I (don't) deserve this

by watchoutforthefanfics

Summary:

“Stan?” Eddie asked, and his throat felt scratchy like he hadn't spoken in a long time.

And he doesn't know how he could tell. But it was. It was Stanley Uris. Tight brown curls, and a soft sweater, and that same pinched frown. It was Stanley.

Eddie felt fucking elated for a second, smiling, “Stanley? Shit, I’m so-”

And then, something settled under his skin -heavy like lead.

“You're…” Eddie breathed out, unable to finish his sentence. Because if he did, it would be real. He would be-

“Dead,” Stanley finished, “-Eddie, you're… Did it not work? Is It-”

“No, no, they-” Eddie let out a breath, “-they did it. I know they did. They were doing it when I…”

Stanley just seemed to relax a second, but then something settled onto him. And something shot through Eddie then. That's Stan… Stan's… I'm-

“Fuck this,” Eddie growled out, eyes darting along the landscape, “-no, fuck this. I'm not dead. No-”

“Eddie,” Stanley placed his hands on his shoulders, lips pressed into a heavy frown, “-you're dead.”

Or Eddie Kaspbrak dies, and decides to fight (the turtle) god about it.

Notes:

I just got this urge to write a fic where Richie confesses, Eddie dies, and then Eddie's basically like "fuck no". And he rips both Stanley and himself out of the afterlife. This is 8000 words of that.

(Fair warning, it does hurt. But it'll get better, just trust me.)

Anyway, comments and kudos are appreciated :))) xoxoxoxo

Eddie didn’t want to die here.

Not as soon as he got everyone back, not as he realized why the fuck he was so unhappy, not as he remembered what it was like to be happy.

But he couldn’t… Fucking Richie was right there, and Eddie can’t let him suffer. So, so, it’ll be okay. He had to convince Richie it would be okay.

“Richie,” he tried, but his voice was so far away and distant -Eddie could feel it creeping up on him. The cold grip, the lifelessness. Jesus Christ, he was going to fucking die-

“You’re gonna be fine,” Richie’s hands were pressing, he knew they were, but he couldn’t feel it (fuck, I can’t feel it), “-You’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna fucking kill this clown together-”

“Richie,” Eddie breathed out, it was hollow and so, so small (he’d lost too much blood, there was no coming back from this. Fuck, I’m dead, I’m dying), “-go help them.”

”What? No,” Richie shook his head, and his teary and crack glasses moved with him, “-No. I’m not leaving you-”

“They need you, idiot,” Eddie tried to sound normal, but he could feel it all flickering (please, I can’t leave like this), “-go.”

Richie stared at him, pressing his lips into a thin line. And Eddie saw a pain in him that he’d never seen before, and he hated it. You’re supposed to be laughing, Trashmouth, you’re always fucking laughing-

“I can’t-” Richie’s breath shattered through his chest, and it shook through his whole body, “-Eds, I can’t leave you, you’ll…”

He couldn’t even say it. Eddie didn’t even want him to.

“I’ll be fine, asshole,” Eddie echoed out, but he couldn’t feel his mouth move -it was like he wasn’t really there anymore, “-Go help them. I’ll be fine.” (No, you won’t, you’re just lying to him.)

“You can’t die, Eddie,” Richie was crying, and Eddie felt like if he wasn’t already dying, he’d feel like he was, “-you can’t-”

“Go,” Eddie rasped out.

“You can’t die, Eddie,” Richie stood, but his hands were shaking (so much that Eddie could see it through his blurry eyes), “-I love you, I always have. Please, don’t fucking die. Please. I’m fucking begging, man.”

Eddie blinked, I love you.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Richie breathed out, “-and then we’ll get out of this hellhole. I’ll be right fucking back.”

And then, he was gone.

I love you. It thrummed through Eddie’s head, Richie loves me?

Everything was fading, white crawling up the corners of his vision. And Eddie hated it. Fuck, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Richie loves me-

He felt his body go numb, truly and totally. He wasn’t there anymore, but Eddie was still trying -thrashing and fighting. Trying to keep his chest rising and falling, his heart beating, his mind awake, alive. Alive. Alive-

No, no, no. I don’t want to die. He loves me.

I… I love him. Fuck. I love him.

That’s not fucking fair. I don’t want to die, I love him-

But everything was unaffected. Nothing was working, Eddie was trying so hard-

I don’t want to die. I love him-

It all faded, and Eddie felt anything but peace.

It was supposed to be fucking… peaceful, but it wasn’t. None of it was. Bliss and peace and everything your life wasn't, but instead…

Eddie felt like shit, like his heart was torn out of his chest and thrown away. Fucking shredded. He doesn’t want to be here. Fuck, man, I want Richie-

“Eddie?”

He blinked, cracking open his eyes -there was a bright fucking sun, and a… a shadow. A silhouette. They were holding out a hand, somehow, Eddie didn't hesitate to take it. It was just instinctual.

“What are you-” the voice continued, “-What are you doing here?”

Eddie blinked, wiping at his eyes -everything was so bright. He stumbled in place a little, and tried to fucking see. He was so fucking disoriented-

“Did it not-” the voice kept going, more frantic, “-Fuck, did it not work?”

He blinked again, and suddenly everything started to fade into view. It was a meadow with grass almost halfway up his shins and fucking… flowers, big stretches of trees, pretty blue skies and… and-

“Stan?” Eddie asked, and his throat felt scratchy like he hadn't spoken in a long time.

And he doesn't know how he could tell. But it was. It was Stanley Uris. Tight brown curls, and a soft sweater, and that same pinched frown. It was Stanley.

Eddie felt fucking elated for a second, smiling, “Stanley? Shit, I’m so-”

And then, something settled under his skin -heavy like lead.

“You're…” Eddie breathed out, unable to finish his sentence. Because if he did, it would be real. He would be-

“Dead,” Stanley finished, “-Eddie, you're… Did it not work? Is It-”

“No, no, they-” Eddie let out a breath, “-they did it. I know they did. They were doing it when I…”

Stanley just seemed to relax a second, but then something settled onto him. And something shot through Eddie then. That's Stan… Stan's… I'm-

“Fuck this,” Eddie growled out, eyes darting along the landscape, “-no, fuck this. I'm not dead. No-”

“Eddie,” Stanley placed his hands on his shoulders, lips pressed into a heavy frown, “-you're dead.”

Eddie shook his head, tears burning the backs of his eyes and shoving his hands off, “No. Fucking no. That's not… That's not fair-”

“Eddie-” Stan tried again, trying to follow after him.

“No, Stanley, no-” Eddie turned to face him, and his eyes were bleary and something was stuck in his throat), “-fuck that. I'm not dead.”

“Eddie, you are.”

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed -huffing out breaths (he couldn’t breathe), “-shut the fuck up.”

“Eddie, it doesn't help to-” Stanley tried again.

“Fuck,” Eddie ran a hand through his hair, and his chest felt cracked open (he wanted to throw up), “-fuck. Richie.”

Please, don’t fucking die. Please. I’m fucking begging, man.

“Shit, no,” a breath racked through his chest, “-I died. Richie… God, fuck, I died. And Richie’s just gonna-”

“Eddie, breathe,” Stanley interrupted him, and Eddie's eyes shot to him.

I love you, I always have.

“I can't fucking breathe, Stanley,” Eddie was crying, and it felt like he couldn't breathe -sobs crashing out of his throat, “-I left Richie. Fuck, I left Richie. I died-”

Stan tried to soothe, wrapping his arms around his shoulders -Eddie was shaking, “Richie will be okay.”

“No, fuck, he loves me-” Eddie shook him off again, pacing, “-He loves me, and he begged me not to die and he's gonna find me fucking… dead. God.”

“Eddie,” Stanley tried, but there was less fight.

“Stanley, he's gonna find me dead,” Eddie exhaled, looking right at him like he could somehow help (help me, help him, do something).

“He’ll-” Stanley tried, but it was shaky, “-He'll be okay, Eddie. You have to make peace with it-”

“Fuck that,” Eddie pointed at him, “-fuck peace. I'm pissed.”

“Eddie-”

“Fucking stop it, man,” Eddie hissed out, frustrated, “-none of this shit is fair. And I'm… I've been unhappy for fucking decades. And now I'm just… dead?”

Stanley didn't say a word.

“I found… found happiness again, and I-” Eddie continued, “-I lose it? I had a shitty life and then, it's just fucking over? It's… I can't have…”

“You can't think like that,” Stanley cleared his throat, “-it'll get you nowhere.”

“Richie loves me,” Eddie spoke -shaky and frustrated and tired and hurt (god, everything hurt), “-and… and I love him too. And this is it? I don't fucking get that? That's not fair.”

“We can't-” Stan began, reluctant and maybe a little bitter too, “-We don't control it. It doesn't have to be… fair.”

“We… We kill a monster,” Eddie laughed -incredulously, “-We fucking fight and kill It, and we just… die? Our whole lives… That stupid fucking clown took decades from us, and now It took… It took everything?”

Stanley frowned, and Eddie watched his hands twist together, “I… I guess.”

“Fuck that,” Eddie hissed, kicking dirt with his shoe, “-fuck everything. Fuck this stupid fucking… meadow. I don't deserve this. We don't deserve this.”

“We can't…” Stanley inhaled a deep breath, “-We can't do anything about it, Eddie. It's just… It's how it happened.”

“Well, fuck that,” Eddie replied, anger clawing up his skin, “-who the fuck decided that? I want out. I want to go back-”

Please, don’t fucking die. Please. I’m fucking begging, man.

“Eddie, we're dead,” Stanley echoed out.

“So?” Eddie huffed, “-I can't… I don't want this. I don't deserve this, I want to go back. I want to see Richie’s stupid fucking face and tell him I love him too-”

“Eddie-”

“I deserve that,” Eddie continued, motioning sporadically with his hands, “-I deserve that, Stanley. My life has been shit. I want the chance for it to not be shit. And it’s… it's right fucking there. It was right there.”

Stanley was staring, his hands were shaky and there was something so heavy in his chest, so fucking heavy. It almost seemed like Eddie could see it on his shoulders, weighing him down.

“I miss my wife,” Stanley breathed out, shaky, “-and I never got to… I never got to see you guys again.”

“So, so-” Eddie swallowed, fighting and scratching -relentless (no, no, no), “-fuck this. I'm not dead.”

“Eddie,” Stan sighed out, broken down, “-we’re dead. We can't just-”

“Who says?” Eddie offered -pointedly.

“Well-” Stanley scrambled for a second.

Eddie moved, tilting his head up to the sky, “Hey, asshole! Whoever, or whatever, you fucking are, listen to me! I don't deserve this. We don't deserve this-”

“What are you-”

“We take out a fucking evil in the world, we save kids, and this-” Eddie hissed, motioning to the space around them, “-is what we fucking get? Death? That's not fucking fair God.”

“Eddie, this isn't-”

“So, fucking, come down and talk to me,” Eddie continued, “-explain it to me! Tell me why the fuck we’re here.”

“Seriously, I don’t think-”

And then, the clouds parted. Stanley’s lips snapped shut.

The blue sky swirled into a golden one, like a sunset. There was something in the air, heavy but not… not bad. Not at all. How did that work? Something was coming down, Eddie couldn't really see -almost like he couldn't process it. But it was there, he could feel it.

It cleared, and everything came into view. Eddie blinked.

It was a turtle, a giant fucking turtle with a city on it's back (if he squinted, he could see things moving there, people maybe). Swimming through the air, but it stayed completely still, motion for nothing. Eddie felt in his chest that this was it. This was… God.

A fucking turtle? His mind hummed, Really?

“THIS IS A MERE VESSEL.”

Eddie jumped back, “What the fuck-”

It was the turtle, he knew that but there was no mouth moving. None. It was just said. Rumbling through the air, loud but not even there, not even spoken. But he had heard it, and he knew-

“EDWARD KASPBRAK, YOU’VE CALLED UPON ME. ON BEHALF OF YOURSELF AND ONE STANLEY URIS.”

It… they…? The turtle spoke like it was a question, so Eddie answered it.

“Yes, yeah,” Eddie cleared his throat, “-I… I have.”

“WHY?”

Eddie blinked, trying to figure out just what to say. How to say it. Have I just pissed off fucking… God?

“Who are you?” Stanley spoke, instead, and Eddie's eyes shot to him.

“MATURIN,” the voice boomed (Eddie couldn't even really process where he was hearing it from), “-I AM THE CREATOR OF THIS WORLD. AND OF YOU. OF EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING.”

I pissed off a God. Great.

“EMOTIONS ARE BELOW ME, EDWARD. YOU HAVE MERELY CALLED FOR ME, AND I AM TO ANSWER.”

“I… I did,” Eddie breathed, trying to steel himself (I love you, I always have), “-I want an explanation.”

“YOU’RE ANGRY.”

Eddie debated if he should answer honestly, but nothing could be worse than now (with Richie where he was, feeling whatever he was. Fuck), “Yes, I am. We don't… We don't fucking deserve this, um… Maturin.”

“DEATH COMES TO US ALL. NOT MANY WISH TO ACCEPT IT. WHAT’S YOUR EXCEPTION?”

Eddie blinked, trying to stay focused (I’m fucking begging, man), “We fucking did your dirty work. We… We fought and killed… uh, It. We saved lives, Maturin, just to… just to die?”

“YOU BELIEVE WHAT YOU’VE DONE DESERVES A REWARD? IS IT NOT A SELFLESS ACT OF HEROISM?”

“It was,” Eddie continued, thoughtfully, “-We didn't have to do it. Either time, but we fucking did. We risked our lives at fucking… 11. But-”

He gnawed on his lip, remembering a mixture of things, a hammock, a clubhouse, bikes, the Quarry, blood oath, a broken arm-

“-But It stole our lives. It took fucking decades from us… And now, we're fucking here. Dead. I've… I've barely lived. How is that fair? That I… That we put our lives on the line for something… for good, to save people, and then we don't even get to live after.”

“WERE YOU NOT LIVING BEFORE?”

“No, I sure as fuck wasn't,” Eddie answered, instantly, “-I wasn't living when I left Derry and I wasn't fucking living until I came back.”

Stanley spoke then, voice shaky (Eddie put his hand on his shoulder), “I've spent my whole life afraid, and I couldn't even remember why. That’s not… That's not living.”

“I SEE,” the voice thrummed out, “-AND YOU’D BE LIVING NOW?”

Eddie pictured big coke bottle glasses, hideous Hawaiian shirts, crumpled up comics, laughing, and then a gong, familiarity, and… and Richie.

“Yeah,” Eddie finally said, mind a buzz with so much (laughing kids, Richie, Eddie, Bev, Ben, Mike, Bill, Stanley, everyone, summer after summer, melting icecream cones, the breeze against his skin, throwing away pills, riding in Richie’s old piece of shit truck-), “-yes. We'd be living. I'd be… I'd be fucking alive. Finally.”

It was silent for a moment.

“HUMANITY IS QUITE THE FEAT,” the voice boomed through his head, “- EDWARD, STANLEY, YOU PROVIDED RESISTANCE TO THE NATURAL OCCURRENCE OF DEATH. FOR THE TRUE EPITOME OF LIFE. OF LIVING. MANY WHO EXPERIENCE LIFE DO NOT TRULY LIVE. BUT YOU HAVE THE PURE DESIRE TO DO SO. THAT TAKES A STRENGTH I BELIEVE TO BE UNPARALLELED.”

Eddie held his breath, and Stanley pulled him to his side (please, please, bring me back to him). He hoped, fuck… it had been so long since he hoped.

“I COMMEND YOU, TRULY. YOU STOOD IN DEFIANCE IN A PLACE THAT MANY JUST MOLD TO. AND I AM GRATEFUL FOR BOTH OF YOUR ROLES IN THE DESTRUCTION OF, WHAT YOU REFER TO AS, IT.”

Please. Please, I don't want to be dead-

“AND I DO TRULY FEEL THAT YOU BOTH HAVE UNFINISHED STORIES,” the voice continued, “-AND PERHAPS BRINGING YOU BACK WOULD PROVIDE GIFTS TO THOSE WHO ALREADY LIVE. THOSE WHO HAVE DONE WHAT YOU SET OUT TO DO. I FEEL THE HEAVINESS THAT THE LOSS HAS GIVEN THEM ALL, AND I BELIEVE THEY DO NOT DESERVE THAT EITHER.”

“Richie,” Eddie whispered, unable to stop himself (god, please be okay). Stanley squeezed his arm around him, and Eddie exhaled a shaky breath.

“EDWARD KASPBRAK, STANLEY URIS,” it billowed through the air, “-YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS FATE. YOUR LIVES ARE UNFINISHED. AND I INTEND FOR YOU TO FINISH THEM.”

“Fuck,” Eddie exhaled, tears climbing up his throat and Stanley was shaking beside him -they were wrapped into each other (fucking relieved), “-fuck, man.”

“SO LIVE. TRULY AND FULLY LIVE. I WILL WELCOME YOU WHEN YOU RETURN, BUT FOR NOW, DO AS YOU WISH. FINALLY LIVE.”

Before Eddie could say anything, everything fell dark. Completely dark.

It sent a shrill to his spine.

“Shit,” Eddie coughed, his whole body ached -eyes blinking, trying to focus.

It smelt like shit. Like actual shit. And rotted wood, and dirt, and… and blood. Eddie's hand flailed in the dark, finally smoothing across his abdomen. The sealed skin there, all he could feel was a bump -a scar, he recognized. Alive. I'm alive-

Eddie laughed -teary (fuck, I’m alive), before trying to see, to focus.

He brushed his hands forward, and felt a scratch against his palm. He frowned, but pushed forward -tracing around the edge. It felt like a plank.

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, suddenly realizing that he was crouched -stuck somewhere small. He squinted -scanning around the space, there was a little crack of light in front of him -he did the only thing he could. Cautious of his head, he started pulling at the planks (or sometimes much larger than planks) and moving toward the light. The wood scraped against his skin, but he ignored it. He needed to fucking move-

And then, his arm was stuck out. And he got a fistful of grass, of dirt. Of mud. Eddie pulled his hand back, eyeing the grass -dead and dying (like it was constantly stepped on). Not like the perfect blades from before, not like the shiny fucking meadow-

Eddie let out another laugh. I'm alive.

He pulled himself out of the… wood? Out into the fresh air, the muddy as fuck grass (it stuck to his skin but he couldn't be fucking happier), he tried to gauge his surroundings.

Eddie's flickered along the area, and then it struck him. Was he-

He spun on his heel, and there it was, the Neibolt house. Or… what used to be the Neibolt house. It was in fucking pieces, rotten wood tumbled to the ground, it kind of just looked like a pile now. The house was completely gone. When did it fall?

After they killed It? He can almost remember the dropping of rocks, and maybe… maybe ‘we can still help him’-

Eddie blinked. Fuck.

He steeled himself, and hoped to god that his shit was in the Townhouse. If it wasn't, he wasn't sure how he'd even get the fuck out of Derry. To… to go where? Where did Richie live again? LA?

Jesus, fuck, he was going to LA?

Eddie shook it off. If that's where Richie was, I’m going there. Even if it's fucking disgusting.

He pulled himself into the Townhouse, purposefully. His steps were certain, and he was ready to fucking go. He'd waited long enough for this.

“Excuse me,” he asked, maybe a little too aggressively.

The woman just stared at him -blankly. And then Eddie realized that he looked batshit insane, grimy and dirty and bloody with a giant ass whole in his shirt-

“Um,” Eddie cleared his throat, awkwardly, “-it's a really long story.”

The woman leveled a look at him (judgmentally) and if Eddie didn't have insane fucking focus right now, he might've been enticed to bite back. But he had shit to do.

“I imagine,” she clicked her tongue, “-How can I help you today, sir?”

“Do you have an extra key for room #4? I think I-”

“They checked out of that room yesterday,” she interrupted (Shit), but before he could ask much else, she clarified, “-Well, the guy just moved his shit into another room, but-”

“What?” Eddie blinked, trying to think. Who was still here? Who was still here to get his stuff? To fucking keep it? That-

I love you, I always have.

Eddie paused. Fuck, Richie. He's still here?

“Yeah,” the woman continued, busying herself with her nails, “-room #7. Apparently he left some of his shit in #4, and returned the extra after grabbing it.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, his hands shaking, “-Thanks. Yeah, he, um, he grabbed that for me. So.”

She flashed the fakest customer service smile he'd ever seen, “Hope you have a lovely rest of your day, sir. Come back and see us.”

Eddie pressed his lips together, and just nodded -scurrying down the hallway. His neck nearly broke as he switched between numbers -eyes darting back and forth.

You can’t die, Eddie. I love you, I always have. Please, don’t fucking die. Please. I’m fucking begging, man.

I love you too, bubbled along his skin, Fuck, Richie, I love you too. Always have.

And then, there it was. Tilted, slightly rusted number 7, Eddie instinctively straightened it.

Before he could second guess himself, he knocked. A nice firm one, just so he knew for sure that he heard it. Richie’s in there. Richie. You're not dead and Richie’s-

“I said, fuck off,” a voice echoed out of the door (a wrecked one, scratchy and tired and sniffly), “-You don't fucking get it, Mikey. I just want to be alone. Leave me alone.”

Eddie frowned, something in his chest felt like it curled up and died. Fuck.

He debated a few things. He'd been trying to think of this shit for awhile, understand Richie’s point of view. Or whoever he ran into, he guesses.

You kill a demon clown… monster, your friend dies in the process, and a few days later, your dead friend shows up at your doorstep.

Yeah, so, Eddie wasn't exactly looking at the best odds, at the moment. But he doesn't think speaking will help his case, Richie might just think he's losing his mind.

So, instead-

Knock, knock.

“Mike, seriously,” Richie groaned out, tone leveled but something in it just… hurt (Eddie clenched his fist once), “-I really don't want to hear your pep talk shit again. It doesn't fucking help.”

Eddie pressed on. Knock, knock.

“Mike,” Richie snapped, “-fucking stop.”

Eddie continued, unhesitantly. Knock, knock.

“Jesus Christ, man,” he heard the creak of a bed as it stood, and the thump of his footsteps against the floor, “-this better be fucking important.”

Eddie's heart was pounding in his ears. (Thump, thump, thump.) He clenched both of his hands into fists and tried to school a breath out of his lungs -you're okay. It's just Richie. Whose in love with you. And who you also love. The one you kinda fought God to live with. So, totally fucking, perfectly normal.

He heard the jingle of the chained lock falling -fingers working away on it. And Eddie tried to clear his brain. It's just Richie, it's just Richie, it's just-

“This better be fucking-” Richie started, and he was right there -Eddie could hear his voice, and then the door swung open.

Richie froze solid, swallowing -eyes hitched on him in a way that Eddie couldn’t read, “-good.”

He looked like shit, shirt stained, eyes red, hair stamped down (like he’d been laying down for days, hadn’t fucking moved). But even still Eddie’s heart was going a fucking mile a minute, and he thought maybe he wanted to kiss the shit out of him. I love you, I always have.

Eddie wasn't sure what to do. What he was allowed to do, what to say-

The door slammed in his face.

Eddie blinked, face turning sour, “What the fuck?”

Richie's voice immediately started up, shrieky (Eddie winced through the door) and ignoring him, “Mike, hello, are you still in Derry?”

There was a pause, and Eddie assumed Mike was answering. He just subjected himself to waiting -there was no use in fighting. Hell, Eddie probably would’ve done the exact fucking same, actually-

“I don't think It’s dead,” he breathed out -frantic (something heavy and painful, Jesus Christ Eddie wanted to make it go away), “-Fucking Eddie is at my door dead Eddie-”

Please, don’t fucking die. Please. I’m fucking begging, man.

Eddie's stomach twisted into knots, and he swayed on his feet a little. Richie, I'm not dead. I came back to you. For you.

“-What do you mean Stanley's alive?” Richie's voice was softer, quieter.

Eddie lightened slightly -eyes flickering up to the ceiling. Fuck, he was so worried. Thank fucking… Maturin, I guess.

“So he just shot back up in Georgia? Like he… Like it never happened?”

Mike seemed to answer.

“He's-” Richie seemed to swallow, “-He's asking about Eddie? If we… If he's okay? Like… So, that's real Eddie? The one at my door, that's fucking real Eddie?”

Another bout of silence.

“Fuck, man,” Richie blanched, tone a mixture of things, “-I just slammed the door in his face.”

“Yeah,” Eddie called through the door, frustrated (I need to tell you, it’s making my skin fucking itch, so let me in asshole) “-you did. Asshat.”

“I have to go,” Richie whispered out, something clawing up his throat. And Eddie felt like his heart was in his throat, like he might fucking puke it out.

And then, there were steps -complex ones. Like he wanted to be fast, and also was so hesitant that he might just never open up the door. Eddie really fucking wanted him to, it fucking burned.

It crept open this time -slow and concise, and Richie seemed to be a little lost. Eddie realized that his glasses were still cracked and dirty, the same as before. (When I was a kid, I would've had his extras.) He couldn’t exactly read what was transpiring on his face, but he did see some familiar shit. Really fucking familiar. Something that he couldn’t recognize now, but he knew it now. Love, he loves me.

“Are you-” Richie let out hesitantly, and he looked fucking… weepy (something in Eddie wanted to scream and maybe beat the shit out that clown, again), “-Seriously? You’re real? I’m not fucking… hallucinating? From fucking alcohol poisoning or maybe fucking PTSD-”

Eddie rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath. Reaching forward, he grabbed Richie’s hand and put it onto his chest -right where he could feel his heartbeat. The thrum of it against his palm. Indisputable.

Richie’s lips snapped shut, and his eyes blew wide -cheeks flared up a bright sort of red. Eddie thought it was fucking… endearing (fuck, I really do love this freak). Eventually, something in his face settled though, tension slipping from his shoulders, and eyes fogging up behind his glasses. Eddie dropped his hand -despite the urge to hold it between his fingers for longer. Later.

“So, you’re not-” Richie swallowed, voice scratchy, “-you’re not dead.”

“No, dipshit, I’m right fucking here,” Eddie answered, before clarifying -gentler, “-I was, but… It’s a long fucking story.”

Richie was staring at him, lips pressed together -like he was stopping himself from crying. Eddie hated the idea that it was all he’d been doing for days. Maybe hadn’t even slept, or eaten, or fucking anything-

“Are you gonna hug me or not, asshole?” he hissed -a little desperate for just… Richie.

Richie laughed a little (Eddie’s heart skipped a beat), wiping at his eyes, “You’re such a little shit.”

“I’m not fucking-”

Before he could finish the sentence, Richie was launching himself forward. Eddie’s lips snapped shut.

He was completely wrapped around him, arched down slightly to shove his face into Eddie’s neck. As close as could fucking get (Eddie somehow wanted him closer). And then, Richie was crying. Body shaking against his, tears smoothed across his skin.

Eddie swallowed down what felt like lead.

With a breath, he pulled his arms around Richie’s shoulders and cradled the back of his head -fingers threaded into his hair. It felt familiar, but so different.

“I’m sorry,” Richie breathed against his neck. I love you, I always have.

Eddie didn’t need to ask why, holding tighter like he never wanted to let go (and he didn’t), “Me too.” Please, don’t fucking die. Please. I’m fucking begging, man.

Richie didn’t need to ask why either.

Eddie doesn’t know how long they stayed like that, but it wasn’t long enough. He needed to feel Richie under his fingers, the thrum of his insanely warm body heat. It was like a mantra, you made it back to him, you’re alive and you’re with him again. Richie was the one who pulled back, maybe for a few different reasons that Eddie didn’t understand, but he disconnected himself anyway.

“Well,” Richie joked (always did when he was feeling so heavy), and his hands hung strangely between them for a second -like he wanted to touch him maybe, “-I’m fucking glad I never got up the courage to call your wife.”

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Eddie blinked, “-Where’s my phone?”

Something crossed along Richie’s face, dimming (his smile was painted on then), “Oh, yeah, of course, it’s on the nightstand. I’ve been, um, letting it charge. But it should be good to… call the missus, Eds.”

Eddie’s heart twisted (no, don’t be fucking stupid, Richie), “Don’t… I… That’s not-”

Richie stared at him for a second -maybe trying to understand. He always did that. Always listened, and tried to understand him. Full attention, like what he was saying was the most important shit in the world. He remembers it now, ranting about his Mom, teachers, and Richie just… listening. He’d even fucking shush somebody else, doing a stupid impression, “Please, Eddie Spaghetti, has the floor, my friend.” It didn’t matter what it was about, he was always the fucking same. How long has he loved me?

“Just stop fucking thinking,” Eddie finally huffed out, grabbing his phone and moving to step out into the hallway, “-You don’t know shit until I tell you.”

“What-” Richie tried, furrowed eyebrows. Eddie stepped out before he could finish it.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button. It was less a than second before-

“Edward, where the hell have you been?” she screeched, and Eddie was hit with how much she sounded like Ma (I fucking hate that stupid fucking clown), “-I’ve been worried sick-”

It pushed out of Eddie’s chest before he could think better of it.

“I want a divorce.”

“What?” Myra sputtered, “-Eddie bear, this is not you. What happened? You leave for work and then tell me you’re going to see old friends, and then, you’re fucking… You want a divorce?”

Eddie pressed his lips together, “I went through a lot of shit, Myra. You’ve never made me happy, and I’ve never made you happy. It’s not fucking worth it anymore.”

Myra took a minute, “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“I’m not cheating on you,” Eddie decided to answer, because, yes, there was. But that didn’t help anything right now.

“That’s not what I said, is it, Edward?”

Eddie’s stomach tossed, but he took it in stride, “Look, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want. You can have the house, I just need some fucking essentials. There’s nothing in there that I want.”

“Not even your mother’s china?” she asked, pointedly.

“No,” Eddie exhaled, “-you can sell it on Ebay, I don’t give a fuck. All I need is-”

“You’re really going to throw everything away?” Myra asked, and it was sniffly and teary (Eddie felt guilt wrap around his chest -suffocating), “-For some… For some woman?”

“There’s nothing to throw away, Myra,” Eddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “-We hardly even fucking interacted. We haven’t been on a date since before our marriage. There’s nothing. We have nothing.”

“So, you-” she asked, “-you never loved me, then?”

Eddie paused.

“Did you ever love me?”

There was silence, a heavy kind that haunted Eddie all his life. Tension, and angry, and just being fucking… unhappy. I don’t want that anymore. I want to love, and fucking… be loved.

“Just mail the papers, Edward,” Myra finished -bitterly, “-I’ll have everything ready for you by tomorrow.”

Eddie let out a breath, a mix of things firing through his chest (fear, excitement, relief), “Thank you, Myra.”

“I hope they make you happy, Eddie,” she finally breathed out, something new in her tone -unrecognizable.

He wondered for a second if he should even say anything, but he felt it come out, “He will.”

Myra didn’t say anything, and then, it was the dial tone.

Eddie blinked, once and then twice. And then, burst into laughter. Loud and sharp echoing down the hallway. Fuck, he was free. I need to fucking tell him. Right now-

He spun to the door -opening it, “Ri-”

There was a voice, a low voice. Eddie froze.

“Yeah,” Richie spoke, behind the bathroom door, “-he’s on the phone with her right now.”

He took some hesitant steps forward.

Richie seemed to scramble for a second, “What if he’s fucking… making up with her? I mean, Bev, fuck, he’s married.”

Eddie pulled himself to sit at the end of the bed, silent.

“I know what he said, I was the one who fucking told you-” Richie echoed out, “-but I mean, he fucking has a wife. And he needed to call his wife immediately, what the fuck am I supposed to think?”

You’re not supposed to think, asshat, his mind hummed.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘tell him’? I already have,” Richie hissed -low.

I love you, I always have.

“Well, I guess I don’t know if he remembers,” Richie relented with a groan, before speaking much softer -afraid, “-I don’t know, Bev. If I tell him, and he’s not… I can’t handle it. I can’t lose him again.”

Eddie felt like he was punched in the gut.

He stood up and made his way back to the door -shutting it much louder this time. Richie’s lips snapped shut.

“Richie?” he called, trying to his voice relatively normal.

“Yeah, hey,” Richie called, seeming to do the same, “-I’m just in the shitter, gimme a minute.”

Eddie’s nose scrunched up, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Richie laughed. And it made Eddie’s head twirl (you’re 40 fucking years old, Kaspbrak, get a grip).

Naturally, it was only a few seconds (because Richie wasn't actually using the bathroom). He came out, rubbing his hands dry on his pants -Eddie almost chastised him, but he kinda couldn't focus at the moment. His eyes lingering on his big ass man hands, and the hair that crawled up his arms-

God, he admits he's in love and suddenly he's fucking ogling the guy. Jesus Christ-

“So, how'd the missus take it?” Richie suddenly spoke after a moment -awkwardly.

Eddie pursed his lips, eyes flickering all over his face (square jaw, wavy hair the brushes right over the top of his ear, strong nose, blue eyes, stubble that Eddie wondered would feel like under his fingertips -Jesus Christ, Eddie, stay fucking focused), “Take what?”

“The, um,” Richie started, trying to find the words maybe, “-The whole… demon clown thing?”

Eddie barked out a laugh, shocked, “You think I told Myra about that shit?”

“Well, Eds,” Richie laughed, nervously, “-she's your wife. What… did you talk about then?”

Eddie paused, eyes leveled with Richie’s (so fucking stupid), “I told her that I wanted a divorce.”

Richie blanched, “What?”

“I told you not to fucking assume, asshole,” Eddie pointed out, before moving to plug his phone back up again, “-She was just like Ma. Manipulative, and controlling as shit. Fucking Derry strikes again.”

“Well, fuck, uh,” Richie scrambled for a second, and Eddie tucked back a smile, “-Congratulations? I think?”

“That works,” Eddie laughed, and he watched Richie grin a little at it. (For how long? Richie, how long have you loved me?).

There was a silence then, and Eddie settled on something. It felt like it was burning him alive, he just needed to figure out how-

“So, um,” Richie cleared his throat, “-what were the big, pearly gates like, Kaspbrak?”

Eddie quirked an eyebrow, “You really wanna know?”

“I'll have you know, Eds,” Richie continued, “-that I have a crippling fear of death at this point, so, yes.”

Eddie hummed, as if to say ‘fair point’, before continuing, “I don't know if it's different, for like… different people, but-”

“My heaven is probably going to be wherever yours is, Eds.”

Richie froze for a second, seeming to realize that his mouth had run rampant.

“Good point,” Eddie commented -casually (entirely missing the way Richie was staring at him with big wide eyes and red dusted cheeks), “-It was just like a fucking… meadow. With trees and grass and… flowers. I didn't really… look at it much.”

“Why not?” Richie asked -curiously.

“Because I was fucking pissed,” Eddie answered -honestly, “-I was dead. After everything. That clown took… fucking everything from me. And then It killed me.”

Richie's lips pressed into a thin line.

“I mean, all my life, there's been shit missing, and then, I find it, and-” Eddie continued, “-and I'm dead? I've been unhappy for decades and then, I finally find the shit that makes me happy, and then I'm dead.”

“That is pretty fucked,” Richie responded, like it was only thing he could say (the wound of Eddie’s death definitely was still fresh).

“I know,” Eddie agreed, frustration and emotion only building higher, “-and Stanley was trying to calm me the fuck down, but I couldn't because you-”

Eddie faltered, eyeing Richie for a second -he looked at him like he was his last hope on Earth, like every second he looked at him it might be his last, Eddie might disappear.

“-you… you love me, and you begged me not to die, and I did.”

Richie paused for a second, maybe processing the obvious (I heard you), “We don't have to… That's… I know that was weird of me to say. And that makes everything fucking… different. So, we don't have to talk about it. Unless, you're just not comfortable with me-”

“Richie,” Eddie interrupted, putting his hands onto his shoulders, “-shut up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Richie squeaked out, cheeks a dark red (maybe it's okay if he reacts that way too), and promptly closed his mouth.

“I had to fucking fight to get back here,” Eddie started to explain, “-I argued with God about why I deserved to come back. Why both Stan and I did.”

Richie didn't say a word. Even though it looked like he really wanted to.

“Do you wanna know why I fought so hard?”

“Yes…?” Richie answered, a little confused, apparently.

“Because you-” Eddie poked into his chest -ennunciating every word, hands dropped from his shoulders (but he was definitely closer to him now), “-decided to confess your fucking love to me, when I was dying, dumbass.”

“Ow,” Richie hissed, stepping back but Eddie followed his stride, “-In my defense, I didn't know you were gonna die. And what does that even have to do with that shit anyway?”

Eddie blinked, staring at Richie. They were very close now, but Eddie was thinking too much to react to it. He was staring at him, trying to see if he had anything on his face, if he understood.

It was shockingly empty, just surprise and confusion and disbelief. I just have to be in love with the dumbest motherfucker alive-

“It's you, moron,” Eddie explained, pointedly, “-I fought fucking death for you.”

“You…” Richie started, before shaking his head (maybe in disbelief) and blinking owlishly, “-What?”

“God,” Eddie rolled his eyes, grabbing the collar of his shirt and dragging him to eye-level -Richie’s eyes practically bugged out of his head (fuck, I love this dumbass so much), “-I wanted to come back to you. Because I love you too, you asshole, and I want to be with you, not fucking dead.”

Richie blinked.

“Did you get that?” Eddie questioned -frustratingly, “-Because I'm not fucking repeating myself.”

Richie blinked at him a few more times, like his brain was processing. Eddie could almost see the gears grinding together in his brain. It would've been funny if anxiety hadn't been shooting up his spine (he said it, but maybe it was like a deathbed pity kinda thing-).

It was like a switch in Richie’s brain flipped, and a grin (that made Eddie's head spin) smoothed across his lips -not that Eddie was looking at them. Because he wasn't.

“Maybe just one part,” he finally said.

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

Richie clarified, grinning so bright that it made Eddie's knees weak (or maybe he was just standing for too long), “Maybe you can repeat just one part.”

“What are you-”

And then, Richie got a little glint in his eyes that Eddie kinda wanted to see everyday for the rest of his life (and hopefully he would).

Eddie pressed his lips together, puffing up his cheeks in frustration -Richie's eyes were fucking twinkly, at this point. Pissed, and flustered that he had to go back on his word, for this stupid motherfucker. But, he said it anyway.

“I love you.”

Richie laughed, a little manically like it was the best day of his life, “That's the one.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, lips quirking up into a smile, “You are so fucking stupid.”

Before Richie could say anything though, Eddie tugged him forward and kissed him. With all the shit that had been building up these past few days, these past few fucking decades, if he was honest. He kissed Richie like how he wanted to kiss him at 12 (when he didn’t even realize what it was), at 16 (when he dreamed that Richie Tozier would ask him to the stupid fucking prom), at 18 (when Eddie wanted to kiss him goodbye so bad it burned), and at fucking 40. He threaded a hand through his hair and kept Richie there (like he'd dare to move), which Eddie fully believed he wouldn't. But it was nice to have the option (plus, Richie made a little noise at it that Eddie wanted to hear the rest of his life so-).

“Jesus, Eds,” Richie pulled back -laughing, “-of course, you kiss like we’re having fucking makeup sex. Like you're fucking pissed at me-”

“I am pissed at you,” Eddie leveled -still just a breath away.

“Please, don't take this as a complaint,” Richie continued, suggestively, “-Be pissed at me all you want, if it makes you kiss me like that.”

Eddie, against his better judgment, laughed, and Richie looked at him like he was the fucking sun. Fuck, I love the shit out of him.

“I love you too, by the way,” Richie breathed out, “-if that wasn't clear.”

“It definitely fucking was,” Eddie laughed, before eyeing his hand on Richie's face (he kinda moved instinctively when they'd kissed). His eyes caught on something.

His ring.

He pulled it off, letting go of Richie's collar and mindlessly throwing it somewhere into the room. Richie laughed, and Eddie wanted to kiss the shit out of him again. Until-

“Shit,” Eddie scrubbed at his hands, “-Why did you let me kiss you? I'm fucking disgusting.”

“Eddie,” Richie leveled, seriously, “-you could be caked in fucking sewage and I would still let you kiss me. We could be in the middle of a fight, and I'd let you kiss me. Anytime, anywhere, baby-”

“I am caked in fucking sewage,” Eddie reasoned, “-and blood, and dirt. And… fuck, my cheek’s probably fucking infected-”

“Relax, Eds,” Richie smoothed his hands down his arms, and it stole the breath of out Eddie's lungs, “-let me check it before you go all fucking crazy mode.”

Richie moved carefully, peeling back the bandage that was uncomfortably stuck to his skin -Eddie winced.

He immediately apologized, fluidly, “Sorry, Eddie baby, I gotta see.”

Eddie blinked, face burning a bright red (he can’t just call me that shit, all soft and sweet). God.

“Nope, all healed up, Eds,” he patted his cheek once (Eddie didn't let it go unnoticed how soft he did so, gentle, as if not to hurt him), “-the big guy upstairs must've done the same as your other stab wound.”

Eddie's eyes naturally dropped to his abdomen and the giant fucking hole in his shirt, the red staining his skin and the fabric. There was so… much-

“I need to take a shower,” Eddie swallowed, trying to clear the thoughts from his head.

“Oh, hey,” Richie chimed up, maybe clued in on Eddie's mindset, or maybe just that much of a shithead (somehow he thinks it might be both), “-I do too. Whaddya say we do it together?”

Eddie pressed his lips together, “You're unbelievable.”

“That’s not a no,” Richie hummed -suggestively raising his eyebrows.

Eddie's lips quirked into a smile, but he pushed it back down (Richie definitely caught it), "It isn't.”

Richie blinked -blankly (like he hadn't expected that), “Wait, you're… Are you serious?”

Eddie leveled a look, something flustered crawling up his face, “You asked me, dickweed.”

“Well, yeah, but you were supposed to fucking-” Richie motioned, sporadically, but didn't move his eyes off Eddie -he wanted to squirm, “-spit out some fucking facts, or like ‘you're disgusting, Trashmouth’, not… not-”

“First off,” Eddie pointed out, “-I don't fucking sound like that. Secondly, I'm in fucking love with you. Why would-”

Richie blinked, swallowing, “Fuck, that's going to take some getting used to.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“You loving me,” Richie echoed out, “-and fucking saying it. Out loud. It's like preteen, teen, and grown adult Richie's wet dream-”

“Now,” Eddie scrunched up his nose, “-You're being disgusting.”

“You don't find that endearing?” Richie continued -definitely nervous rambling, “-if I found out I was the subject of little Eddie's dreams, I would-”

“You were, asshole,” Eddie motioned, to nothing really, “-What about ‘I love you’, don't you get?”

“Shit, really?” Richie sputtered, “-I thought it was a ‘oh fuck he loves me, maybe I love him’ situation-”

“You thought it was like a realization in my 40s?” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, speaking -pointedly, “-I used to kick your glasses off in that stupid fucking hammock to get you to pay attention to me-”

“I-” Richie pressed his lips together.

“-and when you called me ‘cute’ or fucking… ‘Eddie my love’, I would almost fucking explode? Or when you took fucking Stacey W. to prom, I wouldn't be in the same room with you for a week-”

“You were jealous?” Richie interrupted, incredulously, “-I thought I had just fucking done something to piss you off.”

“You did, asshole,” Eddie explained -maybe still a little bitter (he thinks he has the right), “-You took fucking… Stacey W. to prom.”

“Are you still bitter about that?” Richie asked, maybe overjoyed, “-It kinda sounds like you're still bitter over that, Eds-”

“I didn’t have a date. I had…” Eddie puffed up his cheeks, “-I had this whole fucking… dream scenario. We'd go to prom, leave early because it sucked, I'd ride in your stupid fucking deathtrap, and then we'd go get icecream. Like we always did.”

Richie stared at him for a few seconds.

“Can you have a prom do-over in our 40s?” he said -finally, “-Do you think we're like morally allowed to-”

“We're grown adults, Richie,” Eddie pursed his lips, “-We can do whatever the fuck we want. Plus, people have high-school reunions all the time. It's basically the same fucking thing.”

“Is it?” Richie asked -curiously.

“I don't know,” Eddie hissed, “-I've never been to one, but it sounds like it is. Everybody meeting up? Dressed up? There's probably fucking drinks, food, the same fucking music we grew up on-”

“Is this your way of asking me to our high-school reunion, Eds?” Richie grinned, teasing.

“Shut up, dickweed,” Eddie flicked him in the chest, red crawling up his collarbone, “-we're never coming back to Derry ever again. For as long as I fucking live.”

“We're?”

Eddie blinked, eyeing Richie -who had a slew of different things on his face. Eddie tried to identify some of them, pick them apart, see young Richie in them. But it was still a little fuzzy around the edges, he hoped to know his expressions one day though.

“You're an idiot,” Eddie finally settled on, “-what do you think we are? Friends who fucking confessed their love to each other?”

“Well,” Richie scrambled for a second, “-I didn't want to assume shit. This is like my fucking wildest dream come true, man, I don't… I don't want to fuck it up.”

Eddie sighed, before going softer, gentler -letting a hand drift to hold his face, “You're not gonna fuck it up, Rich. There's literally no way you can. I'm fucking… in it for the long haul because I'm stupid in love with you. Have been since I was 12.”

Richie smiled, in a soft kinda way that Eddie recognized from decades ago. He finally saw it for what it was.

“You've done much worse shit than fucking love me,” Eddie continued, tone a little sharp but touch soft (thumb dusting over his cheekbone, back and forth).

Richie was looking at him in a way he had just started to grasp. All affectionate and loving, like he was his fucking world. And right now, it was a little overwhelming, but Eddie felt like he could definitely get used to it.

“I really fucking love you.”

Eddie smiled then (it felt fucking useless to stop it now), “I love you too, moron.”

Before Richie could say another word, Eddie patted his cheek and moved to get into his suitcase, “Now, are you coming or not, asshole?”

“What?” Richie asked, and Eddie could nearly feel his eyes widen.

Eddie pulled out a prepped outfit, a towel, and his essentials (all the shower stuff and assortment of face creams), and held it to his chest. He turned back to Richie, and raised an eyebrow. He was honestly really sick of waiting (the broad expanse of Richie’s shoulders were making him fucking break out into hives at this point), and just wanted Richie in literally every capacity.

“Seriously?” Richie swallowed like it was impossible that it was happening (like Eddie was unattainable), “-Eddie Kaspbrak would… You want to shower with me?”

God, he wanted to eat him alive.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered before snapping, “-Yes, idiot. I said that shit already. Are you coming or not?”

Richie still wasn't moving, “Why?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, moving to disappear into the doorway -setting down all his shit, and then turning back out.

“We've lost fucking 30 years, and I fucking died. We've got a shitload of time to make up for,” Eddie pointed out, before continuing cautiously (maybe I’m looking at this wrong), “-Do you not… want to?”

“What, no-” Richie spoke -so quickly that Eddie barely caught it, “-Jesus Christ, Eddie, that literally sounds like a fucking dream. I've never wanted to do something so much in my life-”

“Then, stop being a fucking idiot, and-” Eddie spoke -pointedly, “-come undress me, asshole.”

“God, Eds, you're gonna fucking kill me-” Richie sighed out, but even still, scrambled to get into his suitcase -it made Eddie want to snicker.

“A turtle, by the way,” Eddie clarified.

“What?” Richie asked, genuinely, but still was honed in on digging through his clothes (Eddie did actually laugh at that).

“God,” Eddie remarked casually, turning back to move into the bathroom, “-he's a turtle. Well, I guess, they're a turtle.”

“Hey, man-” Richie echoed out, footsteps coming closer and closer until he was in the door frame, “-you can't just leave me hanging on that shit. You can't just drop the fact that God's a turtle and expect me to-”

Eddie turned to face him sharply, “Don't call me ‘man’ when we're about to have sex, Richie.”

“Jesus fuck,” Richie's face went all splotchy, “-You're fucking melting my brain, Kaspbrak-”

“Well get fucking used to it asshole,” Eddie flicked his forehead, “-because you're stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you, yeah,” Richie exhaled out a laugh, watching as Eddie slipped off his shirt, “-Shit, m- Eds, I'm… I can't fucking think right now.”

“So, don't,” Eddie remarked, before snapping forward and sealing their lips together.

Eddie Kaspbrak deserved this -Richie's hands all over him and laughs breaking through their lips when he almost falls on his ass. Richie dragging him through New York for touristy shit like he hadn't been there hundreds of times. The flight to LA where Richie cued up an animated movie and bawled his eyes out because “they got their happily ever after, Eds”. And finally fucking being home (because, in a shitty fucking cliché, for Eddie, it was wherever Richie Tozier was).

Eddie Kaspbrak deserved that.

Not dying to a fucked up demon clown in the nasty ass sewers.

Fuck anybody who said differently.