"What?" He asked, looking at her in disbelief for a second because, okay, yeah, that was kind of a lot to deal with. How did you even try to set that right? She didn't seem like the type that offered up secrets too easily. Or at all so, he assumed, this was one of those situations where you had to be in the military and in a certain clearance level to actually hear the entire thing. Eddie didn't want to die here because he'd forced his potential new friend to say too much. "That... is a lot to deal with." He said out loud. "My childhood friends and I had been called back to the town we grew up in to try and kill this shapeshifting, immortal clown that, we think, came from space. It nearly killed us when we were kids." Her story was unbelievable so, maybe, she wouldn't think he was crazy about his own.
And now it had succeeded in killing him. So, yeah, this place was great. It was better than whatever was going to happen, whatever Richie saw whenever he looked at him or when he pressed his thumb about that crack in his lens. "Probably not." He agreed. "But, I think, most of them know what they're going back to. What they're missing out on." And he'd be just like them if he didn't know. He'd want to go home, stop living in fear, get a divorce, and maybe drive out to heckle Richie at one of his shows. Maybe he'd divorce Myra and just try. Just see what happened.
"Yeah, back up." He laughed because, oh, she was going to hate him. She was going to never want to speak to him again if things went to shit. If he froze up again. That was fine. She couldn't hate him more than he'd hate himself for it. He fell into step beside her, making his way to the house. Then again, he hadn't had his weapon when they were facing off against spiderhead-Stan. The weight of it, the frustration at his own death, and knowing that Natasha looked like the sort who could handle herself with no help from him might actually help him move.
He laughed, surprised he could do that and nodded. "I've had that fucking pleasure since I was 13." He didn't need dishes to know he was right. He could read Richie like a book. A simple book. "You can tell me to shut up about him." He said, realizng he might start talking a little too much about the other man if she let him.