Chapter Text
He had shot Eddie.
Eddie stood in place, slowly raising his arm to press his hand against the hole in his stomach, looking at it and then looking back up at Richie. Richie could not move or speak; his hands trembling as he dropped his gun to the floor. The second it hit the ground, Eddie’s knees gave out, and he fell to the floor.
“Eddie,” Richie whispered, his voice lost and broken, and he sunk to his knees, placing Eddie’s head on his lap. Eddie was staring at the ceiling, his breathing harsh and his hands still on his stomach, a line of blood beginning to drip out of the side of his mouth. Richie brushed his fingers against Eddie’s and looked up at the open doorway. The killer was nowhere in sight.
He turned back and forth to the open door and Eddie, who was now staring at him instead of the ceiling. He lightly squeezed his grip on Richie’s fingers, and Richie locked his eyes with his, still unable to speak, a silent tear running down his cheek.
Eddie coughed, blood spraying over both of them.
That’s what snapped him.
“Eddie,” Richie cried, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Rich,” Eddie said, blood still pouring out of his mouth.
“No!” Richie sobbed, holding Eddie’s hand tightly and holding it to his face. “It’s all my fucking fault! I hurt you, oh God I hurt you! I hurt you!”
“Shh,” Eddie comforted, stroking his finger against Richie’s thumb, “I know you’d never hurt me. You’d never hurt me.”
“No, no, no,” Richie began to grow incoherent, “You can’t leave me. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I did this, oh my God I fucking did this!”
“Richie, baby, listen to me,” Eddie said, and he wiped away a tear from Richie’s face. “It was not your fault. You would never do this. He tricked us. He did this. I just needed to keep you safe.”
“I can’t, Eddie, I can’t,” Richie said, “I can’t live without you. Please don’t leave me, Eddie. Please don’t go.”
Eddie shushed him, making himself smile, and pulled their hands down, kissing Richie’s hand. Richie felt the blood come from Eddie’s mouth and shuddered, but he kept looking.
He felt safe when he looked at Eddie.
“You’re okay, Richie. You’re okay. You’re so strong and you’re going to get out of here, okay?” Eddie told him.
“Not without you. I’m not going anywhere without you. You’re coming with me,” Richie told him.
“You know I would do anything to go with you. To be with you,” Eddie told him, “And I will be. I promise I will be. Always me and you.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Richie cried.
“Shh,” Eddie told him again, “Just give me a minute. I want to look at you for a while. Has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are?”
Richie smiled weakly. “Shut up.”
“No, really,” Eddie smiled, but then he coughed again. Richie lowered himself and laid down beside Eddie, holding onto him and resting his head on his chest. He didn’t care about the blood.
“We were gonna get an apartment,” Richie told him, “Me and you. We were gonna decorate it with stick figure drawings we did with crayons, and we were gonna get a cat. I know you’re allergic, so you were going to have to take allergy pills. I want a bearded dragon too.”
“Yeah?” Eddie used his other hand to run through Richie’s hair, “I think I could live with that. But only if we get one of the fat orange ones.”
“I’ll get you the fattest,” Richie said, “He’d take up our whole bed.”
“I don’t know about that. I kick in my sleep,” Eddie said.
“I’ve known that since we were ten, Eds,” Richie told him, “But I’d spend every night for the rest of my life letting you kick me in your sleep.”
“Now, that’s love. But it’s the least you can do, after I have to put up with a life of your awful jokes,” Eddie told him.
Love.
“The rest of your life, huh?” Eddie continued, “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re gonna get married,” Richie said, “And I’d wear one of my stupid multi-colored ties, but you’d love it anyway.”
“I’d fucking adore it,” Eddie told him. “Anything you do. Adore it.”
“Even when I dance really bad?” Richie asked.
“Obviously!” Eddie said, “I dance even worse, somehow . It’s perfect.”
“Perfect,” Richie said, “That’s my life with you. My life where we have an apartment with our fat orange cat and our bearded dragon, and where we get married and I wear an awful tie. You can wear a flower crown that matches it. Bev said she taught you to make them.”
“She did, it was a nightmare,” Eddie smiled, “But I’d do it again if you thought I was pretty. ”
“What do you mean, thought you were pretty?” Richie smiled at him, “Eds, you’re the prettiest boy in the world of pretty boys. Even when you’ve got chocolate ice cream all over your face.”
Blood all over your face.
“You’re gonna tell me about that? You eat like a two year old!” Eddie told him.
“Maybe so,” Richie said, “But you love it.”
“I do. I love it.”
Richie turned to Eddie, running his thumb over his cheek and kissing the other. “Are you going to marry me?”
“I am,” Eddie told him, “It was what was meant to happen in this life, and it’s going to happen in another. You just have to find me. Will you find me, Rich?”
“I’ll find you,” he told him, “I’ll always find you.”
“I know you will,” Eddie said, and he leaned slightly forward to press his forehead against his. He was weak, and he could barely breathe. He didn’t have much time left. And as he laid there, finally intertwined with the love of his life, that was okay.
“I love you, Richie,” Eddie whispered to him, “I love you.”
Richie’s eyes closed, taking a second to seep in the words, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t a dream. Trying to convince himself that this was real. That Eddie loved him.
So he took a moment to respond, because laying there with him, he felt like he had all the time in the world. All of the time in the world to tell him he loved him back.
But he never did. Because he didn’t have all the time in the world, and their moment was while Eddie was bleeding out from a gunshot wound, so Richie was so caught up in soaking up the words that he didn’t hear the breathing stop.
Just as he was going to open his mouth, he felt the hand in his go limp.
His eyes shot open, and Eddie was staring lifelessly back at him. But he didn’t understand. He just held his cold hand tighter.
“I love you, Eds,” he said, a smile on his face. “I love you so much.”
Silence.
“Eds? Eddie? Can you hear me?” he sat up, taking Eddie’s face into his hands. “I said I loved you. Can’t you hear me?”
But he couldn’t.
“C’mon, Eds,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’ve just got to tell me you’re okay. Can you do that?”
He couldn’t.
Richie laid back down, resting his head back on Eddie’s chest. “It’s okay, Eds. I’ve got you. I’ll keep you warm.” He snuggled into him, wrapping his arm around his side tightly.
He looked up at Eddie’s face, and he was waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to push him off, or maybe not , now that things were different. Now that he could hold him and it would be okay.
He was waiting for him to say something , but he didn’t know why. He knew.
“C’mon, I’ll take you to our bed,” Richie smiled at him, sitting up and swooping Eddie into his arms. “Don’t tell the others, but I picked the best room in the place for us. The one with the big bed, because you kick in your sleep. It’s really warm, you’re going to love it.”
He walked to the room, gently placing Eddie on the bed and crawling in next to him. He tucked the blanket over them, holding Eddie’s cheek.
But even with the blanket, Eddie’s body against his was so very cold. He could pretend that he could hear him all he wants, but that could not stop him from being so very cold.
And feeling his cold skin was a slap in the face, because it reminded him that no matter what he could say to Eddie right now, he was dead. He was dead and it’s because of him.
“Eddie?” he asked, as if it were one last effort to get something back.
Silence.
“No,” he threw himself over him, sobbing again. “Don’t leave me, Eddie, don’t leave me. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
He held onto him tightly and broke into hysterics, snapping the hardest he ever had. Eddie was gone. Eddie was dead. And he had killed him.
He had killed him.
Stan slowly regained consciousness, groaning in pain and raising his hand to the bump on his head. The pain was excruciating and he could feel blood from the back of his head, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken from crashing against the ground. He allowed himself to lay there for a minute, soaking in the pain. He was dazed, trying to put himself back into reality.
Then, he remembered.
He’s at the lakehouse. There was a killer on the loose. Most of his friends were dead. He had got punched in the back of the head, while he was waiting out here with Mike-
“Mike!” he exclaimed. He didn’t hear Mike, and he knew that if Mike was here and awake, he’d be at his side. But he wasn’t by his side. Maybe he had been knocked out too. Maybe .
He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his curls, ignoring his bloody nose. He had to check on Mike. But he was so afraid.
“Get it together, Stanley,” he told himself, “He needs you. Your friends need you.”
So he sat himself up, then stood and stared at the ground in front of him, clenching his fists tightly before he turned around.
“Mike?”
He saw Mike laying on the ground and put his hand to his mouth in horror.
Please just be unconscious.
“Mike,” he repeated, walking over to him and then sliding to his knees. Now, he had a better look.
Mike’s hand was obviously shot, a hole through the middle, blood continuing to pour out of it. His neck was showered by bruises; fingerprints.
“Mike,” he leaned over, checking for a pulse.
Nothing.
He looked over at him again, focusing closely on the features of his face. His face which had been so lively.
Dead.
Stan had taken Mike out here. Stan had said it was okay for them to be out here. Stan had tried to be helpful; and he had failed.
He had been weak - and now, Mike was dead.
“Fuck!” he screamed in a fit of rage, falling over and punching into the dirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He screamed with all of his might, yanking his hair with both hands and then pushing them into the dirt, clawing it and feeling the dirt seep beneath his fingernails.
Because of him. It happened because of him.
Stan jumped onto his feet, grabbing the bat and swinging it against the nearby tree in anger. The bat splinted a little, but it didn’t break.
He had been scared, and it had cost Mike’s life. It was because he was scared.
He didn’t think he could stop being scared, but he could stop letting it control him. He could stop letting it put others in danger.
Because now, he felt more than scared. He was fucking pissed.
Stan swore he could never kill someone, no matter the circumstance. But before, he hadn’t known rage like the rage he had felt now. He didn’t know what it was like for his face to burn red and to push his nails into the flesh of his palms and feel the urge to do nothing but scream and destroy. He didn’t know what it was like to have a bloody broken nose and think it felt good.
He fell to the ground again, scrunching his face and punching his fist into the dirt. He didn’t care if the killer was watching. Right now, the killer could try him.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” he shouted at the woods, but the only response he got was the echo of his voice to the trees and the breeze in the air.
“Fuck you!” he screamed, and his voice cracked, but he didn’t cry.
He leaned back over to Mike and cupped his cheek, and his lip quivered but he didn’t cry.
His face felt dry and empty, and for someone who did a lot of crying, he didn’t have a single tear.
“I’m sorry, Mike,” he said, pushing his face into his palms and scratching it, small scratches now showering his cheeks.
Mike had died because he had been afraid. He couldn’t let himself do that anymore. He couldn’t let this happen again.
Mike had told him he would play an important part in this. He didn’t believe him, but now he was starting to believe that it might be true. But he had to find Richie and Eddie first.
Richie and Eddie.
They had gone to find the killer. But the killer had been here to kill Mike. If they had got the killer, they surely would have come back for them.
Maybe the killer had gotten to them too.
“Please,” he whispered to himself, “Please still be alive.”
He looked at Mike another time, holding onto his wrist. He was wearing the watch Stan had given him for his birthday last year.
Stan was angry, but he was afraid. He couldn’t stop being afraid. But he could push it to the side. But he didn’t think he could do that on his own.
He took off Mike’s watch, sliding it onto his own wrist and tightening it. If he wore this piece of Mike with him, he could be stronger. He wouldn’t be alone.
He could do this.
Then, he started to hear something from the house.
Screaming, crying. Absolute hysterics.
“Fuck, that’s Richie!” he said to himself, beginning to panic.
He couldn’t let this happen again .
He turned back to Mike one more time, hugging him tightly. “I’ll come back for you, Mikey.”
He squeezed him once more and stood up, grabbing the baseball bat. Earlier that night, Richie had given him that bat and he let it swing timidly at his side, horrified at the thought of using it. But now, his grip on it was strong, and even if it killed him inside and out, he was ready to swing. He had to protect who he had left.
He looked back at Mike once more and ran into the house, holding the bat as securely as he could.
He followed the sound of the crying, and saw the empty hall. The side door was still wide open, and there was blood on the floor and the wall that wasn’t there before. The gun was there too.
“Fuck,” he said to himself, and he ran to pick up the gun just in case and then kept going. The crying was from the room.
“Richie!” he said from outside the door, then slammed it open.
Richie was on the bed, holding onto Eddie for dear life. He couldn’t see beyond that.
“Rich?” he asked softly, hesitantly walking closer. As he got closer, he could see blood staining the blanket, and practically covering Richie. Eddie was under him, and he wasn’t moving.
Slowly, he rose his hand and set it on Richie’s shoulder.
At the contact, Richie turned around and faced him. He looked nothing short of destroyed.
“Richie,” Stan repeated.
“I killed him, Stan,” Richie cried, “I killed him. I made a plan to shoot the killer so the door opened and I got scared so I closed my eyes and just shot but it was Eddie instead and then I opened my eyes and he had a bullet in his stomach and now he’s dead because I killed him, I fucking killed him! He’s dead! I killed him!”
Stan gulped and set the weapons beside them, sitting on the space of the bed beside him and squeezing Richie’s arm. He could see Eddie now, and he bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed.
“No, Richie, you didn’t,” Stan told him, “It was an accident. You’d never hurt him; I know that. He knows that. You know that.”
“I killed him, I killed him,” he kept repeating, and went back to clinging onto Eddie’s corpse. “I killed him.”
Slowly, Stan leaned forward and took hold of Richie’s arms, gently pulling him off of Eddie. He expected resistance, but as soon as Stan began to pull him Richie fell back, allowing himself to fall into Stan’s arms.
Richie wrapped his arms around Stan and dug his face into his chest, and Stan held him closely. Richie continued to sob into Stan and Stan rested his head on top of him, rubbing circles onto his back.
“Where’s Mike?” Richie asked, his voice muffled into Stan’s shirt.
“I’m sorry, Richie,” Stan said blankly.
Richie’s grip tightened and he began crying again. Stan looked down at him, and it set in that Richie was all he had.
It was only the two of them.
Finally, finally , tears welled in his eyes.
The two sat there for a while, Stan rocking Richie gently, and they let themselves cry for what felt like hours. Maybe it had been. Maybe it had been two minutes.
But now, although he was still crying, Richie’s hysterics had calmed down, now just shuddering into Stan’s hold. Stan took a deep breath, reminding himself that the killer was still out there. This wasn’t over yet.
But then he looked at Richie. He could tell Richie that they have to get up, that they have to keep fighting. The way Richie would have told him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do it. So he just held him some more.
Things started to get quieter, for at least a moment. For a moment.
“Well, shit. Things got real messy around here, don’t you think?”
Stan looked up in alarm, seeing the masked killer standing at the door. He expected Richie to shoot up as well, but he didn’t. He froze, and then slowly turned his head. “No. It can’t be.”
“Recognize me, Rich? I’m touched. Bev couldn’t quite put her finger on it.”
“Richie, what is this?” Stan asked.
Richie had turned around now, emptily looking at the killer. “It can’t be you. It can’t be.”
“Well, tonight is all about plot twists, isn’t it?”
“I was your friend,” Richie said, his voice void of emotion. “We were your friends. We took you in.”
“Richie?” Stan asked again.
“You were my friends now, were you? So, let me get this straight. I get beaten up for hanging out with you and you guys still don’t let me into your secret club? You limit me to sitting with you at lunch, despite all the shit I went through for being associated with you guys? You want to treat me like that and then call yourselves my friends ?”
“Shit,” Stan’s eyes widened in realization, “Connor?”
Connor pulled off the mask, throwing it to the floor. “Bingo.”
Richie reached for the gun Stan had brought in, pulling the trigger without hesitation, but nothing came out.
“You only had one bullet, remember?” Connor laughed. “So sad, truly. But guess we’ll have to fight this one out like men, right? No bullets allowed.”
Richie dropped the gun. “How could you do this to me?”
“Rich, I really thought you were smarter than this. You never really wanted to be my friend. You just gave me pity.”
“That’s not true,” Richie said, “I liked you. We liked you. If I could have stopped what happened to you, I would have.”
“I don’t know about that, buddy,” Connor said, “I was the one who got beat up while the rest of you were fine and you didn’t even care. You sat with me and told me all about you and your stupid friends and your stupid Eddie and didn’t stop once to think about me.”
“I didn’t mean to, I promise,” Richie said, “You could have talked to me. You could have told me about this and I would understand.”
“Too late for that now, isn’t it?” Connor laughed.
“You were hurt, but how could you do this ? You killed people,” Stan said.
“Richie had everything. You guys had everything. Everything that I ever wanted, at least. But the truth was that you didn’t deserve it. You were happy and I wasn’t, and that didn’t seem fair,” he said.
“Didn’t seem fair? So it’s fair to murder people?” Stan asked.
“You guys didn’t deserve it, and there was only one way I could take that away from you. Take that away from you , Richie. It had to be this way. It was always a deluded fantasy, but then Richie told me in detail about your little lake house getaway plan. It was perfect,” Connor smirked.
“You’re disgusting,” Richie said.
“Is that so?” Connor laughed, “What’s so different about me and you? Don’t forget, we’ve both got blood on our hands.”
Richie closed his eyes, breathing in. He couldn’t say anything to that. Connor was right.
“Rot in hell,” Stan spat.
“See you there,” Connor said, and pulled his knife out of his pocket. Just as he was about to stab Stan, Richie kicked him, sending Connor against the door. While Connor was down, Stan jumped up and grabbed the bat, cornering Connor and raising it. Richie let himself sink off of the bed, sitting on the floor behind Stan.
Stan gripped the bat, staring down at Connor.
He was scared. So very scared. But he had to do it.
He looked at Mike’s watch on his wrist, and he felt brave.
“Well, would you look at that!” Connor said, “Stanley Uris threatening me? I am quaking .”
“I’ll do it,” Stan said, “I’ll fucking do it.”
“Then why wait?” Connor asked, “Come on, Stan. Smash my skull in.”
“I’ll give you one more chance,” Stan said, “Surrender. Give up or I’ll kill you.”
“I don’t mind dying,” Connor said, “There’s just one thing I have to do first.”
Connor moved his foot against Stan’s ankle, tripping him to the floor beside him. Stan grunted in pain as he hit his nose again, becoming disoriented for a few moments. While Stan was down, Connor jumped up and tackled Richie, pulling his knife out and digging it into his chest.
Richie didn’t fight back. He only laid there, while Connor stabbed him again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Stan came back to his senses, shaking his head and getting himself up, grabbing the bat again.
Here goes nothing.
“Get the fuck off of him!” Stan yelled, and swung his bat against Connor’s head.
Connor flew off of Richie, hitting his back against the wall. Stan jumped over and swung his bat against his ribs again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
“Hit his head, Stan,” Richie said, and then began to cough blood.
Like Eddie had.
Stan stomped on Connor’s broken ribs, twisting his foot and holding him down while he growled in pain.
He reached the bat out to Richie. “You deserve the honors.”
Richie sat up, struggling to move from the multiple stab wounds in his chest, but he moved forward and took hold of the bat with shaky hands.
He was weak from his injuries, but nothing could stop him from doing this.
“Shouldn’t have fucked with the losers,” he said, and with all the strength he had left, swung the bat against Connor’s skull.
The killer was dead.
Richie fell back in defeat, laying in the same place he had been stabbed.
Stan looked at Connor for a second, letting it sink in.
The killer was dead.
Then he looked back to Richie.
“Richie,” Stan said, running over and falling to his level. “He’s dead, Rich, he’s dead. It’s over. You’ve got to stay with me, okay? We’re going to get out of here. I’m going to get you help.”
Stan attempted to lift Richie.
“No,” Richie said.
“No?” Stan asked, pausing.
“No,” Richie said, “I can’t go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Richie,” Stan said, “He’s dead now. We made it. We’re going to be okay, and I’m going to get you help. You’ve got to let me try to lift you, okay?”
“No, Stan,” Richie repeated. “You made it. You’re going to be okay. You need to get out of here.”
“You made it, too,” Stan argued, “You’re still alive, but not for long if you don’t work with me. Let’s go.”
“Don’t you see, Stan?” Richie said, and all of the personality in his voice was completely gone . “I’m already dead.”
“What?” Stan asked.
“I can’t live in a world where I killed Eddie. You have to leave me here.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Stan said.
“Please, Stan, please,” Richie said, “You have to let me go.”
“You’re fucking insane, Richie!” Stan exclaimed, “I’m not leaving you here! You’re all I have left!”
“Stan, listen to me,” Richie said, raising his hand to Stan’s chin. “You really are the best of us. You’re meant to be the one who survives. You’re going to go on and do great things. You’re going to live for us. All six of us. But I have to go. I can’t live with this. When I killed Eddie, I killed myself too. I’m not here anymore. I could have stopped Connor from stabbing me, could’ve pushed him away. But I didn’t. I wanted to let him. Please, Stan.”
Stan fell back against the wall, pushing his hands through his hair. “I can’t.”
“Not to mention that I’m already on my way out, Stanny. It’s a long walk to civilization to get help, and even if I wanted to go I wouldn’t make it. I’ll slow you down, and then you’ll have my rotting corpse to carry around,” he said.
“Fuck you,” Stan said, but his eyes were pleading for Richie to stay with him. To not leave him.
“It’s true,” Richie said. “But can I ask you one thing?”
“Of course,” Stan said.
“Can you stay with me? Until it happens?”
Stan closed his eyes tightly, tears dripping out of them. He opened them again, seeing Richie looking back at him, his eyes half closed. “Of course I will.”
He pulled Richie against him, running his fingers through his hair in comfort.
“I’m not scared to die,” Richie told him.
Stan didn’t reply, another tear falling down his cheek as he grabbed Richie’s hand.
“I have this whole thing with Eds. Like, this whole plan. About our apartment and our pets and our wedding. Our life. And it was supposed to happen here, but it couldn’t. So it’s going to happen in the next universe. I have to go find him. So I’m not scared. I just don’t want to be alone, you know?”
“I’d never leave you alone,” Stan said.
“I know you wouldn’t,” Richie looked up at him, “You’re like, the best person in the world. And I’m so proud of you, you know that? You did it. I knew you could.”
Stan smiled at him, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
“I wanted to come protect you,” Stan said.
“And you did,” Richie said, “Never forget that. You did. And now, you’re safe, because there’s so much out there you need to do.”
“I don’t want to do it without you guys,” Stan said.
“But you won’t. You’ll always have us with you. Living for the six of us, remember?” Richie said.
“Yes,” Stan said, “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good,” Richie said, “I know you will, Stan. The best.”
They didn’t speak much more after that, Stan petting Richie’s hair as he drifted off. And then, after a few moments of what could look like peace, Stan felt Richie’s breathing stop.
“Richie?” he asked.
But he was gone.
Stan let himself cry more silent tears, holding onto his hand tightly. He kissed Richie’s forehead, and then sat up, taking him into his arms.
He pulled open the blanket of the bed and gently rested Richie there, beside Eddie. He tucked the blanket over the two of them, smiling fondly.
His smile turned into tears, backing up into the wall. But he wasn’t in hysterics. He could do nothing except simply cry.
He was alone now.
He didn’t think he deserved to be the sole survivor. He didn’t think he deserved to survive at all. But he did, and he couldn’t betray his promise. He had to live for them. For all six of them.
Stan spent a while leaned against the wall, just letting himself cry until he had no more tears. Until he was numb.
And then, he slowly began to walk out of the room towards the front of the house. He needed to go find civilization. He needed to go deal with the world.
He opened the door, facing the sunrise, and looked at Mike’s watch.
5:59 AM.
The sun crept into the corner of the horizon, painting the sky scarlet and pushing the moon back into the night, waiting to re-emerge for the events of the next.