eddie kaspbrak đ (spageds) wrote in evaluation, @ 2019-10-27 11:39:00 |
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For all Eddie was an anxious, jumpy, overly suspicious person, he was also extremely self-awareâand he knew he could be a wet blanket. He owned that. Part of that self-awareness came from growing up in an unsafe environment that conditioned him to be on high alert all the time, but the other part was his interest in psychology and medicine. He liked knowing what made him tick, and what made others tick, and yeah, it gave him a little bit of control (which he was also aware of), but it helped in moments like these where he needed to identify people and situations quickly and efficiently. Billy. Teddy. Stiles. Jughead. Gansey. Ronan was a bit of a loose canon, but well-meaning. Gladio ... possibly, if Eddie could suss out what his motivations were.
And then there was Richie, who in any other circumstance would have been his ride or die, was now inexplicably older, and therefore, very much an unknown factor. Eddie didn't know what to think about that. He'd been trying not to think about it, quite honestly, but this whole âguarding the hellpitâ business was starting to wear on him after several hours, and fuck, he wanted his best friend right now. It felt like tearing a hole through his chest to avoid him. But what did they have in common anymore? The last thing Eddie wanted was to be a burden, and with everything going on, Richie needed to focus on looking after himself, let alone some dweeb teenager with a clown bite and bruises all over his back.
Fuck this place. Seriously.
It was at least another hour or so before Eddie finally talked himself into visiting Richie. He needed to switch places with someone first, which Gladio had offered to help him out with, and then he ventured down the hallway, feeling weird and out of place after basically making a home in a dark room for the better part of two days. He was like a fucking gremlin at this point. Great, Eddie thought, annoyed, but mostly grateful he had back pain to focus on and a huge bite that itched like crazy. Small little reminders that he was alive, and existing, and not going completely insane.
He peeked around the corner when he finally arrived at the candy room and immediately made a gagging noise. "Oh, Jesus Christ." Then, muffled behind his hand, which was now covering his mouth: "This is so fucking unsanitary." It skeeved him in the worst way to see food as decoration. Thank God he'd managed to choke down a granola bar earlier, because there was no fucking way he had an apetite now. Eddie remained hovering by the door, candelabra raised in one hand like some kind of weapon, debating whether he should go in or not. Maybe Richie wasn't even around anymore. That would be convenient. Hey, stopped by, room was empty, see you around? Good plan. Going with that.
Unfortunately for Eddie, Richie was in the room. Heâd been organizing and reorganizing the cigarette stash John had acquired after dropping down a tunnel (the fuck was that even about), because it was their Precious and since heâd gone to all the trouble to acquire tobacco for the addicts they were, Richie was going to make the supplies last and not smoke every last cigarette until his eyes watered so much they fell out of his skull, and his lungs were singed to ash.
But when he saw his best friend (or heard him, rather, the dramatic asshat) he glanced up and waved Eddie inside. At least heâd dragged himself away from guarding a bottomless pit with floorboards over it. âCome in, idiot,â he insisted. âIâd say make yourself cozy but I know you wonât.â
Yeah, he knew Eddie. Because there wasnât a version of Eddie that Richie didnât love - it was a little different now (more platonic, less romantic), considering how much younger he happened to be, but heâd loved Eddie from before his voice changed up until the day he died. And he was always the same, always this beautiful person taken too soon and too unfairly from the shithole world.
"You bet your ass I won't. Fuck." Eddie hesitated another second or two before finally deciding it was way more frightening to loiter in the corridor alone than it was to face his fear of bacteria. Or his fear that his best friend wouldn't care about him. That was high on his list of stressors right now. Not so easily ignored with the way his heart lurched a little bit hearing Richie's voice coming from inside.
He wandered in slowly, noting what few exits and hiding places there were without thinking about it. Old habits. Had Richie been the Richie he knew, Eddie would have attached himself to his friend like a barnacle. They were way past most boundaries now, even though they pretended to be annoyed when their spaces were invaded. Nowânot so much. He needed to evaluate this guy and not soften up around him like his instincts told him to.
So Eddie finally allowed himself to look at Richie, really look at him, eyes narrowed. It was absolutely his best friendâthere was no debating that. Eddie could see it in his bright, bright eyes, and his ridiculous hair, and his ridiculous glasses. He wondered whether he looked anything like his older self, too, and whether they still ragged on each other ruthlessly for it. Case in point: "Why the hell do you still wear coke bottle glasses, man?" It was a test. The real Richie would know that. (The cigarettes were noted. Later.)
âHey, fuck you, I gotta keep up with the retro Buddy Holly look - itâs coming back in style one day,â Richie insisted, though he knew it probably wasnât. He never considered himself fashionable by any means, and he probably hadnât grown into his looks the way Bev prophesized either. By age forty, it was too late for that prediction to come true.
He was too tall, too thin, too uncaring about what his wild curls were doing on any given day. Especially now. And not having the armor his loud, obnoxious overshirts provided was really getting on his nerves - fuck these gangster suits, seriously.
Eddie wouldnât sit, but Richie did - just for a minute, on the edge of his bed. He wondered why the guy came around here, since he seemed insistent on avoiding adults - including his best friend, who had once carved their initials in the kissing bridge because his thirteen-year-old body couldnât handle the love he felt for Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie would be glad to tell him how he turned out when he was older, if he wanted to know. âYou okay, Spageds?â
Like, obviously he wasnât. But it was an open invitation to talk about whatever was on his mind.
Eddie shook his head a little, amused despite himself. He fought the urge to smile, so his mouth just twisted instead. "You and Bev and your weird-ass fashion." To Eddie, they were the two most stylish of their groupâalways seemingly unaffected by whatever everyone else was doing, but he suspected that was partly the way they hung around and smoked and looked like nothing fazed them. It added to the ambience. As someone who had long since abandoned any hope of looking even remotely that cool, it was impressive, even if he'd never told them.
Spageds hit him like a physical weight on his chest. Eddie sighed, and glanced at the ground, briefly irritated that he couldn't cross his arms if he insisted on continuing to carry a candelabra like some cartoon character on a Sunday morning kids' show. There was no way he was putting that down yet. So here he was: stubborn to the last, even if it inconvenienced himself.
"No," he admitted after a beat, and it felt ... good to say it out loud, to stop fighting for a damn second and confess how he was really feeling. He glanced up at Richie then, something a little less hostile in his gaze now. "Are you?" His mouth twisted again, but this time it was to keep from frowning. For all he'd avoided Richie until now, he was still deeply worried about him. He always was, and he always would be. That was just part of his life.
âNo,â Richie replied immediately, because if Eddie was going to do the honesty thing then so was he. âNot really. I mean, itâs just - being here. Without the others. After everything that happened. Iâm not having any adverse effects or anything.â Yet for some reason he had a feeling he wouldnât always be so lucky - this house was a dampener on anything like magic or the unexplainable, it put everyone on the same playing field, but what would happen when that was done away with? Would he see similar horrible things like Bev did?
Yeesh. And speaking of yeesh, bluejay eyes squinted at the image of Eddie carrying that candelabra. It was Kaspbrak in the parlor with the candlestick. If nothing else, that had to be heavy as shit. âYou want a weapon a little less cumbersome?â he asked, because clearly Eddie wasnât going to walk around without something to defend himself with. Nobody would, if they were smart. Especially when this house was starting to reveal its true colors as some acid-tripping carnival exhibit.
âI can make you something. In fact, Iâve got an idea.â
He was nodding before he'd caught himself, wholeheartedly agreeing with Richie's statement. That was exactly how he felt, too. They'd just faced the demon clown againâfor good, or what he hoped was for goodâonly to end up here in yet another old, unfamiliar house that gave off a ton of creepy vibes and none of their friends around to lean on while even more fucked up shit was happening. And here Eddie was, overcomplicating everything and shutting his best friend out just because he was scared. What kind of friend was he?
"I'm sorry," he said, voice wavering. There were tears in his eyes, because of course there were, which he quickly wiped away with his free hand. "I didn'tâugh, shit." Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose hard, forcing himself to hold it the fuck together. He was, thankfully, too exhausted for a fourth panic attack in under 48 hours, but that certainly left his emotions paper thin and hovering right at the surface. "I was freaked out and I didn't know if it was really you or not. You're not alone, okay? We're still Losers. You'reâyou're still my best friend." And he meant that. Sure, it would take some adjusting, and it wasn't the same, but Eddie wasn't abandoning Richie again. Not when he knew it was him.
They'd get through this.
Grateful for the conversation steering out of heavy territory for the moment, he used the break to breathe and steady himself again. "What, like a contaminated candy cane?" Eddie quipped, his voice still a little shaky. God, he needed sleep. He wandered closer and leaned the candelabra on the bed (the only way he was willing to touch it).
Then, after a beat: "I'm going to see that stupid clown doll later. So. Make sure it's sharp."
Well, shit. Now he could just feel the brown, squashed banana in his chest resembling a heart begin to crack a little. âHey, hey - â Richie got up, pulling Eddie into a hug. He cradled the back of his best friendâs head, like he did moments before Eddie died in his arms - heâd been covered with blood, a mix of his and Eddieâs, and dirt and grime and tears and everything just hurt so much. The pain of it was an electric shock shooting through him, catching fire. It didnât matter if Eddie was eight or eighteen or eighty, Richie was still going to be there for him. âItâs okay, I get it. It felt a little different for me too but then I was like, fuck it. I donât care. Youâre still Eds.â
Patting Eddieâs back, he let go to deliver the weapon he promised. âWell, considering someone got traumatized after trying to burn that clown doll I wouldnât attack it but - â If it attacked first, all bets were off. âItâs good to be prepared.â
He broke off one of the candy cane bedposts - he only had two left now, since heâd used the other to satisfy his oral fixation before cigarettes - and then rummaged for the matchbox John brought back. The end of one of those matches was struck against the flint, and he used the heat to make the candy cane piece more pliable. When it was, he shaped it into a pretty decent dagger - the point was sharp, it could do some damage if it went into someplace squishy. âLet it harden again,â he said, and the unspoken thatâs what she said was there. âAnd Iâm going with you, by the way. To the clown...thing.â
Oh, fuck. Eddie hadn't been anticipatingâor rather, bracing himself for a hug. He didn't have the energy to defend himself against that, which meant the second Richie's arms came around him, his resolve shattered and he broke down with a shuddering sob. Not that his defenses had ever really worked around his best friend to begin with. It was a good try, though. He'd made the effort. "I'm sorry," he said again, and probably a third time, mumbling nonsense through his tears and clinging to Richie with a death grip, like he might vanish at any second.
It took another minute or two before the initial rush of grief and fear and sadness passed, but it did, and Eddie peeled himself away if only because he actually did have to sit now, exhausted and shaky from expelling all of those emotions at once. "Ew," he muttered, making a face at the mattress underneath him despite the tears. And, because it needed to be said: "It's not okay," Eddie insisted, wiping his eyes again and sniffling. He shot Richie a glare without any real heat behind it. "But it will be. I'm not bailing on you again, alright?" So his best friend was older. So what?
He watched the makeshift weapon come to fruition quietly after that. It would have been absurd if a thousand other absurd things hadn't occurred right before this. Candy cane harpoons. Fine. Eddie accepted it with a dubious look (and tried not to shudder at the texture of itâick). "Are you making one for yourself?" Because that seemed important if they were paying the clown doll a visit together, something that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. He'd be asking questions in a second. They needed to focus, though. Pennywise double first.
âIt will be okay,â Richie agreed, after he handed Eddie the candy cane harpoon. Yeah, weird as shit, but what wasnât these days? At the very least, they had each other. That was something.
As for his own weapon, he seemingly answered Eddieâs question the way he broke off another bedpost with a CRACK. It was louder, and more forceful than he intended, mostly because Richie was hating that he even had to do this in the first place. If he was going to get kidnapped to another dimension, why couldnât it be on a beach someplace?
âWeâre just going to check to make sure itâs not...you know?â IT that shall not be named. He didnât name the clown, as he struck the match to shape himself a nifty dagger. âAnd then getting the fuck out of there?â
He'd known it was coming, but the sound still made Eddie jump. Breathe, he told himself, and he did, slowly, clutching his own candy harpoon with both hands to hide the shaking. It was really a miracle his heart hadn't given out sometime over the past couple hours with how much stress he was under. Definitely something he'd fixated on a few times. It'll be okay. Eddie blew out a breath, trying to force his heart to slow the fuck down.
"Yeah," he agreed immediately, no hesitation whatsoever. "I know they said it was just a doll, but ... if it'sâ" You know, "I don't think he'll be able to keep up the facade." He'd want to fuck with them, essentially. At least, that's how Eddie figured it would go, given experience.
For a moment, he was silent, mulling over the plan and what he wanted to say. There were the obvious questions about what their futures were like, and whether they were still best friends, but the most pressing thing involved the creatureâdollâthey were about to encounter. "So you guys won," Eddie ventured, remembering their previous conversation on the network. He peered up at Richie through red-rimmed eyes. "Who didn't make it?"
Ooof.
That question went right to Richieâs stomach, which felt like a whole shit ton of acrobats carrying knives were whirling and twirling around in there. It took him back to the caverns, caught in the Deadlights and shaken awake when he heard Eddieâs voice - he didnât need a fairytale kiss, he just needed Eddieâs voice. He was so brave and then the triumphant smile was wiped off his face when that claw punched through his chest, and Richie knew it was all over.
The pain of losing Eddie was like an icy wind choking the breath from his lungs but he still had it in him to scream and cry and beg, to plead for his friends to leave him in the caverns - or to let him save Eddie, to bring Eddie with them, maybe there was a chance -
Richie, honey. Heâs dead.
Bev had tried to be gentle about it but the bitter blast of reality cut to his bones. He couldnât talk about it right now. He wouldnât, not in this candy room before they were going to confront a fucking doll.
âStan,â he managed, voice catching. He blew the match out, smoke drifting, and wiped his thumbs beneath his eyes, beneath his glasses. There was a chance it would start raining on his face, ahem. âBut he - he didnât come back to Derry, after Mike called. He thought he was the weakest link. He wanted to give us a fighting chance to kill Pennywise.â
Eddie smothered a gasp with his hand and held it there, palm over his mouth, horror flooding through him. He'd been expecting a grim retelling of his own demise, but Stan? Of all people? It justâit didn't make sense. He was the weakest link of the Losers Club. Eddie Kaspbrak. Everyone knew that. He was the smallest, the most easily frightened, the one concerned with things that never mattered. Stan was a rock. Out of everyone, Eddie had always seen him as the least shakeable, the most grounded out of all their friends. How could he possibly think he was lesser?
There was no point saying any of that. Richie knew. They all knew. What mattered right now was leaving the makeshift weapon behind and walking right back into his best friend's arms, holding onto him in a fierce grip despite his size. "It's not your fucking fault, Rich," he choked out, squeezing him even harder. "Do you hear me? It's not. I know you're thinking it." Eddie could feel the tears well up again, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. He blinked through it, determined even though his voice wavered. "That thing got into his head. None of that's true. He had to know it wasn't true."
âI know,â Richie gasped, a fish out of water; his hands were large and they scrunched at Eddieâs shirt, twisting the material. It was a hug that was meant to comfort Eddie as much as himself - they were clearly leaning on each other, and that was okay. All this talk of who didnât make it had him needing the contact.
Because no, Eddie hadnât made it, but he was here now. He was fine. Alive and still breathing.
Still, it hurt. It hurt talking about Stan even if he needed to purge the grief and sorrow somehow. Hot and cold, cold and hot, a pain so great it made a root canal seem like a frolic through daisies. Heâd almost prefer anything physical over this. âBev saw all of us die that way. Eventually, we would have - but we changed the future, when we killed IT.â
Eddie didn't move at all. Not an inch. He just held Richie through their shared grief, as overwhelming as it was. Stan might not have died in his own universe yet, but it didn't matter. To hear that he died at allâto know that he did it himselfâan awful, twisted, sharp feeling took root inside Eddie's chest, like his heart was being carved right out of him. He was so fucking angry. It didn't solve anything, and it wouldn't bring Stan back, but he still felt it, mixing with his grief like oil and water. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head to hide against Richie's chest, grateful he was here. Alive.
"Good," he managed, weakly at first. It was muffled until Eddie finally managed to ease back just a little bit to wipe his eyes. "I'm glad. I know Stan would be, too." His face twisted, and he breathed through the fresh wave of grief. It would continue for a long, long time, he knew. Stan. God.
Eddie gave Richie's arm a squeeze. "Thank you for telling me." It couldn't have been easy, having to relive that again. He appreciated it even though it hurt like hell.
There was nothing to thank him for, he felt like he was breaking apart at the seams, but Richie managed to hold himself together - barely. âI wouldnât - I wonât lie to you,â he promised, and that was true. Heâd tell Eddie about his own death someday - but he just couldnât do it right this second.
âOkay, letâs - â He wiped at his eyes with the scratchy sleeve of his jacket, fuck, he hated these clothes. But if he was going to confront a clown doll he wanted a few layers, at least. And those makeshift weapons. âLetâs go make sure that thing isnât what we think it is.â
It probably wasnât. But just to be thorough.
"I know that, asshole," Eddie replied, scowling. "I meant thank you for saying it, even though it hurts like hell. I wantedâ" He sucked in a sharp breath. "I needed to know. When I left everyone, it was ... it was insane," he finished softly, slowly, like Eddie was afraid the words might yank him back to Neibolt at any moment. They shouldn't have gone back that soon. They should have waited.
Eddie really wished he had his damn fanny pack. He could've been carrying tissues to offer Richie, and not whatever little he had by way of first aid stuffed into his pockets. But he didn't, so he wiped his own eyes and tried to pull himself together, too, feeling like a weight had settled in the pit of his stomach. "That's the only thing I want to throw in the fucking pit," Eddie mumbled. Whether or not it even ended up being their clown.
Retrieving his candy harpoon, he hesitated, debating, before he moved to the door first. He wasn't going to be a fucking coward. Not today. Not when he knew what Stan's last thoughts were.
âI kind of donât want to touch any doll, let alone a clown doll, but weâll see,â Richie said, shutting the candy bedroom door behind them. He was pretty sure the clown room was nearby, maybe a floor down - there were so many rooms, each of them shittier than the last. Even if the candy room was the only one with matching candy toilets, he was certain that some other space held things just as horrible if not worse.
It could be argued that screaming dolls were worse.
Clutching the makeshift dagger, he paused in front of the dreaded clown sanctuary. âOkay, we count to three and then go in - or just go in?â Whatever, he was here for it. And eager to get this over with so he could smoke a goddamn cigarette.
"Aren't these someone's rooms?" Eddie answered, his voice pitched a little higher. "We can't justâoh, fuck it." Really, this entire situation had been one nightmare after another. He was done. Seriously, completely done. If Pennywise was in there, he'd get them eventually anyway. What was the point in delaying? So Eddie only spared a brief knock to be polite to whoever (or whatever) was in there before pushing inside first.
He knew where to look right away. Despite all the dolls of varying shapes of creepy sizes lining the entire space, Eddie's gaze zeroed in on the giant clown instantly. His stomach gaze an uneasy lurch. "That's not IT," he managed, but forced himself to get closer anyway. Just in case. Pennywise did like to fuck with people, and he'd definitely want to fuck with them in particular. Too bad for him Eddie felt far angrier in the wake of news about Stan than he did frightened. At least for the moment.
"I know you can hear us you piece of shit," Eddie hissed, almost wishing the thing would come to life just so he'd have a reason to stab it. "If you start hurting people here, I swear to God I'll rip your head off."
Aaaaaaalright, that was enough. âItâs not Pennywise,â he breathed a sigh of relief, because as much as IT liked fucking with its meals, the damn space clown wouldnât wear another small face and regress into the form of a doll to just....sit here. No, the sloppy bitch was too antsy for that, especially after a twenty-seven year hibernation.
âIâm glad itâs not, though Pennywise hated being called a clown - we bullied IT to death,â Richie explained, hand gently coming to rest on Eddieâs shoulder. And pulling him back a little. No sense in provoking the sleeping beast if there was really one to provoke.
He also hoped Eddie didnât just randomly start stabbing. Then the screaming would start, and Richie wasnât having it.
âCome on, letâs go.â Please, please?
"What?" Because, seriously, what kind of defense was that? Eddie made a face. "You bullied IT? That doesn't even make any ..." He trailed off, the reality of Richie's words setting in, putting everything they'd gone through into sudden and sharp focus. He felt like he was having one of Ben's damn nerd epiphanies, and he reeled from the shock. "That's why it didn't work. We were giving IT power, not taking it," Eddie muttered to himself. He was distracted enough that he let Richie tug him awayâat least for a moment.
Annoyed, he smacked his friend's hand and got in the clown doll's face again, pointing the candy harpoon at its throat. It would be funny if he didn't have a history with a demon clown from space. "You stay like that if you know what's good for you," Eddie told the thing, and yeah, maybe he waited for a responseâany responseâbefore finally straightening. "Alright. We can go." But he'd been checking later.
If he threw a last, warning, "Bitch," at the doll, well. Nobody could blame him.
âDidnât work?â Richie repeated as they (thankfully) left the room. âBut yeah, it was - it was kind of your idea?â Something Eddie shared on his literal, actual deathbed - how he almost taken out the leper, because heâd made it feel small. And so thatâs what they did to Pennywise when it was time - it was Eddieâs influence, he had saved them.
Heâd saved everyone, even without them knowing. Had saved the children of the bullies who tormented him in school, the whole town, and another painful twist grabbed Richieâs stupid heart and squeezed. God, he didnât think heâd ever be over Eddieâs death. Richie would love and miss him, always.
But back to the present. This murder-mysterio house. âWell, anyway - if someoneâs watching the pit and you want to get some sleep, I can stand guard,â he offered, since he doubted Eddie wanted to sleep alone and without someone watching his back. Richie would do that, though. Heâd do just about anything for Eddie.
Eddie shook his head, feeling more tired than ever when they left the creepy doll room behind. That's what happened when you got flashes of anger and adrenaline only for it to wear off in the next moment. "When we went back the second time," he explained. "Everything we did just seemed to piss him off. Makes sense now, I guess." He actually stopped walking when Richie mentioned it had been his idea, a strange expression passing over his face; confusion, surprise, skepticism, and a tiny bit of satisfaction all warring for dominance. "Me?" He wondered aloud, tentative. It didn't really seem possible. Maybe it was only an accident that he had anything to do with it in the first place.
He watched Richie carefully, frowning again. It was a tempting offer, but "What about you?" was his knee-jerk reaction. It always would be. They were different ages, different stages in their lives, all-around different, but he'd still worry. It didn't seem fair that Eddie got sleep when Richie didn't. Too bad their other friends weren't here. They'd collapsed into various piles before, always leaning on each other for support whenever possible, both figuratively and literally. It was harder with just two people. It was harder for a lot of reasons.
âYou,â Richie assured, with a smirk flickering on his face. He was proud of Eddie - always had been, really, this wasnât anything new. âI can explain everything more later. Right now, you should sleep at least a little. Iâll take watch and then weâll switch places so I can sleep. Okay?â
They probably wouldnât sleep in the candy room, since he was one-hundred percent certain that Eddie would rather immolate himself than lie down on a bed made out of marzipan. Someplace else, however, was fair game. They could even just go in the library (at least it was quiet in there), or grab a blanket, find a corner someplace. If Eddie kept going though, heâd surely make himself sick - they all would. No one could go without sleep for too long (no one should).
Eddie glared, a little flustered, but too tired to really focus on arguing the point or unpacking everything he felt in that moment. Emotions sucked. "Sounds fake but okay," he said, using a phrase he'd picked up from hanging around future kids for the past few hours. He was still waiting for an opportunity to whip Vibe check out.
"Fine," he agreed, "But only if you promise to sleep, too." And he twisted the candy harpoon around to poke Richie's side with the flat end. Catching an hour or two somewhere that wasn't filled with dolls, food, or old medical supplies sounded nice if his best friend was there. It was a good system, something they could maybe keep up if they checked in on each other. Eddie certainly planned on doing that now that he knew this was, mostly, his Richie. Mostly. Losers stuck together, and he sure as fuck wasn't abandoning him againâor any of them, when they showed up. Eddie had faith in little else other than that. They'd come too far to be separated now.