Chapter Text
Bill Denbrough has never once in his life seen Richie Tozier cry. Sure, when they had that dumb fight when they were kids — when Bill’s fist connected with Richie’s jaw — he’d heard the sound of tears, in his voice. He’d heard it in the way Richie’s insults cracked with betrayal like those damned fortune cookies. Just maybe, after Beverly split them up, did Bill hear a sniffle or two. But never once did he see Richie cry.
Never once did he see Richie Tozier — covered in blood that wasn’t his, glasses cracked, body trembling — cry until the nurses wheeled Eddie away into the ICU.
And it’s a sight any of them could have lived happily without seeing.
There’s a beat of silence as Eddie disappears behind the doors with doctors and nurses at his side, and then Richie caves. His knees give out and Mike moves forward in a second to catch him as sobs rack his tired body. Ben and Beverly are next at his side, practically dragging him over to a chair and getting him to sit down. Bill’s frozen to the spot. Something about seeing Richie, his broken, heavy sobs muffled by Mike’s shoulder, renders Bill unable to move.
Mike’s sitting in the chair next to Richie, as close as he can be thanks to the lack of arm rests, holding him in both arms. Beverly removes Richie’s glasses — now stained with tears — and places them on the linoleum tiled floor, before cupping his face and shushing him gently. Ben grips his arm and looks up at him, and he’s crying too. He’s crying because maybe he’s putting it together now too — that Richie had adored Eddie the same way Ben adored Beverly for the past twenty-seven years. Bill thinks he understands it too, just a little bit.
So he forces himself to move and sit down on the other side of Richie. He wraps his arms around him like they’re kids again watching some scary movie and puts his head on Richie’s back. He lays his head there and feels every harsh breath Richie takes, every breath he exhales into a sob. Bill closes his eyes and holds him. It’s all they can do now.
Eddie’s not doing good, the doctors tell Mike when they elect him to go get the dreaded news, hours later, nearing midnight. He lost a lot of blood and there was a lot of internal damage. But he’d survived the initial surgery, which they hadn’t been expecting. Mike rubs Richie’s back as he tells him. Richie’s eyes are gray, and dark circles paint the skin under them. But he nods, and his shoulders drop, like the news has reassured him just slightly.
They all need a shower. They’re caked in dirt and sewage and Beverly’s completely covered head to toe in blood. They absolutely reek and they all know it. And they’re hungry — but that’s a less important fact. They have to beg Richie to come back to the Inn with them. He refuses hard at first, he wants to wait here for Eddie, he doesn’t want to leave him. They all look at each other, unsure of what to do. They can’t just leave Richie here alone. So Bill says the only thing he can think of.
“Come on Rich, you think Eh-Eddie’s gonna want to wuh-wake up to you looking like that?”
That gets him moving. He looks down at himself, thinks about it, and then stands up finally. His face has brightened a little, a small smile playing amongst his features.
Bill doesn’t think he’s ever been this grateful for a shower before. Nothing feels better than watching all that shit wash off his body and down the drain. Well, maybe changing into new, clean clothes feels even better. He meets the others downstairs when he’s done. Beverley’s changed into a sweater and plain jeans, and she’s on the phone. Ben’s sitting next to her, clutching her hand. Richie must still be in the shower.
Mike turns to look at Bill when he enters, then he motions to Beverley and whispers, “It’s Stan.”
Bill immediately tunes into what Beverly’s saying.
“The doctors seem, less than hopeful, I suppose. But he’s alive, which is what matters.” Beverly rubs her hand over her eyes, mouth turning into a sharp frown.
“...We almost lost him Stan. After we killed It, when we found him lying there, we were sure-...we’d all thought-“ She breaks off into a sniff, hand going to cover her mouth. Ben pulls her closer as she nods meekly at something Stan says.
Mike sighs next to him, and Bill puts an arm around him and pulls him into a hug. Bill’s skin tingles, hot and happy, when Mike returns the hug, wide hands resting on his back. Richie trots downstairs as they’re pulling away from each other, his pace fast and eyes wide. Stan tells Bev that he’ll fly in as soon as he can — and they tell him not to rush it; he’s fresh out of the hospital himself — and then she hangs up and they get back on the road.
They want to stop to get some food, but Richie won’t hear of it, so they end up dropping him off at the hospital and calling in an order at whatever fast food place is open twenty-four hours. On the way there, Mike speaks up from behind the wheel.
“The doctors told me they don’t think he’ll make it. They said to prepare for the worst.”
They’re all silent. The news sits heavy on their laps; like the finishing blow of a battle they didn’t realize they were in.
“I’m sorry,” he continues, brows furrowed with a horrible sorrow, “I didn’t want Richie to know. I’m sorry.”
They remain silent for a few more minutes. None of them have anything to say.
“What do we do?” Ben asks while the car stops at a red light.
Bill grits his teeth and thinks of those first few days after Georgie went missing. Thinks of what he did back then.
“We hope for the best.”