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It's Tuesday morning and Eddie is searching for Richie. They'd walked to school together, but he'd lost him sometime after first period and now Eddie's becoming a little frantic. Not that he couldn't do school without Richie Tozier's big trashmouth. But he preferred not to.
"Hey, Stan - have you seen Richie?" He asks the sandy blonde by the lockers.
"I don't know, I think he went into the bathroom." It was always the last place you looked, Eddie thinks as he pushes open the door.
"Richie?" He calls out. There's a soft groan in response.
"In here." Eddie follows the sound to the second stall in. The minute he pushes open the door and finds Richie in a heap on the floor, he whines.
"Rich-ee!!" Richie risks a glance over his shoulder and he's white as a sheet. And kind of sweaty looking. "Nooo!" Eddie wails. Richie swallows hard.
"I think I'm gonna puke." He gives another groan.
"Well, fucking don't!" Eddie yelped. Eddie hated a lot of things. But especially hated when Richie got sick. It basically meant bathing in Richie's germs for a day or two, until Richie felt better. Because in truth, everyone thought Eddie was the wuss, but in reality, Richie was a big baby.
"I can't help it!" Richie whines. He's starting to do that spastic gagging thing he always does, right before he actually throws up.
"Dammit, Richie! Okay, gimme your glasses before you fucking lose them." Eddie quickly, snatches them off his face and moves back, out of the line of fire. Then Richie's throwing up and Eddie's trying not to, squeezing his eyes shut and only risking a cautious pat or two onto Richie's heaving back. Eddie only wishes he could shut his ears too against the awful noises he's making which seem to echo off the walls of the stall. Finally, it gets quiet.
"Are you done? Flush the fucking toilet!"
"Sorry." Richie's voice comes back raspy and Eddie feels guilty. When he hears the sound of rushing water, he opens his eyes.
"Are you okay? Do you feel better?" Eddie asks as he leans over to hand him tissue and his glasses.
"Kinda." Richie admits as he stands up, a little shaky. Eddie quickly puts an arm around him to steady him.
"Hey guys. What's going on?" Mike asks as the two boys venture back out into the hallway.
"I threw up." Richie offers, almost proudly. Eddie rolls his eyes.
"Richie's sick. So I'm taking him home."
"You are?" Richie grins.
"Get your coat on, you big baby." Eddie snaps, impatiently. As they are walking in the crisp fall air, crunching over fallen leaves, Richie thinks this must be his favorite thing in the world. Playing hookie with Eddie while his parents were at work. An entire afternoon of screwing off with his favorite person. "Will you stay with me?" Richie's asking, when they reach his house and Richie's climbing into his bed.
"I will stay for awhile - if you behave and try to rest. Stay in bed, got it?" Eddie says, soft and plunks a white plastic trash can by the bed.
"Do you want me to get you anything?"
"Kool-aid?" Richie asks hopefully.
"No kool-aid. You're already sick. You can have water or tea."
"Tea, then." Richie grumbles as he leans back against his headboard. "I guess." As Richie lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling with his adhd running laps, Eddie sits at the desk, bent over some math homework. He checks his digital watch and every 20 to 25 minutes says, 'Drink.' And Richie leans over, picking up the mug of tea and takes a few sips.
"Eddie - " he begins thoughtfully, after an hour or so.
"Shut up, Richie." Eddie says without looking up or moving.
"But - I'm bored!" Richie whines.
"Being sick is boring." Eddie comments. He ought to know. He has one hundred memories of times he wanted to go outside and play with his friends. But he'd been stuck inside, because his mother had deemed him too "sick" to play. He pushes the memories down, not wanting to let righteous anger eat him up while he's supposed to be caring for his friend.
"But - " Richie is sitting up and finally Eddie turns and jabs his pencil threateningly in Richie's direction.
"I mean it, Richie. Lay back down. Or I'm going home." He snaps. Richie frowns, talking quietly under his breath, but does as he's asked. In the afternoon, Eddie heats up some soup and tries to get Richie to eat. Richie just crosses his arms and says he's not hungry.
"You have to try. Or you won't get better." Eddie says, sitting on the edge of the bed with the bowl of soup in his lap. Richie uncrossed his arms just to say,
"Well, it's too hot." Eddie huffs.
"How do you know it's too hot you haven't even - look, I'm not spoon feeding you like a baby." Which is how Eddie winds up spoon feeding him, like he's a baby. By the time it starts to get dark and Eddie has to flip on the bedside lamp for light, Richie is starting to feel just awful again. His stomach is churning like crazy and he's breaking out into a damp, cold sweat.
"Eddie." He moans, desperately.
"In the trash can, Richie." Eddie says, checking his work. But Richie sounds so pathetic when he calls his name again that Eddie gives up and goes to his side.
"It's okay. I'm right here." Eddie soothes as he runs a hand over his back and Richie grips the trash can with white knuckles. It's not as bad, the second time around. It's just that his stomach is so full of liquid that it seems to go on forever. When it seems like it's stopped, Eddie puts a glass of water in his shaking hands so he can rinse his mouth.
"Okay, 'Chee?" He asks. Richie nods, but he's still got tears drying on his face. Eddie even lets Richie hug him. Eddie tries not to think of crawling in germs when he hugs him back and whispers,
"Lay back down. I'll wake you up, before I leave."
"Promise?" Richie asks, looking worried.
"Yes, I promise." Eddie reassures him as Richie scoots back down and lets Eddie tuck the blankets around him. By the time Eddie does leave, it's almost ten o'clock. He wakes up and he's laying curled up on his side with Richie's long limbs tangled around him and the bedding, but he's breathing so slow and deep that Eddie hates to wake him. But he has to or Richie won't ever forgive him. So instead of shaking him, he leans over and runs his hand through Richie's slightly sweat dampened curls.
"Hey." He whisper talks, when Richie's eyes flutter open. "I gotta go, 'chee. It's really late."
"Mmrggh." Richie groans, trying to suck Eddie back down into the admittedly warm bed.
"I'm sorry. I have to - my mom will freak." Eddie says, still stroking Richie's soft, dark hair. "But - " he amends. "I will call you in the morning to see how you are feeling."
"Mmhm." Richie grumbles. "Wait." Now he's fully awake. "Will you call tonight?" Eddie sighs. It's ten o'clock. The house is still and silent. It's ten o'clock and neither of his parents are home.
"I will call in the morning." Eddie emphasizes. He knows if he promises to call overnight, Richie won't sleep. He'll just sit by the damn phone and wait. "But if you start feeling really bad again, you can call me. Okay?"
"Okay." Richie agrees. If Sonia wasn't the way she was, he might have been hurt. But years of friendship has (sort of) taught him compromise. Eddie draws out this last part intentionally.
"Okay. Now go to sleep." He pulls the blanket up over Richie's form. "I love you."
"Love you too." Richie mumbles, eyes already closed. Before he leaves, he flips off the lamp, pausing only briefly at the door.