a/n: tw: mention of rape and sexual assault. be safe, read with caution.
***
The tension alone is far too thick to breathe in.
The cold air makes it worse, a weight settling in on Richie's throat that closes his windpipe off. The only lifeline he has is the shorter one standing off to the side, his little hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his brown honey eyes darting between the two in front of him.
"Eds," Richie starts out, looking at his lifeline apologetically. He can't do this, he just can't. His knees buckle with anxiety, a pressure building in his sinuses.
"No, no," Eddie shakes his head, taking a shivering breath in, "You guys promised you'd talk."
Henry nods, looking up at the offwhite sky. Winter is like that; cloudy, dark, gray. Monochrome. None of the sunsets like there are in Philly, but Richie is the only one who knows about that.
"Not out here," Henry exhales, retrieving his car keys from his pocket. "Too fuckin' cold."
"Then where?" Eddie scoffs.
Richie's hands twist nervously around themselves, glancing at Silver resting against the bike stand. After their day at the aquarium yesterday, after Eddie showed Richie all his favorite fish and explained their names and relationships with one another, after Richie knocked over a stand in the gift shop and nearly passed out from the amount of guilt, after Eddie took the blame for the commotion and bought a dolphin keychain to compensate for their clumsiness, after a day spent with one another filling in all the gaps of things that they missed out on, for example, Eddie finally lost that last struggling baby tooth that refused to leave his mouth. Richie congratulated him and told Eddie about how he failed his first class down in Philly and had to take summer school. After all of that, Eddie invited him to meet Henry in the parking lot for Curly's the following day so that they can all talk.
Now, here they are, walking into the diner in an unlikely trio. Richie remembers the last time the three of them were together, a clouded memory of a knife held to Eddie's throat.
They all stand in front of the booth, unsure of which side to sit on. Who will Eddie choose? Which side will he partner with?
Henry sits down, and Eddie slides in next to him. Richie flinches, looks away, and comes back to take his seat across from them. Rejection stings, but Richie's used to it.
"Um," Henry starts. He folds his hands over one another, rings adorning his hands to cover up the ugly discoloration on his knuckles. "Sorry, I guess?"
"You guess?" Richie repeats.
Henry clenches his jaw, his fist tightening a little. "Yeah. For what I did."
"Which time?" Eddie asks, a glimmer of hope that he's not entirely on Henry's side here.
Henry looks at Eddie, his gaze softening up. Eddie's been kind to him these past two years, much kinder than anybody else has in his lifetime. He looks a little scared, almost. An expression that doesn't cross the face of any Bowers man.
"Don't be mad," Henry whispers, insecure and scared.
Richie frowns. What the fuck am I watching? This isn't Henry at all.
Eddie shrugs, confusion evident on his face. "About what?"
Henry takes a deep breath in, tightening his grip on his own wrist. "I'm- I- I snitched. I tattled on Tozier, I got 'im sent away."
Richie nods, but doesn't bother correcting the last name. He's not sure what he wants for a last name, they sound different coming out of various mouths. He keeps his eyes on the table, recalling the moment that Henry walked out of the social worker's room as Richie was being led in.
"Wait-" Eddie closes his eyes, "You what?"
"I snitched, alright!" Henry growls, looking out the window they're seated next to. His moodiness will never go away, no matter how much Eddie insists that he's changed. "I fuckin' snitched. I didn't fuckin' think they'd send him all the way down there, just thought- I don't know. I didn't know it would blow up so bad."
Eddie looks to Richie for clarification, but Richie seems just as surprised. He asks the asthmatic boy, "You didn't know?"
"No I didn't fucking know!" Eddie whispers, trying to avoid causing a scene in the middle of the restaurant. "If I knew that-"
"You wouldn't be friends with me?" Henry finishes, a pathetic smirk on his face. "You wouldn't want this, would you?"
Eddie closes his mouth, his eyes having a silent conversation with Henry's as if the two are connected in that telepathic way that him and Richie used to be. Richie wants to look away, but he somehow can't. It's painful, but he needs to observe.
"Why would you?" Eddie finally asks, his voice a bit more feeble. "How could you?"
"It wasn't intentional," Henry scoffs, rubbing his eyes. "I was tryin' to tell on my old man. Fuckin' fed up with his shit, y'know? I wussed out the second I got to that station, man. Nobody would believe me, I freaked. Pathetic fuckin' Bowers makin' up god damn lies about his dad... I didn't want that goin' around, I had a reputation-"
"Not a good one," Richie mumbles under his breath, scoffing.
Henry shoots him a dangerous look, then says "But that lady kept askin' me all these personal questions, 'n' I didn't like 'em. So I cracked and told her all about Tozier's problem just so she'd hop off my fuckin' back. I didn't think all of that would happen."
"Well... Well it did!" Eddie huffs, pushing on Henry's arm. "You know how sad I was! You know how much my heart broke! You didn't think to tell me? Not even mention it?"
As much as Richie hates to admit this, it is a little bit of a relief to see that some of that Kaspbrak rage is shown to other people as well, and it's not just an attitude that Richie inflicts on himself. Eddie's just got a temper, he always has. It's not just because Richie gets under his skin, and that realization is comforting for the anxious one.
"I didn't want you to freak out!" Henry responds, rubbing his arm where Eddie pushed. "We needed each other. I didn't want to ruin that."
Unease sets in quickly, Richie's stomach churning under the pressure. He shakes his head, which Eddie catches immediately.
"No, Richie, it's not like that-" Eddie starts to say.
"Then how is it, Eds? Because you've been telling me that it's not like that over and over, yet Hen seems to disagree," Richie exhales, "I don't know what I'm supposed to believe."
"It's not like that," Henry confirms, to which Eddie nods vigorously. "You really don't get it, man. We really needed each other."
"You're right, I don't get it," Richie stands up. He's not sure why he thought this was a good idea, for it is only deepening the wounds that Eddie's ripping open. He just needs to leave, go home, and figure this shit out by himself. He craves to be alone in his room, but Eddie has other ideas.
"Richie," Eddie warns him, grabbing onto the boy's sleeve. "Sit. Please. Let us talk to you."
Richie clenches his teeth, staring into those pleading bambi eyes that have gotten him into so many things before, this one seems no different. He looks at Bowers next, a look of earnest on his rough features.
Richie reluctantly sits down, which causes Eddie to sigh in relief. The small one says "It was all because of..." he looks at Henry out of the corner of his eye, watching the mullet-wearer nod in permission. Eddie continues, letting the forbidden name come out with hostility. "Patrick Hockstetter. The fucking psychopath. There's a reason he's in the looney bin now, Rich, and we're those reasons."
"Part of those reasons," Henry adds on in a quiet voice, as if he's humiliated even talking about this topic. Richie can't understand why, for the last time he saw Henry, him and Hockstetter were quite the pair. What could've happened?
Eddie comes clean first. He's a bit more confident in his story, a practiced tone from all the nights he's sat up in bed thinking of this dreadful experience or had to recall to the news reporters of his three days. He doesn't think it compares to what Henry went through at all, but that doesn't matter. It was still traumatic enough to give the kid PTSD.
"Patrick liked to... hurt things, I guess. Animals, mostly. Do you remember?" He asks cautiously, tiptoeing around the words slowly. When Richie nods, he continues. "He had this fridge down in the dump, hidden behind piles of trash and rusty shells of old cars. He kept animals in there, he wanted to see how long until they died. He was fucking sick, Richie. So fucking sick. The animals kept dying, and he kept getting bored. So he moved on to bigger things— but not much bigger."
"A freshman would work," Henry says quietly, as if he's reciting the words Patrick told him. "Tiny. One that can't fight back."
Richie's heart begins to hammer with anxiety and his eyes shoot towards Eddie, who is staring down at the table and chewing on his bottom lip. Richie says, "No, wait, no."
Eddie looks up, "I was locked in there for three days. Nobody could find me, I was about three hours away from dying of starvation and dehydration. I couldn't scream, my voice was too hoarse and dry from yelling too much on the first day. I thought I was going to die in there, Richie. I thought I really was. I was just walking home from school, I was so- I was depressed, I think that's what made it so easy for him to sneak up. My mom had a whole search party out by curfew, but nobody thought to check in the junkyard."
"Except me," Henry says quietly.
"Except you," Eddie nods, solidifying their companionship. This is where it stemmed, where it blossomed. Eddie looks back at Richie, finally explaining how this duo came to be in the first place. "Henry found me. Everyone was talking about how I was going to end up just like Bill's little brother, but Henry had a feeling, an intuition, really, and he found me. I couldn't even walk, I was- I was- I was soaked in my own piss, my legs were cramped up from being squished inside the tiniest fucking box, and he carried me to his car and took me to the hospital." Eddie finishes off his sentence with a puff from an inhaler that came out of nowhere, which Richie notes as the first time he's seen Eddie use it since he's come back.
Henry tries to rub Eddie's shoulder in a comforting manner, but Eddie's disgruntled face pushes him back. He seems pained, as if his limbs are remembering how treacherous it was to be trapped in a tin box for three days.
"Come here," Richie holds his arms out, to which Eddie instantly slides out of the booth to join Richie on the other side. He takes a shaky breath of Richie's scent, one that smells more like Bill than how he used to be, but it's still Richie so he doesn't mind. Richie hugs him, resting his chin on top of Eddie's head. He wonders if the little one can hear how rapid his heartbeat is, the anxiety of Eddie in such a situation causing his blood pressure to raise unhealthily. Richie's worst fear used to be seeing his face on a missing poster, but Eddie lived through that trauma.
"Naturally, I went to beat the shit out of him," Henry interrupts the two's bonding moment. He would normally give them space, but he knows that if he doesn't say this now, he will never have the courage to say it again. "I wanted to break up. He was a fucking psychopath, I didn't want to be around that at all. We fucked around and had fun picking on the outcasts, but that was- I didn't like that. It was like a fucking reality check. I was carrying that little fuckin' pipsqueak that you just lost your damn balls over all the way out to my car, and all I could think about is how much hell I gave him. He was so scared when I opened that door and he saw me, he would have screamed if he could. He tried crawling away, but his body just... wouldn't. I didn't fuckin' like that, he associated me with getting hurt and he thought I was in on that sick fucking experiment, and I didn't want it. He's just a kid. I had no reason to be threatening to hurt either of you when I'm two years older, y'know? It was a wake up call. I wasn't fucking insane like Patrick was, and I needed to make him feel the way this poor kid did. Eddie's revenge."
Henry stops for a moment, his hands just fidgeting incessantly. After a moment, he asks "Hey, kid, could you give us a minute?"
Eddie knows what's coming, so he nods and separates himself from Richie. He mumbles something about going to order a milkshake, but he heads towards the broken jukebox just to buy himself some time.
Now alone, Richie feels a little scared to hear where the rest of this is going. He had no idea that there was more to Bowers than what Eddie was letting on, but Richie supposes he really has changed.
Nothing could have prepared Richie for what he hears next.
"Patrick didn't want to break up," Henry says. "So he- he held me down, and he... took me. Said it was to make me feel good so I would stop being mad at him. I tried to fight back, but he held my face down into the carpet until I couldn't breathe anymore. I woke up bleeding."
Richie falls completely silent, the words dropping like an anvil on Richie's head. He tries to imagine Henry in any position of weakness, but it doesn't want to even register in his brain. Henry has always been one to hold his own, the winner of every single wrestling match the two boys had when they would rough house as kids. It would take a real psychopath to be able to conquer Bowers.
"What happened?" Richie asks, his voice so quiet that it's not even a whisper.
"He was asleep on the couch, so I fucking ran. You know my dad, Rich. You know how he is. I'm sure you can imagine what it was like at the police station that night when I had to tell my dad that his son had gotten- gotten raped."
Eddie is standing at the counter now, glancing over at Richie every few seconds. It's like those penetrating looks push into Richie's side, something he can feel, but he's too preoccupied by the nausea that is overcoming him.
Richie shakes his head, unsure of what words to say. Anything that comes to mind seems wrong, like he can't possibly respond to such heavy baggage. All of his issues seem microscopic now, less relevant than an article of dust passing by. Henry's had to live through so much more than Richie ever has, and it's been made abundantly clear why he has the friendship with Eddie that he does now. Eddie knows how to handle that trauma, he had months of experience dealing with it before Richie got sent away.
"He fixed you," Richie eventually breathes out, the final pieces of the puzzle sliding into place. "He does that."
Henry looks over at Eddie, who is talking to a waitress with a bright smile. Gayfully unaware that the girl is hitting on him. "He does, doesn't he? Vic says he's got the soul of a healer."
The two now look over to their shared friend, who just had the rude realization of where that conversation was headed when he is slid a napkin inked with the digits of a phone number. Richie watches him get flustered, shaking his head apologetically, and then say something he can't hear but he can see stumble.
"I'm sorry you went through that," Richie says quietly.
"I think I deserved it," Henry says. "I put out a lot of bad karma into the world, treated you and a whole shitload of people like shit. I chose to date him-"
"No," Richie shakes his head, reaching over to press his pointer finger against Henry's hand. It's the most he can touch someone that isn't Eddie. "Don't say that, man. Yeah, this doesn't excuse any of your shitty behavior, and it's certainly not a redemption arc, but... there's always been potential in you. I think you're finally reaching it. Nobody deserves that. Nobody at all."
Henry shrugs, leaning back in the booth. "The fucker's locked up in an institution now. The kid and I both have restraining orders, so he's not coming anywhere near us again. I'm not too worried."
Richie pauses for a moment, and then asks "Does it get better?"
He figures that if Henry can go through something like that and if he can honestly say that it will get better, that it will stop hurting, then Richie might have a bit of hope to look forward to.
"Yeah, sure," Henry shrugs. "It either got better or I'm just too stupid and blind to see how bad it still is."
Richie chuckles at this, one that Henry mirrors. It might be the first laugh that they've shared since childhood, but Richie doesn't notice the way that Henry does. He just keeps laughing under his breath, busying himself with the sugar packets.
"Sorry for the shit I put you through," Henry says.
"Sorry for the shit you went through," Richie replies.
"No, listen. This is different. I caused you to be put in that home, you didn't cause anything that happened with Patrick," Henry says, followed by a lighter note. "You did give him a nasty shiner once, though. He was so fucking pissed about that."
"And then you held a knife to my boyfriend's throat to get revenge," Richie remembers quite clearly.
"The kid's gotten over it," Henry waves Richie off, then laughs at the absurdity of that statement. "He's good. He was there when I needed him, but I think you need him more."
"You think?" Richie asks genuinely, no sarcasm in his tone.
Henry shrugs and says , "I don't know, Tozier. But I know he wants to be there regardless. I think you should let him."
"I'm going to," Richie nods, glancing at Eddie still politely turning down the waitress. "Has he said anything to you?"
"I'm sworn to secrecy," Henry puts his hands up in defense. Then he adds on, "But I think Derry needs at least one good couple. Your freaky friends sucking face in the hallway is getting a bit boring to me."
"Imagine living with them," Richie laughs. He feels comfortable, something he never would have thought could happen around Henry. While they're on such a good wave, he asks "Eddie tells me you're in therapy?"
"Loads," Henry raises his eyebrows. "That Wendy lady got some anonymous tip about my dad and tried to do an investigation, but I'm sure you can imagine how that turned out for her. She couldn't prove anything against him, but after the Patrick incident she insisted that I seek counseling. I've been in therapy ever since— turns out I have anger issues."
"Shocker," Richie whistles.
"Watch it," Henry says, but not as a threat. More of a laugh.
Eddie comes back over carrying a massive milkshake, setting it on the table as he takes a seat next to Richie. A tiny victory, but still a choice that Richie won. He didn't choose Henry, he chose Richie. A small triumph.
"That girl would not leave me alone," Eddie huffs, embarrassed. "That was so humiliating."
"You couldn't sound gayer if you even tried," Henry comments, but there's no malicious intention in his words. No venom, no bite, no homophobia implied. He's come to accept his own sexuality, and therefore, the internalized oppression he would often take out on flamboyant Eddie has dissipated.
"Coming from you, that says a lot," Richie jokes.
Henry raises his fist, to which Richie instantly flinches away from, his shoulders crashing against the back of the booth as he roughly slams backwards, his arms crossing in front of him to serve as a shield. Such a quick response, but Eddie's hand on his arms is even quicker.
"He was just asking for a fist bump," Eddie says quietly, lowering Richie's hands down.
The boy opens his eyes again, greeting Henry's confused face and hesitant hand held out. Richie stares at it cautiously, his skin aching and burning as he remembers all the times those knuckles collided with his face. Henry looks offended- no, hurt, even, and perhaps it it something to do with the fact that Henry just got done telling Richie that he doesn't want to be associated with fearful reactions anymore. Richie can't help that though, he's too scarred to react normally to a fist bump without going into flight or fight mode.
Softly, Richie reaches out and bumps his knuckles against Henry's, which seems to ease the mullet kid. He nods, relaxing a little, and begins talking about the bullshit course they're all taking in their astrophysics class.
Richie watches Eddie as he talks, admiring each eyelash and cluster of freckles that those lashes brush against each time that he blinks. It's easy to get lost in conversation, especially when the three of them are having so much fun. It feels weird to laugh with Henry, mostly because Richie is still afraid that he's just going to snap one minute and go on a killing spree. He doesn't even seem like the same person. Richie knows that the therapy is helping tons, mostly because he can't help but notice that he's less afraid of Henry than he is Beverly.
After many jokes and a couple milkshakes, Richie looks down at the digital watch strapped to his wrist and he starts to nudge Eddie's thigh under the table.
"It's getting close," Richie whispers, his voice so softened by the grey skies outside.
"Already?" Eddie asks, looking at Richie's wrist as well to gather the time. "Damn. Do we have to?"
"I came here," Richie points out. "You promised you'd talk to Stan. Just get it done and out of the way."
"Who knows, maybe it'll be as easy as this was," Henry interjects, which now makes Richie remember that Henry is in fact Eddie's only friend. Richie had only one friend before, he knows how they work. If Eddie knows something, that means that Henry knows, and vice versa. Him and Bev used to do it all the time, their secrets were each other's secrets as well. This means that Henry knows everything Eddie thinks about Richie, everything Richie says to the little one, and all their upcoming plans. "I can give ya' a ride, if you need."
Eddie nods, but Richie looks hesitant. "What about my bike? Bill's gonna kill me if I leave it here."
"Well then Bill can just-" Henry starts to say, but Eddie cuts him off abruptly.
"There's room in his trunk, trust me."
"Her wheels are big..." Richie says uncertainly and anxiously.
"It'll fit," Henry assures the boy, standing up from the booth. He turns to Eddie and asks "How's your arm, by the way?"
"Oh, fine," Eddie gets out, standing to his feet and digging around in his wallet for some spare dollars to leave as a tip. Richie watches him, then feels a bit of guilt that he doesn't have any money left to leave as well. "Bit achey, but that's all."
"What's wrong with it?" Richie tries desperately to stay in the loop, walking by Eddie's side to keep up with them. He doesn't allow them to go ahead like he does with Bill and Bev, he maintains the same pace because he knows he's going to get the equal amount of respect.
"Oh, it just hurts when it's cold out," Eddie explains. "I don't know why, but it just acts up like a son of a bitch. You remember when I broke my arm, don't you?"
Richie remembers indeed. Except he remembers it much differently than just a broken arm; he remembers first kisses and late night surprises, sleeping off painkillers on the couch, the way the snow melted through his jeans as he knelt down to help an injured boy. So young and dumb and in love, Richie knows better than to try and snap arms back into place now. He can't try and force something back to the way it was before once it's been broken.
He nods silently, unsure of what else to add that wouldn't be absolutely reminiscent of what they once had and now might never have again.
Richie doesn't give Henry directions to the Uris house. He tells Henry which street, but nothing more. He asks for them to be dropped off on the corner of the block, retrieving Silver from the trunk as Eddie leans in through the open window to say something to Henry. Richie tried to not pay attention, focusing on fixing the chain that came loose off the old bike while cramped in the trunk. Richie wonders if Henry knows that he's still got Hockstetter's jacket back there.
After Eddie slaps the top of the car and takes a few steps back, Henry drives off with his painfully loud exhaust. Plumes of smoke and pollution trail behind him, disappearing into the slushy snow all over the streets.
"You don't trust him?" Eddie asks tenderly, rubbing his cold nose with his mitten.
Richie looks up from his bike. His fingers freeze in the cold. "Who said that?"
"You had him drop us off about a block away from Stan's house," Eddie shrugs. "I know I'm not exactly close with you guys anymore, but I would know if he moved, and I know he still lives down that street and not this one."
Richie shrugs, then goes back to repositioning the chain. "I don't know how I feel about him. But I know Stan hates him, and for good reason, so I think it would just be courteous to, y'know, not show up at his house in the car of someone he's terrified of."
Eddie is quiet for a moment, and then he says "It's weird to think that I used to be afraid of him. I can't really imagine him giving me shit anymore, despite the fact I spent most of my life running from him. It's weird. But yeah, I get what you're saying."
"Sorry," Richie shrugs once more, standing up and rolling Silver on the sidewalk a bit to see if she's alright.
"No, don't be," Eddie shakes his head, kicking at her pedals. "You're considerate. Most people aren't."
Richie bites his tongue from spilling that he just wants people to like him, because he doesn't want to sound needy to Eddie. Instead, he asks "Can we share more music next week?"
Eddie smiles. "You liked that?"
"Yeah," Richie begins to push Silver down the sidewalk, heading towards Stan's house. "Made me feel a little normal, I don't know. The music makes sense."
"I know what you mean," Eddie nods. The ground is wet beneath their shoes, and it almost feels like that time they walked to school together. The temperature is a bit colder this time around, but the nervous butterflies are still fluttering just the same. "Yeah, we can make Friday's kind of our thing."
Richie smiles bashfully, "Yeah, I'd like that."
When the two stand on the porch, ringing the doorbell to the Uris residence, Richie takes notice of the little puffs of fog coming from Eddie.
"Hey, what's up?" Richie bumps his knuckles against Eddie's. "You look nervous."
"Of course I'm nervous. I don't think you understand how ugly this fight was, Rich. I haven't spoken to him since, I said a lot that-"
"Hey," Richie calms him down the same way that Eddie calmed him just hours before. "You promised. For me."
Eddie nods yet still has that stubborn look in his eyes. He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head, mumbling "I guess I'm just nervous. You're going to be the one to bring the whole club back together, and I don't know how I'm going to face them after I fucked off and started hanging with Bowers and Vic."
"Yeah," Richie rings the doorbell again, but pulls his fingers away when he hears footsteps approaching. "About that. Where'd Belch go? Is Victor an asshole too?"
Eddie sucks in a breath, but then the front door opens to reveal a sleepy-headed Stan, wrapping his Christmas robe tightly around himself. Eddie glances over, mouthing the word "Later" to Richie.
"Oh, hey," Stan yawns.
Richie looks at his watch, noting the time. 4 P.M., like they agreed. "Did we come at a bad time?"
"No, I just fell asleep watching some dumb documentary that Ben wants me to watch," Stan walks away from the door, waving his hand over his shoulder as to gesture for the two to enter. He barely lifts his feet off the floor, his slippers sliding all the way down to the kitchen. "Do you guys want anything? Tea? I think we have some biscuits floating around here, I don't know."
"I'm okay," Richie says politely, taking a seat next to the kitchen phone mounted to the wall. He wonders if that's the phone that Stan called him from when he falsely came out all those years ago, tears clutching his voice as he recalled their scary encounter with Bowers that day. He told Richie he was gay, and that was what sparked their kinship. Turns out, neither of them were gay at all, but they didn't know that at the time.
"Maybe some cookies," Eddie speaks up nervously.
Richie drops his polite voice and shoots a look towards the boy, asking "How? You just had, like, thirteen milkshakes, dude."
"It was not thirteen!" Eddie argues back. "It was six at most."
"Yeah, six milkshakes closer to have a fucking heart attack, Eds."
"Don't call me Eds, you know I hate it."
Richie rolls his eyes, but then catches glimpse of Stan leaning against the sink, watching the two in amusement. He's holding a mug in his hand, steam billowing up from the rim.
"What?" Eddie asks, his voice still strained.
"Nothing," Stan shakes his head. "It's just funny to see that you two are right back to being annoying."
Richie chews on his bottom lip a little, his hands coming down to clench his legs. Annoying. He digs his nails into his thighs, squeezing so hard that it is bound to leave marks. Annoying. Annoying. Annoying.
"I missed it," Stan shrugs.
Eddie lets out a breathy laugh, but then says "It won't seem so cute in about five minutes when we're arguing again."
"That's not..." Richie's voice cracks embarrassingly, so he shrinks down in the chair to make himself appear smaller. "That's not all we do."
Eddie stares at him for a moment, how tense he is, and he nods. "Yeah, I know. I know, Rich. We're okay."
Richie nods in agreement, exhaling a little in relief. Hearing we're okay makes everything calm down a little bit.
"I'm not mad at you, Eddie," Stan says out of nowhere. "I was never mad at you. You piss me off, yeah, but everyone does. I just couldn't believe that you honestly thought that I didn't care about how much you were hurting."
The whiplash sends Richie whirring. He leans forward as he adjusts to the new conversation, leaning his pounding head against his hand to get some support.
He looks up, watching Eddie reply to Stan with nervous eyes. "I... That's what it felt like. Not just you, but everyone. It felt like I was being held underwater and nobody was helping."
"I tried," Stan says, "You pushed me away. Bill tried, too."
"How?" Eddie scoffs, "By sticking his tongue down Beverly's throat?"
"Well," Stan can't argue that one, but he still says "He tried acting like Richie. Wore the same clothes and listened to the same music, made more jokes."
"That's not the same," Eddie scoffs and shakes his head, "You can't just... You can't just replace him and expect me to get over it. That's not- what?" Eddie can't even fathom such an idea.
"Look, obviously it wasn't ideal, but it filled a little gap," Stan shrugs. "Made it seem less lonely."
"Not for me," Eddie scoffs, "I loved him, Stan. We were... we were intimate with one another! You can't expect me to just get over that because Bill is wearing a few new windbreakers."
"You're doing it again," Stan points at him. "Right now. You're doing it again."
Eddie backs down, sitting back in his chair as he shuts his mouth. In the light of the kitchen window, Richie watches the way Eddie's cheeks flush in embarrassment.
"Should I give you guys some, uh, privacy?" Richie asks nervously.
"No, you're fine, Rich," Stan says dismissively before turning his attention back to Eddie.
"You don't understand what it was like," Eddie says. "To be so in love and have it all ripped away."
Stan shrugs, "Maybe I don't. But you wouldn't tell me how it felt, you just raised your voice and said that you were hurting more. You wouldn't let me help you, because you said your pain was worse than mine. You wouldn't acknowledge that I lost a best friend, too."
"I lost a boyfriend," Eddie corrects him.
"Eds," Richie says slowly, not trying to put himself in the middle of this tender moment, but he needs to say something. Eddie stops squinting at Stan, instead turning to Richie with a wide expression. Richie gulps, taking a nervous breath in as he comfortingly strokes his own leg to soothe the jitters. "...Listen to what Stan is saying. You're not... You're not listening."
Eddie pulls away, as if he's offended those words left Richie mouth. Then, it passes by quickly, only to be overcome by a look of realization that maybe Richie is right. He slowly turns back to Stan, who watches expectantly.
"You lost your boyfriend, yes," Stan nods, "I understand that what you guys had was deep and important to you. But he wasn't... he wasn't just yours, Eddie. He was my best friend as well, he was Bev's, he was Ben's, he was Mike's, and he was Bill's. You shut us out because we didn't understand the romantic aspect, but all of us knew how it felt to lose your best friend. Maybe it hit me a little bit harder because nobody else in the group really knew me the way Richie did, but you didn't care. I was hurting, too."
Eddie is silent for a moment, before he mutters out a simple "Oh."
Stan nods once more, glad that he's finally getting through to the kid. "I just wanted you to be there for me the way I was for you. You remember the first few weeks? They were terrible. You couldn't stop crying, you wouldn't eat, you threw a fit basically anytime someone mentioned him. Yet I stayed with you, I packed you lunches, I walked you home. I wanted you to be there for me too, but you weren't. You were so caught up in your own misery that you didn't even bother to see if I was okay. And I wasn't. I couldn't bear the thought of knowing that kid was somewhere in a foster home with all these stupid insults I would throw at him just... rattling around in that anxious head of his - Sorry, Rich."
"It's okay," Richie nods.
Stan continues. "He was my first kiss. That may not seem like a big deal, but it was for me. I don't think I would know anything about myself had Richie not helped me find my personality. He was, and still is, one of the most important people I've ever met. That was taken from me, too. I wanted to talk to you about all of this because I thought you would understand the most, but you didn't. You didn't want to talk at all, nobody did. I realized that Richie was really the only one who ever truly listened to me. You didn't just lose your boyfriend, I lost my best friend. And I know that... maybe I wasn't his best friend, but he was mine. And that was enough for me."
Richie stands up, his head dizzy with nausea. He feels overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions, the scar tearing open to reveal the unaddressed feelings he buried down deep the second he was forced on that train. Stan looks at him in concern while Eddie just stares at the floor, so in a weak, faint voice, Richie asks "Bathroom?"
Stan points him down the hall, to which Richie blindly stumbles away from that conversation. It's too much, it's too honest. Way too raw, way too vulnerable. He feels as if he was inside Stan's mind in a way that he shouldn't be, as if he's intruding on one's darkest thoughts. He knows that he doesn't want another living soul to see what goes on in his own mind, so to be placed in someone else's is a responsibility that Richie wasn't ready for.
He breathes heavily as he locks the bathroom door, staring up at the mirror above the sink. He turns the faucet on, throwing his glasses aside as he frantically splashes water on his face.
Richie feels too faint to even stand, so he sits down on the tile and backs himself into the corner, listening to the repetitive noise of the sink. Panic creeps up uneasily, knowing he is wasting water. He was allowed five minutes in the bathrooms, and he never went over that five minute mark because it meant that Martin's five minutes got cut short for every second over that Richie remained in the bathroom.
Richie leans up and shuts the faucet off, but that only allows the silence to fill the room. So dangerous for him to be sitting in this type of quiet, something so violent about the radio silence playing fuzzy static in his ears.
He's not sure how long he's in there, time passes differently when you're panicking. Eventually, the dust settles, and his mind becomes numb with the flush of emotion draining out of him. He stands to his shaky feet, looking in the mirror in an attempt to fix himself up. There's no use, his eyes are red and puffy, his nose the same shade. His lip is bleeding from when he must have bitten down too hard, and he smears some of that blood when he tries to wipe away the wet streaks of tears forming rivers on his cheeks. He feels as if the easy laughing with Henry is just a far off, hazy memory, as if he'll never feel that normal again.
Even so, he opens the door and keeps his head down as he reenters the kitchen. Stan and Eddie seem to have made up, the two having a lighthearted conversation that softly carries down the hall for Richie to hear as he takes slow, cautious steps on unfamiliar floorboards. He's not sure which ones creak.
"Dude, why are you wearing a Christmas robe? You're like the only Jewish guy at our high school," Eddie laughs.
"What? Oh, Bill gave this to me in middle school," Stan looks down at the material. "He said he wanted to be funny. That's when we started getting each other Christmas presents."
"I never understood that," Eddie shakes his head. Richie comes into the doorframe, wobbly and leaning against the wood for some support.
"He doesn't do it anymore," Stan shrugs, "His head is too far up- Oh, hey Richie,"
Eddie turns in his seat to see Richie in the doorway, his smile instantly fading. Eddie asks, "Hey, are you okay?"
Richie hits his leg for causing alarm. Anytime someone asks if he's okay, he's caused them to worry. He's burdened them. He must punish himself to make up for it.
"Dude," Stan sees the punch at the same time as Eddie. "Don't hit yourself."
Richie hears that as a dislike, Stan clearly hates him. Stan practically just said everything about Richie is repulsive. Stan wants him dead.
He punches his leg again, this time so hard that the limb loses its footing on the floor and his tall figure wavers.
"Hey," Eddie stands up, coming over to approach Richie. "Stop that. What's going on?"
"I ruin everything..." Richie says distantly, his voice discombobulated and wary.
"What? No," Eddie shakes his head. Richie lifts his arm again, but Eddie stops it this time. The fist that Richie was clenching slowly begins to loosen up, to which Eddie fills that space with his other hand. "What did you ruin?"
"Everything," Richie's mind wanders to his parents, how their marriage was a sham and it's all because of him. He tried so hard to be a good son, he just wasn't enough. He never will be.
"Come on, big guy. Come sit down," Eddie pulls on him a little, easing Richie into the chair. "Do you need some water? You look like you're gonna throw up."
Richie takes Eddie's hands in his, squeezing them so tightly and pressing the back of the boy's hands against his feverish forehead. He hopes that this will take away some of the bad thoughts that the silence allowed in, Eddie was always so good at that. He never really needed his headphones when Eddie was around, the smaller one stopped the noise.
"Talk to me, bub," Eddie murmurs quietly, to which he gets no response. The boy looks over at Stan cluelessly, for he has no idea how to help Richie if he doesn't know what's wrong.
"Rich," Stan starts out slowly, coming over to where the two are. He gently raises his hand to touch Richie's shoulder, but Eddie quickly shakes his head and silently advises against that. So, Stan stands at a reasonable distance, and he says "Eddie and I were planning on getting everyone together to talk. You know, like the old times."
Eddie's fingers are pressed against Richie's wrists, and he can feel the boy's pulse quicken before mellowing out quite a bit. He looks to Stan and nods approvingly, so the curly headed one continues.
"We were thinking of having a party at Ben's. Your guys' basement flooded, right? Ben's got better board games anyway. Plus, his mom bought him an arcade game for Christmas last year. The whole thing! It's Mortal Kombat, you like that one, don't you? We could all go over and hang out, just like we used to."
Richie is quiet for a few moments. Then, in a feeble voice, he asks, "And Mike?"
"How could we forget Mike?" Eddie laughs, freeing his hands so that he can lift Richie's bowed head. "He's just as important as the rest of us, isn't he?"
"Arguably more important," Stan corrects Eddie with a grin.
Richie laughs, nodding his head as Eddie wipes tears away with his thumbs. "Yeah. He's important."
"You are too, you know," Eddie says softly. "We wouldn't be a Loser's Club without our trashmouth."
Richie brings his hands up to wrap around Eddie's wrists, gentle and confused, but hopeful. It's only fair; Eddie panicked while recalling his horrible three days locked in a roasting refrigerator, so it makes sense that Richie has some sort of weird breakdown to even the score.
"Are you guys okay?" Richie then asks, looking between the two.
"Us?" Eddie looks over at Stan, "Yeah, once I got off my high horse and just fuckin' apologized... Turns out, things are still kinda the same."
"He's still a freak," Stan nods.
"He's still an asshole," Eddie assures Richie.
Richie smiles a bit, and things are finally starting to fit together again. The puzzle was scattered, pieces were lost or torn or damaged, but he's starting to smooth out the edges of the corners and fit them back together again. He's not sure where he's going to fit Henry into the picture just yet, but he'll figure it out.
He's starting to feel like he has more time than he thought, as if he doesn't have to die immediately after graduation. Suicide is becoming less frequent in his mind, even when he does have these weird bouts of anxiety seemingly out of nowhere. He feels like he has time to figure it all out, and he's not as rushed as he was a week ago.
His puzzle will be whole again one day, and then he'll finally be able to enjoy the bigger picture.