Whumptober 2020|| Reddie

19. Exhaustion

     Richie's eyelids drooped, his head resting on his hand as he fought to stay awake. Bev was chasing Bill across the basement, yelling at him to give her back her pack of cigarettes or suffer her wrath. The others watched with half-amused, half-scared-for-Bill's-life expressions.

     Eddie glanced over at him, then settled himself on top of Richie's knees. "You look like shit."

     "That's not what your mom said last night, Eds," Richie responded, poking Eddie's cheek. But he knew Eddie was right- the bags under his eyes were so deep that they looked more like bruises.

     Richie wasn't sure exactly when he'd last gotten a decent night's sleep. Ever since Pennywise, his brain seemed to form some sort of mental block from sleep. He knew that on the rare occasion he could fall asleep, he had nightmares, but he couldn't remember them- and maybe that was for the best. He'd either stare at the black ceiling, thudding his fingers on his chest, or sneak out and walk around town. He couldn't tell Eddie any of this, so he just fell back onto the couch.

     Even though he had no idea what the nightmares were about,

     (but he knew well enough)

     he had vague memories of laying in bed, terrified and sweaty, as the images faded from his mind.

     Besides, who needed sleep, anyway? He could live off of coffee and Red Bulls, and that was just what he intended to do.

     "C'mon!" Eddie cried suddenly, pulling Richie to his feet and snapping him out of his reverie. The losers were all tackling Bill and Bev, probably to prevent a murder.

     "Gah! Ben, you're going to suffocate me-"

     "Eddie, you're so tiny, how are you so strong-"

     "Give me my fucking cigarettes, William Denbrough-"

     Richie watched with some amusement. "Careful, Haystack, you might squish Eds. Oh, and Stanny and Beaverly, but you can have them."

     Eddie rolled his eyes, extracting himself from the others. "You okay, Trashmouth? You've been in a daze all afternoon."

     "Nah, Eds, I'm fine. Just not interested in joining your group orgy, your mother would be so disappointed."

     Eddie tackled him, yelling, "Beep fucking beep, asshole!" He settled himself back on top of Richie, glaring triumphantly down at him.

     "Spaghetti Man, you're gonna give me a boner if you keep laying on me," Richie said, half-asleep. "Have pity on your poor Trashmouth friend."

     Eddie flushed a bright pink. "Idiot," he mumbled, his face brighter than Beverly's hair.

     "God, the sexual tension between you two is so hecking thick down here," Stan said, ignoring Eddie's splutters of protest. "Let's go to the Aladdin or something."

     The others shrugged in agreement (Eddie still blushing furiously) and stood up. Richie did too, tripping over his feet.

     "What the fuck, are you drunk?" Eddie hissed as Richie unconsciously walked sideways.

     "Nope," Richie said, yawning.

     "Well then fucking walk straight, stop running into me!" Eddie shoved him lightly.

     "How can I walk straight when I'm gay?" Richie was tired enough that the minimal filter on his thoughts turning into words had vanished entirely. Eddie just rolled his eyes again.

     The blinding sunlight seemed to sear Richie's eyes as they emerged outside. He recoiled. "Gah, why 's ev'rything so f'cking bright?" Rather than waking him up, the relentless late afternoon sun just reminded him of how tired he was.

     Richie's very core was lethargic and exhausted; he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to resist the urge to just keel over and take a 27 year nap, Pennywise style.

     "Richie," Eddie said slowly, a bit too much shrewdness in his gaze. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

     Richie avoided his gaze sheepishly. "Uh," he said (extremely eloquently), knees feeling as though they would buckle at any moment.

     Stan glanced at him in exasperation. "Richie, first of all, why the fuck-"

     "I'm not tired!" Richie said unconvincingly, listing to the side. Eddie steadied him.

     "I'm sure you're not," Eddie agreed sarcastically. "But you should probably get some sleep. For fuck's sake, Richie, you look like a truck ran over you."

     "'M fine-" Richie tried to walk again, but ended up tripping over himself. He would've fallen onto the hard cement had Eddie not caught him.

     Richie, still fighting sleep, felt a wave of exhaustion rush over him. But with the memories of the nightmares fresh in his mind, he pinched himself hard to keep from passing out. Eddie swatted at his hand, still struggling to carry him.

     Richie had a dim impression of being carried until finally, Eddie said, "Okay, I can take care of him from here, you guys don't have to stay."

     The creak of a door opening, the sensation of stumbling up stairs, then Richie was set gently in what he recognized as his bed. He heard familiar light breathing and the trigger of an aspirator.

     "Noooo . . ." Richie mumbled, reaching out as Eddie straightened up. "Edssssssss . . . don' go."

     (don't leave me don't leave me out of the blue and into the black don't leave me where my nightmares can reach us)

     Eddie kneeled down beside his bed. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep," he promised, his cool fingertips dancing across Richie's forehead. Richie relaxed slightly, letting out a little sigh.

     Brushing Richie's dark, wild curls out of his face, Eddie leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Now go to bed, Chee," he whispered, smiling slightly.

     And at last, at long last, Richie allowed himself to be swept into the gentle currents of sleep.