Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
Richie had forgotten how to breathe.
Actually, he had forgotten how to do anything. Anything except push his legs forward and grip Eddie, keeping him upright with the help of Ben and Beverly, as the remains of Neilbolt crumbled around them. He didn’t remember much from then. Eddie, blood, screaming. Red hot tears leaving him blinder than he already was. That was all.
By some fucking miracle- maybe God decided to give them a one-off, to make up for the bullshit that had been their last 25 years of existence- they made it out.
Richie didn’t remember much from then, either. He remembered collapsing, covered in dust and dirt and blood that wasn’t his, and the gentle thud as he hit the concrete floor. He remembered the paramedics sitting him up and how his immediate response was to ask, with a mouthful of his own vomit- “where’s Eddie?”. And he remembered how he was crying, begging them to put him as Eddie’s next of kin, just so he could sit by him in the hospital.
They did.
He’d stayed for two weeks now. He had refused to leave, no matter how much the doctors insisted, no matter how many times Bev visited, no matter how many times Bill called. He wouldn’t even leave when Stan called, told him vague details he didn’t catch properly, and had asked him to come out for dinner with him, Patty, and the Losers. The only time he would leave was to shower, change his clothes, and pick up food for himself- and he never let that take more than an hour.
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