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Tweak says, "*snort* IMA DORK!"

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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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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