Chapter Text
“I think that guy was flirting with you, Bev.”
Smoke curled into the New Mexico night sky; Beverly Marsh rolled her eyes and tossed her cigarette off the side of the pickup truck.
“He was not flirting with me,” she said, “but thank you.” She lay sprawled out in the back, pillowing her head on her arms and looking up at the stars.
Eddie Kaspbrak, in contrast, was sitting up, glaring down at Bev with his legs out long. “Come on, Bev,” Eddie said. “Did you hear him? He literally asked if you came here often. We’re in the desert!”
“I think he just wanted to know if I liked stargazing,” Bev said dryly, and patted the pillow behind Eddie. “Come on. You’re missing out.”
“It’s not like the stars go away,” Eddie grumbled, but lay down all the same, back stiff against the metal. “It is beautiful,” Eddie said quietly.
“Yeah,” said Bev.
“So that’s the Big Dipper, but everyone knows that one. Over there you can see Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, and that spark over there—I believe that is Venus.”
“Wow,” said Bill Denbrough, eyes wide and lit up. He scribbled something in the notebook he had on his lap, then looked up at Mike Hanlon. They were sat on two lawn chairs on top of a small, squat building, looking up at the night sky. “What else?”
“Well, there are a lot more constellations,” said Mike. “I’ve got a book of them somewhere downstairs—I can lend it to you, if you’d like.”
“That would b-be amazing,” Bill said. “God, I f-f-feel like I’m j-just in your way—thank you for letting me shadow y-y-you.”
“I‘m happy to,” said Mike. “Really, it’s my pleasure. It’s not often that I get to ramble and people want to listen.” He grinned at the last.
“R-r-really? I think it’s great.” Bill looked over his notebook page, covered in his messy scrawl. “This’ll be so helpful for the b-book.”
“I’m glad I could help, then.” Bill smiled at Mike, then looked up at the sky. A cool breeze blew through the night air.
“It’s nice tonight,” murmured Mike, and closed his eyes.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Stanley Uris asked his wife, Patty.
“I’m fine, Stanley,” she replied as the car idled behind her. “They just need me for a few days. I’ll be back out here before you know it.”
“I can come with you,” Stan said for the fifth time that night. “Vacation isn’t as important as you.”
“I know, babylove,” Patty said, smiling and rubbing his arm. “But I don’t want our vacation wasted on work. And like I said, it’ll be over before you know it.” Stan continued to wear his slight, perennial frown, and Patty sighed, still fond. “Stanley, promise me you’ll try to relax, okay? I’ll text you every step of the way, but please don’t worry about me. Look at the stars! It’s what we came out here for, right? To relax!”
“I know,” Stan mumbled, and Patty leaned in for a kiss.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too.” Patty smiled and gave him one more kiss on the cheek before climbing into the taxi she’d called. She gave him a wave through the tinted window, and he waved back as the taxi pulled out into the desert. He walked back into the Airbnb, pulling out his phone and texting, Miss you already. Then he slipped it into his pocket and stepped onto the back porch. A cup of tea, still steaming, lay on the side table next to a chair; Stan sat down and grabbed the handle, gently sipping. The night sky was beautiful tonight; perhaps he would fall asleep. He set his mug down and settled in.
Far out in space, something was happening—changing. While Eddie and Beverly considered love, while Mike and Bill studied the stars, while Stan drifted off, something gleamed in the sky. It sparked, on and off, too far away to discern color, until its light held steady in the sky. Mike frowned and squinted as it grew bigger and brighter, and...louder—there was a faint rushing sound, increasing in volume every second. Something was coming.
“Bill,” said Mike, jostling his arm. “Bill, Bill—”
“What is that,” muttered Eddie as Bev sat up in the truck.
Stan shuffled and cracked his eyes open, squinting into the horizon for whatever was making that noise.
“Oh my god,” said Bill.
BOOM.
A tunnel of light, bright colors and painful sound, plummeted down onto the earth. The desert sand was blown away as it burned the ground beneath it, sending a strong shockwave all around it. Eddie and Bev shielded their eyes, Bev holding up an elbow while Eddie squeezed his shut. A forceful wind followed, rushing past Eddie’s ears before beginning to settle. Eddie slowly opened his eyes.
The tunnel had disappeared, the night as dark as ever. Now that Eddie had been exposed to such a bright light, his eyes weren’t used to the dark—but he thought he could see something out there. A figure.
Eddie fumbled in his jacket pockets for his phone, cursing when he remembered it was on his seat. Bev’s hand suddenly rested on his arm; he looked at her, and she shook her head. Eddie looked back at the desert. Something was walking. Eddie could hear the crunch of sand under its feet. Their feet—humanoid feet. Eddie’s mind raced; what was out there? What could possibly be out there?
And then a light flared to life.
Standing there, in the desert, was a man. He was tall, White, with thick black glasses framing his face—and, bizarrely, a huge golden headpiece. It followed the lines of his face, stopping at his chin, and oppositely stretching up above his forehead. Two prongs, almost like the horns of a deer, curved out from the top part; shaggy brown hair curled away from his head. He wore a dark leather shirt piece and pants to match, the top emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders. A huge, dramatic cape Eddie immediately felt annoyance for flapped in the wind as the man walked towards the truck. And of course, his hands. In his right, the man held a long golden staff with a beautiful, glowing blue jewel in it. Both his hands were long and broad.
The man didn’t even seem to see Bev and Eddie. He was stumbling, Eddie realized, making his way across the sand like he was drunk—or injured. Eddie’s heart pounded hard in his chest, and his cheeks felt hot. The man continued to stagger forward.
As he neared the truck, the scepter in his hand suddenly disappeared in a sprinkle of blue sparks. Eddie and Bev gaped as the man stepped towards them, his eyes heavy-lidded. He was making his way over to the truck, Eddie realized. Eddie’s heart raced as the man rounded in front of the truck, and, with a shock of horror to Eddie, looked Eddie in the eye. He raised two fingers to his forehead and saluted Eddie with a click of his tongue.
Then he collapsed.
You lied to me. You lied to me this whole time! Fuck you…
As Richie’s dream faded away, his eyes slowly blinked open to three faces, staring over him.
“What the fuck?” The people scrambled back as Richie sprang up, hands karate-chop style. “Jesus Christ! Where the fuck did you come from?”
“What? We fucking saved you, man!” It was the short guy in the middle, his own hand chopping through the air. Richie’s knife-hands lowered slightly.
“Huh?” he said. His surroundings began to come into focus as he looked around. “Fuck. Where am I?”
He was in some sort of scientific lab. It looked modern and cold, everything vaguely blue or of that color scale. There were glass windows all around, and some sort of metal table. Richie had never been here before—the cold was beginning to register in him, a good, expensive air conditioner. He lowered his hands fully as he quickly looked at the other inhabitants of the lab; aside from the three people who had bent over him, there were three other people standing at various parts of the lab. None of them looked like scientists.
“You’re in New Mexico,” said the woman to his left. She had short red hair, fluffy around her head, and a pale, angular face, though not in a vampire kind of way.
“Puente Antiguo,” said a man in the corner. He had a tight, drawn look to his face, and was wearing reading glasses.
“Great,” said Richie. “I don’t know where that is.”
“Are you…okay?” said one of the other men. His face swam before Richie.
“I—I don’t know,” Richie said, holding the side of his head. He grasped backwards, eventually grabbing hold of a metal chair, and tried to get ahold of himself. What had happened to him? How had he gotten here?
Odin looked at the floor, good eye toward Richie; his mouth was slightly open. His profile was haloed by the wide wall behind him, gold with concentric circles spreading outward to the opposite walls. There was some pain on Odin’s face Richie couldn’t quite parse through. Guilt? Mourning?
“Richie,” Odin said carefully, and Richie decided that it was regret. He wished he hadn’t looked.
Richie pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut, and tried to breathe. He felt incredibly sick; there was something that wanted to rise up in his chest, and it was either going to be a scream, or vomit.
After a moment (when he felt steadier) Richie opened his eyes. The man who had asked the question had a kind-looking face, though it had a concerned expression on it. He looked rumpled, in a way—in fact, everyone in the room did.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Richie, and rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine.” He looked up at the group. “Where—how did I get here? What happened?”
The red-haired woman glanced at the shorter man (gods, Richie needed to learn names) then stepped forward a little. “You were in the desert,” she explained. “You were walking, and then you collapsed. We just drove you to the nearest building.”
The short man’s eyes, wide and dark, flicked from the woman to Richie. There was something both nervous and angry about them, the contrast between the pupils and the whites. He was holding something back. “And?” Richie asked. The short man looked at him, surprised. Then he swallowed; something like determination came into his dark brow.
“You came out of a column of light,” he said. “I know it sounds like I’m hallucinating, but I’m not, Bev was there to see it and she can tell you. You walked out of a pillar of light that came from the sky. It came out from fucking outer space, man, it had rainbow and light in it and you walked from it—You—you did that, and then you walked towards us, and you fucking—“ the man stopped and then saluted Richie, in the way girls did on tiktok to make fun of pick-me-boys. That sounds about right, thought Richie. The man’s eyes burned. Heimdall, Richie thought, saw all, his eyes were always calm and flat—even with their color, even when he was angry. Richie wondered if Heimdall was watching him now. He hoped not.
“It’s called the Bifrost,” he said finally. A wave of surprise moved through the group, and Richie raised his eyebrows. “What, you didn’t believe him? That’s kind of a dick move.”
“Yeah, it is!” the man said indignantly. Then he seemed to remember himself—Richie watched him temper himself, visibly pull himself back. “Sorry,” the man said.
“No, I just thought you were all friends,” said Richie. The man’s eyes flicked back to him—so fucking intense. Jesus. The feeling tingled up his arms like sparks.
“Wait,” said another man. He had dirty blond and graying hair, and wrinkles cut deep under his eyes. “The Bifrost? Like the N-n-Norse myths?”
“Yeah,” said Richie. “That’s the one.” The group stared at him. Richie sat down into the metal chair he was leaning on and rubbed his face. “Can I just—can we just—who are you? I know I’m not in a position to ask you that, but I just.” When he raised his face from his hands, the tall Black man was casting a glance at the White man with the stutter.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Alright.” He lifted up a broad hand and said, “I’m Mike Hanlon. I’m a historian and amateur astronomer.” He looked at the man with the stutter.
“Bill Denbrough,” he said.
“Beverly Marsh.”
“Stanley Uris.”
“Ben Hanscom. Nice to meet you.”
“Eddie Kaspbrak.” After a moment, he tacked on, “Nice to meet you.”
“And…who are you, sir?” Mike Hanlon asked. Sir, Richie thought incredulously. He looked down at himself. He was still wearing his clothes, the dark leather with accents of gold and green. His cape was gone, now, and so too was his helmet—he was just a man in a chair. He leaned his elbows onto his knees and stared at the floor.
“I’m Richie Tozier,” he said. “But you might know me as Loki.”
The floor was a pale stone tile, sort of bluish in the light. When Richie looked up, some of the faces before him looked pale and shocked—others, including Eddie’s, just looked confused. “Loki— I’m— the god of mischief,” Richie said. “If you look up Loki, that’s what you’ll get. Norse god of trickery. That’s how I’m known.” The group stared at him in silence.
“You’re…a god,” Eddie said finally. “A god from—from Norway?” And gods, in everything that was happening, Richie was grounded by Norway. He snorted.
“No,” he said. “No, it gets more complicated than that. Surprise!” He waved his jazz hands. No one reacted beyond a disgusted look on Eddie’s face. He could count on Eddie. “I am not really…a god,” Richie said. “I mean. I am. I can do magic.” He held out his right hand, and from it, mini fireworks blossomed into sparks. The stutterer—Bill—gasped. Richie looked up quickly and closed his palm. “I—“ he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just a trick. It’s not real.”
“No, no,” Bill said. “It’s fine. S-sorry. Keep g-going.” Richie looked at Bill, then the floor again, clasping and unclasping his hands.
“I can do magic, but I’m not a god. I’m not super strong or smart. I don’t have anything like that. This,” he said, and gestured towards his body, “this is all me. Just, fuckin. Richie Tozier from Maine.” Eddie stared at Richie.
“From Maine?” he said finally. Beverly shushed him, looking worried. If it had been any other person, any other scenario, Richie would have assumed she was worried about him, but he knew she wasn’t.
“Yeah, man,” Richie said. “Derry, Maine. Apparently.” Eddie stared at him.
“I’m from Maine!” he yelled, pointing at himself. Richie felt his eyes widen as he let out a snort, sounding like a fucking donkey. Eddie ignored him, holding out his hands and looking at them with wide eyes. Richie collapsed into laughter, curling into the side of his chair. When his fit eventually stopped, Eddie was glaring at him with a flush to his cheeks.
“Where are you from, man?” Richie asked.
“Bangor,” Eddie said. “How the fuck are you from Maine?”
“Hey, man, you don’t have a fucking claim on Maine!” Richie said, grinning. He knew everyone else was staring at them like they were crazy people, but he didn’t care—he was too busy marveling at his own smile. “Yeah, I—I mean, look. Asgard isn’t a secret hideout in Norway, it’s a—it’s sort of like a planet. But I wasn’t born there. I was born in Maine, and Odin—my dad—found me there and took me to Asgard.”
“Ah, so you’re adopted,” said Mike. Richie pointed a finger gun at him and clicked his tongue.
“Bingo. And that is what I found out last night, which is why I left in a huff, and for me leaving is going to earth, and slamming the door is taking the rainbow portal to other planets, so. Here we are.” The room stared at him with wide eyes. “Everyone caught up?” Richie said, clapping his hands together. “Cool, then I’m gonna go.”
“W-w-wait, wait,” Bill said, holding his hands up. “What?”
“You’re human?” said Bev with a horrified look on her face.
“Wait, wait—wait.” Mike said each of these waits to a different person, fingers up and head bobbing to Bill, Bev, and Richie. “Everybody—stop. Slow down. Richie, please don’t leave yet. I’m sure you’re scared and upset, but please just let us try to help you. We can if you let us know a little more.”
“I’m not scared,” Richie said, like a liar.
“Fine,” said Mike. “Can we ask you some questions?” Richie shrugged.
“It’s your funeral, man,” he said, sitting down. Mike frowned.
“Why is it our funeral?”
“Well my da—Odin is pretty pissed at me. I kinda thought I was doing you a favor, you know, trying to leave the planet.”
“Odin’s coming?” Bill asked, eyes wide. “Are we in danger?”
“I mean, maybe,” Richie said. “Probably. The only thing that's protecting you right now is that he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t want me around—I bet he’s fuckin’ ecstatic I’m out of his hair.” Richie looked at the floor. “But eventually that will all fade—I don’t know when—and soon he’ll just be mad that I left him. He’ll try to pull me back.” Richie’s eyes hurt. He rubbed at them, then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he felt his jaw relax. He’d read that that helped, once, in some article linked from an Instagram post.
“So you would leave your home?” Bev said finally. Richie looked up at her to see some soft pity in her eyes, and looked to Eddie instead. And fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have done that, because in his dark eyes was a deep, intense anger, and Richie couldn’t feel that right now. Richie looked at Mike, was grateful for him: his face was calm but not unfeeling, comforting. His eyes were understanding.
“It’s not my home,” he said. “It’s pretty cool, but it’s not—it’s not where I live. I don’t really live anywhere, I guess.”
“W-wait, I have a question,” said Bill. Mike looked at Richie, who shrugged.
“Go for it, man.”
“Why do you—“ Bill scrunched up his face. “W-why do you s-sound so—normal?” Richie stared at him.
“Uh, thanks?” he said finally.
“Dude, what the fuck,” Eddie said. Bill waved his hands at him, flustered.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I mean, w-why do you talk—like us? L-like a human? Weren’t you r-raised as a g-g-g—god?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Richie. “I was a shitty god. Like, I was really bad at it. Everyone knew it, including me. So I spent as little time on Asgard as possible. Paradise gets old quick when you have imposter syndrome.” Richie grinned, the smile stretching unnatural across his face, then said, “but I guess it’s not imposter syndrome if you’re actually an imposter.”
“Fuck that,” Eddie said suddenly. Richie’s head whipped to him, as did everyone else’s, and Eddie flushed. “Sorry. I—fuck. Fuck, I just—“ Eddie turned and looked directly at Richie. “The—gods sound like stupid—fucking people. Sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” Richie said. “They are.” He scratched his neck. “But, uh, yeah. I went away from Asgard as much as possible. I mostly went here, to Earth, and I learned the—you know. Life. Way of speaking. I liked it better,” he said. The group stared at him. “Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head now. “Is that it? Because, you know—“
“Richie, do you—“ Beverly stopped. Looked at him. “Do you want to leave?”
Richie stared at her for a moment. Then he sort of scoffed. “Do I want to?” he asked. “No, man. I just said—this is—this is the only place I ever liked being.”
“Then don’t leave,” said Bill. Richie looked at him.
“I,” he said. There was the smile again, the uncomfortable one. “Don’t say that, man,” he said.
“Why?” It was—Stan, in the corner. Reading glasses.
“It’s not that simple,” Richie said. “You’re—I’m a danger to you. To the entire planet. This doesn’t make sense.”
“But it’s not fair that you have to leave your home,” said Bill. “You shouldn’t have to leave just because of—“ Bill bit his lip and looked Richie in the eye. “Your p-p-parents.”
After a moment, Richie shrugged. “Should, yeah. What good is that to me?”
“Richie,” said Mike, “Richie, is that what you want to be called?” Richie shrugged. Mike looked him in the eye. “If you want to stay here,” he said, “then we will help you stay here.”
“No you won’t,” Richie replied. Mike looked vaguely surprised.
“We won’t?”
“That’s insane,” Richie said. “That’s a dumbass decision. It would endanger you and you’d get nothing in return. Like, come on, is no one gonna put up a fight to this? Stan—yeah, you. You look responsible. Don’t you think this is dumb?” Stan looked at him calmly. Richie got the impression Stan was the kind of person who always looked calm.
“I think,” said Stan, “that you’re forgetting that we’re human.”
“What?”
Stan looked around, and the rest of the room stared uncomfortably back. “You’re not the only one who had a bad relationship with their parents,” Stan said.
Richie opened his mouth, then closed it. His hand was raised to make some point he couldn’t remember anymore. Bill scratched his neck awkwardly; Mike looked off to the side. Eddie stared determinedly at the floor while Beverly looked at Stan, a furrow in her brow.
“Or with family,” Ben added, as the group looked to him in surprise, “or identity.” He looked at them nervously, then back at Richie. “Richie, we want to help you. Do you want our help?”
Everyone looked at Richie, who swallowed. Their faces were expectant and clean and unfamiliar. And—sad. Hopeful. Some odd mixture of both. Come on.
“Yeah,” Richie said, and somehow, he felt something leave his chest. “I do.”
Mike nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Good. You can stay here with me, if that works with you—this house is way bigger than I need. I don’t know what kind of magic your people have, but we’ll try to hide you as long as we can.”
Richie thought again of Heimdall’s golden eyes and said, “Thanks.”
Then Stanley coughed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. Mike frowned.
“Why not?” Stanley crossed his arms and leaned back on the counter behind him.
“Patty—my wife—and I come here every few years. Every year, we see the same man, named Henry Bowers.” Ben grimaced.
“I know who Stanley’s talking about,” he said. “Yeah, Bowers is a resident.”
Stanley nodded. “He usually stays out of people’s way, sits on the porch and watches the sky, but on our second year coming here Patty and I made the mistake of talking to him. He is insane. He’s racist, sexist, a homophobe and anti-Semite and every other horrible thing you can think of, but that’s not the real problem. The problem is that he is deeply involved in conspiracy theories. He believes in aliens and some sort of deep state, and that the two are somehow connected. He is dangerous. He has broken into people’s houses before because he thought them suspicious. He’s gone to prison for violent felonies. It’s very likely he’s killed someone.” At this, Stan looked at Richie. “If I woke up because of the sound your Bifrost made, there’s a pretty good chance he did, too. He’s got a house on the edge of the desert, so there’s also a chance he saw Eddie and Beverly. Either way, I don’t think it’s safe for you or Mike if you stay here. Find somewhere else. I’d suggest you rent a motel room, but at this late in the night—or early in the morning, I suppose—that will look suspicious, too.”
“Well, he doesn’t have many other options at this point,” Beverly pointed out.
“M-Maybe if we snuck him into the m-motel?” Bill suggested.
“The lights are always on there,” said Ben, “and you have to check in. I think it’s too risky.”
“Is Bowers really that much of a risk?” Beverly asked. “He sounds horrible, but does he pose a real danger to us?”
“At best, he’ll call the police, which is what Richie doesn’t want. At worst, he will break into Mike’s house,” said Stanley. “It’s not safe.”
“Fuck,” said Bill. Mike rubbed his forehead.
“He should stay with me,” Eddie said suddenly. Richie’s head whipped up.
“What?”
Eddie looked determinedly at Richie, though his cheeks were red with a nervous, angry flush.
“You should stay with me. Bev and I haven’t seen or met Bowers. Even though he saw us with you in the truck, he probably doesn’t know what we look like—he might just think we’re government agents, or something. You’re human, so if you dress in normal clothes, it would be believable that you and I are just vacationing together. No one gets hurt—it’s the most logical option.” Richie stared at Eddie, who stared back as his flush grew.
“Where would Beverly stay?” he finally asked. Some sort of silent argument passed between Eddie and Beverly through a look. Richie wondered if he should feel guilty. Finally, Beverly sighed.
“Ben, you’re staying here tonight, right?” Ben blushed.
“Um, yeah,” he said. “The whole week, at least. This is my holiday.”
“Can I stay with you?” she asked. “Just for tonight. I can rent a motel room in the morning, if you want. But if Richie and Eddie leave together and you and I leave together, Bowers might just think we had a party, and someone got drunk.”
“Ah,” Ben said. His face was fully red now. “Yes. Okay, yes. That makes a lot of sense. Yes, sure. Why not?”
“Thanks,” said Beverly. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s no problem,” Ben said. “You can stay as long as you like.” Stanley coughed into his hand; Richie rubbed a smile into his hand.
“Yeah, well, we have the rental for the rest of the summer, so it should be good for at least that long,” Eddie said. “And then…” he trailed off, swallowed. “Well, does that work for you?”
And then… Richie swallowed, too, then gave a shaky grin. “Yeah, I can pencil you in.” Eddie rolled his eyes.
“Let’s, uh, let’s go together, then. So we can make it look real.”
Richie nodded and stood up. The rest of the room stared at him. After a moment, he said, “Well, see you on the other side.” Stan raised his eyebrows and Bill let out a little huff of a laugh. Richie gestured to the door next to him and said to Eddie, “After you.” They filed out of the room together.
They made their way down an empty, nondescript hall and turned to the right, where the back door opened out into what Richie assumed was the desert equivalent of a backyard. The night air was cool as they left the building; Richie wished he had pockets, or something to cover his shoulders. Gods, he missed his cape.
Mike’s was one of the last buildings in the town before the desert began swallowing up land, far and flat in the horizon. Richie turned around and looked at the building. It was huge, glassy and geometric. It was only a floor high, but very wide.
“You coming?” Richie turned back around and saw Eddie waiting at a stoplight.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, uh—is Mike rich?” Eddie raised his eyebrows and looked up at the building.
“I, uh, I think he’s renting it.”
“Oh,” Richie said. “Cool.” They walked down the street together.
“Hey,” Eddie said after a moment. “I have a question. And you don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s cool. Hit me.”
Eddie cast him a strange look, then looked at the sidewalk. The light changed and they crossed the street. “You’re—immortal, right?”
Richie shook his head. “A god would be immortal. I’m a human.”
“So how have you—Loki, I guess—been around so long? To be before, like—Jesus.” Richie snorted, and Eddie said, “It’s true! It’s factually accurate!” as he karate-chopped a hand down. Richie smiled at him, then at the ground.
“Asgard, uh—like I said, it’s a planet but it’s…not.” Eddie frowned at the sidewalk. “Just—bear with me. But at some point in the seventies, my dad, Odin, found me abandoned on Earth, and he took me back to Asgard. Time doesn’t…move the same way there. It’s like—imagine humans are inside a giant lake, and the lake is time, and Asgard is land. Or like, floating above it, I guess. We can enter time whenever we want, but we don’t have to.” Richie cast a glance at Eddie. “Did that…make sense?”
Eddie looked very concentrated, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so.” Richie blinked.
“Really?” Eddie glared at him.
“I’m not dumb, man.” Richie waved his hands, flustered.
“No, no, I—“ Eddie had a twinkle in his eye and wore a small smirk. Richie flushed, thankful for the night. “Jeez. And I thought I was the trickster god,” he said, and Eddie gave a short laugh. “Anyway. So I existed forward and backward and all times, and I still aged at a normal rate. It’s like Asgard’s outside of time, or something. So yeah, technically, I might be infinity years old, or whatever, but in all the ways that matter, I’m about as old as you are—like, forty.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Eddie said. Richie pretended to look offended while Eddie rolled his eyes as he stopped in front of a building. and pulled out a key, fitting it into the door. After a bit of finagling, the door creaked open, and Eddie put the keys in his pocket. The doorway opened up to a small, dark hallway and a staircase lit with a bright fluorescent bulb.
“So this is your rental?” Richie said, looking at the walls as they climbed the stairs.
“Sort of. It’s an AirBnB,” said Eddie.
“Ah.” Eddie cast a look at him. “What?” Richie asked. Eddie turned back quickly.
“I just keep being surprised by how much you know about earth.” He opened the door and Richie raised his eyebrows, letting out a low whistle. Eddie glared at him with a slight blush. “Shut up.”
The living room was huge. It was both long and wide, with a couch that could seat at least six and a flat-screen tv. There was an island behind the couch and a modern, expensive-looking kitchen. It was rather empty in terms of personalization, but Richie guessed that was probably what you wanted out of an AirBnB.
“This is nice,” Richie said. “Like, really nice.” He looked up at the vaulted ceilings and pointed. Eddie rolled his eyes.
“It’s Bev’s friend’s,” he said. “He never uses it, apparently. Anyway, my room’s down there, on the left, and Bev’s is on the right. You should use mine or the couch for tonight—I don’t know if Bev is comfortable with you in her room, but she’d probably be fine with it. Bathroom is at the end of the hall.”
“Cool,” Richie said, still looking around. “Any chance you have, like, a change of clothes?” Eddie looked at Richie—then kept looking at Richie. Richie looked down at himself and laughed a little self-consciously. “What, man? Do I have something on me?”
“No!” Eddie said abruptly. Was he blushing again? Richie really looked down at himself this time—his clothes must be really weird. When he looked back, Eddie’s hands were fists at his side. “Uh, yeah, I don’t know. You’re kind of tall and…big.” Eddie flushed even more. At this point, Richie was too confused to be self-conscious. (Well, maybe not that confused.) “But I should have something!” Eddie continued. “An old t-shirt, or something. Maybe this guy has something lying around. Anyway, yeah, let me look. Excuse me.” And with that incredibly awkward finisher, Eddie walked backward out of the room, doing something that was probably meant to be a wave and was more like a jazz hand. Richie blinked after him as Eddie disappeared into his room and crashed around. Eventually he came back out with a huge Led Zeppelin t-shirt, some flannel pants, and a guilty look. “I’m sorry,” he said as Richie began to laugh. “It’s all I have.”
“No, no man,” Richie said, reaching for them as he giggled. “You’re all good.”
Eddie nodded, his hands in his pockets. “Just, uh, let me know if you need anything else. I’m gonna go to bed.”
“Yeah, man. And, uh, thanks again.” Richie looked at the clothes. “For, uh, for not freaking out. And for taking me in. I really appreciate it. I’ll pay you back somehow.”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” said Eddie, hands out. “Hold on. First of all, I am freaking out.” Richie looked at him. “This is insane,” Eddie said, one hand to his head, eyes wide. “It just hasn’t really hit me yet. But, but—” Eddie waved his hands again. “Forget that. Richie, you don’t have to pay me back!”
What was remarkable, Richie thought, was that Eddie seemed genuinely angry. “You shouldn’t be paying any of us back!” Eddie said, his hand chopping again. “This is, like, a refugee situation! This isn’t a transaction! Who do you think we are?”
“Whoa, no, I—”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, bringing his hands to his face. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little worked up.”
“No, I got that,” Richie said, watching him warily, and Eddie glared at him with no heat.
“Look,” he said. “You don’t owe us anything. That’s not fair, okay? Don’t let people use you like that. I’m helping you because I want to.” Then he looked to the side, a deep crease forming on his face. His hands were fists. “It’s, uh. It’s been a year since my divorce.” Richie’s eyes widened. “Both our divorces,” Eddie said. “Bev and me. I don’t—I don’t want to let you go back to them.”
“Eddie,” Richie said finally. “I—” Eddie looked at him; his eyes were full of sadness and fear. “Thank you,” Richie said. “Thank you.”
After a moment, Eddie gave him a small smile. “Yeah. Of course.” They smiled at each other for a moment. “I’m, uh,” Eddie said, and jerked his thumb behind him. “I’m gonna go to bed. But I meant it, if you need anything, just ask.”
“Yeah! Yeah, of course. I will, Eddie.” Eddie nodded, smiling at the floor.
“Alright. Uh, goodnight, Richie.” Richie smiled as Eddie walked to the bedroom door.
“Goodnight, Eds.” It just slipped out—Richie hadn’t even thought the name before he said it. Eddie looked back at him, surprised.
“Yeah,” he said finally. And then he gave that quirk of a smile again, warm and endearing. “Goodnight.”
The door clicked shut and Richie stood in the living room.
Gods, he was fucked.