Chapter Two

Richie listened to the others, but their voices were faint and faraway. He felt like he'd been hit by a freight train for the second time in twenty-four hours. It was hard to really think, after everything. He couldn't quite believe that after he'd left the suffocating townhouse to breathe, to breakdown in private about the death of the best man he'd ever known, he'd come back to be told he wasn't really dead.

He didn't know if Eddie had realised it, but he had been dead. Richie had known it. He'd fought against it, had refused to accept it. But he'd felt it. He'd definitely felt it, when Eddie passed from life. He didn't know exactly how, one of the many inexplicable things that came with being a Loser, that came with It and the Turtle. He'd have taken Eddie with him anyway, if he could've. If Bev and Bill hadn't stopped him, if they hadn't hauled him from the tunnels. He'd been unhinged at the time, driven mad by it. He'd never have survived dragging Eddie with him. The others had been right, and he knew they had been.

Had they known? That leaving him would mean… Would he have lived, if they'd taken him from the collapsing lair? Or was it because they'd left him that he'd survived? When he'd gotten back and they'd told him, Bev had said about the way his wound was sealed. He'd been hysterical. He could barely remember the journey back to the townhouse from the Quarry, even though he was showered and clean. He'd left again, wandered desperately, trying to escape the reality that was crushing down on him.

He'd grieved. Or he'd started. In the Quarry it had crashed upon him like a wave, the unquenchable realisation that It had taken Eddie from them. They'd fought their hardest, they'd done everything they could have, had used every trick the Turtle could give them, every step of the ritual. And it hadn't mattered, It had taken him anyway.

Right from Richie, from right there in front of him. Like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest fucking thing to destroy the best person Richie had ever known in his life. He didn't think it would ever be scrubbed from his head. And even as he'd left the townhouse again, striding away as though putting distance between himself and his friends would somehow help him breathe, he'd been unable to look it right in the face.

Eddie couldn't be dead. It was unimaginably wrong. Eddie was their compass, their doctor. Who was there to patch their wounds, if Eddie was gone? Sure, they were adults, now. They patched their own wounds. But what was the point, if Eddie weren't around to show them how?

They were supposed to have won. They'd given everything for the second time, faced the very worst the world had to offer them. They'd killed a fucking space monster, for good this time. It should have felt like a victory, he should have been able to collapse, exhausted, in the knowledge that they'd won. But he hadn't, had he? And they hadn't won.

Derry was deserted, like the whole town had up and disappeared like that settlement all the way back when. Richie had tried to escape it in a fog, and he'd ended up on the bridge. He should have known he'd find himself there. It was inevitable, inescapable. The old, wearing wood that creaked ominously under his feet like it always had. It was such an awful, ugly structure.

How had he ever thought, so naively, that it was a symbol of something good? The Kissing Bridge. Had it ever been good? Had anyone ever gone there, snot-nosed, acne-covered, wielding a knife they'd probably not even owned, to carve their secret into the sun-bleached wood, and not been afraid? Or had he been the only one, carving himself into Derry like he was selling it a piece of his soul, who knew it wasn't good?

He'd known, of course. What he was was wrong, in the eyes of Derry. It mocked him, hiding in his heart like a dark twisted piece of It. It had taken Richie a very, very long time to decide that he wasn't rotten. It was Derry, that was rotten. What he felt for Eddie, had always felt for him, was right. And he was sick of believing it wasn't.

He'd run his fingers down the faded carving. He'd forgotten them all, when he left Derry. He'd forgotten Eddie, locked his love for him up behind a hidden door in his soul and forgotten it too. But Derry had remembered, carved so carefully into the fibre of the stupid fucking bridge that mocked him so. He'd pulled the old pocketknife from his trousers, and he'd carved it deeper in farewell.

He almost didn't want to believe them, when they told him. When he stumbled back to the townhouse after drying his face and dragged all the pieces of himself back together, cramming them forcefully back together because he had to. Five pale, shocked faces, swinging so wildly from startled disbelief to unadulterated joy, and back, and forth.

Bev's hands on his face when she forced him to look at her, to see the dark smears on her shoulder from Eddie's clothes. Stanley's hand slipping into his to squeeze hard enough to crack his knuckles. Bill hanging back, looking tearful and haggard and guilty. The same way he used to when Georgie first went missing.

They knew now, he would bet, why he'd been unable to leave him. Bev knew. Stanley knew. Ben, with that pain in his eyes as he'd looked up so brokenly at Richie in the Quarry, Ben knew. Maybe Ben had always known. Maybe he'd always recognised it behind Richie's humour and his shit. Maybe they all had, maybe he hadn't been as good at hiding it as he'd always believed. Mike, who had never forgotten any of them, who had carried them all with him every fucking day of those twenty seven years.

Richie was sure they saw it, now. As he watched them all talking, hearing only half their words as his brain began shutting down in self-preservation, trying to build itself back together, he could see the frequent glances. They said nothing, but it didn't matter. It didn't need said. It might never need said, and that would be okay.

He'd never forget Eddie again, that much he was sure. He'd keep him tight in his heart, even if they parted ways again the way they had all those years ago. He'd remember, if he had to carve it into his skin like he had the Kissing Bridge. Even if it had to remain the secret it always had been. He lowered his face into Eddie's hair as his neck grew tired.

He was exhausted. They'd been through Hell. He'd put his body through the wringer. He'd put his heart through it, too. He was utterly drained dry, his friends were alive and safe, and Eddie had already succumbed to the pull of oblivion, breathing evenly in sleep. His fingers were still laced between Richie's, though they'd fallen into his lap. Eddie's hair smelled like something exotic, making Richie smile. Definitely not the shit the townhouse provided.

Eddie always had been prepared, carrying everything he could possibly ever need with him. Richie fondly remembered all the summer days he'd spent teasing him about his fanny-packs. He could remember, just as fondly, all the times Eddie'd preparedness had paid off, as his nimble fingers had supplied bandages, scissors, band-aids, sunblock, aloe, when they were needed. He'd probably been patched up more times by Eddie than his own parents, which was impressive for a kid as clumsy as Richie had been.

Eddie's hand twitched in his sleep, and Richie rested his forehead against the back of his friend's head to hide the kiss he pressed into his hair. Not that he really needed to hide. They knew, he was sure. He didn't think they'd say anything, not now. Maybe when they were younger. But it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered anymore, not when Eddie was still alive.

The night drew long, and Richie was content just to listen, Eddie asleep on his chest, as his friends shared more and more about their lives. As they reminisced over moments he couldn't believe he'd forgotten. Sleepovers Bev could never attend, birthday parties they'd shared with no-one but each other. Weekends at the arcade, afternoons in the Clubhouse. How could he have forgotten them, the only people he'd ever loved?

The only people who had ever made him feel like he belonged.

Eventually, Bev's voice roused him.

"Hey," she whispered, leaning over them both, "you look exhausted, Rich. Come on, let's get you both to bed."

Richie yawned foggily, and nodded. She took Eddie's weight. He wasn't much more than an inch taller than her, but she was stronger than she looked. She always had been. She could probably still kick all their asses, if she wanted.

Eddie didn't really wake, as they manoeuvred him onto his feet, and Richie ducked under one of his arms. He shared a look with Bev, and she gave him a gentle smile once he found his balance, and let them go.

"Goodnight, Rich."

Richie returned the smile, finally feeling whole again.

"Night, Bev."

"See you in the morning!" Mike called after him in a hush, and Richie turned his head to grin over his shoulder.

"You're joking, Mikey. Afternoon, at the earliest."

He left his friends chuckling in the lounge and walked Eddie carefully up the stairs to the hallway where their rooms were. His room was right down the end, of course. Eddie's was next to his, by some small miracle. Eddie murmured and muttered sleepily as they made their way down the carpeted hallways, and Richie made soothing noises and hoped he wouldn't wake fully before he got him to bed.

Eddie had always struggled at getting back to sleep after waking up in the middle of the night. Every little sound would wake him. Richie could remember many a tired morning because Eddie couldn't sleep and he, in his infinite wisdom and self-sacrifice, had elected to stay awake with him to keep him company. He shifted his grip as he turned the handle to Eddie's room, thankfully unlocked.

"Rich?"

Well, shit.

He guided Eddie inside, ignoring the lightswitch. This might still be salvageable if he kept the place dark.

"Shh, Eds. It's me. We're just getting you to bed, dude."

Eddie made a noise somewhere between a grumble and a yawn, and Richie felt his heart lift as he smiled. Eddie was alive, and okay. Everything was going to be fine. They still needed time to heal, and process, but they were all okay. Life was gonna be okay. For maybe the first time in his entire life, the future looked promising.

He untucked the ridiculously neat bedspread with the suspicion that Eddie had made it himself after checking in. His own was decidedly less tidy. Eddie sat down, slipping his arm from Richie's shoulders and yawning widely, turning sleep-blurred eyes his way. Richie grinned.

"Don't wake up. You'll never get back to sleep." he whispered soothingly, nudging Eddie backwards so they could swing his legs up.

"Rich."

"Mhm?" he hummed absently, pulling the blankets over his best friend, "Get some sleep, Eddie."

Eddie's eyes opened properly, and his hand caught Richie's sleeve. For a moment, the chocolate eyes looked into his and Richie felt a brief, nervous shiver run across the bottom of his spine. Eddie's brow was drawn down in a vague frown, and Richie watched his lips part to speak.

"Are you okay?"

Richie blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but that wasn't it. He drew his sleeve through Eddie's fingers until their fingers linked, and squeezed. Eddie was looking closely at him, and could probably see through the reassuring smile he pasted on his face.

"Yeah." he answered, feeling like it might not even be a lie, now. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Eddie continued to peer at him, his jaw working as he chose which words to use. He discarded most of them, Richie guessed. The moment was long and quiet between them before Eddie sighed.

"Will you stay?"

Richie's heard stuttered and tripped into a new rhythm, but Eddie's grip was strong and sure in his, and he was waiting for an answer. Richie knew he probably shouldn't, but Eddie had never needed to try particularly hard to convince him to do anything. Richie had always just liked making him try, even knowing he'd cave, enjoying the game.

"Sure." he said thickly, and was rewarded by a tired, relieved smile.

He could feel Eddie's eyes on him as he shirked himself of his jacket and shirt, kicking off his shoes as he rounded the bottom of the bed. He could go to his room and change, but where was the need? He slept in a t-shirt and boxers anyway. Eddie looked far too tired to argue him into pyjamas like he used to when they were kids. They'd killed a fucking monster today. He could probably be forgiven.

He untangled his legs from his jeans, leaving them on the floor and untucking the empty side of the bed before slipping into the cool, clean sheets. Eddie turned to face him, watching him with tired eyes. Eddie's hand reached across the gap between them and took Richie's again, threading their fingers. They watched each other for a long moment, the sounds of their breathing only interrupted by the occasional faint splash of laughter from downstairs. The gentle quiet sank into Richie's skin, filling his veins with a drowsy fog.

Eddie reached out slowly with his free hand, his touch ghosting over Richie's cheek as he slipped his glasses from his face. He folded them carefully, reaching behind himself to set them on the bedside table. There was something about that that made Richie's stomach flutter. Eddie was less clear now, in the dark. He was just far enough away for his features to be blurred and softened. He waited, while Eddie watched him.

"I died, didn't I?" he whispered eventually.

Richie wasn't fast enough to hide his reaction. He could tell by Eddie's little intake of breath, and he grimaced back.

"You're here now, Eds. Maybe it's… better not to think about it."

Eddie let out a long, weary breath. Richie could smell the rum Eddie had sipped at for so long. He ached to draw Eddie close and tell him everything was going to be okay. But he wasn't sure that was what Eddie needed, or even wanted. So he kept still.

"I… I think I knew. Sort of. That I was dead. It's hard, to focus on it. The harder I try, the more it moves away."

His voice was climbing a little, squeezing with anxiety, and Richie squeezed the hand in his.

"Eds… you don't need to do this. Not right now. Maybe ever. It's okay."

"I can hear it all, though." Eddie continued as if he hadn't spoken, "The fight, the- the screaming. I could hear Bev crying, and Bill- Bill yelling at it. With his real voice, without the stutter. And Ben, and Stan shouting about the pipe, and-" he choked to a stop, tears spilling over.

Richie reached for his face, shifting closer and wiping them from his face with soft, hushing noises. Eddie wavered before leaning into the touch, fingers curling in Richie's shirt as he was pulled closer. Richie wrapped his arms around him and tucked his face into Eddie's hair.

"It's over, Eds. It's dead. We won."

"I heard you." Eddie sobbed, shaking his head from side to side, "I heard it. I heard the- the pain, and I- I heard- and I couldn't- I couldn't-"

"Eddie it's okay." Richie pleaded as the hurt cut into his heart, squeezing Eddie's shoulder blades, rubbing one hand in firm circles between the two jutting bones, "It's over. We won, shit, we won. You don't need to do this."

"But I heard." the wet voice sniffled back, cracking with pain, "And I couldn't even- Rich…"

Richie swallowed down the lump in his own throat. His heart was breaking to hear the pain in his best friend's voice. He blinked hard to dissuade the tears collecting in his lashes. He pulled Eddie just a little further into his arms and dipped his head to press their foreheads together.

"I know, Eds. I- I know. But it's done, and we got out, and we don't have to-"

Eddie tucked his face further down, pressing further against Richie as though for safety.

"I felt it."

Richie stopped talking. But Eddie didn't elaborate, sniffling against Richie's collarbone as he waited. Richie's heart was pounding, and he wasn't exactly sure he knew why.

"You felt…"

His mouth was so dry suddenly, his tongue thick and unwieldy in his mouth as he blinked into the darkness and waited, fear in his heart.

"I felt it when I died," Eddie whispered against his throat.

"Eds…" he winced.

"And I felt the pain, right here," his palm pressed softly against Richie's heartbeat, "and I knew it wasn't mine."

Richie swallowed. Tears were rolling from his cheeks. He'd lost the battle with them, and blinking them away did little to help. The question was so soft, such a faint breath that Richie couldn't wholly convince himself he'd really heard it as it hung in the inches between them.

"Was it yours?"

He could feel the warmth of Eddie's skin atop the fabric of his t-shirt, right where his heart lay. Eddie would easily be able to feel the way it was thundering in his chest. Hell, he could probably fucking hear it, it was beating so hard. There was no lying that he could do that Eddie would fall for. He didn't even think he wanted to lie, anymore. He didn't answer, and Eddie hummed a gentle sound, resting his cheek against the exposed skin at Richie's throat.

"I'm not going back to New York."

Richie's heart missed a beat or two.

"What?"

"I can run things at work from an office, I definitely have holidays I can take. Once everything's settled… I guess I'll sell up."

Richie pulled away, looking down through the blurry, grey shadow to meet Eddie's eye. The shorter man looked sure and confident, more than Richie was probably able to feel. He gave Richie a half-smile.

"What about." Richie halted, cleared his throat, his gaze wandering away because in the end the was a fucking coward, "What about."

Couldn't even say it, huh?

"I'm filing for divorce. She'll probably want the house, but I just don't care. I don't- I don't belong in New York. I never did. And I'm not going back, not after everything."

Richie closed his eyes and nodded. A silence fell between them that eventually grew sleepy, and Eddie yawned and shifted drowsily, turning in his arms until his back was flush against Richie's chest. He pressed back into the embrace, tugging Richie's arms around himself in a manner that was faintly bossy, reminding Richie of the Eddie he knew when they were younger.

"Demanding, as always." he murmured, out of habit, and Eddie just knocked him drowsily with an elbow and snorted.

He grinned into Eddie's hair and hugged him close.

"Where'll you go?"

Eddie yawned and shrugged, his hair tickling Richie's chin. The moment was gentle and soft and Richie had missed this, the them that they used to be. When things felt simple, when they snuck their sleeping bags close together because it used to help keep the nightmares at bay. Nights they had managed to weasel Eddie from his god-awful mother and curled together in Richie's bed, talking late into the night about anything and nothing.

He missed it. He'd been missing it, in his life, without even knowing he'd ever had the kind of friend he craved. He hadn't lied, earlier. He'd never made a single real friend in his life since Derry. He hadn't even been aware just how lonely his life was until he was smacked in the face with the memory of the Losers he'd loved. He refused to lose them again. Maybe that's what fuelled his mouth.

He never did know when to shut up.

"I have a spare room in my place."

It came out gentle and unguarded, and the rawness scared him so much that he had to say something, anything else.

"Or a sofa, if you prefer."

Eddie gave a weak, sleepy chuckle and laced their fingers together again.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Richie barked a wobbly laugh and he just knew Eddie was grinning. Things were going to be okay, one way or another. He was damn-well going to make sure.

"I'll warn you now that my pantry has no organisation system. Shit goes where it goes. I hope you're prepared for that."

Eddie snorted and twisted his face as far around as he could to look at him in the dark.

"It has no organisational system yet." he corrected, and Richie definitely caught the grin as Eddie turned away again.

"G'night, Spaghetti."

Eddie's smile was audible as he murmured back, and Richie finally relaxed into the inviting arms of unconsciousness.

~.~