Chapter Text
The shock of fighting an evil space clown, not once but twice, hadn’t faded from Eddie’s mind. Even through Bill’s emotional speech from both times and them all being attacked in Nebolt, it was there. A tingle pulsing in and out of his mind. And if Eddie was honest it wasn’t just shock.
The tidal wave of static fear that plastered him to the wall and unable to do anything as the fucking bug spider head of Stan came so close to chomping off Richie’s nose. The drop of his stomach and spirit as reality flushed back in. Bill yelling at him and the tears trying to push past his eyelashes.
“Don’t be mad Bill, I was just scared.” Claiming it was shock was just to try and be brave. And everyone here knew that wasn’t true.
Eddie Kaspbrak isn’t brave. Eddie Kaspbrak is frail, is soft, is sick.
The static fear doesn’t go away. It really never did, just slept inside him for years, occasionally spiking before falling back into hibernation. He feels like the dirt and grime on the wall of this stupid crackhouse. He feels like nothing and it hurts.
Richie tells him he’s braver than he thinks. Eddie wants to tell Richie the truth, he’s not but god if Richie just kept looking at him like that maybe he could be. He thanks him instead and grips the iron spike Bev gave him, a silent promise to be what Richie thinks of him.
He got his chance not much later.
Richie floats, several staggering feet off the ground, Pennywise the fucking clown opened mouthed and leaning toward Richie. Eddie’s world tilts, waves recede and he’s moving without thought.
He does have a couple thoughts, but they’re mostly, if you believe it does and you’re braver than you think and not him you fucker.
The iron spike sails out of his hand and spears straight into the fucking clowns mouth. He gurgles, lava like blood spilling from his jowls. He jerks away and tumbles back into the crown of rocks, letting out a shriek that shakes the cavern.
Eddie sees Richie drop like a stone and rushes over. He kneels over his fallen friend the second he’s close enough. Richie blinks up at him, shocked and disoriented. He laughs, bending closer, and shouts, “I think I killed It!”
The static fear is gone and replaced with warmth and Richie’s wide eyes and horribly giant lens and Eddie grins.
“Richie, I did it! I killed-”
Blood splatters across Richie’s face and Eddie gasps. There’s so much blood. It’s on Richie. It’s on him. It is him, he realizes, looking down at the claw poking through his chest. It’s his blood all over.
He chokes out Richie’s name, the crushing reality dawning on him, before he’s moving through the air. He can’t even scream, the claw is in so deep, curled right up against his lungs, as he’s waved around like a puppet.
Distantly he thinks he hears other people screaming. Things start to fizzle out of focus and he’s no longer in the air but tossed like garbage down into a cave. He tries to sit up. Blood drops off his stomach like someone had spilled an entire gallon of water on the floor. He gags, eyes rolling back to reject the image before him, and falls back to the ground.
The people’s voices come back into focus. Hands grab and shake and move him. He groans, eyes fluttering open. Someone holds rough cloth against his chest. Richie. There’s still blood, his blood, littering Richie’s face.
He shakily reaches up to wipe it off. Richie leans into his touch, tears and snout and blood, and blabbers on about something. Eddie can’t focus. He’s dying.
It’s strange, to be so afraid of something, to build something up so much, and then experience it.
It hurts. It really fucking hurts. He’s pretty sure part of his intestine is outside of his body. But even so, he’s not scared. He’s not small and sick and flaking into nothing.
He’s not dying like a leper.
The leper. His hands around its neck and squeezing. The rapid pulse beneath his fingernails beating toward a stop. Make him feel small. Choke him out. Get rid of him.
Eddie croaks out a slobbery version of this to his friends. His saving grace, he giggles, as blood dribbles out of his mouth. They have to win.
Richie stays with him. Holds his hand and the jacket to his wound. It’s not helping even if he wanted it too. He gurgles out his best friend's name.
Richie hiccups, draws even closer, ducking his head. They’re so close. But never close enough. Never enough.
“I fucked your mom.”
And he laughs and laughs. Because Richie’s shocked face is too much. Blood pours out of his mouth and he knows he’s done. That this is it for him.
He hopes Richie gets it. Or else his final fucking words are going to be stupid as hell. Stan won’t let him live it down.
Richie’s crying and as much as Eddie wants to comfort him, he’s done with lying, so he just tries to smile and keep his eyes focused to soak in as much of Richie as possible.
Eventually Richie has to go, has to fight, has to win. Eddie can’t watch him go, eyes no longer working, and gurgles on his own blood as his being leaves his body.
He hopes they win. He needs them to win. They’ll win.
If you believe it does
You’re braver than you think
You were right Rich
Eddie dies as the rest of the losers spit and break and defeat the fucking clown that tormented them their whole lives.
Eddie wakes up in a bed.