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There are a lot of things that Eddie Kaspbrak can handle. However, he never pictured himself being this level-headed standing face to face with a monster.
When Richie Tozier is involved, it seems that Eddie is capable of much more than he pictured.
As he stands in the doorway of another disgusting room in the Neibolt house, the fear that overwhelmed Eddie mere moments ago is but a fleeting thought. Now, the only thing occupying Eddie’s brain is pure rage. He’s looking into a room filled with dolls, and his fists are clenched at his side as he stares at Richie’s limp body in front of an empty casket. As he stares, Eddie hears laughter—maniacal, screeching clown laughter—echoing around the room.
He takes a step forward.
As Eddie proceeds further into the room, his carefully placed footsteps drown out the awful laughter. When he finally reaches Richie, he shakes him gently. He stirs, which Eddie thinks is a good sign. He hears a thud, and turns to face it.
“Think you can fix me up, Doctor K.?” Eddie hears Richie’s voice, but upon glancing back at Richie’s still-unconscious form, it’s not coming from Richie himself. Eddie turns back around, knuckles white from his steely grip on his inhaler.
“I know you’re there, you stupid clown!” Eddie yells. He’s pleasantly surprised by how steady his voice is. A rush of warm wind blows in Eddie’s face, and his nose involuntarily scrunches up at the stench that follows.
“Ah, I see. If you haven’t fixed yourself by now, why should I expect you to fix me, Doctor?” Not-Richie’s voice sneers. Eddie’s blood runs cold, and he’s somehow even more pissed off than before.
“I’m not afraid of you. You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real…” Eddie chants the last bit, steadying himself and his breathing. A familiar, drooling clown face pops out from behind an uncomfortably realistic mannequin, and Eddie lets out a curse as he takes a step back.
“I’m not real, Eddie? I’m not real? If I wasn’t real, could I have done that to Richie?” Now, the voice doesn’t sound like Richie anymore—it’s the voice of the clown that haunts Eddie’s nightmares. Pennywise’s laughter grows until it’s all that Eddie can hear. Eddie feels sick to his stomach, but his rage steels his nerves. Without a beat of hesitation, Eddie pulls out his inhaler and points it at the awful amalgamation in front of him.
“This is battery acid, you slime!”
. . . .
Eddie knows he should be asleep. He should’ve fallen asleep hours ago with the rest of his friends, but for some reasons his brain just won’t stop. It’s not that Eddie’s unhappy—he had a great, uneventful movie night with his best friends, and he wouldn’t change a thing about it—but he can’t sleep.
For the first time in his life, Eddie’s grateful for his insomnia. Somewhere close to three in the morning, Richie shoots up from a nightmare. His shoulders shake and his chest heaves with terrified breaths, and Eddie offers him a hand. Richie takes it gratefully and tries to steady himself.
“Sorry Eds, just… One of those dreams.” Richie cracks a smile, and Eddie pretends he doesn’t notice the fear in his eyes.
“It’s fine, Rich. You… You’re safe now, you know.” Eddie takes Richie's hand in his, and squeezes gently. Richie’s forced smile turns into a real one, and he laughs softly. Despite the laughter, the look in Richie’s eyes tells Eddie how much it really means to him.
“Eddie Spaghetti, you’re my hero.” Richie places a hand on his forehead, and swoons dramatically. The ridiculousness of the gesture is heightened by the fact that he’s whispering, and Eddie covers his mouth to mask a giggle.
“Fuck off, Richie. Let’s sit outside and watch the sun rise, and you can tell me about it once you can breathe easier.” Regardless of his words, Eddie can’t fight off the smile breaking across his face.
He doesn’t leave room for argument—just gently leads Richie outside by the hand. They sit with their backs against Mike’s barn, facing the golden sunrise. They don’t speak for a bit—preferring instead to sit in silence and take in the peaceful moment in their hectic lives. With graduation just around the corner and an unspoken threat of losing touch looming over their heads, they’re grateful for a break from the whirlwind. Eddie secretly wonders what he’ll do without his friends, but his biggest worry is about what he’ll do without Richie. They’ve been best friends since they were kids—side by side through every change, every hardship, every triumph. The thought of the only good constant in Eddie’s life being gone terrifies him.
Eddie’s worries consume his thoughts, and he barely notices the rising sun until Mike’s grandmother’s figure blocks the light. Eddie blinks up at her, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.
“Why aren’t you boys asleep?” Mrs. Hanlon’s words are pointed, but her tone and smile soft. “It’s not even five in the morning yet.” As Eddie rushes to explain, rambling about how they couldn’t sleep and it was too late to go back to bed and the sunrise just seemed so beautiful and—she cuts him off by handing both him and Richie a basket filled with eggs.
“Take these into the kitchen, hm? Since you’re up, I’m putting you two to work.” Eddie blinks up at her, but stands and takes the basket. They make their way to the kitchen almost on autopilot, having spent so much of their childhoods in Mike’s house. Mrs. Hanlon instructs them to wash and peel apples, prepare fruit, and make enough breakfast food to feed an army. The three of them are the only ones awake, and it feels almost like a secret. They speak in hushed voices, and Mrs. Hanlon smiles at them as she whisks away to do more of her morning routine.
Eddie steals glances at Richie as they work. He’s biting his lip in concentration while he carefully measures out ingredients for pancakes. A blush creeps across Eddie’s cheeks, and he hides his smile behind his hand. He forces his eyes back down to the apple that he’s been absently rinsing for nearly five minutes and sets it down hastily. Eddie slumps over the kitchen sink, and splashes his face with water before staring blankly at the bowl of fruit he still needs to wash. His mind wanders again, back to all the worries he has for the future, his conflicting feelings towards his best friend, his nonexistent relationship with his mom… Everything feels like it’s too much, and Eddie can feel his lungs tightening. He grips the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white, and barely even notices that Richie’s stopped working a few feet away from him.
“What’s wrong, spaghetti man?” Richie’s standing next to Eddie now, a hand lingering tentatively over his shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie just shakes his head, almost like he’s trying to shake out the thoughts intruding on his peace of mind. Richie gently turns him around so that they’re facing each other and smiles softly.
“Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong…” Richie whisper-sings to Eddie, trying to get him to crack a smile. The just-risen sun is shining through the window, shrouding Eddie’s pouting face in a glowing halo of light. Richie can’t help but think about how perfect Eddie looks in this moment, and about how badly he wants his best friend to just smile. So, he keeps going.
“Chiquitita, tell me the truth…” As he continues to sing, Richie’s fingers lightly tip Eddie’s chin up so their eyes meet, and he winks. Eddie can’t help but laugh—Richie’s eyes look comically big through his glasses, adding to the ridiculousness of the scene. It doesn’t take much more of this for Eddie to crack a smile, and he looks so soft and so warm, like he’s finally relaxed, and it’s so much that Richie swears he can feel his heart beating right out of his chest. Finally, Eddie breaks the silence.
“I’m fine, Richie. Just thinking too much.” Eddie’s smile turns to a sadder one, and he looks almost defeated. Richie would do anything to kiss him right now, to kiss that pout away, to be the one to put that carefree light back in his eyes. But he thinks better of it, opting to crack a joke instead.
“Thinking too much about me and good ol’ Mrs. K., aren’t’cha?” This earns Richie a whack with a kitchen towel, but Eddie’s laughing, and Richie’s laughing with him, and the tension’s gone.
They move around the kitchen like it’s a dance, and soon enough, they’re done. Eddie stands back proudly, chest puffed up and hands on his hips as he looks at everything that they made together. A full breakfast to feed all seven teenagers, Mike’s grandparents, sisters, and uncle- there’s probably thirty-odd pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, and a fruit plate that Eddie is particularly proud of. When Mrs. Hanlon walks back into the kitchen, she nods with approval, smiling at Richie and Eddie.
“Well done, boys. Looks good.” Richie’s nearly beaming when she goes on to compliment the pancakes, and looks slightly sheepish when she dusts flour off his shirt. As their friends and the rest of Mike’s family file into the kitchen, Eddie thinks that he’d do nearly anything for Richie to look that content all the time. As everyone wakes up a little more, the conversation is loud and boisterous and fun, and it feels… Peaceful. All seven losers pointedly avoid the topic of graduation, of what comes next, and they’re all at ease as they just enjoy the moment. Grapes are thrown across the table when someone makes a bad joke, and the laughter erupting from the room is enough to drown out all of Eddie’s worried thoughts. He would do anything for his friends, and he would do anything to keep them all together like this.
. . . .
“No. No no no—Eddie, stay with me, please. Come on Eds, don’t you give up on me yet…”
Beverly winces as Richie panics on the ground next to Eddie’s limp body. It’s a gruesome scene- one of Eddie’s arms has been ripped off by the monster, Pennywise’s spider-like form is oozing a putrid goop, Mike has a gash in his stomach, and Ben and Bill aren’t much better off. There’s a gap in their formation where Stan should be. And the Losers are panting, and dejected, and losing.
But there’s Richie. Rising from where he was taking a knee next to Eddie, fists clenched and a fire in his eyes that Bev has never seen before. He looks… Strong. Richie looks strong, and in control, but most of all, he looks pissed. Bev’s hopeful—hopeful that Richie’s rage might inspire everyone else to be back on their game, hopeful that maybe if they’re angry enough they can win—but she gasps when she sees Richie round on Bill.
“You.” Richie nearly growls. “You brought me to that fucking crackhead house, twenty-seven years ago. You made us do this. You made us get involved. And now here we are, and Eddie’s fucking dead. And we were supposed to protect each other.”
Richie turns to Mike next. “And you. If you never called, we—we wouldn’t be here. Stan would be living at home, happy, content, okay. Eddie would still be alive, for fuck’s sake!” Richie’s voice breaks, and he furiously wipes a rogue tear away. Bill’s shaking now, thinking too much about Stanley and everything that he should’ve done differently, wondering if this is really how they’re all going to die, in a dirty sewer about to be mauled be a goddamned spider-shaped clown.
Ben looks at Richie, true fear in his eyes, and Pennywise laughs. “Richie, come on don’t—don’t say that shit. We can still do this, right? We’re the lucky seven… Right?” He pleads.
“Not anymore, Haystack. We’re the unfortunate five now, aren’t we?” Richie quips back. Bev winces, and when she makes eye contact with Richie, his eyes are dark.
“Richie, we can’t just stop now—” Bev is interrupted by Richie clicking his tongue.
“Beverly, my darling, you didn’t let me finish!” Bev makes eye contact with Ben, and they both turn to face Richie completely. “All of this is bullshit, but now? Now?” Richie pauses, and cracks his knuckles.
“Now I have to kill this fucking clown.”
What happens next is a blur of movement- there’s fighting, there’s screaming, there’s fire somewhere, there’s light, there’s darkness, and there’s victory. Five adult losers walk out of the sewers, heads held high in spite of the weight of exhaustion pressing down on them. An unconscious Eddie is held in Richie’s arms, breathing shallow and pulse weak but there. The remaining members of the Losers’ club find themselves in a hospital waiting room, dozing off in uncomfortable chairs, but together. They’re more fulfilled than they’ve felt in years.
. . . .
Richie isn’t quite sure how long he’s been in this hospital room. Nearly a week, certainly, but time feels like it’s blurred together. Eddie’s still not awake, but he’s safe, and Richie can’t begin to show how grateful he is for that. There’s not much that he’s sure of, but Richie knows this:
They won.
They’re alive.
And he hasn’t slept solidly for more than half an hour in days.
. . . .
When Eddie first wakes up, he’s not sure of much.
He’s in a hospital room, that much is for sure. He can’t feel his arm, but that’s fine. He’s surprised that he’s even still alive, at this point. He’s confused, and fighting off a wave of panic, but there’s Richie.
Richie.
He’s not sure how he could’ve forgotten Richie for so long. Or any of his friends, for that matter. But, after high school graduation, the once-lucky seven lost touch. He kept up with Richie and Stanley for a few months longer than the rest—but even that came to an end. Some invisible force pushed even the closest of friends apart. Eddie feels a twang of heartache in his chest when he thinks of Stanley, of what Bill must be feeling knowing that Stan is… Gone. He shakes the thought away, choosing instead to focus on Richie’s sleeping figure, slumped forward and resting on his bed. He smiles, and tentatively reaches his hand out to touch Richie’s hair. He dozes back to sleep, and is woken by nurses not long after.
He thinks about his friends. They’ve already come to visit him in the hospital, Richie said- Richie just never left Eddie’s bedside, despite them pressing for him to. He thinks about seeing them regularly, he thinks about how proud he is of them. He thinks about having a future that he wants to be a part of.
He only half-listens as they tell him about the damage to his arm, as they tell him about the prosthetic he’ll need, and about the extensive physical therapy he’ll have to do. Instead, Eddie focuses on Richie’s hand in his, on the thought that he’ll even have a future.
The next few months for Eddie are hectic—he spends weeks in the hospital, and he ditches his New York estate in favor of moving in with Richie in LA. His days are filled with morning crosswords, physical therapy, and writing skits with Richie. They often sit and have dinner together in front of the TV—critiquing the jokes and one-liners, pretending that their only problems are bad scripts and even worse acting.
Nighttime proves to be the hardest, though. Neither of them are safe from nightmares, often waking with a shout in a cold sweat, haunted by memories of a horror long past. Luckily, though, they’re not alone anymore. They don’t always talk, they can’t always help each other—but now, they’re not alone. It’s good, because they both need it. However, Eddie has a hard time needing to rely on anyone else. It proves especially hard when he’s trying to open a stupid jar of peanut butter, and he just can’t seem to keep hold of it, he can’t do it by himself and Richie offers to help, but Eddie just snaps.
“I’m a goddamn adult, Richie!” He doesn’t even notice that he’s crying as he yells. “Let me do things myself, for fuck’s sake! I don’t need you babying me!” Richie reels back as Eddie screams, and stands helplessly as he watches Eddie crumple to the ground, body shaking with his sobs.
This isn’t the first—or the last—time that one of them snaps. But now, they know why. Now, at least they remember. They heal, with time and support, they grow stronger and they grow closer and they’re okay. Things aren’t perfect, they aren’t better, but they’re okay.
Richie still feels guilty. He tells Eddie this, sometimes. He tells Eddie how he wishes he could’ve done something better, wishes he could’ve protected him. He tells Eddie how terrified he was to lose him. He almost tells Eddie how much he truly loves him, but he can never find the right words.
They’re sitting together at the dining room table in the house that they share, and Richie stares at Eddie. The sun has just risen, and the way it shines from the window makes it look like Eddie’s an angel with a halo.
“I’d do anything to keep this view for the rest of my life, Eds.” Richie props his chin up on his hands, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Well, you’re stuck with me now, Rich.” Eddie sighs softly. “I’m… I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me. And having to, uh. Take care of me and shit.” I’m sorry I’m so weak, Eddie thinks, and looks away. He’s fighting back tears when he feels Richie’s hand wrap around his own.
“Eddie, I… I really don’t mind, you know. I love hanging out with my main squeeze!” Richie winks with that, drawing a small giggle out of Eddie. “But, really, if… If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry for not being able to protect you, Eds. I should’ve been there, I don’t ever want to see you hurt and I just want to be able to help—” and suddenly, finally, Richie’s being cut off by a kiss, and Eddie’s in his arms and this moment that he’s waited for his entire life is finally here, finally real and happening and it is so, so good. Their afternoon is full of cancelled appointments and stolen kisses, conversations kept to wondering why they never did this sooner. For once, Eddie is grateful for acting on his rash impulses.
Later in the evening, they’re sitting on the couch together, talking about their regrets. Richie tries to apologize to Eddie again, but he’s shot down.
“You carried me out of that damn sewer, Richie. You saved my life. So would you please stop being so hard on yourself?” Eddie sniffs, fighting back tears. So many emotions are swirling around in his mind, but all that matters is that they’re safe. They’re okay. They have forever to work out whatever… This is. They have forever to be together, and to learn how to be okay.
“So, would ya say I’m something like your knight in shining armor, Prince Edward?” Richie leans down and bats his eyelashes at Eddie, who responds with a soft whack on the arm.
“Yeah,” Comes the only half-sarcastic reply. “My hero.”