to them both that Stan's silence was only due to fear; as they were both silent and still, that heartbeat of Stan's was almost as quick as a rabbit's, even though Stan was not quite as skittish. Not with Eddie, anyway.
"I'm sorry, I- I know you hate hugs, but I just… shit," Eddie sighed as he let go, pulling back to see Stan's worried expression. "Hi."
Stan never lost eye contact with Eddie as he stood up, grabbing Eddie by the hand and pushing him into that stream that was only beautiful from afar and not so much from the point of view of someone sitting in the cold water. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"It's nice to see you too, Stan," Eddie groaned as he stood up, slipping only slightly on the wet rocks as he rejoined Stan under the tree. "It's been, what, twenty-seven years? You could have at least hugged me back. I might as well have been hugging that tree."
"Thirty years, actually, and as much as I absolutely love your company, Eddie, I- I don't really, but that's beside the point." Stan shook his head as he spoke, eyes moving around wildly, muttering to himself while he thought. "I know you said time isn't always right, but come the fuck on. Why'd it have to be him?"
"I get you want to go all Beautiful Mind on me right now, Stan, but funnily enough, I have a shit-ton of questions you're going to have to answer for me, so…"
"I don't have to answer anything you have to ask," he paused, waving off Eddie as he continued to pace back and forth. "Maybe it doesn't have to be him, maybe it's… he's just someone else. It's not him."
"Are you talking to me? Because I don't understand anything you're saying to me."
"No, yeah, I know you don't understand anything," Stan sighed, stopping and looking at Eddie. "You were supposed to be here three years ago. I'm trying to figure out what took you so fucking long."
"Oh, yeah, and while we're on that topic," Eddie huffed, gesturing around them, "where the hell are we?"
"You're the first person I've met here, so it's really hard to say, actually. Judging by your current, uh, situation, I'm assuming this is Sheol, but even that's all wrong. This place is too bright to be Sheol."
"That clears up nothing for me."
Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath. "Sheol is the land of the dead, and it's also supposed to be very dark and not at all cool. It's kinda like limbo. That's how he describes it, anyway," he raised a finger, knowing Eddie was going to interrupt with a question. "I get this voice in my head sometimes, just… explaining all of this to me. It's rather interesting."
"I was going to say I've sat through enough of your lectures to know about the place where dead people go. But wouldn't that mean there's a place beyond this, then?"
"That's just what I was taught from my religion, Eddie. For all I know, this could be Hell. Or Heaven. Or just… nothing. All religion is is just some way to interpret things that we don't really understand nor do we want to understand. Science and logic say that when we die we just die, but humans are too emotional to really want to believe that. It used to be something that calmed me, even just a little bit, but now it seems like it's just an excuse for people to be assholes and blame it on their religion."
"So you have no idea where we are? Is that what you're telling me?"
"No, I… not exactly, no, but Sheol is a good way of thinking about it. And you're right, you know, there- the way I was brought up tells me that there is more after this, where God and the good spirits go. I don't really believe in Hell, which is fine by me. All that is is just some reason for the otherwise bad people to do okay things, it's like they're paying their way into Heaven because they're scared of Hell," he shrugged. "I was taught that you should just do good things while you're on Earth because, you know, you're a good person. Do the best with what you have and you can rest easy knowing that God doesn't have some stupid checklist of people determining whether they get to go into this beautiful paradise or they burn eternally."
Eddie did nothing but stare at Stan while he rambled, knowing he was providing nothing but more confusion instead of the answer Eddie needed to know. "So, we are where, exactly?"
"I've been here three years, Eddie, and I can tell you with complete certainty that... I have no idea."
"Oh my God," Eddie groaned, throwing up his hands and beginning to walk away. "You're so fucking impossible to talk to."
"Yeah, because being stuck with you here forever is just a walk in the park." Stan rolled his eyes as he spoke, not bothering to stop Eddie from walking away; years of being friends let Stan know when Eddie was done, and he certainly was not.
"If this is supposed to be the land of the dead, why aren't there any other people here?" he huffed, nearly seething as Stan just shrugged calmly in response. "You're telling me you've never seen any other people here?"
"I mean… no one of use, Eddie. The only people that have come through here are, like, a handful of children, like nine or ten years old." Stan shook his head, laying back down in the shade under the tree and resting his head on his arms (Stan was always strangely flexible for someone so uptight, Eddie thought as Stan's arms looked about as twisted up as a pretzel). "Even if I found another adult to talk to, it's not like they would know where we are, either."
"Where are these kids now?" Eddie asked, looking around and seeing no one.
"Like I said, there's probably a place beyond this. They just disappear after a while."
"Where do they go?" Eddie could barely look at Stan, knowing he was just being this childish on purpose. God, it's like talking to a stubborn toddler. I'm starting to think I'm lucky I didn't know him as an adult if he just got worse.
"They never come back… or, at least, they never come back to where I can see them. They just… go on. It's comforting to know that, really."
"Why haven't you gone on?"
"This place is sort of like a holding cell, I suppose, a passage between the world we knew and this next world. Once you go into this next world, you don't come back. There's responsibility in that world, too, it- it needs protecting. It's a house of gods, really, and it's people like us that need to protect it. Or, you know, you can stay here. It's your choice, really, I don't give a shit, but I'd prefer it if you don't make yourself at home anywhere near here. I've claimed this spot."
"The gods need to be protected by children?"
"Not just any children, and there aren't just children. I'm assuming there are more, but I've mostly seen kids. There have been many before and there will probably be many after," Stan sighed. "The kids I've met are special, though, Eddie. It's like how we were, the seven of us, how we became friends so quickly. We thought it was because, well, we were all loser kids that got bullied all the time. But I got that feeling when I saw these kids, like we were meant to be friends. And I'm, you know, I'm really forty-two years old, but we just look like this because he says it's when we were the strongest. It just sounds like bullshit to me, really."
"So unless we want to go on to this next world where we are in some stupid god army, we're just stuck here?"
"No, well… you're stuck here, yeah. I can go back to Earth when I feel like it, though it sure likes to take a lot out of me," Stan replied flatly, sitting up and stretching out his arms. "I can only do it maybe once every few weeks or so. It's the only reason I knew you died, actually. A certain someone didn't get over that one for a very long time."
Eddie had to turn back to look at Stan, of course, if only to make sure he wasn't making fun of him in some cruel way. "You've seen Richie?"
"Well, Richie is the only one I visit, but I was mostly talking about Bill," he yawned, standing up and following the stream, waving for Eddie to follow. "I think you spent too much time ogling the poor kid to know this but you were, well… after Georgie died, you were certainly the best fit for Bill. You were just a brother to him, and I get how shitty that feels, but when you died, it took quite a while for Bill to leave Richie's house."
"Why can't I go to see them? Why do you only get to do that?"
"I'm assuming you can, but I just don't want you to. I've gotten better at it because I've been here for so long, but it's torture here. But this place needs a greeter, after all. It's scary ending up here alone." Stan reached his arm up to block the light from his face. "The thing I hate the most is the fucking birds. I don't suspect you hear them or see them, but I'm just being followed by a dozen birds all the time now and all they do is sing. It used to be cute, but I've learned to hate it."
"I want to see them," Eddie protested, slapping at Stan's arm to get his attention. "Take me to see them."
"I can't just fucking… Eddie, they can't see me, you know, when I visit them. I'm- we are ghosts. And we're only here and not in Heaven because we are important, we're the most powerful ghosts. I don't want you wasting my time by making me take you to see your middle-school crushes, okay? I have to stay here in case anyone else shows up."
"Wasting your time?" Eddie laughed incredulously, shaking his head at the thought of it. "I'm sorry, but you have to be joking, right? Wasting your time..."
"If you're just going to sit there and laugh at me, I'm not going to take you."
"So… you are?"
To get Eddie to stop bickering him with his request, Stan did take him to see Richie. Of course, it only took about five minutes for him to break down and decide to take him, since that's just about as much whining from Eddie Kaspbrak that Stan could ever hope to handle.
Why did I have to get stuck with him?
With their arrival at Richie's apartment, though, came a new reason for Eddie to start whining. Because of course it did.
"Oh my God, what the fuck is that smell?" Eddie groaned, looking around at the space in front of him. "Is he trying to microwave a piece of tin foil? What the fuck?"
"No, no, that goes away after a while," Stan waved him off, taking in that familiar view of the city from those gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows that Richie just happened to have in his ninth-floor apartment. "It's a travel thing, Eddie. You don't just get to travel to and from Earth without any bad side effects."
Humming in response, Eddie squealed in surprise when he sat down on the couch, noticing a big ball of curly black fur lying next to him. "He has a dog?"
"You do know it's been, like, three years since you died, right? Things change," Stan shrugged, passing the couch (petting Richie's dog's head as he went by, of course) to get a better look out the windows. "I know Izzy's staring at you, but he doesn't bite. He's a weird dog, really."
"He can see me?" Eddie asked, reaching out only for Richie's dog to retreat in fear and jump off the couch, walking down a short hallway. Never a dog person himself, Eddie couldn't help but become wildly confused at the whole interaction (or lack thereof).
"Oh, yeah, he can definitely see you. Dogs in general are strange beings, so it's not that surprising they can, you know, see the dead," Stan shrugged, turning and looking at Eddie. "I guess Mr. Israel just doesn't like you, though. He must get that from me."
"You must be so flattered," Eddie replied, standing back up and following the path Gregory had taken down the hallway. "If this is Richie's place, where the-"
Eddie squealed once more as the dog turned to look at him and began barking, causing Stan to do nothing but laugh hysterically.
"God, Richie must think his dog is going crazy," he managed to say in between his laughs. "Just standing here and barking at nothing."
"How do I make him stop?" Eddie asked almost desperately, holding up his hands as if to tell Izzy that this strange dead man in a teenager's body means no harm.
"The fuck if I know," Stan shrugged, walking past them and into the kitchen, winking at a man at the sink as he took a seat at the island. "He never barks at me."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, Stan, Richie's dumb dog likes you more than me," Eddie rolled his eyes before turning his attention to the barking dog in front of him. "Yeah, you heard me. I'm a friend of Richie's, so knock it off, please."
"Izzy, no," the man at the sink said sternly, wiping his soapy hands off on a towel and peering down the hallway. "No one's even here, dummy. Barking is bad, you know that."
As he returned to the sink of half-washed dishes, the man shook his head in frustration. Stan couldn't help but smirk as Eddie walked into the kitchen, an equally frustrated look on his face as he gestured to the strange man.
"Who the fuck is this asshole?" he asked, opting to stand at the entrance to the kitchen instead of joining them in it, moving to the side as Izzy walked into the kitchen and sat down on the floor, continuing to stare at Eddie. "Did you take me to the wrong apartment or some shit? This isn't funny, dude."
"I wouldn't call him an asshole, but, uh… I mean, yeah. He's an asshole, but not, like, an asshole. The definition varies from person to person, I think," Stan reasoned in his head, glancing over at Eddie and gesturing dramatically to the man at the sink. "Anyway. It is my honor to present to you the one, the only… Stephen."
"Okay, that doesn't-"
"For the past two years, Stephen has been cohabitating with his terrible boyfriend, whom you might know as Richard Tozier."
"Are… you're joking, right?" Eddie pulled a face as he spoke, glaring at the young man as he nodded his head while scrubbing at a particularly tough spot on a plate. "I mean… what?"
"They're gay, Eddie."
"No, no, I get that, I just… this guy?" he asked softly, moving to sit down at the island next to Stan. "He's just so… bland. I don't know anything about this guy."
Stan nodded, smiling as he cleared his throat and continued to pose for effect. "Stephen Thomas Covall, while not famous himself, is quite well-known amongst fans of Richie due to Richie mentioning him quite often in his shows. Ten years ago, they met at a party, and two years later Stephen started working for Richie as his manager. They've been working together ever since, and they began dating just about two years ago. His hobbies include cooking, dancing, and making sure Richie gets to work on time."
"God, you're pathetic," Eddie sighed, frowning as he watched Steve gently place the last coffee cup into the drying rack. "Why this guy?"
"Caught yourself a case of the jellies, huh?" Stan glanced at Eddie knowingly. "He's a good guy, if that's any consolation."
"Richie's not even here, is he?"
"I…" Stan trailed off, staring at the calendar on the fridge. "He should be. Thursdays are usually their days off, since they spend all week writing and planning and all weekend doing shows and meeting people and all that fun stuff. You're lucky it's not a Saturday, really. That was the first time I came here and, uh, they get quite handsy after shows. Even before they started dating. Alcohol does wonders, really."
"You've been snooping on them for a long time, I take it?"
"After the first time, I just got really curious. I was angry, like you are, about this weird guy. I wanted to learn more, as sad as that is since it does not change anything, so I just listened to them when they talked. It's… they're oddly a really nice couple, Eddie."
"Never said they weren't."
"After you died, Richie got so quiet," Stan said, shaking his head as Steve pulled out his phone and started playing terrible 90s music. "Apparently, he'd just have days where he couldn't even get out of bed. He just… stopped trying. Wasn't as bad as Bill, apparently, but it was terrible. But then this guy came along."
Eddie couldn't respond to what Stan was telling him, refusing to believe that this guy could ever be that special to Richie. He doesn't deserve him, Eddie thought to himself instead.
"He's ten years younger than Richie," Stan continued. "I understand in a lot of relationships, people would throw up their eyebrows at the age difference, but it really works for them. Because this guy is so much younger than Richie, he wants to do everything with him. Last year, it was getting a dog, it was going to Europe. A few months ago, it was riding horses, it was meeting his family back in Texas. Stephen is young, so he's going to want to do all these things, and he always drags Richie to do them. It- it gives Richie hope, really, it gives him something to do. It lets him know that there are still things out there in the world worth doing."
"And he's happy," Eddie said, though to Stan it definitely sounded more like a question. "With this guy."
"If it makes you feel any better, this guy turned Richie down when he tried proposing to him."
"That's surprising," Eddie replied, that frown on his face disappearing just as slowly when Steve started to mouth along to the words of the song. "I mean, he has terrible taste in music. It only makes sense for him to have terrible taste in men, too."
"Oh, no, he's completely gone for him. Absolutely in love with Richie," Stan shook his head, knowing those feelings too well for his own liking. "And since when does liking Pearl Jam mean you have terrible taste in music? Stephen grew up in the 90s, so it's probably a nostalgic thing for him- I know I sat down and listened to terrible 80s music when I was bored. And I'll have you know I went through a very intense Pearl Jam phase in my younger days. I call it the 90s."
Shaking off the thought of Stan ever wearing anything flannel, Eddie ignored those comments, instead focusing unfortunately on Richie's relationship. "If he's in love with Richie, why'd he turn him down?"
"Because he knows Richie isn't in love with him," Stan shrugged, smiling when he heard that familiar grunt in frustration from across the apartment. "Stephen understands Richie's feelings a bit better than Richie does, believe it or not. Richie not understanding his feelings? Big shocker, I know- but he knew Richie was really only proposing because that's what he thought Stephen wanted, it's what he thought he had to do. Stephen turned him down because Stephen is just happy growing old with the big idiot. He doesn't need to be married to him, he loves him so much he's fine just being his boyfriend or partner or, uh,"
Hatred was pouring out of Eddie as the word left him almost instinctively. "Lover."
"Right, yeah. Any of those things, really. Husband just isn't a thing he needs to be."
"Oh, how noble of him," Eddie rolled his eyes, pushing himself away from the counter and walking back down the hallway, stopping when someone else entered his field of view.
"I want you to know, my darling, that it took me a solid twenty-nine minutes to remember the word 'remember,'" Richie said, walking right past Eddie (just the sight of it nearly made Stan break out in a smug smile, just the sight of it would have broken Eddie's heart if he still had one, but he felt that despair nonetheless) and into the kitchen. "I was absolutely convinced I was thinking of the word 'memory' which made me think of 'membrane', then 'brain', then 'bran', which is why I came out here since I realized I was very hungry."
"You're too young to start eating bran, Richie. Soon, you'll be needing a walker," Steve chuckled, picking up his phone and turning off the music. "Does that mean you're not done for the day? Sorry if the music was bothering you."
"I told you the music was shitty," Eddie muttered in Stan's direction.
"Richie hates Pearl Jam," Stan replied, not taking his eyes off the man in question. "Believe me, he's had that conversation with Stephen many times. He likes Eddie Vedder- a lot, actually- but he's not that big on the music part. Richie prefers listening to just singers. He loves the vocals, the lyrics, all that stuff."
"No, I think I'm pretty much done," Richie laughed. "I just need to send a few emails later and then I will be completely done and away from my computer for the next two weeks. So I can, you know, reward myself by spending more time on the computer I carry with me in my pocket at all times."
Stan hummed in slight confusion at the conversation, sighing contentedly as Richie sat down at the island right next to him. Just as invisible and unattainable as ever.
"Place your bets, Eds, where do you think they're going? L.A.? Europe again?" Stan asked, glancing over at Eddie as he just stood silently in the hallway. "Oh, maybe Japan. Richie said he always wanted to go there."
"I don't know," Eddie replied quietly, ignoring the men in the kitchen and opting to sit down next to Izzy on the floor, reaching out to pet the dog lightly on his soft head.
"And you're absolutely certain that Beverly is okay with us just, like, invading in her space?" Steve asked, looking past Richie when he noticed Izzy seemingly bite at thin air. "I'd be fine with staying in a hotel if I didn't know how obnoxiously expensive hotels are in Manhattan."
"You just don't want to deal with a crying baby," Richie muttered as he took off his glasses, handing them to Steve to clean.
"I deal with you all the time, so I don't think it would be any different. My dislike of children has nothing to do with it, though."
"Baby?" Stan asked himself out loud, looking frantically around the apartment for some clue as to what was happening.
"I thought you came here all the time," Eddie mocked, allowing Izzy to nuzzle against his legs as he lay down on the cold wooden floor. "Don't tell me Stanley Uris doesn't know this vital piece of drama. How scandalous," he finished with a dramatic gasp.
"I must have been gone longer than I thought," Stan snapped back as he gestured to the calendar. "The last time I was here, that said April. It says August now- August. I don't… I mean, I know Bill has a kid, but-"
"Bill Denbrough? A father? I doubt that," Eddie shook his head, frowning at the thought of Bill ever wanting kids.
"There's a picture of her in their office, she's actually a cute baby. Dark curly hair, dark brown eyes, but, uh… she has this terrible hearing problem. She's a perfect kid, though- Jordan is her name," Stan said, eyes locked on a picture under a glittery magnet on the fridge. "Most of the stuff I learn here comes from pictures. I'm only able to stay for about an hour- I don't think I'd be strong enough to go any more than that- so I can't just sit and wait for these idiots to talk and give me everything. It's not that I can't stay longer, I just don't know if I want to. It just gets depressing after a while."
"Maybe someone else had a baby," Eddie shrugged, glancing up as Stan hopped off his chair and walked over to the fridge in order to inspect the picture- a polaroid labeled in terrible handwriting- a bit closer. "What if Patty had a baby?"
"You're on some thin ice, Kaspbrak," Stan replied, glaring right at Eddie before setting his anger aside and turning back to the polaroid picture. "Beverly had a baby. It's a boy."
"None of the Losers really struck me as people that ever wanted kids," Eddie sighed. "I mean, after everything we went through. I was never against having kids, I think, but I'm not sure I was ever someone to actively seek out having children. Same with the rest of us."
"Patty and I could never have kids. It was my fault, so," Stan glanced back at Eddie, who nodded silently as he listened. "It sorta hurts when someone says that my wife has children now. God knows how long I tried giving them to her."
"What's he look like?" Eddie tried desperately to change the subject, knowing it was the fault of his temper that Stan was staring off in space, eyes locked to the floor. "The baby."
"Very blonde," Stan said, shaking his head. "I think this says he's only a month old, but from what I can tell, he is much more blonde than you'd think Beverly's kid would be. He must get that from Ben," he said softly, squinting at the writing under the picture. "Eddie."
"Yes?"
"No, it's- that's what the baby's name is," Stan replied, moving back in surprise as Steve passed through him and opened the fridge. "Eddie James Hanscom, born on May 29, 2019. Six pounds, four ounces, nineteen inches long."
With that knowledge, Eddie could only sadly smile, thinking to himself that although it was an honor to have someone named after him, it was a bit depressing to think the only reason someone would be named after him would be because he had died. To know there was a little Eddie napping soundly in a bassinet somewhere, blissfully unaware of the cursed world he lived in.
He stared at the back of Richie, who laughed at some dumb joke Eddie didn't hear. He wanted to stand up, to walk over to him and hug him. To scream at him, to hit him, to do something, anything, to let him know he was there. Eddie didn't want a baby named after him, he didn't want to be watching the people around him live their lives, he didn't want any of it.
"When was the last time you held a baby?" Richie asked, smiling as Steve handed him a plate with a peanut butter sandwich on it; neatly cut diagonally in half, of course. "You say you don't like kids, but I'm pretty sure you've never even held a baby."
"I think you are getting old, Rich, considering it was only in December," he laughed. "I held Cassie and it was the absolute worst thing in the world. I felt like I was holding a squirming bomb or something."
"You, my dear, are the world's worst uncle," Richie shook his head, taking a bite of the sandwich. "No one likes a boring uncle, either. Have some fun with that niece of yours."
"What does Richie even see in this guy?" Eddie sighed, gesturing to Steve, who shook his head as he stared at his phone. "He wanted to propose to him?"
"Oh, yeah, I can't possibly see why Richie Tozier doesn't want to be with this short, foul-mouthed idiot of a guy," Stan rolled his eyes, hopping up on the counter. "He's the same exact height as you, by the way."
"I'm nothing like him." Eddie pulled a face as he looked him up and down, unsure of what to make of him. Perhaps if Eddie were myopic he'd see the resemblance between him and him, but with Eddie's perfect 20/20 vision, the two couldn't appear more different. He was pale, he was stocky, he had a short wavy haircut that screamed "I don't care," he was wearing a terribly oversized t-shirt that couldn't have belonged to anyone but Richie, he was… he was…
"Can we go now?" Eddie asked, standing up and staring at Stan. "I don't- I can't."
Stan understood how Eddie was feeling, he supposed it was how he felt the first time he went back there. After spending so much time away from that place, though, he almost separated himself from it all. There was no point in becoming so jealous when the people on Earth might as well have been dead to Stan; it wasn't like they could see him, it wasn't like he was actually there. Izzy, that strange little labradoodle, was the only thing that could see him. Coming back there, after everything, only made him bitter about the life he had left behind.
Richie was the closest of them to figuring it out, what they could do. Stan reasoned it was why he could come back here at all. After the first few times, he swore Richie could just barely tell he was there; Stan would scream at him, just inches from his face, and Richie would look up confused, knowing he heard something but unsure of where it came from. Stan couldn't take it, really, the torture of seeing Richie. He'd much rather go see Bill or Mike or, well, even Beverly. Above all else, he wished he could see Patty, to know she was okay. Perhaps she had moved on as Eddie said, found someone else. Got married. Started a family. Stan believed he'd be okay with that; it was her life, after all, not his. Not theirs. Not anymore.
She always wanted to go to Thailand, see where her family came from. And he would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if it weren't for that nagging feeling in the back of his mind, begging him to stay in America. Stan always felt bad for that. He wanted to make up for it, planned to make up for it, booked a vacation to tell her the news of how he was going to make up for it. One bad phone call later and, well, it didn't matter anymore.
Stan nodded, watching Eddie walk down the hallway with tears welling up in his eyes. Richie had made Steve giggling at some dumb joke of his, saying how Beverly must be tired of always being around a bunch of helpless boys. It was hardly a joke, Richie knew, though Steve didn't know. And he never would.
All Stan could do was smile at that. Despite everything, Richie was still Richie. And Stan would always be Stan, watching hopelessly and silently from the sidelines as his best friend made someone else- anyone else - turn as red as a tomato from all the blushing. And Stan was okay with that. He had a lifetime of becoming okay with that.
"You're awfully quiet for someone your size," Stan said, nudging Eddie's shoulder as they walked along the stream. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"There's nothing to talk about," Eddie replied, kicking up some rocks as they walked.
"Well, for starters, we're forty-year-old men trapped in their thirteen-year-old bodies. We're stuck in limbo, which isn't as bad as they make it out to be, but we're alone here. We can't feel pain, we can't taste food, we can't feel anything. Well, temperatures, yeah, feelings, yeah, but nothing worth feeling. There has to be something you want to talk about."
"Who was the last person that came through here?"
"It was two people, actually," Stan thought, nodding. "A kid and his mom. That doesn't happen too much here, apparently, but that kid was something else. Stronger than all of us put together. His mom, well… like I said, he was strong. He probably dragged her along here with him."
"And they just moved on," Eddie said softly. "They didn't stop, they didn't go back. They just kept going."
"She did. He stayed for a little while," Stan said, slowing down and waiting for Eddie, who stopped to tie his shoe. "Danny was his name. Good kid. He talked to the voice, too- the one I hear. I miss him."
"The only point of staying here is to go back," Eddie said slowly, furrowing his eyebrows. He continued to sit on the grass, unable to find the strength to stand back up. "I don't- I can't go through that shit again. You might be fine with putting yourself through that torture, but I can't."
"I'm just used to it, Eddie. If… if you want to stay, you can. It just takes time to be okay with-"
"With what, Stan? With seeing that?" Eddie cried, waving his arm behind him. "With seeing your friends just fucking move on and- and just… no. I'm not doing this," he shook his head, standing up and walking past Stan.
"Oh, don't be like that. You have no idea what he went through, Eddie. It took him three years to get to where he is now."
"I don't care."
"He had to go to the fucking hospital, Eddie," Stan replied, watching as Eddie continued to just walk away. "You're acting like an infant. While you were stuck holding on for three years for whatever reason, he was making himself sick after what he went through. They were all like that, I'm sure. Nightmares, hands that wouldn't stop shaking, days where they just wanted to sit in a locked closet because at least it's safe. I get that fucking feeling because it's fear, fear that even though it's all over, it's not in your mind. Richie didn't even have it the worst. And he's not perfect now, he still does some shitty stuff, but I'm pretty sure he'd be right here with us if it weren't for Stephen."
Eddie huffed at the name, but remained silent otherwise. He wanted, needed, to ignore what Stan was saying. He didn't, couldn't, cry here. Not with him.
"Stop being so jealous and just be happy for him, asshole."
"I'm not fucking jealous!" Eddie snapped, picking up a small rock and throwing it at Stan, hitting him in the leg. Stan was unfazed by it all, unable to feel any of it. Eddie panted, tears streaming down his face as Stan just stood there, searching within himself for some answer to fix what was happening.
Eddie's pants and tears soon turned into sobs as he fell to his knees in the soft grass he was pulling up by the fistfuls and denouncing as stupid, stupid, stupid. He couldn't breathe- not that he needed to, anyway, but those sobs turned his breaths into heaves, that scared boy into an angry and desperate man.
Stan couldn't do anything but stare at Eddie as he broke down in the grass, knowing that feeling himself but unknowing the cure for it. It was on day three that Stan cracked; the first two days were spent just lying face-down in the mud all dramatic and apathetic and so himself. Day three was when the birds started following him, tormenting him by doing nothing but singing. It was something that was once beautiful, but not there. There it was nothing short of a cruel reminder of everything he had lost. Everything he gave up.
He screamed for hours, his throat becoming little more than just dry. He pulled on his hair, a habit that used to give his OCD-riddled brain ease, but there it did absolutely nothing for it. After a while, he gave up, settling into the depression stage of grief, falling on his stomach and sobbing until he couldn't anymore. Stan didn't understand why he was sobbing, why he was feeling so much, why he cared so much, but he did. And that was enough.
He threw stones at the birds that sang his torture to him. Stan supposed that was when he realized why he was being punished, when he realized the monster that he was. He adored those birds in another lifetime; why was that place any different? Why were those birds any different? Why was he different?
"I'm not jealous," Eddie repeated, this time with a bit more resolve as he sat on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest and head buried between them. "I'm- I'm not."
"I hated you, for a long time," Stan started, not fully aware of the way Eddie scoffed at the admission. "Richie was my best friend since, like… I think since I started to walk. Our moms were in the same class, but, uh… it's hard to really remember things that happened when I was young. But the memories I do have were with Richie. I never wanted to talk and he always wanted to talk, so I was just someone that listened to him babble on about whatever nonsense he loved that day. One day, well, it was just Eddie, Eddie Eddie. I'd go home and sit in the bathtub and cry because Richie was my friend, you know. But I think I was about eleven or twelve when I first started thinking that I was different, that the thoughts in my head were not the thoughts in the heads of the other kids. Girls would think about boys, boys would think about girls, but I never knew how to describe the things I thought about so I never did. I cried to Richie about it when we were walking home one day- I was always crying about some bullshit. And… he kissed me. I could tell he only did it to make me feel better, to get me to shut up, to just get me to stop crying. He didn't mean it, anyway, because I was never the one he'd never shut up about. I was just Stanny. I wasn't the one that was going to get to hold hands with him, to skip prom with him because we'd never be allowed to go there anyway, to go to college with him and roomate with him and end up doing crazy shit with him when we're drunk because we're dumb and in love and just want to feel things, you know. It was my first kiss, obviously, but that was the last time we walked home together. Because it meant nothing. When it was time to talk about Eddie, he was always so quiet, always so secretive. When it was time to kiss Stan, he was fine with it being so public because it meant nothing. It wasn't gay at all, it wasn't anything."
"You- you don't," Eddie huffed, struggling to regain his composure as he looked up at Stan. "You don't think I knew how you guys fucking saw me? I- all I fucking wanted were friends, Stan! Bill wanted a brother, Richie wanted a boyfriend, you wanted someone to roll your eyes at. I just wanted friends! I didn't ask for any of that other shit!"
"Why are you getting so upset over nothing, then?"
"I'm not fucking jealous of Stephen, Stanley, I'm angry. I'm angry that after all of that shit, after everything, after sacrificing myself to save that fucking asshole, he just- he went back home. He strung me along and treated me like that for years and I… I don't know. He gets to be the one to be with him when Richie treated me like that. He's the one that ends up with Richie but I had to be used so Richie could fucking figure that out. I just wanted to be my own fucking person, I wanted to live my own life, but everyone in my fucking life treated me like something I wasn't. No one ever dared to ask Eddie who he was. They just assume and assign me roles I didn't ask for. And for one minute, just one fucking minute, I thought I was going to do it. After Maine, I was going to pack my shit and leave. Travel the world and figure out who I was. But I- I did what I was fucking supposed to do," he said softly, wiping his eyes. "I saved him. And now I'm here."
"You were never just someone to roll my eyes at, Eddie," Stan said flatly, cursing to himself as he moved to sit with Eddie in the grass (though he opted to sit across from him, as he believed he had less of a chance of being physically harmed that way).
"Oh, please. You rolled your eyes at everyone, Stan, but I must've taken the cake," Eddie laughed hollowedly. "We were never really friends. We never hung out together without anyone else around. You'd rather be by yourself than hang out with me."
"Well, we're stuck together now, aren't we?"
"I'm not staying here," Eddie said, shaking his head. "I- you can sit here and be miserable all you want, but I'm going on. I don't want to go through that again."
"They'll follow you, when they get here. I'll be stuck here by myself," Stan sighed, waving his arm as a bird decided to land on his head. Eddie couldn't see it, of course. He couldn't see any of them. "I don't want to be left behind again, Eddie."
"You're not being left behind, you're staying behind. You can come if you want, so don't sit here and complain like you can't," he shrugged, tears continuing to fall as Stan simply stared at him blankly. "I want to go on to something, well… something. This isn't anything, Stan. I don't have to be here for three years to know that. I wasted my whole life being someone I wasn't, trying to make everyone else happy. I don't know what's next, but it has to be better than this. And at least then I might have a chance at independence. I deserve that chance."
Stan glared at the ground as Eddie stood up, sniffling and walking away. "Stop."
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Stanley."
"I spent years thinking you were the reason Richie didn't like me the way I wanted him to," Stan started, standing up and dusting off the back of his shorts as he followed after Eddie. "But we're meant to be here, and I think… I think that's why."
"I don't want to hear that shit anymore," Eddie shook his head, not bothering to turn around and look at the person he wanted to get away from. "I'm not on some fucking predetermined path. I'm sick and tired of people telling me what I'm supposed to do. I'm going to do what I want to do."
"Just listen to me," Stan said, reaching out and grabbing Eddie's wrist.
Of course, Eddie being Eddie, he pulled his arm away from Stan, turning and giving him a push (mostly out of instinct, though they'd both argue on that if Eddie used that excuse). Stumbling backward, Stan landed in the stream, throwing up his hands in defeat.
"Again? Seriously, Eddie?" Stan huffed, splashing a handful of water in Eddie's direction.
"No one gets to just grab me like that, Stan. I don't care if you're my friend or not, no one gets to do that."
"Oh, yeah, I'm so threatened by you," Stan rolled his eyes, standing up and flicking water at Eddie. "What I was going to say, asshole, is that maybe some stuff in life is meant to happen. I don't think it's hard to know that you were supposed to end up with Richie. But you didn't, like… he's going to end up with Stephen. And maybe that's not who he's meant to be with, but he's happy. They're happy. And maybe we are meant to be here."
"No one is supposed to be here. All this is is just- it's a doorway between worlds. People aren't meant to stand in the door. They're supposed to go from one room to the next," he shook his head. "I want to move into the next room but you're trying to hold me back."
"One poor experience back there shouldn't push you into a place where you cannot go back."
"You just don't want to be here alone," Eddie accused. "Don't put that blame on me when you can go on, too."
"No! I can't! I can't go!" Stan yelled, stepping out of the stream and staring at Eddie, taking deep breaths to ease some of the anger that was building up. Of course, in true Stanley Uris fashion, it didn't work in the slightest. "I'm stuck here!"
Stan didn't know when he first figured it out, that he was stuck there. He supposed it was punishment for what he did, but it didn't seem like punishment at first. Not until Eddie showed up.
"It's- it's fucking torture, Eddie. I sit here and I have to listen to what goes on, to- to know what I caused and what I can't fix. You're not going on to the next world, you're going on to the center of everything. That's what we're trying to protect, apparently," Stan explained. "It's batshit crazy, really. I thought people just fucking stop when they die. It just gets more complicated than ever."
"Why did you take me back there? You knew it would be shitty, but you took me back anyway."
"Oh, I'm sorry, person who asked me to take them, for doing what you wanted," he rolled his eyes, causing Eddie to scoff in disbelief.
"I just wanted to see my friends because they're the last thing I remember. I thought it could give me some sense of whatever all of this is. Clearly, I was wrong. Forgive me."
"Richie's life has always been a fucking mess, you know that," Stan shook his head. "Did you really expect him to change?"
"You're the one that was in love with the guy," Eddie muttered, breaking out in laughter at the thought of it. "God, it really had to be the worst of the bunch."
"What?"
"Well, I mean, Richie's so fucking dumb. Mike and Ben are both super sweet, Bill's so smart and creative, but no, it had to be Richie Tozier," he smiled. "He once bragged to me about how he ate a whole jar of peanut butter in one afternoon."
"Richie told me he wanted to make socks and sandals the next fashion craze," Stan shook his head, a smile growing on his face, too.
"Yeah, I know. You couldn't even respond to that one. You just walked back home and didn't hang out with him for two days."
"I didn't want to dignify it with a response," Stan shrugged. "Who among us would want to ever fucking wear that shit, Eddie?"
"I'm starting to just feel sorry for Stephen at this point," Eddie sighed. "I'm glad Richie has someone to be with, though. Keep him company or whatever."
"Pretty sure they do more than keep each other company, but I know that's about as close to acceptance that you're going to get, so I will not argue that one."
"Who do you think will come through here next?" Eddie asked, the words leaving his mouth faster than they had fully processed in his mind. "I mean… not in a serious way. Just another person for you to talk to, I guess. Since I was probably your last choice out of everyone."
"I don't really want any of them to end up here," Stan blinked, his smile fading. "Of course, I'd love to be able to talk to Richie again. Hopefully, by the time they get here, they'll be too old to know who I am. I want nothing more than for them to make it that long. The same went for you, Eddie. It's why I got so frustrated when I saw you. It was supposed to be another forty, fifty years before you got here. And it's… it's scary because I know you want to leave. To have another chance at all that life stuff that you missed out on the first time, to have a purpose or whatever. And you can go chasing that, but it doesn't really stop me from hating the fact that it means I'll be alone again after only seeing you for so little time."
"I didn't expect Stanley Uris to ever be such a softie for me," Eddie chuckled softly. "I understand what you mean, but… yeah. I'm not much of a hero, but I'm pretty good at it, I think. When I want to be."
"Do you want to be?"
"Right now, yes," Eddie nodded. "And maybe I'll change my mind tomorrow, but I'll deal with that bridge when I get to it. But I at least have a bridge to cross. And I'm doing it by myself for what feels like the first time."
"Izzy's going to miss the heck out of you," Stan replied, smiling sadly. "Who else is he going to bark at when I'm there?"
"Yeah, I'm not going to miss that at all," Eddie laughed. "I was never big on pets."
Stan nodded silently at that one, knowing that this conversation was really going nowhere. "Don't forget that I can hear what's going on with you idiots over there, so don't mess up too badly, Eddie."
"I'll try not to," he promised, slowly stretching out his arms and walking toward Stan. "Even though you're soaking wet and I absolutely hate that, I feel like I owe you a hug."
Stan wanted to refuse, as he usually refused hugs from everyone, but he stood still as Eddie wrapped those small arms around him. As far as hugs go, Stan supposed it wasn't the worst possible one in the world. Especially since he stood about as stiff as a board during it all.
"Thank you," Eddie whispered, frowning against Stan's shoulder, "for putting up with me. I wasn't here for very long, but you certainly made it an experience."
"It was nice seeing a familiar face," Stan replied, reaching up slowly to pat at Eddie's back. "And just being able to talk to someone I know is… I didn't know how much I missed that."
"I'll make you proud, Stan."
"I doubt that," he chuckled. "My standards are a bit too high for that, bud. I appreciate the sentiment, though."
"Always so brutally honest," Eddie said, stepping back from the hug only to grab Stan's shoulders, staring right into his eyes with that smile of his. "We never got- we're the ones that never got to say goodbye to them. It feels weirdly right for us to be able to say goodbye to each other, doesn't it?"
"You shouldn't keep them waiting so long," Stan said, stepping away from Eddie. "I'm sure all those people are dying to meet you. They have no idea what's coming, really. Just… just be you, Eddie. Always be you."
Eddie supposed it came too late, but it was a goodbye he needed more than anything. It was a goodbye he deserved. And it was a goodbye he got.