Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Richie yawns and stretches, groaning a little as his jaw creaks. Oh that’s right, he’s an old man now, which Eddie reminds him of every chance he gets. Is 40 old? He supposes it depends. Not old enough to retire, but too old to get out of bed without noise. Oh well. His youth is no big loss. He can’t really remember his youth anyway. He… he actually can’t remember anything beyond yesterday, when Eddie had shockingly carried him over the threshold, only dropping him once. They’re married. Richie can’t believe it. He married Eddie Kaspbrak. 

Speaking of Eddie Kaspbrak… Eddie Tozier? Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier? Richie can’t remember, his head spinning when he tries too hard. Where is Eddie? Richie reaches his hand out to his side, hoping to hit a slumbering body next to him in the bed but there’s just a warm divot. Richie rolls himself over to Eddie’s side of the bed, like a cat finding the coziest patch of sun on a windowsill. He rests his head face down on Eddie’s pillow, and inhales. It smells like him. Apricot shampoo and conditioner, a hint of hand sanitizer, and some hypoallergenic deodorant, something Richie didn’t know existed before he met Eddie. He’s actually still not sure if it’s a thing or something Eddie made up but he doesn’t care because it smells nice. Eddie smells like home. It’s a very cliché thing to say, but Richie can’t think of any other way to describe it. It reminds him of when he was a kid and having a shit day at school, how he would run home and push his face into his bed, breathing in the comfort of familiarity and safety. Hm. Maybe he does remember some things about his past after all. 

This thought dissipates when Eddie appears in the doorway, holding a spatula. 

“Did you wait for me to get up so you could take over the whole bed, you dick?” Richie chuckles, a muffled noise, as his mouth is still obstructed by pillow. 

“Nooo…” He feels the light tap of a spatula flicking his ass as Eddie comes over to the bed. 

“You better not be getting spit on my pillow, Tozier. That would mean divorce.” Richie pries his face up and after glancing at the cushion in question, flips it over before Eddie can examine it for saliva. 

“Nope! No spit here, this is a spit free zone Eddie Spaghetti.” Eddie narrows his eyes and just says 

“Mmmm” though he’s semi smiling. “Get up, I made pancakes.” Richie looks at the spatula in his hand. 

“Are you telling me that Eddie Spaghetti, the king of germaphobia and my heart, is going to flip pancakes with a utensil that just touched the ass of Trashmouth Tozier? Now I’ve seen everything. I can die a wise man.” Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“You can die a wise- ass.” Richie guffaws. 

“Eds gets off a good one!” Eddie turns around and heads back out the door, calling over his shoulder 

“Hurry up, wise man Tozier, or I’m going to use all the syrup and you’ll have to put your frankincense and myrrh on your pancakes.” Richie rolls out of the bed and follows his, tousling his hair. 

“Biblical puns? Really, Eds? This early? In front of my salad?” Eddie looks confused as he tosses the now contaminated spatula in the sink and sits down at the table. It’s set with two settings and a plate of all ready made pancakes. Little bowls of syrup and butter are also there and Richie glows at how domestic it looks. 

“We’re… having pancakes… not salad… How much oxygen did you lose when you were imprinting my clean pillow with your drool?” Richie laughs. 

“No… it was a meme…. Never mind.” Richie takes two pancakes while Eddie looks at him witheringly. 

“And you disparaged me for my biblical humor.” Richie shrugs. 

“Hey, I’m a hot comedian, I have to stay up to date with all the pop culture references.” Eddie raises his eyebrow but says nothing and Richie opens his mouth like Kevin Mcallister. “No comeback? No disputing my hotness or calling me old? Spaghetti Man, you’re slipping! Do you feel okay?” Eddie glares at him, his harsh look clashing with the sweet yet deadpan words that come from his lips, making Richie blush at how sincere he sounds. 

“Why would I dispute that? You are hot.” He says this like a fact and Richie feels warm. He clears his throat. 

“No comment on the old thing, huh.” Eddie smirks. 

“Yeah, that’s also true.” He leans across the table as he gets up to get the orange juice from the fridge, kissing Richie’s forehead as he says “but, hey, so am I.” Richie smiles and pushes his own chair back, catching Eddie from behind before the other man can open the fridge. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso as Eddie holds on to his forearms. He murmurs into Eddie’s ear 

“Nah, Spagheds, we’re not old yet. We will be one day though, you know why?” He expects Eddie to say something flippant like “the natural progression of time?” or maybe shove him off and get the juice but Eddie just plays along, softly asking 

“Why?” Richie smiles into Eddie’s apricot hair.

“Because we’re going to grow old together, Eds.” Eddie hums, holding Richie’s arms tight against him. 

“Promise?” Richie closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of home. 

“Promise.”

Chapter Text

They haven’t even gotten through breakfast before there’s a knock on the door. Eddie raises his eyebrow. 

“Who the fuck can that be, it’s 10am on a Saturday.” Richie tuts. 

“And yet we’re using such harsh language! I’d ask you what your mother would say, but as I am the one fucking her, I think I would know better than you.” Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“You know, that really isn’t a good joke now that we’re married and you’re out.” Richie grins.

“Are you implying that it was before?” Eddie gets up and walks to the door, which is making noise again, calling behind him

“No.” He says this too loudly, so when he opens the door the man standing there looks a little alarmed and embarrassed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you, is this a bad time?” Eddie’s eyes widen and Richie cranes his head to see who’s at the door. He doesn’t want to leave his pancakes unless it’s absolutely necessary, Eddie’s got this one.

“No, no, not you, I was talking to my husband!” The man tilts his head. He’s wearing a dark green sweater with quite a high neck and glasses that are rounder than Richie’s, with thin wire frames. His white hair is combed quite neatly and his shoes that peek out under his brown corduroy pants are shiny and textured. He seems to be twice their age and Richie wonders if he should invite him in to sit down, but the man seems spry enough on his feet he decides to wait. His business might be quick. 

“Is your husband Richard Tozier?” 

“Yes…” 

“So you must be Edward Kaspbrak. Oh my. Oh dear.” Richie finally has enough motivation to abandon his breakfast, walking over to Eddie and putting his arm around his waist. 

“That’s us! Mr. and Mr….” Damnit, he forgot to ask Eddie what they had decided on. Oh well, nothing like the spur of the moment. “Kasprak-Tozier.” That sounds right. Eddie looks up at him but doesn’t say anything. Richie hopes he likes it. “Can we help you with something?” It’s the nicest way he can think to ask the question but it still feels rude. The old man smiles. 

“No, no, just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Marty, I’m your new neighbor.” 

Richie beams. 

“Hiya, Marty! Welcome to the neighborhood!” This will be nice, he doesn’t remember if they have any other neighbors besides… oh yeah, the other Losers. Bill and Mike, who moved in together first, Bill leaving his Hollywood sham of a marriage and Mike his lonely attic of isolation. Bev and Ben got married before even Richie and Eddie did, taking the house next to Stan and Patty’s and painting it a warm yellow and planting fiery flowers in the front yard. Bev calls it their garden of January Embers, which makes Ben blush and go starry eyed every time, like he can’t believe this is his life. Stan and Patty have been trying to get Richie and Eddie to go bird watching with them for so long it’s become a running joke. They're expecting their first child, and Richie keeps telling Stan to name it after a bird, something he doesn't actually seem opposed to. Richie blinks. How could he forget that they all ended up crammed into Suburbia together? 

Richie doesn’t realize he’s staring off into space until Eddie nudges him in the ribs, saying

“Marty, would you like to come in? We were just having pancakes if you’re hungry.” The old man looks delighted to be asked but he still refuses, saying 

“Oh no, no I won’t intrude, I just wanted to say hello, though another time you must come over to mine for tea, I would love to get to know you better.” Richie and Eddie nod, Eddie replying 

“We would love to, here, let me write our telephone number down for you, please, call us anytime.” Marty nods and as he pockets the paper Eddie hands him he leaves, crossing the street ever so slowly to his own house. If traffic wasn’t nonexistent in their little neighborhood Riche would be concerned at the man’s pace. As it is he just shuts the door and looks down at Eddie. 

“He seems nice.” Eddie nods. 

“Yeah, he does.” They walk back to the table, sitting back down to the abandoned pancakes. Eddie starts reading the newspaper, though he passes Richie the comics first, like the world’s best husband that he is. Richie can’t believe they’ve only been married for a day. Speaking of… 

“Hey Eds, what do you want to do for a honeymoon?” Eddie doesn’t even look up from his paper as he answers 

“Anywhere except Paris.” Richie reaches his hand out and pulls down the paper so he can actually look at Eddie when he asks 

“How come?” Eddie grimaces

“That’s where Myra and I went.” Right. Eddie’s last wife. Richie would like to say he forgot about her but it’s probably more accurate to say he tried to. That’s a memory he doesn’t really want to come back. Can he exchange it for a better one, like a product at the store? He waits a beat but when his memories of a woman with a shrill voice who dragged Eddie to court for months and made him miserable for longer aren’t replaced by images of him and Eddie holding hands and skipping through a field he gives up. Guess not. 

“Okay how about we just spend it here then, you have a week off, right?” Eddie nods. “We can just have a relaxing week at home, maybe invite the other Losers over for dinner?” 

Eddie smiles and puts his paper back up, but not before he reaches over and squeezes Richie’s hand that’s on the table. “Yeah, Rich, that sounds perfect.”

Chapter Text

Richie doesn’t want to brag, but he’s pretty damn proud of himself. The eggs he made for him and Eddie are cooked to perfection, not to mention maximum fluffiness. He sets them on one of the plates Stan and Patty got them as a wedding present, then puts the plate on a silver tray he’s surprised they even own. He thinks for a moment. Wait. Isn’t eating breakfast in bed something sick people do? He doesn’t want to treat Eddie like he’s sick. When he woke up this morning all the details of their lives had strangely come back to him, including the abuse Eddie had suffered through because of his mother, then his wife. They both had always insisted that he was sick, that he was weak, that he couldn’t do anything by himself. Those women make Richie’s blood boil but he’s not focusing on that right now, nor on why he can remember shit all of a sudden. Right now he’s trying to figure out if breakfast in bed will be a romantic or triggering experience for his husband. 

He decides that it will probably fall on more of the romantic side, and compensates extra with fancy silverware, a linen napkin and a red rose. This might be corny. God, this is stupid, Eddie’s going to think he’s a sap. Before he can overthink this any more he hears Eddie yawn in the other room. Showtime. 

He approaches their bedroom door a little cautiously, ready to draw back if Eddie’s face doesn’t light up at the idea of breakfast in bed. Luckily it does, as Eddie sits up and rubs his eyes, registering the room and Richie. God he looks cute, wearing one of Richie’s t-shirts over striped pajama bottoms, his short dark hair all ruffled and his cheeks all pink and pressed with pillow creases. He looks the same as he did their first morning together, two years ago.

Richie grins with nostalgia and goes over to sit on the bed next to Eddie, setting the tray at his side. He bounces his fingers on the bed as he tries to explain his intentions before Eddie can say anything or even fully wake up, like he can reprogram Eddie’s subconscious so that when he does become aware he’ll already be pleased. 

“So I, um made breakfast, thought we could eat it in bed, if that’s okay? If you don’t want to, just tell me, we can move to the dining room, it’s chill.” Eddie sits up and then leans over, taking Richie’s face in his hands as he kisses him. Richie smiles deeply, even though for a man whose hair smells like home, Eddie’s breath sure tastes like the morning. Barely pulling away from his husband’s lips Eddie murmurs

“Why the fuck would I say no to this?” Richie doesn’t withdraw either as he answers

“I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to take care of you or anything, I mean like in an oversteppy kind of way, like… well, you know.” He gestures with his hands while he talks, even though Eddie is way too close to his face to see what he’s doing with his hands. Eddie scooches back on the bed a little so he can look Richie in the eye and sighs.

“Rich, you wanna know the difference between you and my mom or Myra?” Richie smirks because even though this is a serious conversation Eddie makes it so easy.

“I mean, I can think of a few differences…”

“That was a rhetorical question, dickwad. No, the difference between you and them is that they weren’t here in the bed with me-”

“-right, your mom was busy being in bed with me-” 

“-they were standing over me, keeping me prisoner, keeping me alone. You have no idea how suffocating it was. Believe me, you making breakfast for us to eat together in bed is not the same thing, Rich.” Richie smiles, relieved. Wisecracking aside, he was genuinely concerned and is glad Eddie addressed it point blank so he knows for future reference. He thinks of something else then, and adds

“And it’s okay I just did one plate? We can share?” Eddie nods, replying patiently,

“I mean… your tongue was just in my mouth and even though you tried to hide it yesterday you got spit all over my pillow so I think I can handle sharing a plate of eggs. Though if they’re good then it might be a problem because I won’t want to share and we’ll have to fight for them.” Richie grins. 

“Good thing they’re terrible, then.” He pushes the tray in between then and picks up a fork. “They’re also getting cold so…” They eat, and lucky for Richie, even though the eggs are good, they’re apparently not showstopping enough to be hoarded. He doesn’t want to have to even arm wrestle Eddie again. Speaking of…

He puts the empty tray on the floor and lies flat on his back, Eddie following suit and scooting over so his head is on Richie’s chest and Richie can wrap his arms around him. As they cuddle, Richie hums happily. Eddie snuggles in closer and quietly asks

“What?” Richie exhales a little laugh.

“Oh just thinking about how I kicked your ass when we arm wrestled at the Loser’s reunion.” Eddie squawks indignantly 

“Dude your memory must be broken because I wiped the floor with you and your noodle arms!” 

“Ironic for you to comment on my ‘noodle arms’ Spaghetti Man.” Eddie flicks his chest lightly.

“Shut up, Trashmouth.” 

“Never.” Richie grins and adjusts his glasses as he leans down and kisses the top of Eddie’s head. Now Eddie’s the one to hum, then says reverently

“Can you believe it’s only been two years since we saw each other again?” Richie nods then realizes he’s out of Eddie’s eye-line and so he says

“Yeah. If you had told me that going to a shitty Derry High reunion would lead to me reconnecting with my 5 best friends and the love of my fucking life I would have asked you to pass whatever you were smoking.” Richie thinks back on that day, how he had received an email announcing the 2nd reunion of their high school class. How he wasn't going to go- he hadn't gone to the last one, who wants to remember fond memories of homophobic bullying under dimmed florescent lights with other 38 year olds? Not Richie. But in the end he had decided, fuck it, I'm successful, I'm out, let's rub it in these fucker's faces. What he hadn't expected was running into Bev and Ben talking in the parking lot, then going into the gym to see Mike and Bill hugging after 20 years or Stan introducing Patty to Eddie. Eddie's wife hadn't come, neither had Bev's husband or Bill's wife. Richie remembers thinking about what that said about their relationships and after getting everyone's full stories he realizes his initial thoughts had been right. They all ended up leaving the reunion to go to one of the only restaurants in Derry to get drunk on better alcohol with better people, Eddie sitting next to Richie, teasing him, poking him, slamming his arm to the table. Fuck, he did win the arm wrestling. Oops. Eddie yelling "Let's take off our shirts and kiss!" and Richie mumbling back "maybe later, Spaghetti Man" and winking. The comment had been a reflex and Richie half expected Eddie to drop his arm and walk right out of the restaurant but instead Eddie had just snarked back "only if you're lucky, Trashmouth." Turns out Richie had been lucky, and a year later Eddie was divorced and living in Richie's apartment. 6 months after that Richie proposed and they had moved into the Loser's neighborhood. Now here they were. It really was a miracle. 

Eddie nods, his cheek rubbing against Richie’s t-shirt. 

“Yeah, and I would have told you not to smoke it because you don’t know where it’s been.” Richie laughs and rubs Eddie’s arm. 

“God, I love you.” Eddie tsks.

“Richie, I’m glad you have such a healthy spiritual relationship but can you not confess your love for someone else on our literal Honeymoon?” Richie snorts. 

“Hilarious, Spaghetti Man, maybe you should be the comedian.” Eddie hums. 

“Yeah, maybe I should, we could afford a bigger house.” Richie freezes. 

“... Is that something you want, Eds? We can get a bigger house. Whatever you want.” Eddie shakes his head.

“No, I was just fucking with you. I like our little house. Besides, I like being close to the other Losers… it’s perfect.” He pauses then speaks again. “By the way, I love you too.” Richie feels so happy he thinks he might be glowing. 

"Yeah, Eds, I know." 

Chapter Text

“Bave is not a word, Richie!” 

“Yes it totally is!!” 

“Prove it!” 

“You seriously want me to find a dictionary? I don’t think we even have one, are you seriously going to make me go all the way to Stan and Patty’s over a scrabble word-” 

“-use your phone, you absolute dumbass.” 

“Oh, right.” Richie pauses to pull out his phone. “Also, how am I the dumbass, you’re the one who doesn’t know words, Eddie Spaghetti.” Eddie rolls his eyes as Richie does a quick Google search then grimaces as Richie looks vindicated, showing him his screen. “Ha HA!” 

Eddie reads from the screen with a sour look on his face. 

“Bave: silkworm thread extruded as brins from the two glands and stuck together with sericin proteins- Richie, no way you already knew this.” Richie pretends to look offended. 

“Excuse you Eds, I know shit.” He puts his phone away and then straightens his letter with a self satisfied look that makes Eddie spin the Scrabble board back towards him harder than he should. The letters jostle out of their little squares that remind Richie of waffle pockets. “Tsk tsk, such violence.” Eddie records Richie’s score (he had insisted on being the one to write the score, even as Richie protested that he would alter it to win) and then puts his own letters down quickly. “Man, you really plan ahead…” he stops talking, his mouth going dry when he sees what Eddie put down. Dead. That probably shouldn’t make his heart pound like that, it’s a common 4 letter word (though not one of the 4 letter words Richie usually prefers.) It’s not really this word though. It’s the combination of that with the words Eddie’s already played. 

Impaled. Blood. Pain. Agony. Richie stares at the board, his body cold and tingling for some reason. He tries to laugh, tries to have a light tone as he says, still not looking up 

“Man, you’re going morbid on me today, aren’t ya, Eds?” Eddie doesn’t answer but there’s a disturbing gagging noise. Richie’s head whips up and he jolts, leaping up and knocking over his chair. Eddie is staring at him with teary eyes sitting in a grey face, black blood dripping down his chin and down from the gaping hole in his stomach, plugged with some sort of gnarled claw. Richie stares in horror before he blinks and rubs his eyes. That always seems to work in the movies for making scary things disappear. 

“Richie?” He opens his eyes. Thank God the movies seem to have been telling the truth, because Eddie’s face is back to normal, though he looks alarmed and concerned. Richie shakes his head. 

“Sorry, I… I thought I… I thought there was a spider.”

Chapter Text

Richie’s standing on the porch with a guilty pleasure cigarette when Eddie pokes his head out of the screen door. 

“Hey, Smokey the Bear, I invited the Losers over for Dinner, that cool?” Richie snorts, turning around.

“Yeah of course, but Eds, you know, Smokey the Bear prevents forest fires. He doesn’t actually smoke.” Eddie’s face is a little pink when he snaps 

“I know that!” Richie smirks.

“Mhmmm.” 

“Oh just finish your death stick and help me make dinner.” 

“On it, hubby dear!” Eddie rolls his eyes and flips him off as he goes back inside.

When Richie meets him in the kitchen he’s delighted to see Eddie wearing an apron, pulling tomatoes out of the fridge. 

“What we makin,’ Spaghetti? Eddie sighs. 

“Actually…” Richie crows. 

“Ha HA! Excceeellent.” Eddie smiles fondly.

“Okay Mr. Burns, come put an apron on.” Richie obeys and as he ties his strings he cocks his head at Eddie, who’s washing the tomatoes carefully, as he usually does. Richie often makes fun of him for it, asking “are you washing that tomato or giving it the full beauty treatment, Eds?” but Eddie insists that if the tomatoes aren’t washed for long enough he can taste the pesticides. Richie does not have that same problem but whenever he’s washing produce he always finds himself taking a little longer than he would when he was single. Anything for the man he loves. 

“If I’m Mr. Burns, does that make you his anal retentive assistant? I always thought those two were fucking.” Eddie shakes his head, his hands over his face. 

“My GOD, the things you think about.” Richie laughs.

“I mean, to be fair, I can’t think about you all the time, Eds.” 

“Liar.” He has a point.

“Call me out, why don’t you, Spaghetti Man?” Eddie smirks. 

“I think that’s part of my job description, or didn’t you hear that part in our wedding vows?” Richie shrugs and gets the box of pasta out of the pantry, saying

“I was probably crying too hard to hear that part.” He’s not exaggerating, he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing like a baby during the ceremony and a little before and after too, if he’s being honest. Eddie certainly wasn’t stonefaced, but Richie was a fucking faucet.

“Good, then you didn’t hear all the sappy stuff I was saying.” Richie snorts fondly.

“No, that I heard. I have a sap detector, Eds, I’m like a woodpecker.” He makes obnoxious and ornithologically incorrect (Stan would have his head) slurping noises and Eddie shakes his head, getting out a cutting board.

“You idiot, woodpeckers eat bugs, not sap.” Richie grins.

“Not even for dessert? A nice sweet syrup to go with the grubs?” Eddie makes a face.

“Gross, don’t talk about grubs while we’re making food, also, what’s the matter with you, you used the word ‘woodpecker’ and didn’t make a single dick joke, are you feeling okay?” Richie looks ashamed.

“My God, you’re right. I must be losing my touch.” Eddie grins and puts the knife and tomato he was holding down, walking over to Richie and wiping his fingers on his apron. Richie starts to protest that Eddie should wipe his sticky mitts on his own damn apron but before he can, Eddie’s arms are around his neck and he’s whispering in Richie’s ear 

“Let’s hope not, I want you to be able to feel this.” Before Richie can even process the mediocre pun, Eddie’s mouth is on his and he forgets the whole world. He bends his knees and Eddie wraps his legs around Richie’s waist. For someone with ‘noodle arms,’ Richie is surprisingly capable when it comes to lifting his husband, and for someone who’s so sensitive about his height, Eddie sure likes it. They stay like this for… well. Richie doesn’t know, he’s not exactly paying attention to time. He wants to fucking savor this. Eddie, however, is paying attention to their surroundings and pulls away first, lowering himself back down to the ground, murmuring 

“Rich, the pasta is about to boil.” Richie chuckles, not letting go yet.

“Is that an euphemism, Spaghetti Man?” Eddie huffs and shakes his head but kisses his nose sweetly before he completely leaves Richie’s arms, going back to his tomatoes. 

Richie’s stirring the indeed boiling pasta when he hears 

“Ouch!” behind him. He turns around but Eddie’s back is to him.

“Eds? You okay?” Eddie turns around, blood streaming down his finger. 

“Richie, I’m hurt.” His voice is pitiful, more wounded than the situation calls for and Richie’s veins are suddenly tense and freezing. His voice and hands shake as he says

“No… no you’re not, Eds, you’re fine.” Eddie’s brow furrows as he looks at his finger, then at Richie. The blood has vanished, both on Eddie’s finger and on the knife. There’s no gash anymore. Eddie shakes his head, his brows unfurrowing and his post make-out smile coming back.

“Oh, you’re right. Silly me.” He shakes his head like he’s resetting and picks up the knife again. Richie steps up behind him, laying his hand on Eddie’s. 

“Eds, why don’t you let me do this, I think the pasta needs your special touch, after all, you are the spaghetti expert.” Eddie rolls his eyes but lets Richie take over his tomatoes, though not before giving him very specific instructions on how to properly slice them. 

The Losers get there right when the sauce is done bubbling, Bill and Mike coming in first, then Bev and Ben. Stan and Patty are nowhere to be seen, but Richie figures they’ll be coming later. Maybe there were cool looking birds to distract them on the way over. That’s probably it. He means to ask Eddie if they’re indeed coming but before he can pull him aside, they’re all sitting down to dinner. Maybe Patty doesn’t feel well, she is pregnant, after all. He puts it out of his mind and enjoys the pasta. Well. As much as he can. The sauce is a little too red, making him think about earlier, when the tomato board was stained with the red of Eddie’s blood. After dinner everyone sits on the couch, drinking wine. Richie’s glad he begged convinced Eddie to get the extra long one. Bev sits with her head on Ben’s shoulder and Eddie’s feet are in Richie’s lap. Bill and Mike are holding hands, Mike’s engagement ring glinting in the lamplight. 

“So how’s married life, Mr. and Mr. Kasprak? Or is it Mr. and Mr. Tozier?” Bev’s smile is bright as she plays with Ben’s hair and sips her drink. Richie answers

“Mr. and Mr. Kaspbrak-Tozier, actually, and I don’t want to speak for Eddie, but I think it’s been great.” Eddie nods agreeably and Bev mock gasps. 

“Wow Eddie, how did you convince this egomaniac to let you put his name first?” Eddie chuckles while Richie protests this slander to his character. 

“It was actually his idea, we thought it just had a better ring to it.” Richie changes the subject, asking 

“So Bill, how’s the book going?” Bill grunts and then sighs. Mike pipes up, quipping, 

“As you can see, it’s going great.” They all laugh, even Bill, who adds

“I’m just having a little writer's block, I feel like I just have to scrub the slate clean and start over.” Richie winces then stretches his legs, gently moving Eddie’s legs off his lap. 

“Oof, I’m sorry man. Also, speaking of scrubbing, I’m just going to do some dishes real quick, please, don’t talk about me too much.” Bev scoffs then also stands. 

“I’ll join you, Trashmouth, I’d rather talk to you than about you.” Richie pinches her cheek and coos 

“Aww Molly Ringwald, you’re so good to me.” She giggles and follows him to the kitchen, Bill saying good naturedly 

“Watch out Eddie, she’s going to take your man!” 

Once they’re in the kitchen, Richie goes to the sink and wets a sponge while Bev grabs the dinner dishes Eddie had stacked on the counter and starts handing them to him. Richie has the water running when he decides to make conversation. 

“So, why don’t you think Stan’s here? Do you think Patty’s feeling well?” He turns around when he hears the shattering of ceramic. He whirls around and sees that Bev’s dropped the plate she was about to hand him. Her face is pale and Richie’s scared. “What is it?!” She licks her lips then answers in a small voice, 

“Richie… Stan’s dead.” What. The. Fuck.

“What? No he’s not, Bev, what the fuck? Why would you say that? He was at the wedding, with Patty!” She shakes her head, not picking up any more dishes, thank goodness. 

“Honey… no. He died a long time ago, don’t you remember?” Richie’s dumbstruck. 

“But… but… what about the baby? What is Patty going to do?” Bev looks confused and scared and so, so pale. 

“Richie… Patty’s not pregnant. Stan committed suicide months ago and we haven’t even seen him since we were kids. We never even met Patty.” No. She’s wrong. They literally all moved here to be here together. He remembers Stan, remembers Patty being at the reunion. His head hurts. Why can’t he picture Stan’s adult face all of a sudden? Why… 

“You’re wrong, Bev. You’re wrong and you have to go now.” His voice is harsh and dead, but calm. So calm. He turns around, trying not to cry, trying not to scream. He doesn’t want the others to know. Do they already know? Does Eddie know? Have they just been keeping this from him? No. Bev is the delusional one here. She needs to leave. 

“Richie.” He turns around quickly, wild eyed, his voice stern and commanding.

“You have to go now, Bev.” He faces the sink again before she vanishes, watching her reflection in the window dissipate. 

Just then, Eddie's reflection walks in, holding the landline. Richie hadn't even heard the phone ring.

“Hey Rich, Marty just invited us over for tea tomorrow-” he looks around the kitchen. “Hey, where’s Bev?” Richie doesn’t turn around as he answers gravely, hands shaking on the sink. 

“She went home.” Eddie sounds bewildered but still good natured as he says

“But… I didn’t see her go out the front door and Ben’s still here...” Richie turns around, fire in his eyes, every muscle in his body tight as he snaps

“I said she went home, Eddie.” Eddie shrinks back and Richie exhales. Fuck. “I’m… I’m sorry. Bev and I had a little argument, that was all, but I shouldn’t take it out on you, Eds, that’s not fair.” Eddie nods, his eyes still a little big. Richie doesn’t yell. If anything, Eddie’s the yeller in the relationship. It’s their balance, Eddie’s snippy, Richie jokes to the point of aggravation. He needs to play his part. “Tea, you said? Jolly good, ol’ chap!” Eddie nods, his body language relaxing at Richie’s silly British accent but his voice more meek than usual as he says

“Yeah. Marty invited us over, that okay for tomorrow?” Richie feels so tired all of a sudden, like he can feel the bags under his eyes but he attempts to be chipper and soft when he answers 

“Yeah, Eds, whatever you want.”

Chapter Text

Richie still feels vaguely tired the next day when he and Eddie walk across the street to Marty’s house. They’re a few minutes early, because after Eddie was finished debating what they should wear and if they should bring something he decided it would be even worse to show up late than empty handed. Richie honestly isn’t even sure if he wants to go, he kind of just wants to take Eddie back to bed and just hold him in his arms. But he also knows Eddie is excited and Marty did seem nice the other day. Maybe this could be a normal day. A pleasant day. Then tomorrow he and Eddie can cuddle all they want, make a cave out of their duvet like they’re little kids again. Richie uses this lovely thought to motivate him out of the house, holding Eddie’s hand all the way. 

Marty opens the door wearing the same thing he was when they first met. Richie thinks this is a little odd but hey, who is he to judge? If it wasn’t for Eddie, he would probably be wearing the same Hawaiian shirt day in and day out, only stopping when it was too pungent even for him. It’s not laziness or poor hygiene, he just… really likes that shirt. He used to do that as a kid too, most kids do, wearing their favorite outfit every day or their Halloween costume all year. Eddie had those red shorts and that fanny pack, though the fanny pack wasn’t exactly a fashion accessory. At least that’s what Eddie said, sounding more like a teacher lecturing a classroom than Richie’s actual teachers did. “It’s a medical necessity, not a fashion statement, Trashmouth!” he would say when Richie would ask him “hey Eds, didn’t I see that classy kangaroo pouch in this year’s Vogue? ” Richie’s not even sure if he knew what Vogue was, it was just something he would overhear the popular girls talking about in the hallway before their boyfriends shoved his head into a locker… while it was still closed. Fun times. 

Marty invites them in while Richie is still reminiscing, waving them into a house smaller than theirs. It’s sparsely decorated in shades of brown and green and moving boxes are still discreetly stacked in a few of the corners. The long entrance hall leads to a fork where to the left is a small living room and to the right is a kitchen. The walls are an eggshell white and the ceiling seems almost domed, like a cave or a shell. Something in Richie’s brain is twitching, behind his eye, like a pulsing headache. He rubs his eye and Eddie puts his hand on his arm, asking what's wrong without words. Richie shakes his head and they follow Marty to the couch in the little living room and sit down, Marty heading to the kitchen to get the tea. He comes back into the living room with a little wooden tray holding three cups and a plate of cookies. He puts this on the little table in front of the couch then shuffles back to the kitchen to get an already steaming tea pot. He’s not as slow as he was crossing the street but he’s also not moving very quickly and Richie pipes up. He wants to go back home. 

“Marty, can I help with anything?” Marty waves his hand. 

“No, no, I’ve got this, you and your husband relax.” He eventually procures the teapot and returns, adding the hot water to the cups, tea bags already in place. He explains as he does so, looking apologetic, “I’m sorry to not give you options, I’m afraid I only have green.” Fitting , Richie thinks as he sips, matches everything else in here . All of a sudden his voice isn’t the only one in his head as Marty’s reply echoes in his brain even though the old man’s lips aren’t moving and Eddie doesn’t seem to hear him. 

“ I’m glad you like my theme, Mr. Tozier.” Richie puts down his cup quickly. What kind of fast acting hallucinogens are in this shit? “ There’s nothing in the tea, Mr. Tozier, I’m sorry I alarmed you.” Richie mentally replies, still watching Eddie, who’s sipping his tea and looking around the room.

“ No shit you alarmed me, how the fuck are you doing this?” Marty smiles. 

“All in due time, Mr. Tozier. In the meantime, let’s not leave your husband out of the loop, I think he’s about to speak.” Richie still doesn’t pick his tea up, which is probably the wise move, as it’s likely he would have dropped it as Eddie indeed speaks, turning to Marty.

“Marty, your home is really nice, I’d love to hear the stories behind some of these pictures.” He’s pointing to the framed black and white photos on the walls. Richie examines them, noticing most of them are of children which makes his skin crawl, is this guy some kind of creep or does he just have a ton of kids and grand-kids? He decides that the latter is more likely, as one is of a man in his early 20’s and another of a curly haired man in his 40’s. Must be his son, his grandson and a ton of great-grand-kids, this guy is like 80. He turns back to Marty, expecting that answer but Marty just smiles, replying

“Maybe later, Edward-” Eddie interrupts, saying 

“Marty, please, call me Eddie.” Marty nods and continues. 

“Eddie, but now I want to hear about you two, how long have you been married?” Richie lets Eddie answer, he’s not sure if he wants to talk to this guy, he creeps him out, his head is throbbing and he might be going insane. He wants to go home. 

“Oh only a few days.” Marty nods and follows up quickly, probably to deflect Eddie from asking about the pictures again, Richie thinks. 

“How long have you been together?” Eddie answers again, smiling like he does when he talks about him and Richie. 

“2 years. So-” Marty interrupts. 

“How did you meet?” Richie cuts in.

“Hey Marty, what’s with the inquisition? We promise we’re married, not living in sin or anything, if that’s what you’re so worried about.” He knows he’s being a dick to a nice old man but asking about his relationship but right now he doesn’t give a shit. Eddie elbows him while Marty just replies 

“I’m sorry if it feels like I’m prying, Mr. Tozier, I was just curious, please forgive me.” Richie stands up quickly, his voice low and stern. 

“I told you before. It’s Kaspbrak- Tozier. You know what, Eds? I feel sick, I think it’s time for us to go.” Marty doesn’t say anything or try to stop them as Richie leaves and Eddie chases after him.

He expects Eddie will start to yell at him when they get home and close the door. He feels the hanging expectation of this in the air like he’s a child who knows he misbehaved and is waiting for his parents to scold him when the guests go home. He stands there in their living room waiting for Eddie to ask him “what the fuck was that, dickwad?” Or something like that. Something so Eddie. Instead Eddie just stands there limply, almost like he’s mimicking Richie. Then he slowly walks over and puts his arms around Richie’s waist, holding him tight, rubbing his back. It feels comforting, understanding, loving. Richie’s eyes well up, even though his headache is gone. It feels… so right, but… 

Why does it also feel Just. So. Wrong.

Chapter Text

Richie wakes up to the doorbell ringing, high and long. He looks over at Eddie, who’s still curled into his chest like he was when they fell asleep last night. Normally Richie would wake Eddie up, get him to accompany him to the door. But with everything that’s been happening lately… maybe Richie should go alone. It’s not that he wants to keep Eddie sheltered in the dark, fuck, Richie probably should be talking to his husband about everything that’s been going on but… his mind goes to yesterday, with Marty talking specifically in Richie’s head, not wanting Eddie to know. It goes to Eddie during the Scrabble game, impaled and dying. Whatever’s going on… what if something’s the matter with Eddie? Besides, even to Eddie, Richie would sound absolutely off his rocker if he told him that he was hearing voices and seeing his husband dead. 

He gently moves Eddie’s head off of him before he softly lowers his feet to the floor, quietly walking to the front door and looking out the peephole. There’s a man there, he looks to be about Richie’s age. He’s a larger man, solid, with a short brown haircut and a brown and bushy mustache. He’s tugging on his ear as he rings the doorbell and Richie looks behind his shoulder as the noise sounds throughout the house and he opens the door.

“Shh man, what the hell? It’s 8:00 AM, my husband’s asleep!” The man looks guilty, still tugging on his ear as he quietly says

“Sorry, Richie.” Richie narrows his eyes. 

“How did you know my name? Whatever list you have me on, please, take me off, I just want to go back to bed.” The man grins ruefully. 

“Don’t you recognize me, Trashmouth?” Just then, there’s a flash of yellow, flying from one of the bushes in Richie’s yard. The man’s eyes follow it as he remarks “Oh look, a yellow bellied sapsucker!” Richie’s eyes widen. 

“Stan?” The man turns his head back to Richie and nods. Richie lets out a laugh and envelops him in a hug, crowing quietly into this shoulder

“I knew it, I knew you were alive!” Then he pulls back to look at him, demanding, 

“You bastard, why didn’t you come over yesterday? Didn’t Eddie invite you?” Stan looks a little confused. 

“Ah sorry, we… couldn’t make it. Wait, why was Eddie inviting people over to your house? Are you guys roommates?” Richie’s heart sinks. 

“No… we’re… married… you and Patty were at the wedding. Stan, are you feeling okay? Do you have sympathetic baby brain or something?” Stan makes a noise and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, yeah that must be it, sorry.”

His eyes shift from side to side, making Richie feel nervous. 

“Stan. What’s going on, man? You’re freaking me out.” Stan meets his eye contact and swallows. 

“Rich… you have to stop now.” Richie’s so confused. He laughs nervously. 

“Stan, what are you talking about? Stop what?” Stan sighs. 

“You need to snap out of it, man. This isn’t real. None of it’s real, but you know that, don’t you, Rich. You’ve known that all along. That’s how you healed Eddie’s finger, that’s why you made Bev disappear, that’s why I’m here. I mean, look at me, Rich. Look your best friend in the eye and tell me why you didn’t recognize me immediately.” Richie’s jaw is sore, it's clenched so tightly. His voice is low as he says 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Stan, but I think it’s time for you to leave now.” Stan laughs a little. 

“You can’t make me disappear Rich.” Richie’s gaze is stony as he repeats himself. 

“I said, you need to leave, Stan.” He turns around and goes inside, closing his door, taking a deep breath. This is just a bad dream or something. He’ll wake up and he’ll be spooning Eddie, feeling his chest press against his husband’s back and everything will be okay. 

He looks over his shoulder, out through the peephole. Stan, or whoever this guy is really, is standing there still, examining his nails. Richie feels his blood pressure and fear climb as he wrenches the door back open, demanding 

“I thought I told you to leave.” Stan laughs dryly.

“Believe me Rich, I wish I could. But that won’t work with me, I’m not like the others, you didn’t bring me here.” Richie can’t take it anymore, spitting,

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who brought you here?” Stan is still completely calm as he points behind him towards Marty’s house. 

“He did.”

Chapter Text

Richie pushes Stan out of the way as he storms out of the house, slamming the door. If Eddie wakes up, so be it. Maybe he wants Eddie to wake up, run after him, calm him down, tell him that everything is okay. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Eddie sleep through this, shouldn’t have kept him in the dark. Fuck, didn’t he learn anything from how Eddie’s last marriage went? Keep things from Eddie, things go to shit. Well. It’s too late now. 

Richie pounds on Marty’s door, not caring that he’s still in his pajamas. The door swings open with no one on the other side. Richie storms in, ending up in the living room, seeing that the tea tray from yesterday is still on the table, cups still steaming. Oh what the fuck. His eyes go to the wall of photos, blood going absolutely fucking freezing cold as he spots one he didn’t before, all the way in the corner. A black and white photo of a man wearing a t-shirt and a hoodie, holding what looks like a fence post. He’s scowling and has a bandage on his face and short, dark hair that Richie knows smells like apricots. Eddie. 

Richie loses it. 

“MARTY! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, OLD MAN?” He bellows this down the hallway, not giving a fuck anymore. His headache is back, his eye twitching as his brain pulses.

“ Mr. Tozer, please. There’s no need to shout. I’m here.” Richie spins around like a children’s top but he sees no one. That motherfucker is in his head again. 

“Where? I can’t fucking see you, you coward! What’s the fucking idea, sending a stranger to my house pretending to be my dead friend? Why is my husband’s picture on your wall? What the flying fuck is going on?” 

“Ah, so you accept now that Mr. Uris is deceased. That’s progress.” 

“What? No- I- I didn’t mean to say that, you’re in my fucking head, Stan’s alive! Don’t make me-” 

“What? Make me disappear? I’m afraid that’s not possible Mr. Tozier. You see, I’m here by choice. I’m no mere figment of your imagination. That I know.” Richie can’t stop moving, going to the couch to flip the cushions, like an 80 year old man who moves slower than snot would be curled there like a sleeping cat. He tries to walk down the hall to the other rooms but the hallway seems to keep stretching and stretching and he gets nowhere. “ What we do need to figure out is how you were able to do this. I have a general idea but…” There’s a pop and Marty appears in the living room where Richie has somehow ended up again after giving up on the hallway. “You’re going to have to help me fill in the rest, Mr. Tozier.” Richie doesn’t even care how he appeared like that, he just walks up and grabs the man by the collar, growling

“What are you talking about? Why is my husband on your wall? Why does he look like that ?” Richie uses one of his hands to gesture at his own cheek. Marty smiles sadly. 

“I think you already know, Mr. Tozier.” Richie’s eyes go back to the wall, seeing again the 40 year old curly haired man with wise eyes. Eyes that have been wise since he was 13… Stan. Richie drops Marty’s collar. 

“He’s dead. They’re all… dead.” Richie’s voice is empty. He feels lost and found at the same time. Marty’s expression doesn’t change as he offers Richie his hand, saying 

“Yes… and no. Let’s walk, shall we?” Richie feels drained of life, will and soul as he takes Marty’s hand, following him down the hallway. It doesn’t expand as it did with Richie earlier and soon they come to the first door. Richie waits but Marty doesn’t do anything. He looks down at the man, asking 

“Aren’t you going to open it?” He assumes it needs a key. Marty shakes his head. 

“I cannot.” Richie splutters

“Dude, it’s your house.” Marty smiles. 

“Yes, but Mr. Tozier… it’s your door.” Richie blinks and looks again at the door, now seeing the little plaque that says 

Richard Tozier: Memory ⅓ Oh. Richie reaches out his hand, turning the knob hesitantly. He’s scared to enter, scared of what this will show him but also… What does he even have to lose now? Apparently he’s already lost everything. 

Chapter Text

    Richie’s not sure what he expected from a door marked so oddly and ominously, but it wasn’t this. He turns to Marty asking, 

“What kind of Narnia bullshit is this?” They’re standing in a humongous cavern, all dark and slimy and sharp, pointed rock formations erupting from the floor. The ceiling is endless, bigger than two cathedrals and there’s… a monster. A huge fucking monster, with the face of a deathly white clown, with orange hair and a sadistic smile that’s framed with stripes of blood running up his face. He’s about ten feet tall, with a body that turns from flesh based clown to limbs like those of an insect with claws the world’s biggest crab would envy. He’s terrifying and… he’s not alone. There’s people running around him, a redheaded woman, a man with floppy brown hair, a guy who’s way too built to be cowering behind Bev like he is. Losers. So then… where’s… 

Richie watches remembers Mike being grabbed by Pennywise. Pennywise, the dancing clown. How Mike is lifted to the maw of the monster. How Richie himself runs out armed only with a rock and his mouth. Hears him screaming 

“YIPPEE YI KI YAY MOTHERFUCKER” and sees him pay the price for that, though Mike’s life is spared. Richie feels Marty next to him shift as Richie across the cavern is floating in the air, eyes white and dead in the sun of the deadlights, blood emerging from his nose like he’s in space. Marty says ponderously 

“This is the part I understand. I was here for this part.” Richie stops watching himself drool like a zombie and looks at Marty inquisitively. 

“No offense, Mart, but I’m pretty sure I would have remembered an ancient little man scurrying around this hellhole.” Marty smirks up at him.

“Are you sure? You seem to have blocked this memory pretty well.” Richie shrugs. 

“Touché. So. You were saying?” Marty resumes, still watching the other Richie. He looks like he’s waiting for something, but Richie can’t remember what. He also can’t remember how the fuck he got out of this situation he’s watching. 

“You remember the deadlights?” Richie nods, then shakes his head, hesitating. 

“Well, I remember what they are, I don’t remember what I saw in them if that’s what you mean.” Marty nods and sighs. 

“The deadlights, as you probably remember, are what made that monster, they are responsible for his powers and his hunger. When you… and Ms. Marsh I might add, got trapped in them, you absorbed some of that power- not the hunger, Mr. Tozier, don’t be alarmed. But the power. Ms. Marsh retained hers in the form of dreams, and heightened intuition. I assume that is why she was the only one aware of Mr. Uris’s death in your little world. You, however, being older and having absorbed more… you assumed the potent and dangerous power of projection. Do you remember how… what did you call him? IT?” Richie nods, dumbly, barely processing this. It’s all so insane. “Well. Do you remember how IT was able to create illusions that seemed real? Even to the touch?” Richie nods again. “That’s what you have now, Mr. Tozier.” Richie finds his tongue and speaking capability again, stammering, 

“W-wait. So… if you knew that already… why are we here? Why didn’t you… I don’t know, snap me out of it?” His heart drops. “What are you even snapping me out of? How much of my life is fake now?” Marty looks sad again, telling him 

“... All of it, I’m afraid, Mr. Tozier. But how that is even possible, I don’t know. Even IT was never able to do this, create a whole separate reality, fool even himself… I don’t know how…” There’s a heartbreaking scream across the cavern that makes Richie’s head snap up. What’s even worse though is the begging that follows. 

“NO!! EDDIE!!! GUYS STOP, WE CAN STILL HELP HIM! STOP IT BEN, LET ME FUCKING GO! EDDIE!! EDDIE WAKE UP! WE CAN STILL HELP HIM! PLEASE LET ME GO!” Richie’s hair on his arms stands up and he tries to run, tries to help but there’s something holding his arm. He looks down to see Marty gripping him firmly. 

“Marty let me go, let me go .” He hates how his voice is pleading and breaking, hates how much he’s echoing his other self. Marty shakes his head gravely. 

“What are you going to do, Mr. Tozier? This is just a memory.” This punches Richie in the gut. He can’t… he can’t change it. Eddie is… Eddie dies. But he can’t. Richie just left him sleeping in bed. He just kissed him goodnight, rolling Eddie onto his back, both of them only breaking it off because they were about to drift off. How they were so comfortable in their sweet intimacy, in their knowledge that this one kiss doesn’t need to last forever because they had the rest of their lives together. He looks at Marty again, tears streaming down his face, rehearing what he said before. All of it was fake. Is this his reality then? No wonder he made another world. He feels Marty pulling him back towards the door as the cavern starts falling down, burying Eddie’s body and Richie’s heart along with it. 

Once they’re back in the hallway Richie bends over then falls to his knees, sobbing into his hands. He feels a hand on his back, rubbing softly. He picks his head up in hope. Eddie? Was this just a horrendous nightmare? Is he back in bed? No. It’s just Marty, gently lifting him up to his feet and pointing him to the next door. 

“Marty… I don’t know if I can do this.” Richie’s voice is weak. Marty’s is not when he answers. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Tozier, but you must. I have to see what caused this anomaly.” Richie’s pleading again, not caring how desperate he sounds as he begs 

“But... Why do we have to? Was I hurting anyone? Can’t you... I don’t know, let me stay here?” He whispers his next plea. “ Please let me stay here.”  Marty shakes his head firmly, though not without sympathy in his eyes.

“Mr. Tozier, if that was true, I would have never gotten involved. However this world-” he gestures around them- “is not only not real, it’s not sustainable . You saw how reality was already poking through at times. As strong as this power you have is… this world cannot exist. Now. Come along.” He points to door ⅔. “Next memory, Mr. Tozier.” 

Richie drags himself over to the knob and turns it, walking this time into the Derry Townhouse. Specifically into Eddie’s room. He sees himself again, looking like the absolute shell of a man Richie feels like he is inside now. He’s shockingly showered and changed, wearing a new t-shirt and jeans and present Richie wonders why. If it was him… well. He can’t imagine ever having energy to do something so productive after that loss. But apparently he did.

However when past Richie goes to Eddie’s suitcase and pulls out a sweatshirt before sitting on the bed, present Richie understands. He did it for Eddie. Fuck, he remembers now. This isn’t the moment right after the cavern, everyone else has been gone for days. It took him days to get off of the Inn mattress for more than 5 minutes to eat and piss. To drag his body to the shower and color the water with his filth. He remembers not even daring to think about going into Eddie’s room before he was clean, not wanting to taint Eddie’s things or even Eddie’s memory with anything else associated with that foul cave. With germs. Eddie hated germs.

Past Richie flops gently back on Eddie’s bed, holding Eddie’s sweatshirt over his eyes, though not over his nose, Richie notices. No- he didn’t want to get snot on Eddie’s memory either. He’s not sure how long he lies there, crying into the cotton, before he rolls over to his side and sees the blue fanny pack on Eddie’s bedside table, undisturbed. What the fuck is that? He already found Eddie’s red pack in his suitcase, does Eddie have two? How many bandaids did that fucker need? He sits up slowly, shaking out the hoodie before he slips it on, the sleeves coming up to his forearms. He scoots over on the bed until he can reach the fanny pack then he brings it over to his lap. As he’s grabbing it he realizes that it’s way too light and crinkly to be medical supplies, even for bandaids. He slowly unzips it, and looks inside. They’re letters. 

He flips through the stack until he sees his name because of course they’re addressed to the Losers. He leaves the others in the bag then tosses it aside, he’ll distribute them later.

Rich,

If you’re reading this… I’m dead. Sorry. I know it’s not ideal and it’s probably that fucking clown’s fault. Fuck that guy. 

Richie snorts. God, even in writing, Eddie’s a firecracker. Also, “not ideal??” Understatement much? 

Anyway. I have some loose ends that I have to tie up before I go and if I die like I think I will… well I doubt Mr. Pennywise will give me time to do that, will he? So Rich, I have to tell you something, and I’m being serious. However, as I hear you yelling for me now to “hurry it up Eduardo” maybe I’ll just leave you hanging, you asshole. 

Richie whimpers. “No Eddie, please. Not again.” 

I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t do that to you, how much of a dick do you think I am? But really, it would take too long to put into words so I need you to do something for me, Rich. You remember the kissing bridge? 

Richie nods. 

I’m sure you do, with the amount of girls you bragged about taking there. You always were full of bullshit. Anyway, I need you to go there for me, Rich. There’s a carving I need you to see. A message I need you to deliver for me. It’s the one in the heart, next to the R+E that’s been there forever. I won’t tell you when I did it, but I want you to know it was a long time ago and I meant it… I mean it with all my heart. Can you do that for me, Rich? It’s really important. 

 Richie nods again, whispering to himself, “sure Eds, whatever you want.” 

Oh and Richie? 

“Yeah?” Richie can’t help replying out loud yet again, Eddie writes so much like he talks. 

I fucked your mom. 

There’s no other closing line, no other sign off and as Marty pulls Richie back once more Richie can’t help wondering if what Eddie mumbled to him in the cavern hadn’t just been an inside joke after all… maybe it was a clue. 

Marty doesn’t need to tell him to open the next door, he’s already there. He needs to know what happened. He walks out onto the dusty road next to the kissing bridge railing, looking at all the scrawlings of lovesick kids and adults. He sees himself pull up in that ridiculous douchebag rental car, holding Eddie’s letter and wearing the fanny pack and Eddie’s sweatshirt. He sees past Richie trip on a rock trying to get the bridge as fast as possible. Why didn’t you just park closer, you asshole? Richie may be thinking this to himself but he definitely does it in Eddie’s voice. He walks up behind other Richie, looking for what Eddie was talking about. 

They find it at the same time, the messy heart right next to the equally messy R+E Richie remembers hacking in when he was only 13. 

R.T. 

Richie feels detached from everything. When Marty told him that his world was fake… he assumed that he had imagined the world he wanted. One with no clown, Stan alive, Richie out and happy, Eddie returning his love, all the Losers getting the happy endings he wanted for them. He didn’t realize that some of that might have actually been based in reality. 

Past Richie never seems to have imagined this either because Richie can see the impact hitting him. He knows it’s not just the fact that Eddie loves him too. It’s the combination of that with the fact that Eddie’s gone. That they never got even a smidgen of a happy ending. That’s what’s making his face look like that. That’s causing the pain that’s shooting through his body, destroying him. Ripping him apart. And then… oh what the fuck. 

Richie backs up, pushing Marty back too as his past self’s eyes start to glow like the white light of the sun until they’re nothing but light. His fingertips, the cavity where his heart used to be, his mouth, they’re all shooting blinding light until it takes over his whole body, consuming him. And then… he’s gone, the car still idling, Eddie’s letter drifting away in the breeze. 

Chapter Text

Richie stands in the dusty road of his memory and looks bewildered at Marty, who definitely doesn’t look as confused as Richie is. In fact he looks… satisfied. Pleased, even. He’s about to ask “what the fuck?” But before he can, Marty starts to speak, holding up his hand. 

“I know what happened now, Mr. Tozier. Thank you. Now. This is important. I’m going to explain it all to you just once, as time is of the essence, before any you lose any potential power. Then you’re going to have to help me one more time. Alright?” Richie nods and Marty pulls him back towards the door. 

“Hurry up, I should be in my true form for this conversation, don’t dawdle.” For an old man, he’s fucking strong and soon Richie is back in the hallway. Marty then pulls him to the front door, telling him “go across the street, back to your house but don’t go inside, quickly.” Richie does what he’s told and when he’s on his own front door again he sees Marty’s house start to shake, like a snowglobe being forced to dance. The whole house starts to glow a cold blue light as it shakes and lifts off the ground, legs larger than tree trunks sprouting from the base, the roof hardening and rounding until it’s a smooth shell. The Turtle’s head is the last thing to sprout out a space that used to be a window but is now the curved lip of a Turtle shell. Holy shit. 

The Turtle makes eye contact with him again and Richie can hear him entering his brain. 

“Hello again Mr. Tozier. Let me re-introduce myself. My name is Maturin. I’m sure you have many questions and reactions but there is simply no time. You see, the reason you were able to use the deadlight power inside you in such an impressive way is because of the emotion you felt when you lost Mr. Kaspbrak and what might have been. The deadlights fed off of your desire and your sorrow and helped you create what you wanted. Here is the important part, Mr. Tozier. For centuries I’ve watched the deadlights take the form of IT and destroy children, adults, lives. I’ve never been strong enough to stop them and without their cooperation I was never even able to restore the lives taken, not even when IT was in hibernation. Those pictures you saw, those are all the lives that are still viable, their souls are still in limbo, including Mr. Uris, Mr. Kaspbrak, and all children taken since 1950, provided they were young enough when they were taken. If you help me, Mr. Tozier, if you give me all of the energy you have, all of the energy you absorbed, that will be the piece I need to bring them all back. Can you do that for me?” 

Richie nods, then cocks his head. 

“How?” Maturin pauses. 

“You will have to do something incredibly painful, Mr. Tozier.” Richie smirks. 

“Hey, if it brings Eddie and the others back… bring on the thumbscrews, Marty.” Maturin chuckles. 

“No Mr. Tozier, I’m afraid it’s nothing that physical. You just have to say… goodbye.” Richie smiles, not catching on, he’s so full of hope. “To you? I mean, Marty, I know we had fun times but I don’t know if it will be that painfu-” 

“Not to me.” Richie hears his door open behind him and a voice say 

“Rich? What the fuck are you doing out there in your pajamas? Are you trying to catch a cold?” Richie’s heart plummets and he gulps, turning around, instinctively snarking back,

“It’s summer, Eds, pretty sure it’s against the rules to get a cold in summer .” In his head he begs with Maturin “please, anything else. I can’t say good-bye to him again. Not before I can say hello. Please. Anything.” Maturin doesn’t answer and Richie knows in his heart that that’s an answer in and of itself. He takes a deep breath and reaches out for Eddie’s hands, hating how good they feel in his. He clears his throat. “Eddie… I…” He can’t do this. Not when Eddie’s eyes are looking at him like that. Oh the love in Eddie’s eyes. Who’s to say that the real Eddie will look at him like that? Besides, this Eddie is the one who’s been there for him, who he built a life with, who pushed him back every night on the bed and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. Who actually said the words “I love you” to him every day for 2 years, both of them regretting the fact that they hadn’t been saying it for 27. But... he has to do this. There's no other choice. “Eddie… I love you.” He feels something inside of his brain start to burn. Eddie looks confused. 

“I love you too, Rich, what’s the matter?” Richie’s crying, and the tears are burning too, just like his brain. He can see them falling, little sparks on the pavement. Eddie tries to brush them away but whips back his hand, burnt. “Ouch! Richie, that hurt!” Richie’s heart starts to pump a faster beat as he blubbers

“I’m s-s-sorry Eddie, I didn’t m-m-mean t-to!” He feels like a toddler. Eddie stops glaring at his singed fingers to look alarmed at Richie’s reaction and apology. 

“Rich, honey, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.” That hits Richie in the stomach like a dagger and his fingers start to tingle. 

“Eddie, I have to- I have to. I have to let you go.” Eddie’s brow creases. 

“What? Richie… I don’t understand, don’t you love me? You just said-" Richie’s eye’s start to burn more as his vision is slowly precluded, his chest feels so tight. 

“Yes Eds, of course I do, I’m sorry, please forgive me.” He hears Eddie whisper

“Please don’t leave me alone.” His head is so full, Eddie's words are the last drop in the bathtub and it all overflows. BEN LET ME GO, HE CAN’T BE ALONE DOWN HERE, WE CAN STILL GET HIM OUT, LET ME GO, LET ME GO, WE CAN STILL HELP HIM! 

Eddie. Alone, crumpled, broken. Dead. Eddie, victorious, then speared. Blood on Richie's glasses that even a lakeful of water won't scrub off. Eddie now, crying, begging Richie not to go. "Please don't leave me alone." 

Richie Snaps. 

Chapter Text

Richie comes to on his back next to the kissing bridge, car still idling, paper still floating in the air. He reaches up and grabs it without moving, the paper meeting his hand midair like it was waiting for him to be there to catch it. Eddie’s words are gone, the paper reading 

Mr. Tozier. 

Thank you. Derry has been set in balance once more because of you. You have been drained of all residual deadlight energy and all the salvageable victims are back where they should be, with their families or in a safe space until they can adjust. You may want to contact Mr. Denbrough and inform him that the 34 year old man on his front porch is indeed his brother, he’s hyperventilating. However before you do, I would suggest getting in your car and heading to the Townhouse. There is someone waiting for you and he’s rather annoyed about it.

Forever grateful,

Maturin 

Richie bolts upright before he’s even finished reading, dropping the paper, which blows away once more. He scrambles to his feet and stumbles quickly to his car, looking like the world’s speediest drunk. He grabs his phone from the seat next to him and clicks Bill’s contact while buckling his seatbelt. 

Big Dick Tozier: Bill, stop freaking out, it’s really Georgie and I’ll explain l8r 

He throws his phone back where it was and puts his foot on the gas, heading towards his future. 

When he gets to the townhouse he barely makes sure he’s turned off the car, and he tries to get out without even unbuckling his seatbelt. Turns out, he doesn’t need to, because before he can move any more he hears pounding feet and someone is wrenching open his car door and unbuckling it for him, dragging him out of the car by his shirt. Before he can register anything beyond his feet on the ground and someone’s hand on his collar, there are lips on his and his feet are no longer on the ground, they’re on Cloud 9.

He wraps his arms around Eddie, wondering how the fuck his subconscious guessed what his mouth would taste like, how Eddie would let himself be lifted and cling to Richie’s waist with his thighs. He puts one of his hands on the back of Eddie’s neck as Eddie flicks his tongue against his lips. Richie stumbles at this, and anchors himself by leaning against the car, forgetting the roof is open. He tips backwards and as he’s top heavy with Eddie at the moment he falls all the way backwards, landing in the backseat of his car with Eddie on top of him. He’s not complaining. Eddie is though, of course, sitting up on top of Richie and starting in. 

“Richie, what the fuck? Do you have two left feet? Also, where the fuck were you? Where is everyone?” He shifts and then makes a face. “Are you... wearing a fanny pack?” Richie nods, mumbling 

“Haven’t you heard, Eds? It’s a medical necessity.” Eddie rolls his eyes, and reaches his hand out. Richie somehow maneuvers his hands under him and unclips the pack, handing it to Eddie, who stares at it, the flushed color draining from his face. “Oh. Did I…?” Richie nods again, tears coming to his eyes at the mere broaching of the topic. God, he’s sensitive. Eddie nods back slowly and looks thoughtful, murmuring to himself “well that would explain where you were and why you didn’t freak out when I kissed you… you already knew.” Richie smiles 

“I mean, it’s not like you gave me a chance to freak out, Spaghetti Man, you literally knocked me off my feet!” Eddie glares at him. 

“Excuse you, you knocked your own clumsy ass over-” he pauses, fear coming over his face for a second. “Wait, do you want to freak out?” He starts to get up off of Richie’s lap but Richie reaches up before he can and pulls him back down, saying 

“Fuck no, Eds, get back here. I’ve been in love with you since I was 13. When you died I was so upset I literally created an alternate dimension or some shit like that, I’m a little fuzzy on the details. I gave a Turtle my life force to get you back.” Eddie makes a face. 

“Okay maybe I should be freaking out, I think you hit your head.” Richie laughs, joy building in his stomach. 

“Look, it’s a long story and I’ll tell both you and the others about it later, okay? But right now, Spaghetti…” he takes Eddie’s hand. “Why don’t you tell me why you ran out here like a bat out of hell and kissed the fuck out of me before I get my hopes any higher then they should be.” Eddie blushes and looks off to the side. 

“I… I came to after… well I guess I died, I don’t remember a lot but… all of a sudden I was in the Townhouse with a giant healed scar on my chest and I was alone and all I could think of was how you, of all people, left without me. And… when I saw your car come back I realized that of course you would never just leave me, no matter what and I just, I couldn’t hold it in anymore, Rich. I love you too.” Richie can’t speak, can’t do anything, he’s just really, really overwhelmed right now. He’s got Eddie back. His Eddie, the real Eddie, his dream Eddie, the Eddie who loves him, all of them. They’re all there, contained in this feisty little man straddling his lap in a fucking rental car while Richie cries into his own hands. He doesn’t stop crying until Eddie does something that surprises him, enough to cut off the flow. He nudges Richie’s knees down so his legs are straight and he’s got his back pushed up against the car, leaving a triangle of space behind his back. Eddie then tosses the fanny pack to the car floor and lies down on top of Richie once more,one of his legs over Richie’s lap and one foot planted on the floor. He wraps his arms around Richie’s waist, hands landing right in that triangle of space and pushes his head against Richie’s chest. Oh. Richie takes his hands away from his sticky face to hesitantly put his arms around Eddie’s back, holding him tight and pushing his face into his hair. 

"Hey Rich, can I say something super weird?" 

"Yeah Eds?" 

"...You smell like home."