Brave
Chapter 2 - Beep Beep, Richie
Richie sat in the horribly uncomfortable chair in the hospital waiting room, his back hunched over and his head buried in his hands. He was trying his best not to cry, but his one defense mechanism against his own feelings – his collection of completely inappropriate jokes – was useless here. There wasn't a single thing he could laugh about without seeming like a complete asshole. That normally didn't bother him, but he wouldn't belittle Eddie by making jokes at a time like this. Not now. Not to Eddie.
Gripping his hands in his hair, Richie clenched his teeth and stared down at his filthy shoes that had been mucking around in the sewer not long ago. Shoes that Eddie would tell him needed to be thrown out, because they were now teeming with millions of bacteria and potential diseases.
Then Richie's eyes were drawn to the ugly ass carpet underneath his feet. Green stripes crisscrossed grey with varying sizes of red circles over top of the pattern, reminding Richie vaguely of droplets of blood. Who in their right mind would buy something so hideous, much less even design such an eyesore? Not to mention, what was something like that doing in a hospital waiting room of all places? Shouldn't the décor be more soothing to the eye?
But it was no use. Who even cared about the stupid rug? Richie was only trying to distract himself for all the good it did. Tears had flooded his eyes and began to spill out regardless. They splattered against the lenses of his glasses, fogging them up, and he didn't even care. A heavy sob escaped from Richie, and his back began to heave with pent-up emotion.
Richie suddenly wasn't concerned in the least that he was crying in front of his friends. All Richie cared about in that moment was Eddie and seeing his best friend again. Seeing the man he loved again, and a part of him was almost certain that wasn't going to happen.
Richie was certain that any moment now, a doctor would emerge from the large double doors to the emergency ward and tell them that Eddie was gone. That Richie had lost the love of his life without ever being able to tell him how felt. That Eddie had left this world unaware of the impact that he had left on his childhood best friend. The man that now knew he would love Eddie forever.
Suddenly, there were hands on his shoulders. Richie didn't look to see who they belonged to, but then Bill spoke to him a moment later.
"He'll be okay," Bill said quietly. "He didn't just survive being stabbed by a fucking demon only to die in the hospital. He's strong and he's held on for this long. He's going to make it."
His glasses now completely dripping with tears, Richie wrenched them off. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, wiping away the tears clinging to his eyelashes and cheeks.
Richie could feel everyone's eyes on him, and all at once, he felt self-conscious. He was the only one in the room who was in tears, the only one who couldn't compose himself. He knew the others were just as worried and concerned about Eddie as he was, but they didn't quite have the connection that Richie did with him.
Richie wondered if he should have done something as blatant as kiss Eddie when they had been at the house on Neibolt Street. Did the other Losers want to ask him about it? Were they wondering what in the hell had gotten into him? When this apparent sudden attraction to Eddie had started? Were they looking at him any differently now that they realized he might have feelings for another man?
But this was hardly the time to think about anything as selfish as how the other Losers thought of him. Eddie might very well be dying at that very moment, and Richie really didn't care if the entire world hated him or not.
Just then, the double doors to the emergency ward swung open, and one of the doctors swept in. Richie was grateful for the distraction, because he definitely wasn't the least bit ready to begin discussing his sexuality with the Losers. Not right now. Not one bit.
Richie replaced his glasses on his face, then stood up so quickly from his seat, he almost toppled over. He grabbed onto a nearby chair to steady himself, then hurried across the room until he was mere feet from the doctor. Richie cleared his throat and straightened his shirt, trying to look like hadn't almost fallen on his ass. Or been traipsing around in the sewer a couple hours ago. Richie could hear the other Losers getting up from their own chairs and gathering behind him.
"I'm Doctor Muschietti," said the relatively young man with dark hair. "I've been treating Eddie."
"How is he?" Mike asked.
Richie was glad for someone's initiative, because Richie didn't think he could even find his voice at that moment. His legs felt like they were full of jelly, and he wasn't even sure if he could remain standing, much less function enough to ask questions.
"He was extremely lucky," the doctor said. "He was impaled in the very small spot exactly between his heart, lung, liver, and spinal cord. Just a centimeter off in any direction, and he might not have survived the length of time between the accident and arriving here."
Richie realized he had been holding his breath and let it all out. He started breathing heavily, air rushing in and out of his lungs. "So he's going to be okay?" Richie asked tentatively.
"Keep in mind," the doctor said, "he's lost a lot of blood. Again, if he'd lost any more, he might not have been so lucky. We did our best to repair the damage and we're giving him blood transfusions, but he's not out of the woods yet. He had a gaping wound in his chest, and there's no telling what infections, if any, he may develop from that. If he was indeed impaled by a beam in an abandoned house as you've told me, he could have been exposed to all sorts of bacteria."
To Richie's left, Beverly blew her nose and said, "Staph-o-logical infections and the like." Her voice cracked and she let out a small sob.
Richie was suddenly glad that he wasn't the only one crying anymore.
Doctor Muschietti doctor stared at Beverly for a moment before he said, "Staphylococcus, but yes, that's just one possibility. We've put him a general course of antibiotics as a preventative measure, but there's no guarantee that an infection won't develop. Also…his cheek…" the doctor said, running the back of his hand over the left side of his face. "What happened there?"
The Losers all exchanged uncertain glances with one another, not really sure how to explain the fact that Eddie had been stabbed. They couldn't exactly attribute it to the collapsing building, since it had already been bandaged ahead of time. They certainly weren't going to get into details about the confrontation they'd had with Henry Bowers, or the fact that Bowers now lay dead with a gaping hole in his own head.
"He…he fell," Bill whispered, not offering anything more.
"He's…a bit accident prone," Richie said slightly endearingly.
Of course it would be his Eddie, the only one terrified of every little germ, who would come out of their encounters with Pennywise with any lasting injuries.
"He should have been brought to the emergency room as soon as it happened," the doctor told them. "We've stitched it up, but it's showing signs of an infection starting there as well. The general antibiotics should take care of that, but it really shouldn't have been left untreated. There's no telling what could have developed from that."
The doctor paused, eyeing them all closely. "I also suggest you don't go wandering around in abandoned buildings anymore. They're usually abandoned for a reason."
"Don't worry," Ben said. "I think I speak for everyone here when I say that our days of wandering around in shady locations are over."
"Good."
"Can we see him?" Richie asked eagerly.
"He's still very weak," the doctor explained. "We've put him into a medically induced coma so he can rest, so he won't be awake, and we have him on oxygen to aid in his breathing. I suppose one of you can go in right now and just for a few minutes. He needs his rest."
"Me? Please?" Richie asked immediately, glancing around at the others.
"Go," Mike said warmly, placing a hand on Richie's shoulder and pushing him in the direction of the doors to the emergency ward.
Richie's legs still felt like they were full of jelly as he approached the door to Eddie's room. The bed sat in the middle of the room and it was surrounded by so many machines, he could barely see Eddie. Richie had to take a few more unsteady steps into the room before Eddie was in his field of vision.
Eddie had always been small and frail, but Richie had never seen him like this. He seemed completely dwarfed by the machines around him and by the bed itself. He was so very pale, he was almost as white as the sheets around him.
Eddie's entire abdomen had bandages wrapped around it, from just under his shoulders to where the sheet covered him from the waist down. His shoulders were bare, so small and slight, and Richie wanted nothing more than to squeeze them with his hands. To try and will some of his own lifeforce into Eddie's prone form.
There were tubes running everywhere. Eddie had an oxygen tube just under his nose, trailing back to a machine behind him, and there were IVs in both hands. Richie's eyes followed these lines, one to a bag providing blood, and the other to a bag of clear fluid, which Richie assumed was the antibiotic.
A part of Richie was almost too afraid to approach Eddie, worried that he'd accidentally bump against a tube and disconnect it or something. But then another part of Richie, a part of himself that he'd been suppressing for nearly thirty years, wanted nothing more than to touch and hold his Eddie.
There was no one else here to see Richie and judge him, so what did it matter anyway? Richie wasn't sure if Eddie could hear him or sense him in his current state, and again, he was terrified of what Eddie would think if he could. Then again, wouldn't it be a wonderful thing if he could? Then Richie wouldn't have to lay his feelings all out on the line a second time.
Because Richie had made a decision somewhere between the sewer and the hospital waiting room. He just may get a second chance with Eddie, and Richie wasn't about to let this one go. He'd be damned if he let another twenty-seven years pass without letting Eddie know exactly how much he loved him and cared about him.
Yes, Eddie was married, and Richie didn't have any expectations about what his confession might bring, but he just wanted Eddie to know the truth. Wanted Eddie to know that he had the chance if he wanted to take it.
And Jesus, someone would have to contact Myra and tell her all about what had happened. What would they even tell her? Richie supposed they should stick to the same story that they had told the doctor, but Myra would lose her shit if she knew Eddie had been inside an old abandoned building. Hell, Myra would be pissed off if she knew Eddie had been wandering around in a sewer, so Richie supposed that the abandoned house was the lesser of two evils.
But damn Myra. She didn't matter right now. All that mattered was Eddie and making sure that he got better. They'd worry about Myra when they got there.
"Jesus, Eds," Richie said, taking a few tentative steps closer to the bed. "Look at you. You're a mess. If you were awake right now, I could just imagine you going on and on about staph infections, and listeria, and-"
Richie suddenly stopped when his lips started quivering too much. He put his hand over his mouth as he continued to approach the bed. Tears sprung up in his eyes again, and it was all he could do to keep himself together.
When he finally got to the bed, Richie gently dropped down on the edge, immediately reaching out for one of Eddie's hands. Richie gripped it in between both of his, squeezing it firmly.
"I almost lost you," Richie said, his voice cracking. The tears spilled over his eyelids and down his cheeks once more. "You saved my life, and I almost lost you."
Richie brought Eddie's hand up to his face, pressing Eddie's fingers against his cheek. Richie reached out his left hand, brushing his fingers against Eddie's cheek. Eddie's stubble was scratchy against his skin, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie hoped to god that this wouldn't be the last time he'd be able to touch it.
"I actually thought I had lost you," Richie said, cupping Eddie's cheek in his hand. "I thought you had stopped breathing when we were down there in the sewers. The rest of the Losers were telling me to leave you there and just run. Not that I blame them. We all thought you were gone, and they just wanted to get the hell out of there. But I would have died before I left you behind. I couldn't bear the thought of your body down there for all eternity. I owe you so much more than a crumbling sewer that used to be the lair of that fucking clown as a final resting place. I love you too much for that."
A sob escaped from Richie and his bottom lip began trembling anew. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Eddie's warm hand underneath his, on the stubble pressing into the palm of his hand. His Eddie was still alive. He had a second chance.
"You have no idea how happy I was when you started breathing again," Richie began again. He opened his eyes and stared firmly at Eddie, like that might make him stronger. Might make everything better. "I thought you were dead and you started gasping for air," Richie repeated, still not quite believing the way things had played out. "It was like my entire life had stopped and started again in the time it had taken to carry you out of the sewer.
"I can't believe I even considered leaving you down there for a second." Richie shook his head fiercely before he said, "You would have been buried alive in It's lair, and I would have had no idea that I left you down there to die. That would have killed me too. But I told you I couldn't. You risked your life to save mine, and I gladly risked mine to get you the hell out of there. And it was the best decision I've ever made."
Richie's voice was cracking again, so he paused, taking a moment to compose himself before he spoke again.
"You're not allowed to do this, you know," Richie said when he was sure his voice wouldn't shake anymore. "I need you. I need you like I need air to breath. Like you need that inhaler of yours," he added around a soft breath of laughter.
Richie considered this for a moment before he went on. "And I realize that that's about the most asinine thing to say considering the fact that we've done nothing but forget about each other for the last twenty-seven years." Richie frowned in thought and said, "But no. I don't think that's entirely true, because you never really forget your first love, do you? At least, I hope you don't. If you feel the same way."
Richie sighed heavily, his hand trailing down from Eddie's cheek to rest on his shoulder. "And this is probably the worst possible time to dump this sort of thing on you when you can't even tell me to shut the hell up and get my grubby little hands off you."
Withdrawing his hand from Eddie's shoulder, Richie curled it into a fist and pressed it against his chin. But try as he might, Richie still couldn't quite let go of Eddie's hand, the one he had pressed against his cheek. That was okay, wasn't it? Simply pressing a friend's hand against your cheek in a show of love?
Richie shut his eyes against the wave of emotions that suddenly started to hit him, but it didn't do any good. A sob escaped from him and tears began dripping down his cheeks again.
"I'm so scared," Richie suddenly confessed, slipping his free hand under his glasses and wiping the tears from his eyes. "Maybe even more scared than I've ever been of that damned clown. I'm terrified that I'm going to lose you before I ever have a chance to tell you how I feel. Then again, I'm afraid that if I do, you're going to hate me forever and I'll lose my best friend. I'm scared to death that the rest of the Losers will hate my guts when they find out-"
Richie broke off, straightening his glasses on his face and pressing a soft kiss to Eddie's fingers.
"This is so stupid, isn't it?" Richie asked. "That we can't even be honest with our own damn friends about how we feel."
Richie's eyes trailed away and up to Eddie's heart monitor, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the lines on the screen. Richie took comfort in it somehow, in the regularity that Eddie's heart was beating. Richie felt so confused and his life felt so out of control, even more so than when It was still alive, it was nice to see that Eddie's heart was still beating strongly.
"I only pray to god that you won't hate me," Richie said after a while, his eyes going back to Eddie's face. "I think I could deal with everyone else hating me, but not you. I need you, Eddie. A hell of a lot more than I've shown you in these past twenty-seven years." Richie took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he said, "In which case, maybe I shouldn't tell you anything. I think I'd rather keep you as a friend than risk having you hate me. I don't know," he said miserably.
After a moment, Richie said, "About the only thing I do know right now is that you can't die. Because I don't know what I'd do without you. I need you to show that damned clown who's boss, okay? And while you're at it, you can show Henry Bowers who's the boss too."
Richie brushed a hand across the brand-new bandage on Eddie's left cheek, the one hiding the stitched-up wound that had happened just yesterday. Or had it been two days ago? Richie didn't even know anymore. The entire time in Derry had all blended together into one ongoing nightmare. All he was certain of was that he needed Eddie. He ran one hand through his hair, still keeping Eddie's hand firmly grasped in his other. He stared down at Eddie's hand then, at the pale and frail fingers laying over his.
"And I promise I won't forget about you again in the next twenty-seven years either," Richie told him. "I'm going to spend those years making up for those when we didn't speak. If you'll let me. But I told you that you never really forget your true love, and I didn't." Richie squinted his eyes, still trying to remember things, memories long since buried. "I mean, I always knew there had been someone special, I just couldn't quite remember who. I think it's probably why I never really had the urge to see anyone. Because why would I want anyone else when I could have had you? It's like I knew I had a soulmate out there, and I could tell whenever I met someone who wasn't it, so what was the point in even trying?"
Richie grew silent, his thoughts once against drifting towards Myra. To the fact that even if Eddie did return Richie's feelings, they still couldn't quite be together. It wouldn't be fair to Myra. It wouldn't be fair to the vows Eddie had made. As much as Richie wanted to hate her, she was still Eddie's wife, and that meant something.
Letting out a sigh, Richie said, "Not that I blame you for getting married. Whether or not you ever returned my feelings, or whether or not you ever could return my feelings doesn't really matter. Twenty-seven years is a long damn time to put your love life on hold for someone that you might never see again. For someone that you don't even remember. You just wanted to try and settle down and try to find happiness."
Richie broke off, the truth of the situation hanging in the large and echoey room like a dark cloud. Richie would never come right out and say it, would never make such rude assumptions about Eddie's love life, but he knew Eddie wasn't happy. It was in the way Eddie spoke about Myra, the way his eyes always seemed to darken when she was thrown into the conversation.
Staring up at the ceiling, Richie shook his head. "Jesus, what a mess. Would things have worked out differently if I had told you all those years ago exactly how I felt?" Richie's eyes dropped back down to Eddie, as if the unconscious man would be able to give him all the answers he sought. "I don't know. We were still so young, I can't see how. I was still so confused about what I was feeling when I left this town, so god only knows how you would have reacted if I'd told you."
Richie ran his thumb across Eddie's fingers, almost silently praying that Eddie could do the same in return.
"Maybe I should have said something when we got back to Derry," Richie said miserably. "When I saw you standing there in the Jade of the Orient, I realized almost immediately what I'd forgotten. And I wonder if you felt anything even remotely close to what I did."
Richie broke off, licking his lips in thought. "I just wish you were awake so we could talk about this." He let out a quiet laugh before he added, "I've waited twenty-seven years to tell you how I feel, and you still have me waiting. But that's my fault." Richie's voice was now sorry, regretful. "So much wasted time, and I didn't use it."
"Richie?" Bill's voice came a moment later from the doorway.
Richie nearly jumped a mile in the air, feeling like he had been caught doing something wrong. Like a little child who had been looking at dirty magazines. Richie turned to face Bill, wondering exactly how long the other man had been standing there and how much he had heard Richie say.
"They want him to rest," Bill said, motioning for Richie to follow him.
"He is resting," Richie replied somewhat absently.
Bill frowned, looking like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. "Tell that to the doctors," Bill suggested. "They want him to have some peace and quiet for a while. You can come back in another hour or two."
Heaving a sigh, Richie looked back to Eddie for a moment. "They want me to leave, Spaghetti Man, but I'll be right outside, okay? I'll be back in as soon as they let me and not a moment later."
Richie brought Eddie's hand up to his lips again, pressing a kiss against Eddie's fingers once more. Richie was well aware of the fact that Bill could see him, and he really didn't care.
Another memory flashed across Richie's mind, and again, it was something Richie couldn't believe had ever forgotten.
"I don't know why you have to do things like this," Eddie mumbled behind him, sifting through his fanny pack for something.
"Like what?" Richie asked. "I'm just helping to clean up this town a little bit. I mean, really, people should be cleaning up after their dogs in the first place."
Richie was bent over in the grass on the side of the road, just next to steep slope that led down to the quarry. Henry Bowers's car was parked just a few feet away, and of course, Richie couldn't pass up the opportunity to be a pain in the ass.
"Let's not forget what happened the last time you and shit were involved with Bowers," Eddie muttered, still sorting through his medications. "I could have died from a goddamned asthma attack."
Richie paused in his search, glancing back over his shoulder at Eddie. "You have a full inhaler through, don't you? I thought you checked before you left the house."
"That's what I'm double checking!" Eddie replied frantically, the bottles and pills clanging together in his fanny pack.
"Well then we're fine," Richie said, returning to his search.
"We're not fine!" Eddie snapped. "Don't you remember what I told you before about dog turds? It can contain millions of coliform bacteria which can cause diarrhea, cramps, intestinal problems, and it can cause your kidneys to shut down! And you're picking that shit up with your bare hands!"
Having found what he had been looking for, Richie stood up. "It's been sitting out the sun for days. It's dry as a bone," Richie said, waving the dog turd around for Eddie to see.
"And you keep the hell away from me with that thing," Eddie warned, beginning to back away from his friend. "Don't even think about touching me until you've washed your hands either. I'm not going to end up in the hospital again, because you suddenly have this obsession with Henry Bowers and dogshit."
Richie had made his way our of the grass and over to Henry's car. "Bowers is dogshit," Richie said, promptly setting down the dog poop in the middle of Henry's front seat. "I'm just putting shit in the proper receptacle. It's his own damn fault anyway, always leaving his top down, where people can do god knows what to his car."
Richie ran the palms of his hands on the backside of his shorts, making his way back over to Eddie.
"And you keep your distance!" Eddie yelled, putting up his hands and backing away from Richie. "Wiping your hands on your pants doesn't do jack shit to remove the bacteria swarming over them. You want to risk your life, that's fine, but I'm not-"
"Not what?" Richie asked, continuing to make his way closer to Eddie. "Going to contract something you probably already got from your mother?"
Eddie rolled his eyes in the ridiculously adorable way of his, the one that always made Richie's breath catch in his throat now.
"Beep beep, Richie."
If Eddie was at all conscious right now, Richie was sure he would have blushed, rolled his eyes in the same loveable way, and told him beep beep.
And perhaps kissing Eddie, even if it was just his hand, in front of the others was crossing the line. Richie wasn't even sure anymore, nor didn't know why he kept doing it. Or maybe he did. Maybe Richie really wanted them to call him out so he wouldn't have to come out of the damn closet on his own.
Finally, Richie stood up, gently setting Eddie's hand down on the mattress. Richie laid his hand over Eddie's for a long moment, wishing the stupid ass doctors really knew what was best for Eddie. Richie sincerely doubted that leaving Eddie in a room all by himself was really what they should be doing, but it appeared that he had little choice in the matter.
Against his own better judgment, Richie lifted his hand from Eddie's and turned to follow Bill from the room. When he got to the doorway, Richie paused, turning back to stare long and hard at Eddie. At the man that he now knew he loved the most in this world. At the man that he never wanted to leave again, but everyone else around him was always seeming to decide against that.
Richie gripped the doorjamb tightly in his fingers before he turned and followed Bill out to the waiting area. The rest of the Losers were still there, getting up from their seats and turning towards Richie as if waiting for an update.
Richie, however, wasn't even sure what to tell them. That Eddie had appeared pale and weak? That he was terrified that Eddie might never speak to him again? That Richie was madly in love with Eddie and simply wanted to stay there with him?
"He's a mess," Richie finally settled on, which had been his very first thought when he'd walked into Eddie's room. "I don't know what else you want me to say."
"You don't have to say anything," Beverly said, crossing the room to him and placing a hand on his arm.
"No, you don't," Ben agreed. "But it's well past lunchtime, so maybe we should go on down to the cafeteria while we wait. None of us have eaten since yesterday."
"We just came out of the damn sewer," Richie reminded them, "and you want us to go get something to eat?"
Richie wasn't sure where his words had even come from, or why he seemed to be channeling Eddie all of a sudden. Somebody had to, he supposed, in their friend's absence.
"Or we can go back to the inn and get washed up," Mike suggested. "That's actually probably a better idea, then we can get something to eat."
Richie shook his head defiantly. "I'm not leaving. Not until we know he's going to be okay."
"Richie-" Bill said, but Richie immediately cut him off.
"I'm not," Richie repeated. "You guys can go, but I'm staying. Eddie needs me here."
"Richie," Bill tried again, "there's nothing-"
Just then, Bill was interrupted by a loud beeping sound coming over the hospital's loudspeaker system. All of the Losers instinctually glanced upward, waiting for the disembodied voice that they all knew was coming.
"Attention. We have a Code Blue in emergency room four. Repeat, Code Blue in emergency room four. All available staff, please report."
It only took Richie a few seconds to process what had been said, then he immediately launched himself towards the large double doors to the emergency ward.
"That's Eddie's room!" Richie screamed, reaching for the large silver bar that ran across the width of the door.
Before he could reach it, however, there were multiple sets of hands upon him. The Losers had grabbed him, holding him back, just as they had done when they had been trying to get him to leave the sewer.
"Something's wrong with Eddie!" Richie yelled. He twisted and turned his body frantically in an attempt to get away from his friends.
"And they're going to help him," Ben said calmly, his hands clenched tightly around Richie's left bicep. "You'll just be in the way in there."
"They need room to work, Rich," Mike agreed, his arm looped tightly around Richie's right shoulder.
They were wrong. God damnit, they were so very wrong. Eddie had known he was there, and Richie had never been more certain of that. Eddie had been fine as long as Richie had been there, and it was only when he left that something had happened. Eddie needed him, so why was everyone trying to keep Richie away from him?
To be continued…
