Work Text:
It’s normal. It’s so frustratingly, impossibly normal that it makes Eddie’s teeth ache. That’s a psychosomatic response, he thinks distantly as he feels around in his jacket pocket for the comforting presence of his bottle of Aspirin. The thought doesn’t even worry him. Again, it’s normal, familiar, just like Big Bill’s steady hand on his shoulder paired with Mike’s gentle gaze. A moment ago, these men were strangers. But here he is, in his old hometown of Derry on nothing more than whimsy and Mike’s pleading.
“How was the drive, Eddie?” Mike asks as he pulls out a chair at the table and offers it to Eddie. Mike looks older. Older than Bill, who looks every bit like a grownup; tired and like his back is giving him trouble. He takes a seat with a grateful smile to the other man.
“Fine. Fine, there was no trouble.”
Eddie doesn’t mention that he hadn’t needed to check the map since crossing into Maine. He had allowed his mind to wander with the lack of other people on the interstate, thinking about nothing in particular. He had started counting birds.
Bill shifts to take his own seat next to Mike, and Eddie notes that his blue eyes linger on where Eddie still had his hand in his jacket pocket. Eddie jerks his hand out with a blush. Logically, he knows that Bill wouldn’t make fun of him for his illnessdelicateboygirlyboy— overactive imagination, because Big Bill had never made jokes about his asthma. He didn’t tease Bill, either. What was there to joke about in the first place? I don’t remember.
“Don’t think about it too hard. Mike said the memories will come back to us as we need them to,” Bill speaks up, jarring Eddie from his quiet even with his slow, deliberate tone.
Ah, that’s right, he had a stutter. It was worse back then.
“Yeah, alright... Holy shit. It’s good to see you guys. Are the others..?” Good doesn’t quite fit, but it’s something an old friend from college might say.
Bill looks to Mike for a moment, and the other man sighs.
“We can hope. I called everyone, so now they just have to show up.”
There are four other seats crowded around the round, hardwood table. Eddie has wet-wipes out and is wiping down his portion of the table without a second thought, and he sees Bill smile.
“Things have changed, and yet they haven’t,” Bill explains when he catches Eddie’s eye, “It’s like we dug up a time capsule. That, or like we suddenly live in one.”
Eddie laughs timidly and nods along. “It doesn’t feel strange, though. Or, does it?” He looks to Mike first, for (validation) a reason he can’t put his finger on. Maybe it’s the way Bill’s eyes grow more confused the more his words catch.
“It’s strange for me,” Mike replies, somber for the first time this evening.
A sharp, glittering laugh spills out through the decorated wall to their side, cutting off whatever Mike might have said after. Eddie watches with amusement as Bill shudders- the charming, greying hairs on his arms sticking up- and cranes to see who the laughter belongs to.
Their host, who Mike greets as Rosie, ushers in three more people into the private room, and their faces deliver three individual punches to his gut.
Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom—“Richie!”
Eddie barely recognizes his own voice as he, Mike, and Bill stumble out of their seats all over again for greetings. He watches in a daze as Bill chokes out his friend’s names and clasps hands with them all. He tunes out the commotion and Eddie and Mike hang back in an unspoken agreement to let their fearless leader have his moment.
Bill’s stutter has completely blocked his speech by the time he gets to Richie. God, Richie.
“Come on Billy, I don’t think I came all this way just for a complimentary Denbrough Shower.”
Eddie could throttle Richie, he really could, regardless of the ache that the other man stirs in his chest. Shut up, dipshit! Can’t you see he’s- For a moment, it looks like Bill might punch him. His face is flushed in either frustration or embarrassment and there’s a nasty spark in his eye, but it’s only Richie. It’s Bill and Richie, brothers.
“Richie,” He gets out, body sagging with relief and face splitting into a wide grin.
“Bill!” Richie cheers, laughing loudly as they hug. Eddie feels his stomach swoop when Richie meets his eyes over Big Bill’s shoulder, and imagine that, Richie’s grown tall. Taller.
You’re next, Richie mouths to him, and the bastard has the gall to wink at him.
Whether it’s to spite Richie or just her magnetic personality, Eddie approaches Beverly next.
“You’re so pretty,” she blurts out, still caught in the throes of laughter that carried her inside. Her hair is the same shade of vibrant red, and she still wears it short enough it barely brushes her shoulders. Beverly’s mouth works open and closed for a minute as she tries to follow that thought up before she gives up and laughs some more.
“You’re so pretty,” Eddie replies, smiling like a goon as he watches her curls bounce.
It feels just like those childhood summers, the ones that seem to have bled together in his mind into some hazy forever, where Bev would ditch whatever roughhousing the others were engaging in to join him where he sat out. They’d shoot the shit and somehow every conversation came back to the latest Wonder Woman comic. She never even smoked.
Ben would save lollipops for her, just for times like that, he remembers, and he nearly falls flat on his ass with the amount of love he feels for his friends.
They hold each other in the present, shaking with laughter.
When he eventually lifts his head from the silky touch of Bev’s hair, Ben is beaming at him. He’s grown, too. All of his cushy kid-fat and fat-fat has been replaced with muscle.
“Hi, Eddie.”
“Hi, Ben.”
The two of them probably would’ve been happy to just stare at each other if Beverly hadn’t (poorly) muffled a shriek and leapt to hug Mike.
Ben watches her go with a besotted smile, and Eddie feels a silly amount of relief that it is still Ben standing with him. The warm hug that Ben gives him only cements the fact.
The heavy smell of alcohol already on him is new, though. Eddie doesn’t comment on it as he steps back out of Ben’s space and directly against Richie’s chest. He startles, badly, before Richie’s arms are around his waist, his chin on Eddie’s head.
“Get off me, you dick,” Eddie complains on principle. The words come out mean, mean like he’s a little kid again. It’s embarrassing.
“Still playing hard to get, Eds?”
He turns in Richie’s arms so that they can hug properly, and seeing Richie’s face is worse. He looks so earnest despite trying to keep a straight face.
“Twenty-seven years without being called by that stupid nickname.” It’s suppose to come out snappy, but Eddie’s voice just sounds fond. He thanks his lucky stars that every word he says to Richie feels natural, because he feels sick to his stomach and his chest is tight. You’re not actually sick.
“Stupid? You’re stupid— stupid cute.”
Eddie barks out a laugh as he wraps his arms around Richie’s neck and drags him down for an embrace. It’s such a lame line, but Richie’s nose had scrunched up like even he was surprised at himself (Can’t you do better than that, Trashmouth?) and Eddie couldn’t help himself.
“I can’t believe I actually missed you.”
Richie’s big hands splay out across his back as he tries to bring Eddie even closer, achingly desperate.
“Fuck, I missed you, too. So much. I didn’t even realize I was missing you until I saw you, but—“ He cuts off as Eddie sniffles against his shoulder. “—No, no, don’t get started... Baby, if you cry, I’m going to cry, and then Bev’ll get going and ruin her pretty makeup and Ben will beat us up. Did you see his arms? Yowza.”
“I’m not crying,” Eddie insists as he tries to slow his breathing down. He is, is the thing, and it occurs to him that he hasn’t cried since meeting Myra. Tears had always been her favorite weapon and most trusted defense. Had? Have. He should pawn his ring off while he’s in town.
Richie laughs at him, not unkindly. “Sure, yeah.”
Eventually, once he’s put himself back together, Eddie tries to pull away only for Richie to cling to him. “Hey...” The taller man trails off in uncharacteristic silence and Eddie squeezes him comfortably.
“It’s alright, Rich.”
And it is alright. Eddie can feel an itch under his skin warning him that this is all too good to be true- and later when Mike tells them about Stan, about the murders, and Beverly’s makeup runs enough to smear the concealer coated over her bruises, he might feel an ugly flash of vindication- but right now he’s surrounded by his oldest and dearest friends.
Right now, he feels six clicks deep in his soul as everything aligns.