The Space Between Us

by SpoonyLupin

When Richie is the victim of a home invasion and ends up in the hospital with a head injury, the idyllic life he has built with Eddie is shattered. It becomes apparent that while he still recognizes Eddie, Richie has no memory of their romantic involvement or their marriage. Eddie is simply his 'bestie', and Eddie is left wondering if Richie's feelings for him died in the attack.

2. Chapter 2: Bleeding Out

The Space Between Us
Chapter 2 – Bleeding Out

When Eddie pulled into the driveway in front of his and Richie's house, he turned off his car and immediately grabbed his briefcase and takeout bag from the passenger's seat. He couldn't do anything to stifle the spring in his step as he made his way to the door, and he only vaguely registered that he might have looked a little bit ridiculous – a grown man in a suit nearly skipping in his driveway – but he didn't care. He and Richie were going to have dinner together and watch some TV while they cuddled on the couch. And then tomorrow…

Grinning, Eddie transferred both his briefcase and the takeout bag to one hand while he found to the key to the front door on his keyring. He had nearly made it to the front steps before he had an inkling that anything was wrong.

Just before he started climbing the three steps to the door, he looked up and saw that the front door was standing a few inches open. A small pillar of light from inside was spilling out over the front porch. Eddie frowned, because they normally didn't leave the front door open; Eddie was paranoid and with Richie being mildly famous, locked doors and windows gave Eddie at least a little peace of mind.

The only time they would leave the door open was if they were running out to their car for a second, going to get the mail, or sitting out on the front porch. Richie must have decided to come outside and wait for Eddie, but one look around the yard told Eddie that Richie was nowhere in sight.

"Rich?" Eddie called, but only the sound of crickets and passing cars in the distance met his ears.

Richie must have come outside for a minute and had forgotten to close the door on his way back in. That was all, and Eddie was going to flip shit on Richie, because all it took was a moment of carelessness for something to happen.

Eddie climbed the steps and pushed the front door open a few more inches. The very first thing he saw was a large piece of wood missing from the doorframe around where the deadbolt would go. Scanning his eyes over the floor, he saw the splintered piece of wood laying just beside the welcome mat. Eddie's heart thumped hard in his chest, a deep frown forming on his face. He swallowed hard before pushing the door open the rest of the way.

At first, Eddie told himself that it was something stupid. Maybe Richie was trying to surprise him by buying a nice new doorknob and lock and changing it himself, and things had just gone awry, because…Richie. He often thought he could do things like this himself before figuring out that he was just not cut out for even the simplest of home improvement shit and should leave it to the professionals. Meanwhile, Eddie would tell him that he should stick to what he did best, which was 'mediocre comedy'. They both knew, of course, that Eddie thought much more highly of Richie's jokes, but he would never openly admit to it.

One glance down the entrance hall told Eddie that that was not the case at all.

Richie was lying flat on his stomach at the far end of the hall, his right cheek on the floor and his left hand brought up nearly to his mouth. His glasses sat askew on his face, his right arm and legs splayed around him and at first, Eddie assumed it must be his heart or something, because Eddie was constantly trying to get Richie to eat healthier and exercise with him. Richie had only just turned forty-two, so it was a bit young yet for heart trouble to start popping up, but stranger things had happened. Eddie didn't even make the connection with the front door being damaged, and maybe it was the shock of coming home and finding his husband in such a position. In fact, Eddie's brain felt ridiculously calm right now, and that was probably from the shock too.

"Richie?" Eddie asked, his voice cracking. He stepped a little farther into the entryway before he saw it and exploded into a flurry of panic and fear.

This was not a fucking heart attack, because a pool of deep crimson blood had spread out around the back of Richie's head like a halo. Eddie hadn't seen it at first, because Richie's out-of-control curls had been obscuring it. Then Eddie realized that blood was also seeping from Richie's mouth, forming a smaller saliva-slick puddle just under his chin.

Eddie dropped the contents in his hands, his briefcase, the takeout bag, and his keys all hitting the floor with a startling thump. Flying forward, Eddie nearly slid over the hardwood floor, falling to his knees in front of his husband. He reached a hand out, placing it atop Richie's back, checking to see if he was breathing. He was, and Eddie could still feel the beat of Richie's heart there too.

"RICHIE?" Eddie nearly screamed, hoping that Richie would open his eyes and look at him. Look at him with those big, gorgeous blue eyes that Eddie loved staring into so much. Even though Eddie knew that wouldn't happen. "Oh, shit. Fuck. What the fuck?" Eddie started spouting off, because his mind couldn't quite process everything that was happening. "What the fuck happened?" Eddie knew that his questions were pointless too, because no one was going to answer him. "Richie?"

Eddie withdrew his hand from Richie's back and reached for his pocket instead, digging out his cell phone. His hands were shaking as he dialed 911 and waited for someone to pick.

"Oh, Jesus, fuck," Eddie muttered under his breath as he waited, his free hand going up to his forehead. "Come on."

At long last, the phone stopped ringing and an operator came on the line. "Los Angeles County 911. May I have the address of your emergency?"

Eddie blinked stupidly for a minute, because he had to stop and think about his current address. He had only been living in LA for a little over a year, and sometimes, he still had the urge to give his New York address when someone asked for his current residence. Eddie almost thought he would have to run outside and check the numbers on the mailbox, because why wasn't his brain working right now?

But then a moment later, something clicked into place and he spat out his and Richie's address like he might forget it again if he didn't get it out right this very second.

"And the phone number you're calling from?" the operator asked next.

Again, that was a struggle, because how was he supposed to remember a string of numbers when his husband was lying on the floor bleeding in front of him? Besides, didn't the 911 operators have fucking Caller ID on their phones? But Eddie knew they were just doing their jobs and they had a procedure to follow, and he finally got out his phone number as well.

"And your name?" the operator asked.

At least Eddie knew that one. "Eddie. Kaspbrak."

"Tell me exactly what happened, Mr. Kaspbrak," the operator said next.

"I – I don't know," Eddie said, letting out an exasperated breath. Why did he have to answer so many fucking questions he didn't know the answers to? "I need an ambulance! I just got home from work and my husband – he was lying on the floor bleeding. From his head, I think. I don't know what happened!"

"Okay," the operator responded, and Eddie heard typing of computer keys on the other end of the line. "What's your husband's name?"

"Richie Tozier."

"How old is he?"

"Forty-two."

"Is he conscious?"

"No!"

"Is he still breathing?"

"Yes," Eddie said, his free hand going to Richie's back once again. It was still rising and falling, although it seemed small and faint. "It's shallow, but he's still breathing."

"And you think he's bleeding from his head?"

"Y-yes," Eddie said, his voice suddenly started to shake. He had been sitting on the heels of his shoes, but he pushed himself up so that he could see around the back of Richie's head. And then he wished he hadn't. The dark hair at the back of his head was soaked through with blood, and was that a piece of skull sticking out? Eddie closed his eyes as a wave of nausea washed over him and he said, "The back of his head – it's…it's bleeding."

"He may have sustained a head injury," the operator said, "so don't move him."

"I know," Eddie replied robotically, because he wasn't a fucking moron, nor was he a stranger to first aid.

"Does it look like he fell or did he get hit somehow?"

That was really the first time that Eddie started thinking about what exactly had happened. He had been far too wrapped up in Richie's injury itself to think about it, but now that the operator mentioned it, something in Eddie's mind clicked.

"Oh, shit," Eddie muttered, his eyes going to up and back towards the door. To the little spliter of wood laying by the welcome mat. "Oh, shit. I think – I think someone was in here!" Eddie cried out, his voice rising in intensity. "The front door – the lock is broken!"

"Is the intruder still there?"

Eddie thought that was the stupidest question known to mankind. Obviously, if a stranger was still in the house, Eddie would have mentioned it already! If he felt like he was under threat of any kind, he wouldn't be sitting on the floor with all of his attention focused on Richie.

"I don't know!" Eddie screamed. "I don't know! I don't see anyone! I don't hear anything! I don't know! I would have said something before now if I did!"

"Okay, Mr. Kaspbrak," the operator told him, clearly trying to calm him down with her cool tone. "What I want you to do is find something for your husband's head. Do you have any gauze or washcloths that you could put on his wound? Towels are okay too, but we want to minimize the amount of movement he sustains, so the smaller, the better."

"Gauze," Eddie said immediately, because of course he did. "I have gauze." He pushed himself up on wobbly feet, and that was when he realized he had started gasping for air somewhere along the way. It was coming heavy and loud, and the operator must have heard it.

"Are you all right, Mr. Kaspbrak?

"Asthma," Eddie gasped, making his way through the kitchen and to the ensuite bathroom off the master bedroom. "I have asthma," Eddie told her, even though he knew he didn't. He had fucking anxiety, which Richie had helped him to realize since they had gotten together. He had anxiety and panic attacks, and his inhalers were nothing more than a fucking gazebo.

"Do you have an inhaler?"

"I'm fine," Eddie said, pulling open the cupboard underneath the sink. This was where they kept all their first aid items, including band-aids, bandages, medical tape, scissors, instant ice packs, gloves, antiseptic solutions, and cotton balls among other shit, because Eddie was nothing if not prepared. He rifled through the supplies, knocking half of them out on the floor because his hands were shaking so badly. Eddie reached farther in the back for his large roll of gauze, and that was when his hand closed around the spare inhaler he'd thrown back there months ago. One of the inhalers that he hadn't touched in ages, but just couldn't bring himself to get rid of. Just in case.

"I'm fine," Eddie repeated, tossing his inhaler to the floor along with everything else. This wasn't about him, this was about Richie, and Eddie didn't want to waste a spare second using an inhaler he didn't need. "I have gauze," Eddie said as he finally found the large roll he knew would come in handy one day. He grabbed the medical scissors next before getting back up on shaking legs and running back for the entryway.

At least, Eddie tried to run, but he didn't know if he was successful. His legs were way too unsteady to support him properly, and he felt like he was going to keel over at any moment. His dress shoes kept sliding around on the hardwood floor, so that wasn't helping matters either. Any onlooker might have assumed he was drunk from his staggered movements.

And then a horrible idea struck Eddie, and he felt that wave of nausea take hold of his stomach once again. What if Richie died while Eddie had been ransacking the bathroom cabinet, and Eddie returned to find that Richie wasn't breathing any longer? What if Richie had died alone and it was all because Eddie had left him for one minute to try and find something to help him? Oh god, what if?

When Eddie returned to the hallway, the first thing he did was kneel back down in front of Richie. Dropping his medical supplies, Eddie's immediately reached out for Richie's back again to ensure that it was still moving with his labored breathing. It was, but was the movement even smaller and more minute than when Eddie had checked the first time? Maybe, but he wasn't sure.

"I'm here, Rich," Eddie said quietly, reaching for his gauze again. "I have gauze."

"Mr. Kaspbrak," the operator said, "I want you to very carefully start layering the gauze over where he's bleeding. If it sticks, do not pull it away. If it becomes saturated, gently apply more over top of it. Can you do that?"

"I can do that," Eddie said, more to himself than to the operator. Then he started rolling out a square of gauze and tried to cut it off with shaking hands. That proved easier said than done, especially with the thick fabric and the fucking shitty medical scissors that could barely cut through paper. Eddie resorted to ripping through the last strings of gauze out of pure frustration, because fuck the damn scissors.

Eddie wasn't even sure how to approach Richie's wound, because the back of his head was near the wall and the floor there was entirely saturated with blood. Eddie set the phone down on the floor by his knee before propping himself against with wall with one hand. He leaned over Richie, gently pressing the gauze against the wound at the back of his head.

All at once, the gauze turned red as it soaked through with blood, and Eddie could feel it covering his fingers as well.

"Oh, shit," Eddie wheezed, pulling his blood-soaked hand away from the wound. Just the sight of the blood – Richie's blood on his fingers made him feel slightly dizzy, like the hallway was suddenly spinning around him. Jesus Christ, this sort of thing didn't bother him, so why was he feeling this way? And the only explanation he could come up with was because this was Richie. This was the man he loved more than anyone else on the planet, and Eddie didn't know if he was going to make it or not.

"Mr. Kaspbrak?" the operator asked, and until that moment, Eddie had forgotten about her completely. "Is everything all right?"

"It's bleeding profusely," Eddie said. "It…it soaked through the gauze in seconds. Seconds. Oh god, Richie."

"That's all right," the operator said. "Leave it there and apply another square. Can you do that?"

Eddie wanted to scream at her that it most definitely was not all right, because his husband was lying in a pool of his own blood and could very well be dying! His husband could be dying at this very second, and there was nothing Eddie could do to stop it, except to keep applying fucking squares of gauze that were probably doing fuck all for the injury that Richie had.

"Y-yeah," Eddie said instead. "I…I am. I have gauze."

It was another hellish thirty seconds or so before Eddie managed to cut and rip off another square of gauze. Much like the first one, it immediately soaked through with blood and stuck to the back of Richie's head, so Eddie wasn't even sure what good he was doing. He almost thought that the operator had him doing this as a means to distract him so he wouldn't sit down and have a fucking nervous breakdown.

"Are you sending someone?" Eddie demanded as he went back for another piece of bandage.

"Yes, Mr. Kaspbrak," the operator told him. "I have an ambulance and a police officer en route. They should be there shortly. Do you want me to stay on the line with you?"

"Oh, god, yes," Eddie blurted out, because the thought of being here alone was actually terrifying to him. What if Richie died and there was nothing he could do? What if whoever had done this came back and finished Eddie off too? "Yes, please stay on the line with me," Eddie pleaded as he felt tears spring to life in his eyes. "I don't…I don't want to be here alone."

Eddie knew he wasn't alone, not really, because he was here with Richie, but who knew how much longer that would last? His husband might die and Eddie would be left here all alone then. Completely and utterly alone.

"I'm staying on the line with you, Mr. Kaspbrak," the operator said. "Is he still breathing?"

"Y-yes," Eddie said shakily, applying yet another piece of gauze to the back of Richie's head that soon became saturated. He almost wanted to give up on the fucking gauze, because it felt entirely fruitless to him at this point. He just wanted to hold Richie and talk to him, because Eddie was terrified that he wouldn't get much longer to do so.

"Please," Eddie whimpered as he felt the tears in his eyes begin to stream down his face. "Rich, please." Abandoning the gauze, Eddie reached out for Richie's left hand then, which was curled up in a loose fist near his mouth. It was almost like Richie had realized he was bleeding there in his last moments of consciousness and had maybe reached up to try and see exactly where the blood was coming from.

Eddie let his own left hand cover Richie's, laying it exactly over his husband's, their platinum and diamond wedding rings touching each other.

"I'm here, Rich," Eddie said quietly. "Hang in there, okay?" Eddie hiccupped in a breath as a sob wracked through him. "Please. Please don't leave me, okay? You…you said we were going to grow old together and we were going to make up for all the time we lost." Eddie gasped in sharply as another sob threatened to spill out of him. "A…year and a half isn't enough. I need you. P-please."

Just then, Eddie thought he felt Richie's hand twitch the slightest bit inside his. A moment later, Eddie assumed his mind had been playing tricks on him, wanting so desperately to get a reaction from Richie, but then something else happened.

"Ehh," Richie grumbled from somewhere deep in his throat. At first, Eddie thought it was just a groan of pain, but then another sound followed. "Sss," Richie hissed out, a bubble of blood forming and then bursting on his bottom lip.

"Yeah," Eddie gasped out around another sob. His bottom lip was quivering and curling into a frown, the tears pouring down his cheeks freely. "I'm here. Your Eds is here. Stay with me, okay? I'm not going anywhere. An ambulance is coming and I'm going to ride with you, okay? And I'll be there in the hospital too. I'm right here."

"Mr. Kaspbrak?" the operator asked. "The police officer is less than a mile away, okay? Please make sure to secure any pets that are in the house."

Eddie wanted to ask who the fuck cared about pets right now, but again, he tried to remind himself that it was procedure. They were probably looking out for the first responders themselves, making sure they wouldn't get bitten or anything, as well as for the pets themselves to make sure they wouldn't run outside or something in the confusion.

"We don't…have any pets," Eddie replied, and that made him start crying harder. Richie had wanted a pet since they had moved in together, but Eddie had been opposed to the idea. They tracked dirt and germs around the house, and maybe that had been very dumb on Eddie's part. What if they'd had a dog and he had been able to alert Richie to an intruder in the house? What if the dog even tried to protect Richie? He could have attacked the intruder before any of this had even happened. Hell, Eddie had even heard of cats going to great feats to protect their owners.

"Okay, the police officer will be there within a minute and the ambulance isn't too far behind him," the operator said. "They'll be there soon."

Eddie didn't know how much time had passed since he had called 911, but it felt like an eternity. It felt he had been sitting here for hours upon hours while Richie bled out next to him. Bled out and died.

"Oh, god, please," Eddie whispered, leaning down so that his face was hovering near Richie's. "Stay with me, Richie, because I need you, okay? I don't know what I would do without you. I…I just want a million more mornings like the one we had today. Lying in bed, and cuddling, and making love," Eddie finished with a sob, wiping the sleeve of his free arm over his wet face. Eddie was vaguely aware that the operator was still on the line, but Eddie couldn't bring himself to care. All that mattered right now was Richie, and fuck what the operator may hear. Eddie and Richie were fucking married and married couples had sex, so why should he even have to try and hide that fact?

"I…brought dinner," Eddie said then, remembering the forgotten takeout bag sitting on the floor near the door. "I got your burritos. We were going to Netflix and chill, remember?" Eddie said around a laugh. He and Richie both knew what 'Netflix and chill' really meant and what it was used for, but they had always meant it in the literal sense. When they were going to 'Netflix and chill', they were going to watch TV and fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms. And that was all Eddie wanted right now – to lie in Richie's arms and know that everything was all right. Not…live in this horrific nightmare that his life had suddenly detoured into.

What the fuck had even happened? How had things ended up here? How had Eddie gone from nearly skipping across their driveway to finding his husband dying on their floor? From making love to Richie this very morning to not knowing if Richie would ever speak to him again?

"Come back to me so we can do that again, okay?" Eddie asked. "Netflix and chill till the end of time." Eddie leaned in farther to kiss Richie's cheek, then he laid his free hand there, over the stubble he had just kissed, hoping that Richie could feel him there. Could feel the touch of Eddie's lips lingering on his skin.

A moment later, Eddie saw flashing lights out of the corner of his eye. Glancing towards the door, Eddie could see a police car pulling up and stopping at the curb at the end of their front walk. Eddie still didn't see an ambulance, and he wanted to ask the operator if they were taking their good old sweet time, but he didn't. At least someone was there, and Eddie wasn't by himself anymore.

When the police officer got to the door, he took a moment to take in the scene, looking down at the floor underneath him, and then to Eddie at the end of the hall. "Los Angeles County Police Department," he said as he stepped over the threshold.

"Please help," Eddie whimpered, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks in relief.

"Is the intruder still here?" the officer asked, his hand hovering over the gun in his belt.

Was everyone on the earth a fucking moron? Why did they keep asking him if the intruder was still there, like Eddie would be sitting defenseless in the middle of the hallway if they were? Eddie always thought Richie was the king of asinine questions, but this took the cake.

Eddie shook his head and said, "No, I don't think so. I…I haven't seen anyone since I came home. Just…my husband." His gaze went back to Richie, because there was nothing else more important to be looking at.

"What's his name?" the officer asked, joining Eddie next to Richie's prone form.

"Richie," Eddie replied, and one glace at the officer's nametag told him that this was Officer Benson.

"Richie?" the policeman asked, bending over Richie's head. "The ambulance is on its way, okay? It'll be here soon."

Eddie wanted to yell about the fact that he had been waiting for the fucking ambulance forever, that the 911 operator had told him the same thing what felt like over an hour ago, but he knew that wouldn't do any good. That was when Eddie remembered that the operator was still on the other end of the line and he said, "The p-police are here."

"And the ambulance will be there momentarily," the operator told him. "I'm going to go ahead and hang up with you now, Mr. Kaspbrak, okay?"

"O-okay," Eddie said, even though he wanted to tell he that it wasn't okay. For some bizarre reason, he desperately wanted this woman that he had been talking to to stay on the line with him. To keep talking to him, because he found her calm tone oddly soothing to him.

"Okay," the operator replied. "Good luck to you."

Eddie frowned deeply as 'call ended' appeared across his phone screen. The duration of the call was only eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds, so why had it felt like well over an hour? Also, seeing those words made it feel like something had broken inside Eddie. Like the fact that the call had ended was an omen or something. Like the fact that it was over might also signal the end of Richie's life.

That thought made Eddie started sobbing again, and he hung his head over Richie's body. Tears escaped from Eddie's eyes, streamed down his cheeks, and splashed across the sleeve of Richie's horrid orange and blue Hawaiian shirt. It was a blue background with orange flowers and sliced oranges splashed across it, and Eddie always groaned whenever Richie pulled it out of the closet. All of his shirts were pretty fucking ugly, but this was one of the worst. Eddie abhorred it, but…now Eddie realized that he would never see Richie wearing it again. One of the shoulders was soaked through with blood from where his head was bleeding, and the first responders or the doctors would probably cut it off him anyway.

All of a sudden, Eddie's entire chest started shaking as he cried, and he didn't even care to feel embarrassed that someone was there with him. It was a police officer and he probably saw this sort of thing regularly, didn't he?

Why did thinking about Richie's ugly shirt of all things make Eddie want to cry anyway? Maybe because it reminded Eddie of all the hideous shirts hanging in Richie's closet that he may never wear again. Or maybe he would, and Richie would mourn the loss of the ugliest orange and blue shirt that had been cut off of him.

Eddie's thoughts then wandered back to the 911 operator and the fact that this was probably just another routine call for her. Did she ever wonder whatever happened to the people she talked to and helped on a daily basis? Did she just go on with her life like having someone die over the phone was nothing?

Why was Eddie even thinking about these stupid things? All that mattered right now was Richie, and Eddie was thinking about random strangers that he didn't know and Richie's ugly ass Hawaiian shirt collection.

Eddie let out a strangled sound at that, something between a laugh and a sob. A moment later, he felt a warm hand settle onto his shoulder.

"The ambulance is here," Office Benson said, gesturing to the second set of flashing lights that had pulled up to their curb outside.

Oh god, Eddie had been so wrapped up in his own meandering train of thought that he hadn't even noticed the ambulance outside. There were already two EMTs carrying a flat board across the threshold of the house, one male and the other female. The man's boot brushed against the forgotten bag of takeout food that Eddie had dropped there so very long ago, and that made Eddie start crying anew. What in the hell was wrong with him?

Maybe it was because that food symbolized everything that he might never get to do with Richie ever again. They might never Netflix and chill again. They might never make love. They might never even kiss each other again, and that thought hurt the most.

Officer Benson wrapped an arm around Eddie's, helping to pull him up off the ground so that the EMTs could get in and work. Eddie managed to grab his phone on the way up, and he stood there dumbly, his phone hanging at his side. Eddie felt like he should do something, but he wasn't sure what.

"Mr. Kaspbrak?" the woman EMT asked him. "What's your husband's name?"

"Richie."

"Richie?" the woman asked, leaning over Richie. "Can you hear me?"

Eddie contained the urge to roll his eyes, because Richie had been fucking unconscious since he had arrived home! Other than muttering Eddie's nickname and his hand barely twitching, he hadn't managed to get any response out of Richie, so no! Richie couldn't hear her!

"Does your husband have any existing conditions we need to be made aware of?" the male EMT asked.

Eddie contained the urge to say that Richie had an obviously horrid fashion sense and a shitty sense of humor, but he only shook his head.

"Is he on any prescription medications?"

Eddie shook his head again.

"Does he have any allergies?"

Eddie shook his head once more, and he felt like a fucking dumbass, because he couldn't do anything.

"How old is he?"

"Forty-two."

And this was so fucking stupid Eddie decided, because he had already shared some of this information with the 911 operator. Why did they have to waste time on repeating stupid shit like this?

The male paramedic had laid the flat board on the floor next to Richie, then looked to his partner. "Let's slide him out from the wall a little and then we can flip him over onto his back."

The woman cradled Richie's head as her partner gently slid Richie away from the wall. They worked together to move him over onto his back, still cradling his head gently. The man pulled a neck brace from their bag next, and they fastened it around Richie's neck before sliding him onto the flat board.

Now that Richie had been moved, Eddie could see the puddle of blood in its entirety, and he wished he couldn't. It was larger than he had first thought, mostly obscured by Richie's big ass head and fucking ridiculous hair, and there were weird-looking clots that had accumulated just under where Richie's ear had been. Jesus Christ, what was that?

The paramedics had laid a cloth underneath where Richie's head was lying on the flat board, and that was already soaking through with blood too. Eddie could see it seeping into the white cotton fibers like Richie's very life was draining out of him.

They took a moment to clip a heart monitor onto one of his fingers and the woman said, "Slightly elevated heartrate and shallow breathing."

The man covered Richie's face with an oxygen mask next and started squeezing the reservoir on the side. The woman ran for the door and returned with a stretcher a moment later. They wasted no time in placing Richie on the stretcher and beginning to wheel him towards the door.

"What hospital do you want him taken to?" the male EMT asked as they went.

"Cedars-Sinai," Eddie immediately responded, because again, he was nothing if not prepared. He fucking knew the best and closest hospital to them in situations such as this. "I'm coming!" Eddie called after them, running to keep up. "Can I come?"

"You are permitted to ride in the front cab," the male paramedic told him.

"Okay, I'm coming!" Eddie cried, only taking a moment to stoop down at the front door to pick up the keys he had dropped earlier.

"Mr. Kaspbrak!" the police office called after him. "We'd like to secure the scene and send a detective to speak to you, since you said this was a breaking and entering."

"It's fine," Eddie said, because he really had no idea what they wanted from him. "Do whatever you need to. Please – please do what you can to catch the asshole that did this. I need to be with my husband though. Can…can someone talk to me at the hospital?"

The police officer only nodded once before he said, "Someone will be in touch."

The ride to the hospital also seemed to last an eternity, and Eddie desperately wished he could have ridden in the back so that he could hold Richie's hand and talk to him. Reassure him that he was there just like had done back in the hallway of their home.

Eddie found it weird to think of that place as their 'home' now though. A fucking stranger had been inside it and had tried hurt – maybe even kill – Richie. A home was supposed to be safe, and secure, and welcoming, and Eddie didn't think that that place was anymore. He kind of doubted that Richie would either.

It was only a small, two-bedroom house anyway, and he and Richie had only planned to live there for a few years until Richie got back on track with his comedy and Eddie got established with his new company. They could afford better, maybe something with a pool, and Eddie decided that wherever they moved to needed to have a fucking wrought-iron fence, bars on the windows, and cameras, and security systems up the ass. And a guard dog. They would get that goddamn pet Richie always wanted.

But Eddie was getting ahead of himself and he knew it. Richie could be fucking dying, and Eddie was thinking about where they would move to next. He was thinking about ways to protect Richie when he hadn't even been able to protect Richie now. Even if Richie did make it, he might have a long road to recovery ahead of him, and moving wasn't even something Eddie should be thinking about.

Richie might not even be around to move with him, and that thought made Eddie's heart clench in his chest. At that thought, Eddie turned around in his seat, craning his neck to see Richie through the little window behind him.

He could see Richie's tangled and bloody mess of curls on top of his head, and Eddie wondered if he would ever be able to run his fingers through those locks ever again. Richie didn't even look like himself, immobilized with a neck brace and on a stretcher, because Richie was always so vibrant, and animated, and full of life. Full of fucking awful jokes that he failed to contain, and seeing him so…lifeless felt so wrong.

"How long have you two been married?" the female paramedic asked him as she blazed their way through the streets of Los Angeles.

Eddie stared at her for a moment like he didn't quite know what she was asking. He hadn't quite been expecting her to even try and make conversation with him, so he had to take a moment to fully understand her question. Ever since Eddie had been plunged into this nightmare, it felt like his brain was struggling to process everything the way it used to.

"Um…six…six months," Eddie answered brokenly. "It'll…it'll be six months on April first."

"How long have you known each other?"

It occurred to Eddie that much like the 911 operator, this woman was simply trying to distract him from what was happening, and for that, Eddie was grateful. Besides, it kind of made him feel better to talk about simple things like this.

"Um…a long time," Eddie said around a small laugh. "Thirty-six years. But we fell out of touch after high school and we only reconnected a couple years ago. And…" Eddie broke off with another small laugh, wondering if this poor woman really wanted all of this information dumped on her. He turned to look out the windshield uncomfortably.

"Childhood sweethearts?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," Eddie immediately answered, looking back at her in awe. "We admitted that we'd been in love with each other forever and…it was so dumb." Staring back at windshield again, Eddie watched the streetlights, headlights, and taillights streaming past them in a barrage of colors. "We wasted so much time," Eddie whispered. "So much time."

They drove in silence the rest of the way until they arrived at the emergency room. Again, it struck Eddie just how dumb and useless he felt, because he couldn't do anything. All he did was trail along after the stretcher as they wheeled Richie through the double doors and down a long hallway. Eddie wanted to follow them there too, but he knew they couldn't. They needed room to work, and he would only be in the way. Even though Richie might be dying right now and it could be the last moments that Eddie would spend with him.

"Mr. Kaspbrak?" a woman asked from behind him a moment later. When he turned around, he saw a middle-aged woman with greying hair standing before him with a clipboard. "You came in with Richie Tozier, didn't you? You're his husband, correct?"

"Yes."

"We have some consent forms for you to sign so that we can treat him."

Aside from all the asinine questions everyone had already asked him, this was the dumbest thing ever. Weren't they already treating Richie? Why the fuck did they need consent for this shit? That was why Richie was even there in the first place!

Eddie knew that he should read through whatever the fuck he was signing, but he couldn't be assed to. His eyes were blurry with tears again and he was tired. Everything seemed like a blur in front of him, almost like he has dreaming, and he wished to god he was. He wished to god he would wake up from this nightmare and find Richie curled up next to him, warm and safe. Breath soft on his skin.

Eddie could barely focus enough to see where to sign on the pages they gave him. All he knew was that he signed his name on a line, wrote today's date, and then wrote 'husband' in the little space that said 'relationship to patient'. He did this on two separate pages, and then they decided to fuck off and let him be in peace.

At the same time, however, Eddie didn't want to be alone and that was exactly what he was right now – alone. Even in the waiting area of the emergency room, there was absolutely no one else there. Wasn't an emergency room a busy place, and weren't there usually people there regardless of the hour? Why then was Eddie the only one there?

Eddie shuffled over to the row of chairs in the middle of the room and slumped into one of them. There were televisions all around the room broadcasting some news program, because that was what people waiting in the emergency room wanted to watch.

Eddie was glad that he'd had the presence of mind to grab his cellphone from the floor of their home before he'd left, because he pulled it out now. He immediately found his best friend's name in his contacts (other than Richie, of course) and pressed send.

Bill answered after three rings and said, "Eds! What's up?"

All of a sudden, however, Eddie found any words dying in his throat. He wasn't sure what to say, and when he tried, only a sob wanted to escape him.

"Eds?" Bill asked, the concern evident in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Bill," Eddie managed to choke out around another cry. He sucked in a heavy breath then, wondering if he should have grabbed his inhaler from under the bathroom sink after all, if only for the comfort it would provide.

"Eddie?" Bill said. "Hey. What's going on? Breathe and tell me what happened." When Eddie still didn't speak, Bill asked, "Is everything all right?"

Eddie only managed to shake his head, even though he knew that Bill couldn't see him. "N-no," he finally got out in a small voice. "Someone…I think someone broke into our home." That was even stupider, because that was obviously what had happened and it didn't even begin to describe what was going on.

"What?" Bill exclaimed. "Eddie, tell me what's going on! Is everyone all right?" A moment later, Bill added, "Breathe in and hold it, then let it out slowly, okay? Come on."

Eddie nodded, still another stupid action that Bill couldn't see, but Bill's words helped a little bit. Eddie sucked in a breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. He repeated this two more times before he was finally able to get out, "I don't know. I-I wasn't there. I came home and R-Richie was bleeding and unconscious." Bill didn't reply, probably because he was in shock just like Eddie had been. Then Eddie added, "He's in the hospital."

"F-fuck," Bill bit out. "Where? What hospital?"

"Cedars-Sinai," Eddie replied. "Can…can you come? Are you too busy?"

"No," Bill told him firmly. "I'll be there. G-give me an hour and a half. Did you tell the others?"

"N-no," Eddie replied. "You were the first one I called."

"Do you want me to do it? It's not a problem."

"Can you?" Eddie asked around another sob as he wiped the tears away from his face.

"Yes, absolutely," Bill said. "Let me get some shit together and I'll be on my way, okay? Call me back if there's any change."

"Thanks, Bill," Eddie whimpered as he ended the call and let his phone fall to his lap.

Eddie knew Bill would come, even though Eddie sometimes felt like a nuisance for asking his friends for favors. He just needed someone there right now, and if it couldn't be Richie, he wanted it to be Bill. His best man who had stood next to him the day he married Richie. Bill also just lived on the other side of Los Angeles, so he was the closest friend Eddie had.

The rest of the Losers were scattered from bumfuck Nebraska all the way down to Florida, but maybe they would come too. Maybe Eddie really wasn't as alone as he thought he was, and really, he knew he wasn't. He knew they all cared about him and Richie profusely, and nothing was more important to them than each other. Just thank god for the fact that Pennywise had drawn them all back to Derry again, because Eddie didn't want to imagine how fucking empty his life would be if he was still living in New York and married to Myra with no friends to speak of.

Yeah, thank god for that fucking killer clown. Who would have thought?

Eddie stared down at his phone, almost having the urge to call or text Richie, even though there was no one there to answer. Eddie just felt so fucking lost and alone if he wasn't talking to Richie on and off throughout the day. Eddie was at least grateful that he had called Richie that one last time, asking what he wanted for dinner. Telling him that he loved him. At least Richie knew that much.

Eddie stared down at the wedding band on his finger, at the way the row of diamonds in it sparkled as the lights in the emergency room caught them. He thought about the matching ring on Richie's own hand, and Eddie just desperately wanted his husband. He wanted to sit next time him, hold his hand, and tell him everything would be okay.

Even though Eddie was sure it wouldn't be.

"Mr. Kaspbrak?" a man's voice startled Eddie from his thoughts and from his tears.

"Yeah," Eddie replied, looking up into the face of a middle-aged man in a suit. Eddie wiped the tears from his eyes again as he said, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Detective Bannerman from the LAPD," the man said, displaying a badge for Eddie to see. "I thought I could ask you some questions about what happened at your home tonight."

"Yeah," Eddie said, "although I'm really not sure what happened. I wasn't there and…I came home to my husband lying on the floor."

"Yes," Detective Bannerman said, "we were able to listen to your 911 call. So you're not sure who broke into your home or attacked your husband?"

Eddie shook his head, because this was fucking nonsense. He already told everyone who would listen that he wasn't home, so he had no fucking clue what had gone on! They really needed to talk to Richie, because he was the one who had been there, even though he was obviously in no condition to answer questions right now.

"Mr. Kaspbrak," the detective said next, "have you and your husband been having any problems in your marriage recently?"

To be continued…

Author's note: This part wasn't even supposed to be this long, but it got out of hand, as does a lot of my writing. I've had the pleasure of calling 911 well over a dozen times in my life (for my father before he passed and for customers at work) so I didn't have to dig very deep for this. I also have anxiety, so this is pretty much pulled straight from my own experiences.