It's amazing what perspective surviving death can put on your life.
Crawling out of the sewers after waking alone wasn't even the hardest thing Eddie had ever had to do. He was bloody, though his wound had somehow sealed, weak from blood-loss, starving like he hadn't eaten in a week, and covered head to toe in filth.
But as he stumbled, blinking and wincing into the sunlight of the Barrens, he drew a clean breath and felt like the entire world had finally clicked into place.
Each muscle in his legs threatened to give in every step of the way, but he pushed on. One foot in front of the other, and then again. Each breath steady and paced. He walked along the roadside, the one he'd ridden his bike along a thousand times in childhood, never considering just how the asphalt met the grass or how many millions of pebbles peppered the edges of the road like crumbs bitten off by tyres.
The town was deserted, like they knew something had gone down. Though it must have taken Eddie over an hour to make the slow, painful trip, he never met a soul. And probably best, for how could he explain to them the grime and dirt and ooze, the sewer water and blood that he was caked in?
Maybe it was the lingering touch of that Good Force, the turtle. Maybe it was luck. Whatever it was, Eddie had no energy to be grateful to it. His only focus was getting there, one single slow step at a time.
His vision was hazy as his toes met the driveway. Drawing air into his lungs was increasingly difficult the closer he got, and every breath was a heavy, laboured groan. The door handle turned easily under his touch, which was a relief, for Eddie didn't think he had enough left in him to apply any more force, or to knock loud enough that someone might hear.
He practically fell over the threshold, his feet finally stumbling, rubbery and uncoordinated. His grip on the doorknob barely held him up, but he didn't even have any power left to throw out his other arm so he simply hung there, teetering, ready to collapse.
That's where he was when he was found, the sharp gasp his greeting. He blinked and lifted his head wearily, blinking again until the blurry, shadowy shape several feet away was revealed to be Ben. Eddie blinked back at him, absently noting the abject horror on his friend's face. Time continued on for a moment, his arm shaking as it tried to hold him up.
"Where is he?" he heard himself rasp, and thought drunkenly that he needed a drink of water, his voice was so dry.
"Eddie?"
And suddenly there were strong arms taking hold of him, manoeuvring him away from the doorway. He thought distractedly that the door needed closed, but Ben either didn't hear it echoing around in Eddie's head, or deigned to ignore it as he led him forwards, Eddie's arm slung over his shoulder. This only lasted three or four clumsy steps before Ben's arm slipped behind his knees and took all his weight.
Eddie sank back against Ben's chest as all his energy finally left him like so many tiny puffs of air escaping a flat balloon. Ben was talking. Eddie could feel him talking, the rumble of that deep, rich voice that Eddie had come to remember he'd forgotten. The depth to it he'd missed growing up, when they'd gone their own ways and forgotten their shared childhood. Ben was definitely talking, but staying awake was proving far too consuming for Eddie to really hear him.
"Where is he?" he asked again, the words cracked and unclear.
"Bev," Ben was saying. The only word Eddie's brain could latch onto and process into something other than garbled sound. Something about Bev.
He was jostled, his head spinning more and more. He closed his eyes as his head drooped, and he let himself be bumped wherever Ben was taking him. Something cool touched his forehead, and then he was tipped sideways, and then something soft was holding him, spelling like cotton.
A bed, his brain supplied groggily, he was being lain on clean sheets. The cool thing was back on his forehead, and Ben's rumbly voice had another sound to it. Lighter, warm and gentle. Bev, Bev's voice. Bev's hand, her fingers, on his forehead. More of Ben's rumble, and Eddie felt the world shift a little bit before it settled again. Something gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He wanted to talk about how much dirt was stuck to his skin. He wanted to tell them not to touch him in case he passed on some gross bacteria from whatever It had spewed on him.
The gentle sound of Bev was back, and Eddie tried to focus on what it was saying. Something about a cloth. Eddie groaned as a gentle touch pressed along his chest. It hurt, it fucking hurt. It hurt so bad he might hurl.
"It's okay," she was saying, watery in his ears, oh god what if he had shit from the sewers in his ears, messing with his hearing. What if something crawled-
Eddie's body convulsed suddenly, curling him tight on his side as it rose all the way from the pit of his gut and up his throat, burning his tongue as it passed. God, everything fucking hurt. The harder he tried to focus, the more everything hurt. Part of him wanted to give up on it and sink into the achy blackness, where the numb feeling was. But another part was yelling at him and sounding real familiar, so he didn't.
"Bev," he managed to groan, trying to open his eyes.
They felt like lead, it was so fucking hard.
"Bev?"
"Yeah, Eddie. It's me," she answered, soft and reassuring, something solid to cling to, "it's me, hang in there."
"Where is he?"
"Ben'll get them, don't worry. We'll get someone to help, just wait with me, Eddie. Can you open your eyes?"
He whined when his neck spasmed as he tried to shake his head. He dragged in a breath, fighting the tightness in his chest. Blinking, again. Slowly, but determined. He was going to open his fucking eyes, dammit. There she was, blurry red shadow, auburn. Like warm fire and autumn.
"Bev."
Her mouth split into a grin, and her fingers squeezed his hand again.
"Hey," she said, "hey."
There was a murmuring shadow behind her, but it was hard to focus. Eddie listened, instead, and he knew the breath.
"Bill," he said, "Bill's here."
"Yeah!" Bev seemed pleased, "Yeah he is, here- Bill-"
Bev moved, tilting the world again before Bill was there, his rough hand brushing Eddie's cheek, his face full of worry and guilt. Eddie could smell him, under the nauseating smell of death and sewage and sick. Bill's fingers squeezed his shoulder.
"Heya, Eddie."
"Hi Bill."
Bill's face was screwing up, like he was in pain, and Eddie tried to lift his arm for him. Bill looked awful. He didn't look like they'd fought a monster and won. He looked like they'd lost. Maybe they had. Eddie couldn't rightly remember.
"Where is he?"
His mouth kept asking, even as Mike walked into view, his mellow timbre joining the familiar river of sound in the room. Bev and Bill traded a look that Eddie nearly missed, and suddenly there was a new power leaking into Eddie's head, because they looked worried. Scared. Eddie found the energy to blink hard, clearing the fuzziness as he took in all their faces. Ben, in the doorway, looking at him like he was seeing a ghost.
Stanley, his curls mussed and bedraggled, water dripping down his face and his t-shirt. His eyes were wide, his face pale as shit. Eddie blinked at them all, drawing in another breath when nobody said anything. He looked at Bill, who avoided his gaze, his face turning a little away. Bev was the only one who met his eye like she was afraid of him.
"Where is he?"
"He's not here." Bev answered, her gaze flickering to Bill for just a heartbeat before meeting Eddie's again, their sea-green depths filled with things Eddie didn't think he'd ever have the energy to unpack.
"Not… What?"
He couldn't understand. His head was too full of treacle, of It gunk and sewer water, and shadows and blood. He stared at her, and she bit her lip. Dread began replacing the aches in his gut.
"Where is he?" he repeated lamely, looking between them.
Eventually, it was Stan who shrugged.
"He ducked out as soon as he was cleaned up. His car's still here. He's not gone. We just don't know where he is."
Eddie felt something awful in his stomach unwind.
"Fucking typical." was what came out of his mouth in a weak moan, and the strange tension in the air seemed to snap like an old rubber band.
Bev sniggered into her hand while the others laughed, faces splashed with surprise as though they didn't even realise they'd started. Even Bill smiled, watery and pale, but there. Eddie closed his eyes and felt his own mouth smile. The sound of their laughter was warm, filling the air like it was tangible, rippling from them and floating through the air like strands of ribbon, curling around his skin. Wrapping him up in warm, snaking vines, sinking into his blood.
Everything hurt. Everything fucking hurt. But the longer he lay, the more energy he could feel leaking from them, into his skin. Breathing became easier. His chest shrugging off whatever weight it had been carrying.
"I'll call an ambulance." Ben said eventually, still looking at Eddie like he'd died, but Eddie shook his head, pushing up onto his hands in a long, slow, wobbly move.
"I need a shower."
"You need medical attention." Bev argued instantly, one hand placing itself flat on his heart as though to push him down again.
He shook his head.
"Please, Bev. Don't… don't make me leave."
It came out before he thought of it, wording the twisted, aching fear right at his core. That they'd send him away when he'd only just found his way back. Maybe Bev heard it. Maybe she heard him, as it wandered around in his head. But she bit her lip before sighing. Bill looked like he might argue, but he didn't. Instead he stepped away and gave Bev the space to help Eddie up.
"Can you make it to your room?" she asked, hovering close at his side, taking most of his weight despite her clothes being clean, and him being… well, fucking filthy.
"If you help me." he answered, weak and uncomfortable.
Bev slid under his arm and nodded, and Ben held the door open for them. It was slow and awkward, his feet still kind of numb, but they made it down the hall, and into his room. She helped him to the shower without a word, helping him manoeuvre his shirt buttons, his sweater, his t-shirt. She got the buckle on his belt, and the buttons on his jeans. She got his shoes, even helped him with his socks, and stripped his legs of clinging, ruined denim.
She left him with the shower running, her smile gentle and fond when she kissed his cheek and closed the door, leaving him alone with the task of getting into the shower, and organising his own thoughts.
Eddie felt more alive once the laborious task of showering was done. He felt like he'd scrubbed at least two layers of skin from his whole body, and the water was barely lukewarm by the time he twisted the knob to turn the rushing water off. The world fell quiet. He stood there for a minute, dripping water, watching it trail sluggishly down the drain.
Hazy memories bumped and lay in his head. He'd tried not to think too hard, letting the hot water soothe his muscles and soul, but now that the water was gone he could hear things. Things echoing in the cavern of It's layer, ringing down the tunnels. Screaming, painful wailing. The sound of his own name being torn from lips. The broken howls as his friends were set upon, tested, tortured, wounded.
He could hear Stanley's body hitting the rock near him, could see the blood soaking into the white of his sweater vest. He could see Ben, dirty like he'd clawed his way out of his own grave. Bev, almost unrecognisable, coated head to toe in congealing blood. He could hear the crying. He could smell the ooze that reached up from the cave floor to try and suck him under. He could taste the bitter air. He heard Bill's voice, loud and clear and full of confidence as he hollered at It. He could hear the rocks, feel the earth shaking and threatening to shatter under them.
He heard the panic. He heard the screaming.
He heard him screaming. He heard the pain, the agony of his voice, louder even that the others pleading with him to leave. He heard the yelling, he heard the crying. He heard Bev, trying to reason even though she was panicking. He heard Bill using his commanding voice, the one that they all knew, the one that lived in his eyes when he spoke and made them follow him into Hell. He felt it, tearing and blistering in his own heart. Felt the lance of blinding agony as something pierced him. He felt the blood seeping from him as the shouts of his friends grew further away.
He needed to see him. It was all he could think while he dressed himself in clean clothes with numb fingers, the actions performed on rote as he listened to it all, their last stand. The screams would haunt him, he already knew. He'd be hearing the pain in his best friend's voices for years. He already knew that.
He needed to see him. It wouldn't go away. It grew, the longer it took, making his fingers shake and his stomach churn. It burned bright in his mind. He needed to see him. He knew he wouldn't feel real until he did.
When he was dressed, Eddie opened the door to the hallway and took a breath. There were voices downstairs. They were faint and hushed, as though there might be anyone around who could hear. He steeled himself and braved the stairs. He was careful, maybe overly so, but the last thing he needed after surviving what they had, was to break his neck falling downstairs. It'd be a fucking insult, to die in such an ordinary way.
He let out his breath when his feet touched the carpet at the bottom, and he let go of the banister. Trepidation gripped him as he stepped down the single step past the empty desk. there was never anyone there, not since they'd first checked in. It would be spooky, if there was any part of Eddie left to be frightened of something so mundane. He walked down the narrow hallway, until he reached the door to the lounge. The voices came from the other side, quiet and more familiar than any other sound he knew.
"-going to have to give him time."
"Jesus, Bev, are you kidding? After what happened?"
"All she's saying is give him space to breathe. Who know what he remembers, or what happened? We were so sure…"
"We left him for dead."
That voice snarled harsh, angry and pained like a cornered animal, and it made Eddie's heart lurch and his stomach spasm like he might throw up again. His heart rate fumbled and picked up, and he wasn't rightly sure why a shiver of fear shook his organs.
"We didn't know, did we?"
Defensive, guilty. Pained. Eddie couldn't listen any more, and he gathered his courage to step into the doorway. Six heads turned his way, and silence fell. They all looked guilty. They all looked hurt. All but him. He looked… floored. Vulnerable. Like he'd been splayed open for the world to look inside and see what he was. Eddie couldn't see anyone else, for a second. All he could see was the tentative fear in Richie's dark, dark eyes. Something gentle in his chest clicked into place, and his feet stepped forward unbidden.
"Rich." he croaked, and then he was there.
He'd crossed the room and gathered Eddie up in his arms, crushing him painfully against his chest. Eddie's fingers dug into the back of Richie's shirt as he hissed at his wound being pressed, but he didn't pull away. He dug his fingers in harder, and pressed his face into Richie's chest. Richie smelled like cheap soap and old cologne. The zip on his sports coat cut into Eddie's cheek. Richie was shaking. Eddie held him tight as Richie's chin dug into his shoulder. The edge of his glasses pushed into the tender skin at Eddie's neck.
Eddie didn't care that every part of the embrace was uncomfortable. It was a long time before he could unhook his fingers to rub circles into the taller man's back. He pretended not to hear the choked sobs, or to feel the tears soaking into his fresh sweater. It was a much longer time before he pulled a little away, staying within the confines of Richie's arms to duck his head under his, to slip one hand up between them to brush his thumb under Richie's left eye.
"I'm sorry," Richie forced out, his voice splitting in half, "I'm s-so fucking sorry, Eddie."
Eddie gave his head a small shake and said nothing, pressing the thumb into Richie's cheek and drawing him down. Their foreheads settled together, and a horrid dark flash of snatched memory popped into Eddie's head. He took it, and he changed it. His lips pressed into one high cheekbone, fingers splaying across the back of Richie's neck as he pulled him close again. Richie's breathing was hitched and ragged, and Eddie squeezed him tightly.
It was a long time before anyone moved. Eventually, it was Bev who moved like a shadow across the room to wrap her arms around Eddie, her face pressing into the space under his ear. Then Bill on his other side. Stanley, his forehead against Eddie's temple. Mike at Richie's shoulder. Ben, a warm line down Eddie's back. They stayed like that long enough that Eddie's legs were aching from holding him up.
Nobody spoke when they broke apart. Mike left for food with a quiet question of "Pizza?" that went without a spoken answer. Bev and Ben curled together on a sofa, Stanley on Bev's other side, too close for anyone else, moulded against Bev's side. Bill took the other, still avoiding Eddie's eye. Eddie had a good idea why. He didn't hold it against Bill, or Bev. Or any of them. How could he? They faced down evil in corporeal form, and he knew how badly he'd been hurt. In the pit of his soul, he didn't know whether he could have made a different choice himself, were it someone else in his place.
Richie sank into the armchair, his face still dazed and pained, and Eddie couldn't bear it. He stood at the side, blinking down at him, until Richie met his gaze with soulful eyes. He didn't hide the depth of it, the agony. It looked up at Eddie from behind those dopey, chunky glasses. Eddie bumped Richie's knee with his, watched the momentary confusion pass his best friend's face.
Eddie didn't know how to express it. The ache, empty and cold, in his chest. The words for what he needed escaped him, so all he could do was nudge again, and wait. Watch Richie as he looked up at him, watch the tortured indecision in his eyes. It came to him then, and spilled from his mouth in a gentle murmur.
"You know the rule, Rich."
Richie shifted, looking surprised at himself, as though someone else had moved him. Eddie slid into the minute gap, crushing in beside him. Richie's arm slid round him, and he turned his face into Richie's chest, hands falling weakly in his own lap. Richie took his weight, shifting until they were both more comfortable, sharing the space made for one. His arm was warm and grounding, making Eddie feel safe. Richie's chin fell hesitantly atop Eddie's hair, and Eddie pressed a little into the contact. Richie squeezed him tightly.
Eddie drifted as the quiet murmurs were traded in the room. Richie's chest rose and fell steadily, settling a blanket of peace over Eddie's tortured thoughts. Before he knew it, Richie was brushing his hair from his forehead and calling his name.
"Eds, Mike's back. Pizza's here."
Eddie groaned and turned his face away from the sound.
"You know that's not my name."
Richie gave a hitched, weak chuckle.
"You love it." he answered, a touch of his old self leaking into the words, and making Eddie smile.
"That's not the point, and you know it."
Richie ruffled his hair and touched his forehead to Eddie's. When Eddie shifted to meet his eye, they shared a breath. It was right, some part of him knew, to have Richie looking at him like that. With that softness that had never been spoken, and never been strange. He felt it pulsing in his ribcage. For the first time, in all his life, he thought he might just know what it was. He'd heard it, in the raw screams. And it had answered itself, deeper in Eddie's soul than he'd ever dared tread before.
Richie gave his arm a squeeze.
"Pizza." he said again, making no attempt to move.
Eddie couldn't hear the others. Maybe they were there, maybe they weren't. Richie filled his limited vision, and that was enough. He gave a weak snort. Richie's mouth twitched. His hand crawled over and found Richie's by itself. He laced their fingers together, like they used to sometimes when they were kids. Richie didn't move, his eyes watching him. For a moment, Eddie did his best to focus on the sensation of his palm against Richie's forcing the thoughts from his head.
"I know, I think." he admitted softly, watching Richie's eyes, "What happened. I remember most of it."
The dark eyes wavered with pain, and Eddie gripped his hand hard.
"I know. And I don't- I don't blame anyone. For it."
Richie closed his eyes and swallowed. But Eddie wasn't finished, breathing the last of it out before he lost his nerve.
"Least of all you."
When Richie's eyes flashed open again, Eddie bumped their noses together.
"We thought… we thought you were.." Richie halted himself as his voice creaked and bent, but Eddie understood him.
"I know. So did I."
Someone somewhere laughed, and the spell was broken. Richie raised his head and looked off to one side, toward the door to the kitchen-come-diningroom. Eddie read his mind, and began untangling himself.
"Come on. Before Mike eats all the pepperoni."
Richie laughed properly then, letting Eddie tug him to his feet. They walked through close together, Richie's arm around Eddie's waist even though he probably didn't need the support anymore. It was a welcome weight. He still felt a little bit like he might float away if Richie let go.
Bev nudged out the chair next to her, giving Eddie a warm smile when he met her eye. He slid into it, wincing as he adjusted himself. Sitting straight aggravated his wound. Stan set a plate in front of him as Richie sat beside him. Bill was still avoiding his eye, and Eddie just couldn't find it in himself to indulge him. He'd been too close to death in that hellhole to walk delicately anymore.
"Bill?"
The Losers fell quiet at the commanding touch of steel in his tone. Bill did indeed look at him then.
"Quit it." Eddie told him, a little gentler, watching his eyes flicker, "You didn't know."
"E-Eddie…"
Eddie shook his head firmly even though it made his brain feel like it was bouncing around in a dryer.
"Quit it."
He flicked a glance at the redhead beside him.
"You too."
She turned pink and looked down at her plate.
Eddie looked around them all, forcing them to meet his gaze.
"All of you. Quit it now."
He reached past Richie for the pepperoni pizza box.
"Get over it," he added a little less gently as he dropped two slices on his plate, "it's done, and it wasn't anybody's fault."
Nobody else moved while he grabbed himself napkins before picking up a greasy slice. He looked up, raising an eyebrow challengingly.
"Don't make me yell at you." he asked, forcing a weak smile onto his face, "I don't have the energy today."
Richie gave a choked snort, before Ben giggled. Mike followed, Stan smiled and rolled his eyes. Bev reached out and squeezed his knee as she smiled. Eddie looked to Bill, and Bill looked back. The seconds seemed to drag until Bill gave in too.
"I'm glad you're okay." he said, soft and ashamed, and Eddie smiled for real that time.
"Believe it or not," he teased, taking a hot, wonderful bite, "I am too."
That did it. The Losers snickered and set out to fill their plates. Mike bartered Bill for the bacon on his slices. Ben passed Bev napkins with a soft expression. Stan pushed his curls from his forehead with a sigh and sank into his chair. Richie talked shit about the pineapple on Stan's pizza, and Stanley commented on once long-forgotten hawaiian shirts.
Eddie ate quietly, worn rough and exhausted. Richie's elbow brushed his every now and then, and Eddie was half-sure it was a purposeful attempt to remind he he was there. They talked. They talked about nothing, about their lives. Bev explained more about the marriage she'd just walked out of. Stanley told them about Patty, and how they'd never had children. None of them had had children, for reason or another. Ben said he might want them, in future, and Beverly gave him a secretive, doting smile.
Richie told them he was considering dumping his writers. Eddie told him it was the smartest thing he'd ever heard him say. Bill was quiet. Nobody mentioned Audra, but it was clear Bill didn't know how to feel about her. Mike talked about the future. He told them it wasn't something he'd given much thought about, beyond the knowing he'd kept all those years, that It would return. Bev brought wine from the bar. She set rum on the table. Ben opened beer bottles and passed them around the table.
The atmosphere was warm, but calm. Richie was quiet, and in turn the rest were quiet too. They migrated to the lounge again. Despite the space quite clearly available on the sofa, Eddie and Richie once again squashed in beside each other in the armchair. Eddie rested the back of his head against Richie's heart, the familiar, steady thump matching pace with his own in his ears. Richie's arm was loose around him, but it was there, and that was what counted.
They talked more. They talked about It. They talked about the past. They talked about painful things, and about how they kept It with them, even while not knowing they had. Mike asked Bev and Ben what their plans were, even though they had yet to specify they'd be making them together. There was a round of quiet congratulations when the obvious was confirmed. Mike said he was selling his home. He didn't know where he was going, but he was going anywhere else. Everywhere else, if he could. Bill told Mike he'd go with him. He needed to take a break, after Audra. Clear his head, see the world for what it was, with his blinkers finally removed.
Stanley simply said he'd be going home. He told them they'd all better be free for Hanukkah or he was going to hunt each of them down and do something horrible to them. Richie asked if that horrible thing would be tying them to chairs and lecturing them about birds, and Stan threw his balled up napkin at him with an exasperated expression. They all agreed to be there. They traded numbers, both home and mobile. They exchanged social media. They wove themselves into each other's new lives with a shared determination.
There would be no more forgetting. For Derry maybe, but not for them. They'd given too much to lose each other a second time.
Eventually, they all looked to Eddie expectantly. He was drowsy by then, warm, and feeling safer than he had since his phone had rung and Mike's voice had thrown his world right side up after he'd spent twenty seven years living in it upside down. He shrugged, the rough weave of Richie's sweater brushing against the exposed skin above his collar.
"I don't know." he answered honestly, blinking woozily.
He hadn't had nearly enough alcohol to feel the way he did, and far less than the others. But he was still weak from his escape, and drinking on substantial bloodloss probably had something to do with it. He realised that, and yet he still let the words tumble from his mouth.
"I don't want to go back."
The others looked between them, a mutual understanding. Nobody argued it. They got it. All of them, his favourite six people in the entire fucking shitty universe. Maybe that's why he kept talking. Maybe that's why it all leaked from him, surprising him, shit he hadn't properly acknowledged in his own damn head. It all spilled out for them. Because he knew they'd get it.
"I think I want a divorce. I don't think I love her."
Bev's mouth tilted in sympathy. She knew that feeling. Eddie kept talking. He'd started, and he couldn't stop. There would never be a better time to admit it.
"I don't think I've ever loved anybody, except you guys. I don't think I've ever- ever needed anybody the way I need you guys. Like anybody else could fade away and I'd be okay, but not- not with you guys."
Richie's other arm slid around him in a loose hug.
"I think I hate my job. I know I hate my job. I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to do something I enjoyed. And I ended up just falling into old habits, looking at everything like it was a potential danger, instead of something I could gain from."
Mike gave an understanding hum. Eddie's throat was dry and his lips were cracking, but he kept talking.
"I don't think I know who I am, anymore. I don't think I ever knew, unless I was was one of us. I never felt… I never felt like I fit anywhere else."
"Me either," Richie murmured when he took a breath, his voice quiet and warm against Eddie's hair. when he exhaled, "I don't have a single real friend in LA besides my manager, and I don't think he counts."
"I don't think I even like New York." Eddie admitted, shrugging helplessly as his voice began rising steadily with a tightness that spoke of his anxiety, "I don't like my house. I don't like my wife, or the furniture, or the decor, or - or any of it. I don't think I like my life."
Richie's arms tightened, crossing Eddie's chest to curl his fingers around the shorter man's arms. Eddie could hear the silent agreement, and appreciated the comfort in the gesture. He pressed a little further into Richie's embrace. It was the only thing that felt real enough to hold him in the room. He was lightheaded and exhausted, struggling to grasp hold of who he was. But Richie was a pleasant heat against his back, strong and sure and familiar, and Eddie could feel his eyes burn with tears at how overwhelmingly weak, and grateful he felt.
"I think we'll all be adjusting for a while." Mike answered levelly, his deep brown eyes meeting Eddie's with a clear understanding.
"We're here for each other," Ben murmured, looking genuinely between them all, "any of you need anything, I'll be there."
Richie gave Eddie's arms a gentle squeeze, and Eddie slipped one hand up to tuck his fingers between Richie's. The other Losers echoed the sentiment, and Eddie's heart gave a tight squeeze. Conversation turned towards Mike's plans, as the others suggested where he might want to check out now that he was free to explore the world. Eddie closed his eyes and listened to them speaking, held close by his best friend as he sank into sleep.
~.~