Brave
Chapter 9 – Scars

"I don't need a fucking wheelchair!" Eddie snapped indignantly. "I'm not a goddamned invalid!"

Richie tried not to smile, but he couldn't help it; he still didn't think he'd tire of hearing Eddie complain about dumb shit, like the fact that the hospital staff wanted to make sure he got safely to the car. God forbid.

"You heard the man," Richie told James, Eddie's nurse. When James looked like he was about to protest, Richie said, "I'm walking him to the car. I'll make sure he doesn't fall on his cute little ass."

James had already caught Richie and Eddie making out more than a few times and he hadn't batted an eye, so Richie knew it was a lost cause to try and hide their relationship from him. Richie had been on pins and needles for nearly a week afterwards though, terrified that it might show up somewhere on social media, but no. James gave zero fucks if he was gay or making out with Eddie at every opportunity, so fuck it. Richie had spent enough time hiding who he was, even from himself, and it was nice to finally be able to flaunt it in what he knew was a safe place for him to do so.

Eddie, on the other hand, was currently turning quite a fetching shade of red.

"Richie, I swear to fucking god," Eddie muttered, keeping his head down as he made sure that everything was packed into the bag that Richie had brought him from the inn. "Are you going to be like this once we come out to everyone?"

"Yeah?" Richie asked, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Like I'd miss out on the chance to let the whole world know you're mine." He stepped over to Eddie, zipping up his bag for him and slinging it over his shoulder. "You have everything, trust me."

"Tell that to Myra," Eddie said, glancing around his hospital room one last time for anything else he might have missed. "She still thinks I'm going through a phase and I'll come to my senses once I come home." He snorted.

"Hate to break it to you, honey bunch," Richie said, straightening Eddie's bag on his shoulder, "thirty years is not a fucking phase."

"Doesn't look like a phase to me either," James said, winking at them fondly. He was still gripping the handles of the wheelchair he had brought into the room, leaning casually onto it. "And believe me, I've seen more than my fair share of couples making out. You're hardly the first or the last."

"See, even Jamie thinks we're going to make it," Richie said. "Hit me up on social media, dude, so I can invite you to the wedding."

"Jesus Christ, Rich," Eddie said around an exasperated breath. "Let's go." He pushed past James unceremoniously, moving awfully fucking fast for a man who still had a healing wound in the middle of his chest.

They had left the surface wound open for a few weeks after his initial injury, because as the doctors had explained, penetrating stab wounds needed to heal from the inside out. Eddie still wouldn't let Richie see it, and he made Richie leave the room whenever the doctors came in to change the bandages. Richie was sort of glad, because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see a gaping wound in the middle of Eddie's chest, full of blood, and puss, and soaked-through gauze. Now that the wound had been entirely closed up, however, Richie hoped that Eddie wouldn't feel the need to hide it from him any longer. Eddie still had to clean the stitches and change his bandages regularly, and now that he was being released from the hospital, Richie wasn't entirely sure that Eddie would be able to do those things entirely on his own.

But Richie trusted that Eddie would ask for his help if he needed it.

Richie made his way for the door of the room, stopping when he reached it and turning back towards James. "I meant what I said," Richie told him. "Message me on Twitter, okay? I'll set you up with tickets to a show if you're ever out west."

"Thanks, man," James said, smiling. "I will."

"Thank you," Richie said firmly. "Not just for putting up with Eddie's ass, because I know he can brush people the wrong way, but…for everything." Richie fiddled with the strap of Eddie's bag, feeling the brief urge to elaborate on what everything entailed, but he knew he didn't need to; James understood.

James shrugged nonchalantly. "Just doing my job."

Richie shook his head and closed his eyes, because Jesus, he never imagined that people would make coming out so easy. He was only out to three people now, and Richie knew they wouldn't all be like this, he didn't think he'd ever stopped being shocked when people didn't care. James had been the true test, because he was the first stranger that knew Richie's dirty little secret, and James acted like it was fucking normal. Like he got moderately famous people coming through the hospital every day with surprises like the fact that they were gay and had been hopelessly in love with their best friend for nearly three decades. James could have easily outed him in a number of ways, and he could have had a field day deciding what to do with that information. And…he didn't.

"Your job description doesn't include all of that, and you and I both know it," Richie said, staring unblinkingly at James.

"It's not anything you need to thank me for," James replied insistently. "It's not anything you should feel the need to thank anyone for."

"Richie!" came Eddie's voice from down the hall. "The fuck are you?! I don't know about you, but I've spent enough time here, and you're supposed to be making sure I don't fall on my ass on the way out!"

James snorted and Richie was overcome with the urge to run out into the hall and hug the shit out of his impatient little Eddie. But Richie stayed and told James, "He's going to get that cute ass of his thrown out of here in about two seconds, but…still. I wanted you to know that I appreciate your discretion."

"You do you, man," James said. "That's always been my philosophy, and it's no one else's business but yours. Just know that I'll be rooting for you two from the sidelines. You guys deserve it."

Richie didn't say anything more. He simply clapped an appreciative hand on James's shoulder on the way out.


Richie took Eddie to McDonald's for a late lunch, and Richie supposed it was their first official date together, all things considered. Eddie didn't normally eat at fast food places, and honestly, neither did Richie, but after nothing but hospital food for nearly a month, Eddie said he had been craving a Big Mac.

Not to mention the fact that Eddie was still healing, and Richie wanted to get him back to the inn as soon as possible so that he could rest. Eddie was alternately either in pain or a bit loopy on painkillers, so he wasn't exactly up for exciting outings just yet. Once he was a little further along in his recovery, Richie would worry about taking Eddie to fancy restaurants and shit.

Once they got back to the townhouse, Richie helped Eddie up the stairs to the second floor. Eddie immediately headed for his door, the first one on the right, but Richie steered him away.

"I paid up on your room and closed your reservation, remember?" Richie asked. Eddie was leaning heavily into him, taking measured breaths with each step they took. "Didn't think you'd want to pay weeks' worth of rent on a room you weren't even using."

"Oh," Eddie murmured, shaking his head and letting Richie guide him farther down the hall. "Yeah, forgot. Thanks."

"You can stay in my room," Richie said, stopping at the next door on the right. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, fishing out his room key. Richie unlocked the door and tried to step inside, but Eddie didn't budge.

"Rich?"

"What?"

"Where…where are you going to stay?" Eddie asked stiltedly. "Are…are we bunking up together, or…?" He broke off, his cheeks flaring up into that shade of pink that Richie loved so much.

"I could get another room," Richie said. "Bill's gone, so his room's free. And Ben and Bev are bunking together now, so Bev's room is free now too. And let's face it, this place isn't exactly flooded with reservations. I think the five of us staying here was the first time in history this place has ever been full."

It was the weirdest thing ever, how much their group dynamics had changed in the span of a fucking month. Ben and Bev were inseparable, and everyone fucking knew they were desperately in love. On the other hand, Richie and Eddie were also attached at the hip, which wasn't anything new, but no one knew just how much their relationship had changed.

Or maybe they did, and they just hadn't said anything. That seemed to be what Eddie thought.

And Mike was just waiting to get the hell out of Derry once all the other Losers were gone too. He said he didn't quite feel right leaving while Eddie was still there and healing. Once Eddie was clear to travel, then Mike said it would be time to close up shop.

"Rich," Eddie said again, still not moving from his spot in the hall.

"What's up, man?"

"I don't…you can stay with me, you know," Eddie whispered, keeping his gaze down on the carpet. "I don't…I don't want you to get another room."

"There's only one bed," Richie pointed out. He shook his head before he said, "I was afraid of coming on too strong, you know? I know this is new to both of us and-"

"It's only sharing a bed, Rich," Eddie cut him off, smirking. "Sorry, but I'm not exactly in shape to be fucking right now."

What the fuck was happening? It felt like all of the blood rushed out of Richie's head, because he was supposed to be the one who said inappropriate shit and made Eddie get embarrassed. Not the other way around.

Richie could see Eddie swallowing, as if he had only just realized what he had said. "Please?" Eddie asked, his eyes going up to Richie. "I don't want to be alone. Not here."

"Yeah," Richie said, feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of him. "Of course. I was just afraid of freaking you out by proposing we share a bed already. I didn't want to be presumptuous."

"No," Eddie murmured, wrapping his fingers into the sleeve of Richie's sweatshirt. "I just…want to be close to you. Is that okay? Just…sleeping? Cause it's going to be a while before-"

"God, yeah," Richie interrupted him, leaning down and kissing Eddie's forehead. "Believe me, thirteen-year-old me is absolutely freaking the fuck out at sharing the same mattress with you. Absolutely no expectations, and if that's all we ever do, I will die a happy man."

Eddie smiled, leaning into Richie again and letting him lead the way into the room. Richie closed the door behind them and set the bag down on the bed before he turned to face Eddie.

"Do…do we need to change your bandages?" Richie asked.

"I need to change them, yeah," Eddie said, gently pushing past Richie to start gathering his supplies from his bag. "Cause I think I'd like to take a nap and they really need changed if I'm planning on laying down for a long period of time."

"Then I'll help you."

"It's fine," Eddie said, juggling different plastic bags and bottles in his hands. "I can do it. They showed me how at the hospital."

"Eds…"

Without another word, Eddie slowly made his way around Richie, closing the door once he was safely in the bathroom alone.

Richie sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. He couldn't quite stand the thought of Eddie twisting himself around into uncomfortable positions, trying to reach a fucking scar on his back that he couldn't even see. Wouldn't that pull at Eddie's stitches in unsafe ways? Richie wasn't keen on rushing Eddie back to the hospital right after he'd been released, but he had to remind himself that Eddie had been doing nothing but this kind of shit since he was young enough to understand it.

Richie picked Eddie's bag up off the bed and took it over to the dresser on the other side of the room beneath the window. Richie set the bag on top of the dresser and opened the zipper, beginning to unpack the few shirts and pants that Eddie had had at the hospital. But the bathroom door opened, and Richie knew Eddie couldn't have changed his bandages that fucking quickly.

When Richie turned around, Eddie was standing in the doorway, his arms wrapped around his middle.

"I can't…" Eddie began, but then he stopped. He stared down at Richie's shoes like there was something terribly interesting in them. "This is so horribly embarrassing, but…I can't do it myself," he finally admitted, glancing back up at Richie again, his eyes large and wide. His chest was heaving, like it took every single ounce of his courage to be able to admit that. "I couldn't even get my shirt off without feeling like my stitches were going to pop out."

"Eddie…" Richie said, shaking his head. He crossed the room towards Eddie, placing his hands firmly on the other man's shoulders. "I told you, I'll help you. God, please don't ever feel bad about asking. Okay?" He wrapped his arms around Eddie's shoulders next, pulling him close.

"I just…I didn't want you to have to see it," Eddie whispered, his voice muffled even more by the material of Richie's sweatshirt. His voice was embarrassed, shamed.

Richie brought one of his hands up to Eddie's head, tucking it under his chin. "We're going to do this though, aren't we? Be together?"

"Of course we are." Eddie's tone was confused, questioning.

"Then I'll see it at some point, won't I?" Richie asked. "I mean, you're not going to hide it from me for the rest of your life."

"I don't know!" Eddie cried, pulling out of Richie's grasp. He wrapped his arms around his middle again, like he was trying to further hide his scar, even though he still had his t-shirt on. He walked around Richie, walking towards the bed.

Richie turned and said, "Eddie…" but he stopped again. He had absolutely no idea how to convince Eddie that a stupid fucking scar wouldn't change how he felt about him. Eddie looked so small and vulnerable standing there, and Richie wanted nothing more than to wrap him in his arms until everything was better. But Richie knew that that wouldn't help matters, and that Eddie would simply push him away again, so he tried something else entirely.

"Have I ever lied to you before?" Richie asked.

Eddie turned his head slightly until he could see Richie out of the corner of his eye. "Are you serious right now? You're so full of shit, where do I fucking start? How about when you told me when you were married? What about all the times you talked about fucking my mother? Not to mention-"

"I'm not talking about stupid fucking jokes!" Richie cutting him off a bit more harshly than he intended. When Eddie flinched away slightly, Richie sighed, taking a few steps closer. He still didn't reach out for Eddie, even though he was now close enough to do so. "Have I ever lied to you when it's important?" he asked softly.

Eddie didn't answer right away, but then he shook his head. He stared down at the bed in front of him. "That's one of the reasons why it was so easy for me to fall in love with you in the first place," Eddie eventually replied. "Because I knew you wouldn't feed me a bunch of bullshit like my mother always did. Like my wife tries to. You've always been straight with me." When Eddie realized what he had said, he grimaced. "Well, not exactly straight-"

"No," Richie agreed, "nothing about me has ever been even remotely straight. But have I always been honest with you when it matters?"

Eddie smiled. "Yeah."

Richie took a chance, finally laying his hands on Eddie's shoulders. When Eddie didn't shrug them off, Richie said, "Then trust me when I tell you that nothing about this is going to change how I feel about you." Richie let his hands drift down, lightly glancing over Eddie's back, feeling the outline of the bandages beneath his shirt. He swallowed hard before he said, "You have no idea how fucking scared I was when I thought I lost you. I was terrified that I'd never have a chance to…do anything like this for you."

Turning his head again, Eddie watched Richie closely out of the corner of his eye. He bit at his lower lip before he said, "You wanted to clean the gruesome fucking scar I got from a space clown?"

"It's not gruesome," Richie said, still lightly running his fingers along the back of Eddie's shirt.

"You haven't even seen it yet."

"Nothing about you will ever be gruesome to me," Richie said firmly. "And to answer your question, I wanted to…do couply shit with you. Not cleaning your scar, although that's definitely included, but just…being with you. Getting a chance to do…normal things with you and for you. And yes, that includes taking care of each other when one of us is sick or hurt. That's what couples do for each other. Or at least they should."

"I don't…" Eddie began, but then he trailed off. He hung his head again, and Richie could see him frowning deeply, battling with himself.

Jesus, but Richie just wanted to grab him in his arms and hug him until everything was better, but he knew it would never be that easy. So he waited. Waited for Eddie to open up to him. Waited for Eddie to talk this out with him. He would wait for Eddie forever.

"I'm not used to this, Rich," Eddie finally spat out, his voice only quivering slightly. "I mean, yeah, I'm used to being coddled, but not…" He broke off again, running a frustrated hand over his face. "I told you, if Myra was here right now, she'd be giving me hell for getting myself into this position in the first place. She certainly wouldn't be offering to fucking help me clean the scar I got, because I did something she would have been against in the first place. Just like the way she yelled at me for crashing my car when she didn't even want me driving that day." Eddie turning around, facing Richie with wide eyes. "I'm not used to someone helping me pick up the pieces after I fuck up."

Richie raised an eyebrow. "So saving my life was a fuck up?"

"N-no!" Eddie sputtered. "You're the only reason I'm even able to function right now-!"

Richie pressed a finger to Eddie's lips, silencing him. Richie smiled before he said, "I know. But…will you let me help you pick up the pieces for once? I just…I just want to help you. I love you so much and I don't want you to have to do this by yourself. Will you please let me help you?"

Richie was only vaguely aware of how pleading his voice was, but then something changed. Eddie blinked and all at once, the resolve on his face was gone. He leaned forward, pressing his head into Richie's shoulder and nodding.

"I need help," Eddie said, his voice cracking. "That's why I came to get you, but I'm just terrified of what you'll think when you see it."

Bringing his hands up to Eddie's back, Richie's ran them carefully over the material of his t-shirt. He could feel Eddie quivering underneath his fingers with pent up fear and emotion. "You don't need to be afraid, okay?" Richie asked gently. "Because I know that nothing will ever change how I feel about you. And I'm just asking you to trust me."

"I do," Eddie said around a gasp for air. "You're the person I trust most in this world and I wouldn't want anyone else to do this for me. You know, except for a bunch of doctors that I know nothing about."

Richie smiled and bowed his head, pressing a kiss to Eddie's shoulder where his t-shirt had exposed a bit of skin. "Will you let me?" Richie asked quietly again, his lips still against Eddie's skin.

Eddie drew a long and shaking breath, but then he nodded, head still buried in Richie's shoulder.

Richie let one of his hands drop and then he turned slightly, directing Eddie towards the bathroom. Eddie went, but Richie didn't miss the way his eyes stayed on the floor. The way Eddie's cheeks burned red from embarrassment, but now for a completely different reason entirely.

When they got to the bathroom, Eddie sank down on the closed toilet seat. He still kept his head bowed and his eyes were closed now, careful not to look in Richie's direction. Richie felt the urge to place his hand on Eddie's chin, to try and get Eddie to look at him, but he didn't. He would let Eddie do this in his own time. Meanwhile, Richie would treat this the way he did everything else.

Richie reached for the bottom hem of Eddie's t-shirt, pulling it up gently. Eddie lifted his arms gingerly, letting Richie pull the shirt off over his head.

"If I had known this is what would make you take your clothes off for me," Richie said, carefully folding Eddie's t-shirt, "I would have let that fucking clown stab you a long time ago."

"Beep beep, Richie." Eddie's voice was quiet, almost nonexistent. His eyes were still closed, his head hung low, but the tiniest smile had formed on his lips. "Wash your hands first before you touch my bandages."

Richie set Eddie's t-shirt down on the sink next to the antiseptic, ointment, cotton balls, medical tape, and gauze that Eddie had laid out. Then Richie spent well over a minute soaping up and rinsing his hands, not wanting to take a chance on introducing any sort of infection to Eddie's wound. After he dried his hands, Richie reached for the bandages around Eddie's abdomen, carefully pulling away the tape that held it in place.

"Go slow," Eddie said, as Richie began to unwrap the bandages. "In case the stitches were oozing and the gauze might be sticking to it."

Richie nodded, everything Eddie still had his eyes closed. Richie did as he was told, slowly balling the gauze up into a bunch in his hand. Truth be told, he was slightly concerned about what the scar would look like, but only because his stomach hadn't been the most reliable thing as of late. Jesus Christ, Eddie would never let Richie near him again if Richie ended up puking his guts out right now. In the end, however, Richie's fears proved to be unfounded, because he was distracted by something else entirely.

"Fuck, Eds."

"I know!" Eddie cried, sounding a bit desperate. "I know. It's fucking horrible. You can say it!"

"I haven't even gotten there yet," Richie said smugly.

Eddie's eyes blinked open for the first time since he had sat down. He quickly glanced down at the progress Richie had made, to the bandages that were just still covering the bottom of his scar. "Then what are you saying 'fuck' for?" Eddie asked, frowning deeply.

"I told you in the hospital," Richie said, still pulling the bandages away, "but you really are ripped, aren't you? You didn't tell me you had a fucking six-pack!"

"I-" Eddie began, but then he stopped entirely. He blinked, like he had no idea how to respond to that. "I told you I work out."

"There's a difference between just working out and being buff up the ass," Richie argued, pleased that he was sufficiently distracting Eddie from what was going on. Richie had already uncovered half of Eddie's scar, and the other man didn't even seem to notice, still too hung up on the fact that Richie was telling him how hot he was.

"Not that you would know the difference," Eddie said. He reached out a finger, pressing it against Richie's hip.

"Those are my love handles," Richie said, wiggling his hips back and forth underneath Eddie's touch. "That's so you have something to grab onto at night."

"Shut the fuck up." Eddie playfully slapped at Richie's waist.

Richie had successfully unwrapped the bandages the rest of the way, and the scar was nowhere near as bad as Eddie seemed to think it was. It was large, stemming from the middle of Eddie's washboard abs, up the center of his chest, and finally petering out where it curled up and around his right pec. Black thread was currently holding the wound closed, but that would be gone soon enough. Was it gruesome? Certainly not, and Richie only hoped that he could get Eddie to believe that at some point.

Disposing of the bandages in the garbage can underneath the sink, Richie asked, "What do I do next?"

"Richie."

"What?"

Eddie had resumed his earlier position of hanging his head low, his eyes closed once again. His cheeks were bright red again now, embarrassment at the fact that he was now completely exposed for Richie to see.

"At least tell me what it looks like," Eddie whispered. "I'd rather you tell me that you're completely disgusted by it than to ignore it completely."

"Eddie," Richie said quietly. Eddie still didn't look at him, so Richie dropped down to his knees on the floor in front of the toilet. He reached up for Eddie's stubbly cheeks, placing his hands on them, and directing Eddie's face towards his.

Eddie had started letting his facial hair grow over the last few weeks in an effort to cover up the scar on his cheek. Richie had told him it was unnecessary, because the scar wasn't even that noticeable anymore, and it would only continue to get better. Eddie didn't listen, insisting that he felt better this way, and Richie had stopped arguing. Truth be told, Richie thought it was pretty fucking sexy. Eddie with facial hair was a new thing, something Richie hadn't even known he had wanted in his life.

When Eddie still didn't open his eyes, Richie said, "Eddie, look at me."

Eddie didn't open his eyes right away, but Richie kept his hands on Eddie's cheeks, waiting. He could see Eddie squeezing his eyes shut even more tightly, but then he finally opened them. They settled on Richie, wide and afraid.

"Nothing about you is disgusting," Richie said firmly, shaking his head. "I told you, you got this when you saved my life." Richie lowered one of his hands, very gingerly pressing his fingertips against the part of Eddie's scar that curved around the upper right part of his chest. "I fucking wish I could take it away for you, but does it disgust me? God, no. Because it only reminds me of the bravest thing you've ever done in your life – the moment when you placed my life above your own fear and safety. I'm here right now because of this, and I don't see that sacrifice as anything but beautiful."

Eddie's bottom lip quivered the tiniest bit. "Oh, Rich," he whispered, and without warning, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Richie's shoulder.

Richie let the hand he had on Eddie's cheek drift to the back of his neck, gripping it tightly. He still had the fingers of his other hand pressed up against the scar on Eddie's chest, and he didn't move them, feeling the stitches against his skin.

"Okay?" Richie asked, double checking that Eddie was okay.

Nodding against his shoulder, Eddie took a moment to take a deep breath. "And just so you know," Eddie said a few seconds later, "I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat to have you here with me." Pulling away, Eddie paused with his face just in front of Richie's. "I don't know what I'd do if something had happened to you. I'd be even more of a mess than I already am."

Smiling warmly, Richie said, "I love you. So goddamned much."

"I love you."

Richie kissed the corner of Eddie's mouth, then sat back on his heels. He wanted Eddie to know that looking at the scar, having it exposed, didn't make Richie uncomfortable in the least. Then something occurred to Richie.

"Lucky seven," Richie said quietly, letting his finger trace down the length of the scar, down towards Eddie's bellybutton.

"What?"

"It looks like a seven," Richie said, still keeping his fingertips against the very bottom edge of the scar.

Eddie didn't reply right away, but he took a moment to look down at his chest, at Richie's fingers still touching the scar. "It looks like an 'L' from my perspective." His voice was calmer now, not shaking like it had been just a few minutes before. At least Richie figured he was doing something right.

"For the fucking Loser you are," Richie concluded, nodding. "Seems about right."

"Fuck off."

"Do I clean it now?"

"Yeah," Eddie replied, gesturing towards the bottle of solution on the sink. "With the antiseptic and cotton balls. The back and front, and make sure none of it looks red or swollen."

Richie flipped open the cap on the top of the antiseptic bottle, turning it over and soaking a couple of large cotton balls with the liquid. When he pressed the cotton balls against the top of the scar, Eddie hissed in a sharp breath.

"Does it burn?" Richie asked, pulling away the cotton.

Eddie shook his head. "It's fucking cold."

"Okay," Richie said, slowly dabbing the cotton along the length of Eddie's scar. "Let me know if it hurts."

Richie worked in silence, and he was relieved to see that Eddie wasn't keeping his eyes closed any longer. He kept stealing glances at Richie then looking away again. It almost looked like he wanted to say something more, but he didn't.

When Richie finished cleaning the wound on Eddie's chest, he got to his feet and disposed of the cotton balls. He retrieved a couple new ones from the sink, taking a moment to soak these with antiseptic as well. Eddie stayed in his seat, and Richie stepped closer, leaning over and repeating the process on Eddie's back.

Eddie leaned in closer, kissing Richie's stomach through his sweatshirt. Then Eddie reached up his hands, first resting them on Richie's hips, then wrapping them around Richie's waist. It was perhaps the most oddly intimate position they had been in so far, with Eddie not so very far from Richie's belt.

Richie swallowed, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. He was grateful when Eddie spoke up.

"Does it look okay?" Eddie asked, his voice muffled against the front of Richie's sweatshirt. "It's not swollen or anything?"

"No," Richie replied, getting towards the very bottom of the scar with the cotton swab. "It looks good."

Perhaps good wasn't the best choice of words, because they both knew it would never be a good thing, but Richie knew it was right choice. Eddie tightened his hold on Richie's waist, but then Richie felt him relax, letting out a soft sigh. Richie could even feel the muscles in his shoulders and back unclenching. Richie almost felt the urge to say something, to make some smart remark, but he didn't; the silence stretched out between them, and it was nice and comfortable. It felt like home and Richie didn't want to ruin that.

After Richie applied the ointment to the scar and bandaged it back up, he helped Eddie struggle back into his t-shirt. He supported Eddie as he got up off the toilet, and Eddie immediately relaxed into Richie's chest, pressing his face and hands into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt.

"Thank you," Eddie told him.

Richie kissed the top of Eddie's head. "Anytime."

They settled into Richie's bed, Eddie laying on his back, because it was still a bit too uncomfortable for him to lay in any other position. Richie gave Eddie the remote control for the television on the opposite wall, then Richie pulled of his sweatshirt, leaving him in his t-shirt and jeans.

"I…" Richie began, glancing down at himself. "I usually sleep in my boxers. Is that okay? Will it make you uncomfortable?"

"No," Eddie said, smiling sleepily at Richie. "I have pajama pants on. It's not like we're going to be naked."

"Okay," Richie replied before dropped his jeans to the floor the stepping out of them. He took a moment to fold his clothes before he laid down on his side, watching Eddie as he flipped through the channels.

"What?" Eddie asked, glancing at Richie out of the corner of his eye.

"Nothing." Richie bit his lip, wanting desperately to move closer to Eddie, but not sure if it would be welcome just yet. They hadn't shied away from kissing and touching each other thus far, but they were in a bed now; Richie wasn't sure if trying to cuddle with Eddie would be okay or not.

Richie swallowed, then scooched closer to Eddie. When Eddie didn't say anything, Richie reached out a hand, laying it softly across Eddie's stomach.

"Is this okay?" Richie asked uncertainly.

Eddie smiled, turning his head to place a kiss on the tip of Richie's nose. "Yeah," Eddie said, bringing up his hand to intertwine his fingers with Richie's.

Eddie settled on the Investigation Discovery channel on the television, letting the remote control drop to the mattress. Keith Morrison was talking about a woman who had been murdered on a cold, snowy night in February, but neither Richie nor Eddie were listening, sleep coming to claim them almost immediately. The sun was setting outside, painting their room in a bright orangish pink color, like the love they shared had set it on fire.


When Eddie opened his eyes again, the room was completely dark, except for the glare from the television screen. He wasn't sure what had awakened him at first, but then he felt the mattress next to him bounce harshly. Eddie glanced over, his eyes wide, but it was much too dark for him to see anything.

Then Richie's voice called into the darkness, his voice strained. "Eddie!"

"Rich?" Eddie asked, his mind still too sleep-clogged to really register what was happening. Then he realized that Richie was thrashing around next to him, one of his arms perfectly silhouetted against the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Eddie reached out for him, his hand settling on Richie's sweat-soaked t-shirt, but then it was yanked out of his grip again.

"Eddie!" Richie cried again, and it sounded strangled this time, like Richie had begun to cry.

"Richie!" Eddie said, sitting up as quickly as his injuries would allow him. Eddie bit his bottom lip against the slight pull he felt across his abdomen, then reached out for Richie again. This time, Eddie's fingers closed around Richie's damp bicep, squeezing it slightly. "Richie!" Eddie said again, giving Richie's arm a soft shake. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Richie jerked one last time, his eyes opening wide, his breath coming fast and harsh. His face was bathed in the blueish light from the television, and Eddie could see his lips quivering with every breath in and out. Richie stared up at Eddie, like he didn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"Hey," Eddie said, turning towards Richie more fully. Richie had done so very much for him since they had returned to Derry, and now it was Eddie's turn to repay the favor. Eddie let his hand drift across to Richie's chest, placing it over his heart. Eddie could feel Richie's heart pounding so very hard, and Eddie wanted nothing more than to take Richie in his arms, but he didn't. Richie still seemed confused and disoriented, and Eddie wanted to let him get his bearings before he did anything further.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asked, gently rubbing his thumb over Richie's damp t-shirt.

"Oh, fuck," Richie whispered, reality seeming to hit him all at once. He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing at his eyes harshly. "Jesus Christ, you were dead." Richie's voice was small and afraid, a tone that Eddie didn't hear from him very often.

"I'm not dead," Eddie said, moving his hand up towards Richie's face. He rested it on his cheek, now rubbing his thumb over the stubble there. "I'm not dead. I'm right here."

Richie took a shuddering breath, then sat up so quickly, Eddie released his hold on him and drew back. But then all at once, Richie seemed to collapse against him, his head going into the crook between Eddie's shoulder and neck. He pressed his forehead against Eddie's bare skin there, then brought his arms up, gently wrapping them around Eddie's middle.

"I'm not dead," Eddie repeated. He laid one arm across Richie's back, then ran the other one through Richie's hair, wiping his sweaty curls back from his face. "I'm fine." Then desperately trying to lighten the mood, Eddie added, "As fine as I can be after being stabbed by a fucking space clown."

"Oh my god, Eddie," Richie choked out around a sob. He was shaking against Eddie, soaking Eddie with his own sweat and probably tears now too, but Eddie didn't care. Eddie just held him tighter, waiting for Richie's cries to subside.

Eddie lost track of how long they sat there like that, clinging to each other in the darkened room, lit only by the flickering images on the television and the faint moonlight coming in through the window.

"Jesus Christ," Richie said, gasping in a calming breath and finally releasing his hold on Eddie. He didn't move away though, Eddie's hands still on his back and in his hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eddie asked, releasing Richie's hair to cup a hand over his cheek. When Richie didn't reply, Eddie added, "Sometimes it helps."

"Just…" Richie bit out, but then he stopped. He rubbed at his face again, then pushed back at his soaked hair in annoyance. Eddie could see him swallowing before he said, "They made me leave you down there." Richie was staring ahead at the television when he said this, but then he looked back at Eddie, his eyes wide and desperate. "Down there in the sewer, and they…they were dragging me away. We…we got out and…the house collapsed on you and…Jesus, you were down there. I tried to go back for you, but…they wouldn't let me and…you were down there."

Richie sobbed again and leaned forward, resting his head against Eddie's shoulder once more.

"I'm not down there," Eddie told him, running his hand up and down Richie's still quivering back in an effort to calm him. "I'm not down there, because you wouldn't leave me. I'm right here. In our bed."

All at once, Richie pressed a kiss into Eddie's neck and said, "Our bed." It was the calmest he'd sounded since they'd gone to sleep.

"Yeah," Eddie told him, relaxing into the stubble of Richie's cheek against him. He didn't know why, but he loved the feel of Richie's facial hair against his skin, and he always seemed drawn to it especially whenever Richie kissed him. Perhaps because it was the furthest thing from Myra he could get – Richie's big, strong, broad shoulders and facial hair. Reminders that for the very first time in Eddie's life, he was truly giving into what he wanted, the rest of the world be damned.

Eddie had known for most of his life that he was bisexual, and he had certainly never hidden that fact, at least where his friends and coworkers were concerned. At the same time, however, Eddie never allowed himself to even remotely think about being with a man. It just always felt like he was supposed to be with a woman and so that was what he did.

Perhaps Eddie was in the closet in certain ways, or maybe Eddie just didn't want to be with a man, because there was only one man he'd ever wanted. Even when he couldn't consciously remember Richie, a part of Eddie always knew he was there, buried somewhere deep down inside his memories and inside his heart.

A man.

Richie.

His Richie.

Eddie turned his head, seeking out Richie's lips in the dark and kissing him deeply. Richie moaned into his mouth, his skin against Eddie's mouth tasting salty from sweat and tears. Richie's hands gripped Eddie's shoulders tightly through the fabric of his t-shirt, like he might be holding on for dear life.

When their kiss broke, Richie pulled Eddie into an embrace, hugging him so fiercely, Eddie didn't think he'd ever let go. And that was okay.

They eventually laid back down on Eddie's side of mattress where it wasn't soaked through with sweat. Eddie resumed his most comfortable position on his back, pulling Richie into his arms and hugging him back just as tightly.

Richie's breathing had slowed, and Eddie almost thought he had fallen back asleep, but then Richie spoke into the darkened room. "I didn't know you liked all this true crime shit."

Eddie hummed in response, not really expecting that to be the thing that Richie pointed out right now. "Yeah," Eddie quietly, raking his fingers up and down Richie's bicep. "Just…in the last ten years or so I started getting really into it." Eddie laughed quietly, gesturing to the television screen.

Keith Morrison was talking about an entirely different crime now, something about a couple who had been murdered in their bed. Was that a fucked up thing to watch when he was in bed himself and trying to sleep? Probably.

"I love this Keith Morrison guy," Eddie said. "Actually, before I discovered you on YouTube, I used to put this channel on all the time, hoping that he'd be on. His voice is calming."

"When he's talking about a couple who was stabbed to death," Richie pointed out, breath warm against Eddie's shoulder. "Sure is."

"Hey," Eddie said, only a little indignant, "you were the one who said it was great that I found something that helped my anxiety. Now you're questioning it. Hypocrite."

"I liked it better when I was the one who helped your anxiety."

"You still are."

"Yeah?"

"God, fuck yeah," Eddie said, then he stopped. He thought about the fact that his breathing was coming so slow and easy, even though this was the first time he'd slept in a bed with the fucking love of his life. His heart was beating at an even and tempered pace, even though he thought it should be beating out of his chest right now at the thought that Richie fucking Tozier was getting ready to fall asleep in his arms.

Eddie thought back to the bathroom, to the way he could barely even look at Richie once his shirt and bandages were off. To the fact that he almost had fucking panic attack at thought of Richie seeing his scar. To the way Richie had looked at him tenderly, not shying away from what Eddie knew was a horrific wound, winding its way down his chest. To the way Richie had so gently held him as Eddie tried not to hyperventilate and run from the room in abject terror.

Richie. Always Richie who knew how to ground him. To keep him calm.

"Who else could have calmed me down in that bathroom?" Eddie asked. "I was so fucking scared of you seeing my scar, and then…" Eddie broke off, laughing breathlessly into the darkened room of the townhouse in fucking Derry. Derry of all places. The one place that was so full of nightmares and brushes with death was now the town where he had gotten together with Richie. It was ridiculous the way things worked out sometimes, and Eddie wasn't even sure how he was supposed to feel about this godforsaken town anymore.

"And then what?" Richie asked sleepily, stirring Eddie from his thoughts.

"I don't know," Eddie replied, not even sure what he had been talking about a moment before. It took him a while to backtrack, to remember what he had said. "Then you made it okay," he said simply.

"It is okay," Richie said, caressing his fingertips gently over Eddie's chest, the fabric of his t-shirt dragging lightly back and forth against his bandages with the movement. But it didn't hurt. It actually felt kind of nice, and Eddie hadn't thought that would even be a thing – actually liking when Richie paid attention to the area around his scar.

"I know." Eddie turned his head, burying his nose in Richie's curls and kissing the top of his head. "I didn't before, but I do now."

Richie took a deep breath, and Eddie could feel him relaxing further, almost melting into Eddie's grip. Neither of them spoke, and Eddie's eyelids started to feel heavy with sleep. He closed them, Keith Morrison's voice and Richie's calm breath against his skin lulling him back to sleep. It was like the best of both worlds – Keith Morrison and Richie Tozier at the same damned time, only one of them was actually here in his arms. Who would have thought?

"Eds?"

Eddie's brain had almost settled into that cusp just before sleep claimed him completely. "Hm?" he hummed, his brain swimming to the surface of consciousness.

"Come to LA with me."

Eddie's eyes flew open and he suddenly felt wide awake. "What?"

"Come to LA with me," Richie said again, louder and more insistent than he had the first time. "I don't…I don't want this to end, you know? I…I want it to be like this all the time – just fucking laying in bed with you and cuddling." When Eddie didn't reply, he could feel Richie tense slightly in his arms. "I mean, I know we haven't talked about where we're going to live yet, but…we're going to live together, right? If we're going to be together, it's…not going to be long distance, is it? Because I think we've spent enough time apart."

"Way too much time apart," Eddie agreed, stopping Richie's barrage of questions before he started to work himself up into another frenzy. "And I actually don't want to go back to fucking New York, because there's way too many memories there of my mother and now Myra." Eddie sighed heavily, giving Richie a squeeze around his shoulders. "I need a fresh start somewhere and…yeah, I'll come to LA with you." Eddie laughed quietly, still marveling at how well Richie knew him, even after all their time apart. "I was actually afraid you wouldn't ask me," Eddie admitted. "I knew you'd have to go back to LA eventually, and I thought you'd leave me alone in fucking New York. Then I'd just have to show up on your doorstep, cause I wouldn't know what else to do."

Richie reached across Eddie's chest, gripping his shoulder firmly. "I'm not going to leave you alone again," Richie told him. "Ever."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

Sleep came back to claim them both after that. There were no more nightmares to be had, not tonight, Eddie and Richie both clinging to each other like no one and nothing else mattered.

To be continued…

Author's note: I have no idea where the character of James came from, but I imagine him to be a big, buff black guy, and I love him. He'll probably show up again at some point in the story, and oh my god. This was one of the first scenes I had in mind for this story, and it was so great to finally be able to write it. And now this damn story has gotten so ridiculously huge in my mind, there's about a million more of these moments to come. Thank you to everyone who's still reading, and I hope you enjoy the rest of this journey this story takes me on, because I'm going to go with it!