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Tweak says, "2. 4. 3."

Richie Trashmouth Tozier (trashmouthloser) wrote in snapthread,
@ 2019-09-28 20:05:00

Entry tags:

eddie kaspbrak, richie tozier

Who: Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak
What: Making sure they both exist.
Where: Pancho’s Bar.
When: September 27th.

I know you feel like you are breaking down.
I know that it gets so hard sometimes.
Be calm.

Eddie was dead.

D-E-A-D.

All caps or no caps made zero difference at all because dead was dead and there was no coming back from something like that. Richie was an absolute wreck about it. He’d cried terrible ugly tears for the loss of his best friend, who he’d only just remembered so many important things about, in front of the other Losers, and then had somehow wound up here later that same night and it’d only been worse since then. This place was distracting and terrible and horrifying, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spent an entire night camped out in the bathtub of his new and completely empty house kind of losing his shit about it all over again.

And look, this place was fucked. He’d made one poorly thought out your mom joke and goth, teenaged, David Copperfield had shown up and done some real magic or some shit and had pretty spectacularly beat the shit out of him. Richie wasn’t even embarrassed that he’d lost that fight, that he had bruises at the side of his mouth, neck and fucked up ribs for his trouble. It’d sucked, but it’d been a pretty nice distraction from what had really been on his mind.

But now this place was fucking with him all over again and Figment-of-his-imagination-Eddie or It or Ghost Eddie was posting things on the dumb Void Message Board that only Real Eddie would know and say and it was…

Richie really couldn’t take any more of this. He couldn’t. He’d just gotten the blood out of his glasses.

But here he was anyway, standing outside the only place in this godforsaken town that could have possibly been the bar. Hope wasn’t really something Richie thought he could have again, but there was something in his chest that was tight, something in his jaw that wouldn’t relax and he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he didn’t show up just to know.

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trashmouthloser
2019-09-30 01:57 am UTC (link)

"A glow sword," Richie repeated, fingers spread wide and his expression going something close to a humorous What Can You Do? Because of course some guy had a glow sword. And magic powers. But maybe he'd ease that one onto Eddie. Not that Richie had any idea how the flying fuck it worked in the first place. He just knew his own bruises when he saw them. Or felt them. Or moved. Whatever.

Liquor was the more important part of the equation here anyway, and so Richie was off on his quest, gesturing big and giving big blue puppy dog eyes at Peter while he trusted Eddie to pick a spot. Literally any spot, there weren't really any people here. Richie didn't know if that was a normal thing or if it was just a very quiet night. Hell, he didn't even know how many people were in this town. Maybe it was just the -- what? Eight or so he'd counted, even if he'd only actually seen maybe five total.

Either way, he returned on a mission well done with a bottle of whisky (that would not be nearly as expensive or as good at what had been in Steve's house) and two glasses along with the weird feeling of not really understanding how goods and services could be free here. But they were.

"Alright. Eddie Spaghetti. Let's fuckin'.... let loose, huh?" He didn't pay much attention to the placement of the table because -- well. He wasn't good at stuff like that and had never been. He'd always been the one to walk into shitty situations without looking and then have to backpedal his way out, usually while being pulled in the right direction by Eddie. Now was no different, probably.

He poured two drinks for them, not seeming to really care to measure so much as to just fill until he felt happy with the amount. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what he ought to be saying.

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ekaspbrak
2019-09-30 12:47 pm UTC (link)

Just because the bar was empty didn't mean that Eddie had an easy time picking seats. Maybe he wasn't as careful as Stan would've been if he were alive and well and in the bar but he still had to put some thought into what he did. Whether Richie noticed or not. Whether he appreciated it or not.

Eddie looked up when the other man returned carrying an entire bottle of whiskey. He decided against asking Richie just how much the damn bottle had cost him. He assumed the price had been jacked up to compensate for the revenue this place would lose on this one bottle. Then again, maybe that wasn't an issue. The bar was dead. They wouldn't have been able to turn a profit on the bottle Richie had bought from them even if they tried.

Once the glasses were filled and the drinks were handed out, Eddie stared down at his whiskey in silence. This was probably going to sting like a bitch. He still had a hole in the side of his face. That was probably better than the awkward silence that now seemed to hang over them. Richie still wasn't talking and that was never a good thing.

Taking a drink, he let out a slight hiss of pain as alcohol came into contact with the steal healing flesh in his mouth. "Fucking knew that was going to happen." He said more to himself than to Richie and just so he could fill the void around them. Maybe he would bitch about the price of the bottle just so they had something to focus on. "How much did you end up paying for this? I know you're probably loaded but this may have been a waste."

He was trying. He really was. It was just harder than he expected it to be. He really didn't want to talk about what they'd been dealing with back home and mentioning the others would only make him miss them. Worry about them. He hoped they were safe.

One of them had to make small talk. It was just too bad it was him. "Sorry. I'm rusty at this." He murmured as he brought his glass to his lips and made himself take another drink. "I didn't really have friends after I left Derry." His mother had never liked them.

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trashmouthloser
2019-09-30 08:53 pm UTC (link)

Eddie hissing in pain had Richie wincing sympathetically -- really, he should have thought about that hole in his face, the way it was probably a pain to even fucking talk, let alone drink something that would burn. "Jesus," he said, apologetically. "You want me to see if they've got any straws or something?" Sure, he could see if they had water or something instead, but the fact was that if Richie had a hole in his face, he'd probably want booze even more than he did now. Which was saying a lot because Richie was pretty sure he was ready to go for broke on the stuff until he was either stupid or passed out.

Whichever came first.

But Eddie, trooper that he was, was trying to fill the space of the silence and to power through his glass of whiskey, so -- well. Richie took a drink that was more of a long gulp than any kind of sip and then shook his head. "You're doing fine, man." Because he was -- he was pushing through the awkward bits and just moving on and Richie didn't even know how to. It didn't feel fair. Eddie could say he never really had friends but --well. Richie was right here and he wanted to be enough. He wanted to be more than enough.

"Didn't cost anything. Nothing here costs anything. Even the houses. You just fucking -- pick an empty one and it's yours. Can you believe that? It's like some sort of weird little -- well. I don't wanna say Utopia. But I guess it makes sense -- what's the point of money when there's literally nothing else to spend it on? They'd just be trading it around from the bar to the coffee shop." He paused then, but really only to drain his glass and refill the thing until it was practically sloshing over the edges.

"Eds," he said, tone going a little less frenetic and a little more serious. "Eddie. I don't think time works right here."

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ekaspbrak
2019-10-02 02:13 am UTC (link)

Yes, talking hurt but it was a pain he'd forced himself to get used to pretty damn quickly. There was no way in hell he was just going to follow the other Losers around and not say anything. It was the same here and now. "I don't need a straw." Could he even use a fucking straw? Could he create the suction needed to drink out of a straw? Should he just not question it and be glad the liquid wasn't leaking out of the fucking hole he had in his face?

Maybe he should've gone to see that nurse.

The whiskey was preferable to anything else he could be drinking, anyway. After everything that'd happened he sort of needed the alcohol. It'd help him forget or, at the very least, settle his nerves a little about what had just happened. He'd already forgiven the other man. Given the fact that they were dealing with a shapeshifting clown who enjoyed tormenting them with their worst fears back home it made sense that Richie might be a little unhinged. Eddie didn't know the specifics and, so far, the other hadn't offered anything up but blaming it on that made a lot more sense. One day he'd stop making excuses for other people. Richie, however, deserved the excuse. He really wouldn't have reacted like that if he didn't believe something was wrong.

"I don't feel like I am." He sighed. It had been easier in a group. Easier with the rush of memories and Richie's teasing. Easier when the two of them were standing on equal ground. "Just... you remember how my mother was? I never really got the chance to make other friends." That was why he sucked at small talk. He shouldn't have. Not with Richie, anyway, but everything felt off-kilter now and he was worried they'd never get back to the level of comfort they'd had only a few hours ago.

The small talk was worth something though. It was teaching Eddie a little bit about the town at any rate. He now knew that he didn't need money. He didn't have to worry about how much Richie paid for the bottle of whiskey that had been brought over. He didn't have to worry about finding and paying for a hotel room or whatever for as long as he was going to be here. He didn't even have to worry about paying for food. He wasn't sure if he had to worry about finding it but one thing at a time. If they had a coffee shop though, he doubted they were doing too poorly on the food thing. "Have you picked out a house?" Should they be neighbors? Could they live together? Would Richie even want that now? Was Eddie trying too hard to force his way back into Richie's life? At one point he assumed that Richie would want that but now... now...

Shaking the thought away he tried to focus on what he was being told. Something about time? "What do you mean?" So far nothing seemed out of the ordinary too him.

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trashmouthloser
2019-10-02 02:57 am UTC (link)

Richie held his hands up in appeasement, because Eddie'd do what he wanted, and Richie wanted him to make those kinds of decisions -- just like back when they were kids. Babying him was what his mom used to do for all sorts of things, most -- if not all of them -- completely made up issues. So if Eddie wanted to not see a nurse and drink whiskey however he pleased, Richie was just gonna have to pat him on the back about it and let him.

Well, maybe not pat him on the back because he was still feeling more or less like the world's shittiest piece of shit for grabbing him like he had earlier. That was -- yeah. That wasn't him. Richie didn't have an excuse beyond being either words or hours from having the biggest breakdown of his life.

"You know I remember your mom," Richie said, and he waggled his eyebrows as if to imply some dirty, dirty deeds, but that wasn't really where the point was here so he tried curbing his nonsense for a second. "Hey. Look. It's all fine. You're doing great. And it's me. How hard do you gotta try, anyway? Not at all. I still like you, despite your awkwardness and weird eyebrows." Eddie'd grown up small, but attractive and Richie had thought that an awful lot the last week or so. Between all the screaming and running, anyway.

"I --uh. The first night I stayed at the mayor's place? His boyfriend is apparently the sole welcome committee so..." He shrugged, a little awkward himself, because it'd been a really strange night and Steve had been ridiculously good looking and kind and Richie had sort of resented him for all that he had. But here they were now. "I picked a place. It's -- uh. Empty. Pretty big. If you don't wanna look around." Live with me, he wanted to say, beg maybe, because the idea of looking away from Eddie for even a minute made him anxious. He just didn't want to let go again. Not if he didn't have to.

"I mean it's -- out of order." Richie's expression went a little helpless. "You're not from when I'm from. I'm from -- after the lights." He paused, picked his drink up and it ran over the lip of the glass, his fingers getting wet. "Fuck."

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ekaspbrak
2019-10-02 04:22 am UTC (link)

That was better. Maybe Eddie had lost a lot of his fight the older he got and the further away he was from the other Losers but he was slowly finding it again. It didn't mean that he hadn't been scared shitless most of the time. He had. He'd frozen up pretty badly a couple of times but he just needed to be reminded that he was brave, he needed to be pulled back out of that shell he'd retreated into as he grew up. He would've had no problem arguing with Richie if the other man had insisted on a straw. He didn't need to be babied.

He probably would go see the nurse though. Sooner or later. The wound in his face probably needed to be looked at and there was a good chance he needed stitches.

The familiar joke about his mom only brought a look along with it. He had no one to blame for that joke but himself. He'd given Richie Tozier an opening and the comedian had run with it. It was his own fucking fault. "Oh, fuck off, that's not the point." He huffed. This was probably important in trying to explain himself even if it wasn't the much needed explanation from before.

He was trying to say he had been smothered. To apologize, maybe, for not being what he was. He'd been isolated and smothered by his mother and his wife. He was only now trying to figure out how to breathe on his own again. He wasn't about to stress the finer points of it though. It was enough to know that Richie still liked him. "My eyebrows? Have you seen your forehead?" And it was nice to think they could still tease each other. Nevermind the fact that Richie was attractive in a way that Eddie refused to let himself dwell on for too long.

"The mayor has a boyfriend?" A boyfriend who was, apparently, the welcoming committee. Nevermind the fact that Eddie hadn't really spoken to anyone except for Richie and Peter. It was probably for the best that he wasn't confronted by this man who seemed to have no problem dealing openly with his sexuality. Eddie might not care that the guy was gay but he'd certainly resent him for that easy openness about it. That ability to love the one who meant the most to him so openly and know he was loved back. Whatever. Fuck the mayor and his boyfriend. Eddie didn't care. The bigger issue was housing obviously. "Yeah..." He breathed. "I mean, if you don't mind. It might be better if we stuck together." For safety, obviously.

For a moment he was confused about what Richie was talking about. What was out of order? As he kept talking it became a little clearer. Richie was claiming to be a little further along in things than he was. The last he remembered, Richie was still caught in the deadlights. "Well... did it work?" He asked, wondering if he'd actually been able to land the shot. He'd never been on the baseball team like Bill or as athletic as Stan. He could've missed. "I mean... did I hit it? Did it snap you out of it or did I have to kiss you?"

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trashmouthloser
2019-10-02 07:01 pm UTC (link)

"I know it isn't," Richie said -- because he did. It wasn't the point. The point was Eddie felt bad for growing up sheltered and weird, because he'd let his mother and then, presumably, his wife take control of everything that was his. Richie got it. But there wasn't really anything to be done about it right now other than to shovel it into the mounting pile of Personal Issues that they both had going. They knew. Now they had to move on and up.

One of these days they both might even have the mental capacity to really talk about it.

"What's wrong with my forehead?" He asked, eyebrows raising in innocent questioning even as he flipped Eddie off. He'd missed this part of them -- the easy teasing, the fake annoyance. Like little boys, really. But it suited them. And to be fair, there were some parts of Richie's boyhood personality that he'd never really grown out of. And it was nice because it made it all lead easily into the next part. "Yeah. Steve. He's a good guy. Not very good at being the welcoming committee though. Petition to rename it Retrospective Welcoming Committee. Anyway. Yeah, no that's -- we should stick together. It's safer that way." Or.... whatever Richie had to tell himself to make it through the day. Still, there was some part of him that was relieved over Eddie agreeing to the invite without any complaint, and Richie grinned over his whiskey. "We'll be picking out curtains in no time at all."

But god. Joking was only going to get him so far, particularly when there was no way that Richie could imbue humor into Eddie's line of questioning. If anything, the way he asked -- like it was an important thing, sure, but like it just wasn't the huge thing that it'd turned out to be? It made Richie feel a little queazy, the backs of his eyes hurting like he might just burst out crying again if he didn't play this right.

Which he probably wouldn't. Because there was no right way to play it. Rich swallowed back half of his new drink in one go, tried to get his leg to stop bouncing with nervous energy under the table, and didn't really succeed. "Yeah," he said after an awkwardly long beat, where he failed in composing himself. "It worked. Your aim was great. Don't worry, you didn't need to try kissing me." And fuck if Richie's voice didn't break at the end there, and he had to snatch his glasses off of his face and pretend to clean them just so he could look down at his own lap, so he wouldn't have to focus on Eddie there in front of him.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

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ekaspbrak
2019-10-03 09:17 pm UTC (link)

"Still..." He breathed but let it hang there. There was too much to try and apologize for. Too much he actually wanted to say. At the same time, however, he didn't know how to start. Maybe there was no starting. How do you apologize for not being what someone remembered when they just remembered you existed a few days ago? Maybe it was best to just let it go. The past was the past and there was no changing that.

Joking was easier. It was easier to make fun of Richie's forehead or tease him about wearing glasses when contacts were a thing instead of dealing with whatever he felt. That was just too much to unpack and he'd been avoiding that since the moment he turned around and remembered that Richie Tozier existed. The fucking shape shifting clown hadn't exactly made that easy. It's hard to avoid what you think is wrong with you when an actual physical representation of it tries to force it's tongue down your throat. Teasing was easier than dealing with all of that. Laughing at each other was easy.

Or, it was, until the mood shifted. Even after 27 years with no practice Eddie was fluent in Richie Tozier. The long pause, the nervousness, the way he pretended to fix his glasses. He'd done it as a boy too. Hurt by something he'd never talk about, vibrating out of his skin with the effort it took to keep it all inside. Crying without actually crying. Eddie would never draw attention to it as a child, too aware that his best friend wouldn't appreciate it and might even hate him for it. It had always tugged at his little heart strings though, leaving him feeling helpless. Back then just a gentle nudge could draw Richie out of it. It didn't matter what had happened. What mattered was the reminder that they still had each other. This felt different. Bigger.

"You missed out then." He said, frowning as he tried to figure out what had happened. Something had to. The mood hadn't changed until he'd asked whether or not he'd made the shot. If Richie was being honest, and he probably was, then yes. He'd made it. He'd save Richie from the deadlights. If the fencepost had worked then it should've been dead, right? It kills monsters if you believe it does. He believed. He'd believed it had the power to save Richie. So... what had gone wrong? The other should've been happy to see him. Glad it was all over with and they could all go back to their lives, right? He shouldn't be near tears in a bar or making Eddie question his very existence or... Oh.

Oh...

Eddie's eyes went just a little wide as his mind started to put together a picture he didn't really want to see. "Rich..." He started before stopping himself. Did he really want the confirmation? Did he really want Richie to have to tell him about how he dies. Reaching across the table he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and filled his glass before downing most of it, only to fill it once again. "I... thought you'd be happier that you didn't have to kiss me." He finished lamely.

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trashmouthloser
2019-10-03 09:39 pm UTC (link)

Oh was fucking right. It was a big oh, and it probably wasn't the revelation that Eddie deserved to be having right now, or ever really. Eddie hadn't deserved death at all, obviously, but having to figure it out on his own because Richie was being too much of a coward to outwardly say it?

Yeah. That was probably worse.

But Eddie had always been able to read him like the worlds easiest book, hadn't he? See Spot Run style easy. See Richie Run, See Richie Try his Goddamned Hardest Not to Cry. See Richie Lose his Shit.

RIchie'd never been much of a crier, not really. But this last week really had it in there for him and even now he had to suck in a sharp breath, rub the tip of his thumb over the cracked portion of his glasses to try and hold it in. It only really made the crack spread out further.

It wasn't working all that well, and Rich could feel Eddie staring at him across the table which somehow made it exponentially worse even though it should have made it better, because that meant he was alive and right here and Richie didn't have to be sad about it anymore. But he'd already lived it, it was too late, kinda. There was no unseeing what he'd seen. And now he knew how easily something could be taken from him and everything was just that much more terrifying than before.

The joke about kissing was one he couldn't even begin to cover right now, because Richie was at his most vulnerable and Eddie was so good at knowing when he wasn't in the Right Place and -- it'd be too much on top of everything else. He didn't want pity from Eddie, or to have him push him away when Richie needed him most. So he just... pushed it all back under the rug, as best he could.

"You saved my life," he said instead, thready, and reached out rather blindly for his drink again -- wasn't even embarrassed when he missed by a few inches and had to zero in on it before picking it up.

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ekaspbrak
2019-10-05 12:47 pm UTC (link)

Figuring it out with someone. Talking it over. Maybe that would've helped. Maybe the impact would've been the same but, at least, he would've been able to cling to someone and allow himself to be clung to. He could vent his frustrations and cry over his wasted potential. He could break apart. Hell, Richie could break with him. They could help build each other back up.

Finding out on his own gave him no room to break apart. Not visibly anyway. It was lonelier than it could've been and he felt this new isolation like a stab through the heart.

To make things worst, Richie seemed to focus more on that cracked lens than anything else. He didn't know what was so important about that crack but it was, obviously, something. A reminder of everything that had happened in those caves beneath Derry, maybe. Whatever it was it seemed to have most of Richie attention and Eddie hated it. He hated it in the same way he hated anything that held more of Richie's attention than he did. They were 27 years past a time when Eddie could crawl into his space and force the other to pay attention to him. So he filled his glass again and decided to drink until the pain disappeared.

At least it wasn't for nothing. He could feel the words on the tip of his tongue. The idea that, maybe, he could be okay if he could voice it. If he could admit just how much Richie meant to him. He'd died saving the one he loved the most. Maybe even the only person he'd ever loved. From the looks of things, he hadn't even been able to admit to that when he was at death's door. There was no way he was going to be able to say it now. Instead he just nodded and filled his drink once more. Maybe they shouldn't talk about it.

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trashmouthloser
2019-10-06 01:09 am UTC (link)

This wasn't right. This wasn't how this should have been -- well. Beyond the obvious parts where Eddie never should have died in the first place, and Richie never should have had to tell him about it.

It was more than that though. Because of course the terrible things shouldn't have happened but this was -- it was practically a second chance, wasn't it? So why was Richie sitting here trying not to break apart while Eddie was so clearly doing the same thing across the table? Why were they both getting sloshed in near silence when in a perfect Second Chance kind of world, Richie would have been brave enough to crawl up onto the table like an idiot and get all up in Eddie's face? They could have at least been doing this together. No one could begrudge him if he wanted lean in enough to bury his face in Eddie's shoulder.

And yet. Here they were, and Richie was paralyzed with fear and grief and some feeling he couldn't even properly put to words. So they drank, and Richie's hands shook and his eyes felt wet and the whiskey went from full to empty pretty fucking quickly.

"We killed It," he said eventually. "We fucking killed It for real this time. And you were so fucking brave, Eds. You -- hey. Eddie. You've got such good aim. Do y'wanna see the house I picked out?" It was too much at once, but he couldn't handle the silence or the full truth of the matter and how heavy it was and he had to do something, so he did what he did best: just went on talking forever about fifty things at once. Being sloshed helped and hurt his case both. "It's got --- there's. Hardwood floors. Hard wood. You're mom likes that."

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ekaspbrak
2019-10-06 03:31 am UTC (link)

This was a Second Chance kind of world. Maybe it wasn't perfect but there was so much absent here that had been holding them back. They were no longer in Derry. They wouldn't have had to worry about the occasionally violent hatred of small town folks. It was dead and, presumably, not here. They didn't have to worry about being lured away and killed. Myra wasn't there and his mother was long since dead. Eddie was free. Single. They could start over. Have a second chance at something. One of them just had to take that step.

Unfortunately neither man was that brave. So they drank.

They drank in silence, casting occasional glances across the table and just trying to drown their misery or themselves in alcohol. Eventually, the thing they were using to cope and not talk ran out. Eddie hardly noticed the pain in his face anymore. It was still there, sure, but the burn of alcohol in an open wound had become normal enough that he could deal with it. There were other things to worry about. Worst pains to concern himself with.

He looked up when Richie spoke again. Even if it meant that he was confirming (maybe without meaning to) that Eddie hadn't survived the encounter. His friends had managed to kill it once and for all and Eddie... well, he'd been brave. He didn't feel brave. He'd thrown the fence rod turned spear, he'd save Richie and died in the process... but he hadn't told the person he loved the most how he felt. He still couldn't.

"I... yeah, okay." He said. He'd agreed to stay with Richie. He should probably know where he was living. That way he could check it out. Make sure it was someplace he could live without the entire thing falling down on him. He'd hate to wind up buried beneath the ruins of one of some abandoned house. He stood up, feeling his knees go kind of wobbly thanks to just how much he drank. He used both hands to keep himself upright but dared to let go of his seat long enough to flip the other off.

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trashmouthloser
2019-10-06 04:38 am UTC (link)

Even though they were both hurting in ways that words would never be able to really get to the bottom of, at least there was this. The stupid, overly ridiculous way that they could banter - Richie's inability to stop himself from making a joke about Eddie's mom, and Eddie immediately telling him off for it. And maybe for the first time since everything had gone down, Richie wasn't fixated on I fucked your mom! Instead, he threw his head back and cackled loud and pleased and absolutely fell over, a tumbling mess of gangly limbs until he picked himself back up to a wobbling sort of tall.

"Fuck you," he agreed, and it was almost cheerful instead of sad or hopeful or whatever the fuck it was that might have come out of him at some other point.

And only then, after he'd made a stupid joke, and they were drunk as anything, did he reach out to lean up against Eddie so they could stumble their way back to the place he'd picked out.

He only got a little lost, which was a plus. Probably more of a plus than the fact that he slept alone and uncomfortable on the bathroom floor after realizing just how much whiskey he'd drank and how poorly it wanted to settle in his stomach.

Still. At least he'd slept at all.

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