1) I write and edit everything myself so I definitely do not catch all of my typos and shit even the third time around. You may see editing after the initial post on AO3 because I am filled to the brim with dumb bitch energy and I’m a default speed reader. Speed reading, while super efficient at getting the concepts down in seconds, does not for a good editor make because I’m not looking at every single letter. I do my best though and I’ll keep fixing stuff as I see it!
2) I’m thinking of exclusively posting full content to AO3. I’ll still post the link to new chapters on tumblr and keep updating here. I know AO3 has chapter notes and all that but I despise leaving one unless necessary.
Roger Clemmings looks exhausted. The bags under his eyes look like they’re packed enough to make a getaway to Mexico. Bill isn’t entirely sure that he shouldn’t steal the idea from them but he wouldn’t get far now that he’s behind bars. It’s a passing thought though. Bill sobers up as Roger runs a thumb across his brow in an attempt to stay awake.
“Mr. Clemmings-”
“I told you, call me Roger, please. I’ve represented celebrities such as yourself many times and it feels phony to be called Mr anything.”
“Roger,” Bill corrects awkwardly, “We’ve gone over this story for hours. I’ve answered every single question you have in triplicate. You need to sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I’m sure Satan’s got a suite ready to go.”
“Satan?”
“All lawyers go to hell? It’s a joke, Bill. Jesus. You’d think Richie’s humor would rub off on me but hey, I’m not quitting my day job.”
“Lucky me,” Bill responds through a tight grin.
Roger chuckles a little and Bill isn’t sure if it’s genuine or if the exhaustion is settling in. The longer they sit here the less Bill feels anything is genuine. He’s doing his absolute best not to lie outright. He’s not entirely sure he could sell it. Instead he’s practicing the art of omission. He saw something that looked like an attack maybe by an animal or some creature but he couldn’t stop it.
“The biggest problem we have is why didn’t you report it?”
“I was traumatized,” Bill says flatly and quickly as if trained to respond.
“I’m aware. You’re going to have to find a way to convince a jury of that.”
“Eventually,” Bill sighs.
Bill isn’t completely ignorant about legal proceedings. He did research into writing a realistic crime thriller once but the pacing was too slow for his taste. A case, even a murder case, could take up to two years to get to trial. In the meantime, Bill’s in prison. There isn’t a judge alive that would realistically put out a potential child murderer on bail.
“Eventually my ass,” Roger snorts, “They’ll want to put you away as soon as possible and a small town like this? You best believe they won’t put you on the back burner the way a major city would. Look, not only will I be pushing this case to trial but so will opposing counsel, the parents, law enforcement, hell the town itself will probably be out for blood.”
“What else is new?”
Roger furrows his brow in irritation.
“Okay, that. What is it with that? You and Richie have a hard time in this town or what? I mean, the bully who turned out to be a psychopath I get but you have issues with the entire town?”
Bill doesn’t answer because there’s no point. Of course he has issues with this entire town but Roger isn’t going to understand that. This town was more than happy to sacrifice him and his friends back in the 80's, whether that be to the town bully or grief or their own toxic families. How much had Bill and the other Losers even accomplished by getting rid of It? There were plenty of other monsters waiting in the wings.
The most any of this did was absolve Bill of guilt and stop one of the many predators in this shit hole of a town in Maine. And what good did personal absolution do when he’s sitting here handcuffed to a table?
“Fine,” Roger yawns, “but I’m telling you now that any secrets you keep from me will only hurt your chances.”
Roger gathers up various paper and files into a bag. The man works quickly and the amount of information he’s gathered is staggering though Bill isn’t sure it’s all pertinent. Roger’s efficient and that’s commendable. Bill feels a fleeting urge to share some of the childhood trauma he’s experienced maybe because Roger is so thorough and maybe divulging a few facts wouldn’t hurt. It’s tempting but ultimately Bill says nothing.
“I’ve got a contact that’s working with me on your case. I’ll give him a call, see if he’s still up. Maybe we can finagle an argument for bail. I don’t know.”
Bill feels nervous at the sight of Roger leaving even though he just moments ago told him to get some sleep. Once the lawyer leaves it’s any guessing what will happen to Bill. Sure, he’s in the pokey for now but what if they formally charge him? What if he’s moved to a real prison before morning?
A couple of days ago, my biggest worry was the shitty ending to my shitty movie. How’s this for an ending? Bill slumps back into his uncomfortable metal chair.
It comes back to Bill almost like a punch to the gut. His movie...which stars his wife. He’s got a job and a marriage waiting for him and no one knows the trouble he’s gotten into yet. Not that there hadn’t been opportunities to share this information. His voicemail is full of calls from Audrey and the producers and the director. The movie falling apart isn’t such a big deal to Bill but not once did Bill give Audrey even the slightest clue what he was up to. He just got on a plane and left.
“I’ll let Richie know how things are going if that’s okay, to a point of course, he doesn’t need a full run down. Anything you need from me on the outside?”
Bill nods as his mind searches for Audrey’s phone number.
___
Bev isn’t surprised to find herself at Richie’s door again. She still hesitates to knock given that it’s after ten but then again Richie doesn’t strike her as the type to curl up into bed before two in the morning. When Richie answers it’s clear she’s right. He has a drink in his hand and a cell phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bev whispers, “I can come back later or-”
Richie shakes his head and waves her in. She stands there awkwardly as Richie closes the door with his butt and continues his phone call.
“Tell them I had a death in the family or some shit. I don’t care. I need time off.”
Richie walks towards his bourbon bottle and gestures a glass toward Bev. She quietly replies with a no thank you and Richie doubles down on his glass instead.
“For the last time, I am not on a bender. Fuck. A guy takes ecstasy on accident once and-”
Bev tries to stifle her confused expression but doesn’t manage. Richie tries to assure her by mouthing that it’s ‘no biggie’ before taking a big gulp of his drink. It occurs to Bev that she doesn’t know much about Richie and who he is now. Or any of the other Losers for that matter. Seeing Richie drown himself in cheap liquor doesn’t feel very promising. Richie looks manic too, sweat deflating his hair, and he won't sit down.
Bev quietly crosses the room and takes the bourbon bottle away from Richie. He barely registers this and instead continues to pace the floor, his drink dangerously flirting with the rim of the glass as he moves.
“I promise, I will never cause trouble like this again. I swear. And I will come back. But I have to stay here for a while and I don’t know how long that is. I’m sorry.”
Richie hangs up and leaves the phone on the end table. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and Bev puts a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Just career stuff. It’s fine. It’s not worth talking about but,” Richie rouses a smile, “I think we should talk about you coming around to my room again. If you’ve got a crush on me I’ve got some bad news, Bev.”
Bev smiles back before taking Richie by the hand and sitting with him on the bed again. It’s a comfortable spot for them now as it seems even Richie calms down upon taking a seat. Bev gives Richie’s fingers a soft squeeze.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks, “It’s going to sound a little stupid but-”
“I swear to God whatever it is it isn’t as stupid as what I did today so- ah, fuck me, nevermind. You first.”
“What did you do?” Bev asks, her interests piqued.
“No deal. You first and then I will give you my exclusive.”
Bev considers this for a moment and decides it may not be bad to allow precedence for herself. She lets go of Richie’s hand and brings her knees to her chest. She suddenly feels like a teenager again both a little ashamed and wildly excited to share her news.
“I slept with Ben,” she says quickly.
Richie hoops and hollers at this. His wolf whistle is impeccable and Bev can’t hide her grin as she shushes him.
“It’s complicated!” she argues as Richie settles.
“Why? Even if I was straight enough to shit football jerseys I’d still say he’s hot.”
“This isn’t about how Ben looks. It’s about Ben being… Ben,” Bev changes the mood by how quiet the end of her sentence becomes.
Richie puts his humor aside and Bev retracts her emotions as quickly as she displayed them. She sits properly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The idea of looking openly wounded feels physically painful, even in front of Richie and especially when he’s taking her so seriously.
“I’m still married,” she covers, “But I really do like Ben... I think. We haven’t seen each other in almost thirty years so I don’t really know-”
“Bull shit,” Richie lays back on the bed with a heavy sigh.
“Excuse me?” Bev sounds a bit offended.
“I mean it’s convenient bull shit but it is what it is. I tried to tell myself the same thing about Eddie; how could I possibly have feelings for him when I haven’t seen him in almost three fucking decades? But goddamn, he’s still the same pocket sized little weirdo and I love him.”
“Richie,” she interrupts awkwardly, “I don’t know that I love Ben. It’s not really the same thing.”
Richie turns a light shade of embarrassment across his cheeks. It’s hard to tell underneath those thick frames of his but Bev catches it before Richie throws his forearm over his face.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just a selfish prick. I’ll shut up.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
It’s makes Bev smile to hear Richie chuckle at that. She then decides to follow suit and lies down next to him. The ceiling in his room is covered in aging paint and little grooves.
“So, how do you feel about ol haystack Ben?”
“I don’t know.”
That’s the truth on a larger scale. As to why Bev doesn’t know is more complicated. At some point she’ll have to talk to someone about her soon to be ex husband. The idea of opening that can of worms makes her stomach lurch but it’s a reality she’s doomed to face. It’s not as if she can just put Tom in a box and ride off into the sunset right? It can’t be that easy but then that doesn’t mean Bev can’t try to make it that easy.
“Ben isn’t the kind of guy I’m used to,” she safely skirts the real issue, “and to be honest, I still have some feelings…”
“Well, I don’t know how long you were married to whatever the fuck his name is but you said you were happy when you came to town and yesterday you made your divorce sound overdue. Must be a Six Flag’s level emotional roller coaster you’re on.”
Richie assumed Bev meant Tom. She didn’t.
“His name is Tom. And those leftover feelings aren’t for him. Fuck Tom.”
“Then who..?”
There’s a beat of silence as Richie puts things together. Bev feels ridiculously embarrassed by the fact that he can make the right assumption. At the same time though, it spared her from having to say it herself.
“Bill?” he asks and Bev can feel his eyes on her, “Does he know? Does Ben?”
“Bill and I kissed. Before we headed to the cistern. So I think Bill knows,” she responds flatly.
“Beverly, you saucy minx,” Richie makes an attempt at levity before immediately regretting it, “Sorry. I’m an idiot. Ignore that.”
It’s too late though and Bev feels her defenses cracking. Richie wasn’t trying to insult her but the joke still hits too close to home. Somewhere in the back of her mind Tom’s voice steadily grows stronger. Her father’s voice joins him. What kind of married woman kisses one man and sleeps with another? What kind of whore plays the field? What bitch throws herself at a married man?
Bev sits up and pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her bathrobe. She lights up and starts to drain the cigarette on her lips as fast as possible, thinking only of lighting the next then the next.
“Bev?” Richie sits up with her, “This isn’t the 50’s. You can’t smoke in here.”
She ignores him and sucks down nicotine spitefully. Her hands start to steady and the ghosts of her past begin to silence.
“Are you okay?” Richie asks cautiously, “I’m starting to sense that maybe there’s more than a love triangle going on here.”
That shocks her nerves all over again.
Bev debates taking the stump of what’s left on her cancer stick and shoving it into her thigh. She hasn’t done that since high school but she remembers the feeling and her skin has kept track with little round scars. Back then she didn’t know why she would suddenly feel so angry and small but it makes sense now. Bev always knew her dad was bad but now she remembers just how bad and all that pain makes more sense.
The fact that she married Tom, a carbon copy of her father, makes her skin crawl and she’s not sure there’s enough nicotine in the world to make her forget that he’d touched her.
Bev puts the cigarette out on the carpet grinding it out with the toe of her slipper. She then immediately goes to light a second.
“Hey, stop! Stop!” Richie implores her and grabs her by the wrist to keep her from lighting up.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Bev recoils out of instinct and is now standing, holding her wrist to her chest.
The pack of cigarettes are splayed out on the floor and the lighter lays abandoned on the bed. Richie looks equally abandoned as he stares at Bev. It makes her feel like a freak. The wounded sneer that she’d made dissipates into something almost apologetic.
“I should go,” Bev says quietly.
“Bev… where’d those bruises come from?”
Bev is mortified as she realizes how on display the green and yellow prints are. It’s clearly in the pattern of a hand wrapped around her wrist. It’s Tom’s fingers still pressed into her skin. She quickly drops her arm and lets the sleeve of her robe follow.
“Bev, is Tom… did he-“
Beverly ignores Richie’s attempt to make verbal the very thing she wants to keep secret. She drops to her knees and scrambles to recollect her cigarettes. She throws them into her pocket and makes way for the door.
“Wait! Hold on! Just wait!”
Richie tries desperately to follow her. She knows it’s not his fault. She knows he wants to help but she can’t stand the thought of him knowing any more than he already does. What he’s already pieced together is more than she wanted to give. She had come here to talk about Ben and ultimately gave herself and her fucked up marriage away.
Beverly holds the door closed. She grips the knob with everything she’s got even as Richie tries to open it. He helplessly bangs on the door.
“Bev? C’mon Bev! I’m sorry!”
He stops eventually and Beverly lets go of the handle. Quietly she returns to her room and locks the safety latch. The loneliness of her suite overwhelms her. Her tears are hot, burning and shameful. Her throat makes noises like a hurt animal. Bev’s never felt more ugly in her life.
—-
“Are you sure alcohol is a good idea?” Mike asks Eddie, “since y’know, you’ve got a hole in your cheek?”
“If I can make out with Richie I think can handle a beer.”
“...what?”
Mike doesn’t get an answer though as the bartender comes around with his drink. It’s an old fashioned. The rind on his orange spice looks a bit spotty but he doesn’t say anything. It’s a dive bar after all.
Mike goes to take a sip and Eddie suddenly comes back to life.
“You know I went on a date with him today? Dinner. I went to dinner with fucking Richie Tozier. I don’t know what I was expecting after making out in a closet-“
“Wait a minute-“ Mike tries to interject but Eddie’s rant keeps going.
“I mean I felt something then but this dinner? This excuse for a date was so awkward and quiet. Quiet, Mike. Do you know how weird it is to sit with Richie and he doesn’t say anything? At all?”
“Eddie!” Mike borders on shouting and some of the regulars eye him for it.
“What?” Eddie asks blankly.
Mike carefully assesses the room. It looks like a handful of factory workers and a retired old guy. All of them are sporting stubble, sweat and trucker hats. They’re either hypnotized by the football game playing on the big screen or the pool table. It’s not the worst scenario but it’s not ideal. If it had been a bit earlier in the day they’d be amongst the swinger crowd and this conversation could be louder but they’re not.
“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about then you’re going to need to lower your voice. A lot. And follow up question; are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Mike says in a hushed tone.
Eddie looks a little lost.
“What do you mean?”
Mike tries not to roll his eyes because he’s pretty sure Eddie isn’t purposefully being clueless. The guy just really likes to talk in a long, ridiculous stream and when he’s cut off it’s like someone ripped the rug right out from under him.
“You and Richie,” Mike says even quieter, “you two are- uh”
Mike feels inclined to make a gesture here instead of saying anything concrete but what gesture to make is beyond him. Instead he helplessly looks at Eddie hoping he’ll fill in the blanks without saying anything out loud.
“Oh!” Eddie’s eyes light up, “yes! I mean no. I don’t know? As it turns out my entire life is a lie so I could be or I may not be. Isn’t this shit supposed to be fluid? I thought I read somewhere that it’s all a spectrum.”
Mike is flabbergasted into silence and it allows Eddie to continue his mile a minute rant. He mentions something about generational differences and a Ted Talk. All of it makes Mike’s head spin. By the time Eddie goes to catch his breath Mike’s old fashioned is gone.
“Eddie,” Mike takes his chance quickly, “I think I’m more shocked at the you and Richie part. Maybe not so much the other…thing.”
“Are you trying to say that me being gay doesn’t surprise you?”
Mike hushes him and makes the effort to subtly point at the burly men sitting within earshot. Eddie is not nearly as subtle as he whips around entirely and stares at them.
“Mike, I have literally speared a demonic spider clown in the fucking chest and given my dying mother a sponge bath. A group of glorified lumberjacks does not scare me.”
If Mike had any drink left he’d have choked on it from that comment. Instead he awkwardly clears his throat. The other men in the bar haven’t noticed Eddie yet and that’s for the best. Maybe Mike is being a bit overly cautious.
“The scariest thing, and I am aware of how stupid this sounds, is that I have no idea who I am anymore. And it’s not just maybe possibly being interested in Richie. It’s my whole life, Mike. I am in a mid life fucking crisis. Oh my God. I thought I was too sensible to have a midlife crisis. Oh God am I going to have to get a sports car? They’re death traps!”
Mike calls to the bartender by name. She’s not wearing a name tag but Mike knows she goes by Mary. Her full name is Marilyn and she’s twenty eight but looks thirty five. She’s still attractive but having a teen pregnancy aged her. Her son is...Adam? Mike is sure it starts with an A. It’s weird how many stories are burned in Mike’s brain and yet he’s featured in none of them.
Mike politely asks Mary if she’ll get down the half empty bottle of tequila from the shelf. She raises an eyebrow at the suggestion but Mike reassures her that he’ll make sure the little guy gets home safe. That’s enough for Mary and she leaves the men with a couple of shot glasses.
“That doesn’t seem safe. Or legal,” Eddie comments as Mike pours them both a shot.
“Mary knows me enough. I don’t drive home. And sure it’s not legal but a small town means a lot of under the table favors.”
Eddie nods as his fingers wrap around the small, slightly overfilled glass. He and Mike clink glasses and throw them back. Eddie coughs a bit as he resurfaces and Mike winces at the burn.
“You’re not sure about yourself,” Mike comments, “I feel that.”
Mike is already pouring the next shot but Eddie hesitates. He’s quiet now and Mike supposes it’s because he’s listening.
“I remembered everything that happened that summer. I never left Derry so the memories never left. I built my entire world around being ready for It.
Everyone moved away so quickly after the first time. It was like destiny. You were the second to last one. Do you remember that?”
Eddie shakes his head.
“Bev went first but that was expected after what happened with her dad. Bill left next. I guess the trip him and his parents took helped them sort their troubles. Ben was never meant to stay more than a year once his dad got restationed. Richie’s dad got a job offer a state over that made twice his current salary. And then it was you and me and Stan. Mostly you and me.”
Eddie concentrates trying to rouse a memory but to no avail. Mike sees the sheepish resignation in his eyes as he gives in and takes another shot.
“It’s okay,” Mike reassures him, “It's not like you all left on purpose. And you didn’t forget out of negligence. It just is.
We all promised to stay in touch but once someone left they never called to leave a new number. It happened with Bev first of course and at first Richie thought it was because she didn’t care anymore. Ben knew better though. He piped up that Bev would never abandon us. So when Bill swore to call and that if he didn’t then it meant something had happened, we knew.
Now we had no idea of knowing exactly what happened when someone left Derry until Ben came up with the idea of getting just far enough from Derry to see if anything happened. We argued for days over the dangers of it. We thought maybe we all died if we left Derry, how were we to know?
So one night I snuck out from the farm and walked. For hours. That was the first time I came across the tribe. I won’t bore you with the details but the short of it is that I learned from them. They kept themselves far enough to not get hurt but close enough to remember. If I had gone any farther out I may have forgotten everything.”
Mike takes his second shot now. The burn is softer this time. He takes the opportunity to check over Eddie. He’s still quiet and calm. It’s like he’s absorbing all this information but what it’s going toward Mike isn’t sure. One of the factory workers hollers in excitement. Mary subtly pushes the bucket of peanuts at the bar closer to Eddie but he doesn’t notice. Mike feels it’s safe to continue.
“Everyone left knew they’d forget once they got out of Derry but it wasn’t anyone’s choice to stay or go. It was life. Except Stan. He was the last to leave because it took him so long to find a way out. He and I would have gone to high school together but he found a program for early college credit out where his aunt and uncle lived. Not that it mattered. Once Ben got the news he was out Stan stopped making a show of sticking around. He wanted to forget. I was surprised he’d even told me goodbye.”
Mike loads up a third shot for himself and Eddie takes his second. Once the glass is empty Mike fills it again. The alcohol keeps him weighted and that’s good. With how empty sharing is making him feel it’s nice to have something to keep him from floating away.
“For a while it was you and me and Richie really. Although it was hard to maintain much of a presence between the two of you. You were always arguing. Like a-“
Mike laughs because he suddenly gets it. Richie always teased people but he teased Eddie more. Eddie always took the bait. There was the more subtle stuff too like if one of them said they liked or didn’t like something the other would adjust accordingly. It was an effort to impress each other. Be more likable. Not that either would admit it.
“You two fought like a married couple,” Mike finishes the sentiment, “I guess I never really thought about as you two being, well you know. I thought I blended into the background because maybe we weren’t really good friends but I guess I was just a third wheel.”
Mike chuckles again.
“I probably could have spared myself the savior complex if I’d known that.”
Eddie’s been flirting with the shot glass but he stops now. He doesn’t drink it but he does turn fully toward Mike. His eyes look serious maybe even calculating and it’s surprises Mike.
“What do you mean?” Eddie asks.
Mike stares at the bottle between them finding it less heavy than Eddie’s gaze. The tequila is hitting him now, making his body lighter and the low bar lights fuzzy.
“I guess I figured that saving Derry was the only way I could stay important. Like if I didn’t stay behind and gather everyone when the time came, if I didn’t find answers, then I never really mattered. I think maybe Stan and I both felt like that, like we were the background characters of the Loser’s Club.
We didn’t really know at the time but there was that love triangle with Ben and Bev and Bill and then the tension with you and Richie. I just wanted my friends. I wanted to matter.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t get married or have a family. Not just because of It. I think maybe I was waiting for you all to come home… so I could know that you cared. That maybe y’all loved each other and loved me enough to come home.”
Mike nearly falls off the bar stool as Eddie throws his arms around him. He doesn’t say anything but holds him tight. Mike doesn’t care anymore about the potentially dangerous guys around them or the tequila sitting in front of him. He leans into the embrace Eddie gives. Eddie pats him reassuringly on the back.
“I love you, Mike,” Eddie says into Mike’s shoulder, “all of us love you. I’m sorry we were too involved in other shit to let you know that.”
If ending It wasn’t enough to give Mike peace this was enough and how funny that it comes from Eddie? Little, wheezy but long winded Eddie.
“Also can we go now?” Eddie asks still mid hug, “I feel like my center of gravity just told me to fuck off.”
AO3 is up to date! Everything that was released on tumblr is now posted on AO3, some with minor edits. This should let me get back on track so I can continue writing!
I’m on AO3! It’s going to take a hot minute to post everything so bare with me. If you’d like to find me right away my username is supercalifragalisticfanfiction. It Chapter 3, chapter 1 is already posted if that makes it easier to book mark. Stranger Things Have Happened will be added soon. Have a good day, everyone!
Eddie is released before Richie wakes up. The cop that took over in the morning didn’t say anything about Eddie and Richie sharing a bed for the night but Eddie could tell it made him uncomfortable. He looked a bit younger than Eddie and acted like discharging him was some awkward task to deal with. He never even looked Eddie in the eye.
This town doesn’t really change, does it? Eddie thinks as he starts the long walk back to the small inn he and the other Losers have taken temporary residence in.
Eddie was shocked that Richie didn’t even so much as stir when he left. He’s an incredibly heavy sleeper but he also cuddles like a fucking octopus. Eddie had to untangle a mess of long arms and legs to free himself. Richie’s entire body had been grappled onto every part of Eddie. For a minute Eddie thought he might need the jaws of life to get out.
The morning weather is cold but Derry always feels cold. Unless you happened to catch it in the full swing of summer, Derry is essentially an icebox disguised as a small town. Eddie zips up his hoodie and shoves his hands in his pockets.
‘You’ll catch a cold, Eddie! You need a sweater and some thick socks!’
The echo of his mother’s voice makes his stomach surge. Eddie knows damn well that a chill breeze cannot possibly give him a cold but he can’t help the anxiety that rises from the thought. She used to say other nonsensical shit too like a cold can kill a man if you don’t treat it right away or that being too close to the microwave would give a person cancer.
It didn’t stop at radiation and weather either. Mrs. Kapsbrack had fully decieved her son into a number of lies about sex too. Masturbation makes you blind, having sex can kill you, touch it too much and it’ll fall off; Sonia Kapsbrack had the entire discography of abstinence only rhetoric on loop.
Eddie knows logically that none of these things are true but he knows it now. For two solid decades of his life he had believed his mother. He thought her word was gospel. Even in his twenties, it took time to come around to the truth because, what if the world was wrong and Sonia was right? Could he risk that?
Eddie spitefully unzips his jacket.
By the time Eddie was in his mid thirties he knew better but the paranoia lingers even today. In the time he’d been married to Myra he can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve had sex. Really it comes down to a once a year event and one Eddie never looks forward to. Bless Myra, she really tried sometimes but for the rare occasions of fancy home cooked meals and lingerie Eddie ended up losing his appetite and turning off all the lights. Myra got ten minutes of action annually while Eddie never managed to get off. Myra never was happy with that but Eddie wonders if she’d been happy with anything in their marriage.
Eddie shrugs out of the jacket and doesn’t look back as it slides off into the street.
Eddie might have had options. He may have had several people interested in him at any given moment but he was raised with blinders on and marriage ensured those blinders stayed. Eddie realizes that he never had the awareness, let alone the confidence to pursue anyone except Myra. His mother had led him into near celibacy through his hypochondriac training. If she hadn’t died would Myra have ever been a thing? Or would he still be a virgin even now?
Maybe Eddie could like Richie. Maybe men weren’t off the menu for Eddie Kapsbrack but how is he to know that when even the default of heterosexuality was taught as a dirty and unfortunate? And poor Myra, poor fucking Myra. Eddie’s going to leave her and because of his dead mother who shouldn’t have had anything to do with his marriage but Sonia Kapsbrack is the catalyst for all of it. Everything Eddie is, everything he never chose to become, is because of her.
Eddie takes off his shirt and drops it as he starts running in the cold morning air. The breeze smothers his chest, perks his nipples and sends shivers down his spine. The cold hurts a little but tells him he’s alive.
A memory of his last visit to a therapist surfaces as catches himself on the kissing bridge. He takes a few deep breaths and remembers. It was grief therapy which he was sure made his mother turn in his grave but Myra had suggested it. Sonia may have hated therapists and shrinks but Myra swore by them.
After a single session, the therapist calmly asked if Eddie had ever heard about the term ‘emotional incest.’ After a quick explanation, Eddie chose never to return to therapy ever again. Eddie is horrified and enraged as he stands on the bridge now and lets out a primal scream because Sonia Kapsbrack really did it. She committed emotional incest and Eddie feels the violation of it rack over his body.
‘Eddie, you can’t go out.’
‘Eddie, girls like that carry diseases.’
‘Eddie, don’t get too close, he might have AIDS.’
‘Eddie, you’ll never leave mommy right? You wouldn’t want me to die alone.’
And he had done just that. He stayed with her the entirety that their lives intersected. He even held her hand and watched cancer thin her down to skin and bones until there was nothing left. He never had a choice.
‘Eddie, you have to wear socks even inside. You could get sick.’
Eddie steps out of his shoes and pulls his socks off. He throws them into the barrens with as much force as he can muster. The asphalt under his feet is rough and unforgiving. He smiles and it’s manic and he keeps running.
---
Ben is waking up alone but he remembers not going to bed alone. Very clearly, he recalls Beverly and her soft mouth and her smooth curves. He took her in like she was sacred because to him she always had been. Last night had been spiritual experience because for so long Bev had only been a memory folded in a wallet. In a single night she went from paper to full flesh.
Keeping that yearbook page in his wallet had been like carrying around a religious artifact. So often it boosted the faith he needed to have in himself. It told him with little hearts and an old signature that he was worth looking at, worth helping, worth talking to. It had torn him apart to have thrown it in the fire but he’d burn a million memories if meant holding her.
As quickly as he had bedded her she’s gone though. Ben can still smell her soap on the sheets. It’s not the first time Ben’s woken up to an empty bed. It’s not as if he’s been celibate for the last twenty seven years. But he wasn’t very good at giving reasons for women to stay. It’s like they already knew his heart was somewhere else. Ben should be okay waking up to this familiar scene except...
“...Beverly?” he calls out softly, hoping that maybe she’s just in the bathroom.
There’s no response.
Ben gets himself showered and dressed. He can’t help but wonder if he’d done something wrong. Was having sex going too fast? It’s not like he declared his undying love for her but he supposes that he didn’t really need to. No one keeps a signature in their wallet for almost three decades because they’re just buddies.
Ben walks up to Bev’s door and hears her pacing and yelling. It’s a one sided conversation so Ben presumes she must be on the phone. Through the thin walls he can make out a few phrases and keywords. The words ‘divorce’ and ‘lawyer’ come up quite a bit. Against Ben’s better judgement, he presses his ear to the door to better listen in.
“You can have the business, you can keep the money but you can’t have me. Fuck you.”
Ben startles as it sounds like Bev has thrown her phone against the wall. Ben regrets invading her privacy but feels compelled to comfort her. It sounds like her husband is a real asshole and that the divorce is going to be messy. Ben isn’t sure what words to offer her.
Ben is about to knock on her door but then gets an idea. He makes a beeline to his room and rips a blank page out of the guestbook. He argues with himself the whole journey back to Bev’s door. He insists to himself that this is childish and unnecessary. She’ll think it’s stupid. It won’t help. Ben still sits down though and scribbles out a message.
You okay? - Ben
He gives the door a soft knock and slides the page underneath. A few minutes pass. It feels like the longest two minutes of Ben’s life and his insecurity bombards him. Of course this wouldn’t work. It’s dumb and foolish and Ben should know better. He’s a grown man after all.
The paper returns from under the frame.
No. - Bev
It’s an odd approach but at least it begets an honest answer. Ben uses the door as a writing surface. It’s shocking to think this method is even going anywhere but Ben figures it’s best to continue. At least Bev’s talking. He has a feeling that if he’d gone with the first choice and simply knocked that he wouldn’t have gotten far.
Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want to talk?
He stops signing it at this point. It’s not as if the whole gang is sitting in the hallway passing notes to Bev. This time it takes a lot longer for her to reply. Ben takes in the moulding on the door frame as he waits. Despite many of his designs taking a modern approach he really likes looking at the old stuff. He wonders briefly how he might create designs with modern benefits but a nostalgic look. The note slide out slowly this time.
I’m sorry I left.
Ben appreciates the sentiment but he has a thousand questions to ask about it. If Bev is sorry then why did she do it? Did something happen? Did Ben mess up? Did he hurt her or make her feel unsafe? All of this takes a backseat to the present situation though.
You have a lot on your mind. I want to help. Can I come in?
Ben stands to his feet as he hears the latch on the other side coming undone. Beverly is red faced but composed. She’s in a bathrobe and slippers. By the door he sees the tennis shoes he’d picked up for her yesterday after she’d thrown all her clothes from earlier in the day away. He knows she’s only using them out of necessity but he likes to think that maybe she likes them. He chose a pair that was black and burgundy. He remembered that Bev liked burgundy.
“You’re really nice,” Bev says quietly.
“I don’t try to be,” Ben shrugs and tell himself not to move in and hold her, “I’m just me”
“I know. That’s what I love about you.”
Ben smiles at the word ‘love’. He can’t help it. Bev smiles back and Ben falls in love with her all over again. She’s so much more than beautiful. She’s strong and kind and smart. Ben always secretly regarded her as the real leader of the group. He loves Bill and, yes, they often all followed him but secretly Ben followed Beverly. He’d follow her anywhere if she only asked.
“Ben,” her smile falters, “I’m going through something right now. It’s not easy and I’m trying to figure out who I am. You’re very sweet but I-”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Ben interrupts, already sensing where she’s going.
Ben understands that Bev’s life is complicated right now. He gets that maybe last night had some bad timing. He wants to say this but doesn’t. Something about the look in Bev’s eyes tells him that he doesn’t need to.
“All of this is on your terms,” he continues, “All I’m asking you is please, please, don’t shut me out.”
Bev wraps herself around Ben in a genuine embrace. She doesn’t cry but he can feel the emotions coming off of her in waves. Anger, fear, even sadness sheds from her as he holds her. He absorbs those feelings, welcomes them even, because it doesn’t hurt. Ben’s nose rests on her fiery colored hair as he processes those emotions for her,
“I got you,” he whispers into her hair, “You’re not alone, Bev.”
---
Richie is a free man.
Roger barely needed to work much lawyer magic and like a trooper he rolled right into the station the second he got into town. Grand total it took about an hour for Roger to convince Detective Lopez to let Richie go.
“How’d you get her to listen? I mean I’ve played some tough crowds but this chick was like a concrete wall,” Richie questions his lawyer.
Roger is exhausted and doesn’t answer right away. He seems half asleep at the wheel and it occurs to Richie how much his team cares about him. Even with the decent dollar signs attached to Richie, it’s worth noting that Roger drove through the night just for him. But then Richie’s had the same team since the beginning and they’ve known him since he was an eighteen year old little snot doing standup at open mic.
“It was easy,” Roger answers with a yawn, “I didn’t bullshit her. Made sure she knew it was a waste of resources to go after you.”
Richie definitely senses the emphasis of the word ‘bullshit’ aimed at him. He lets it slide though because he’s so deeply relieved not to be going to court or to jail for that matter. Richie knows damn well that he wouldn’t last a single night in the big house. He’d absolutely piss off the wrong person and either end up dead or somebody’s bitch. Richie doesn’t ever care to find out which.
“You’ll love the bed and breakfast we’re at,” Richie says as he looks out the window of Roger’s car, “and by love I mean hate. It looks like someone’s great aunt threw up upholstery. But it’s a place to sleep right? And once you’re rested you’ll come bail out ol’ Billy boy this afternoon.”
“Yeah, Richie, about that…”
“What?”
Roger looks incredibly guilty as he follows the GPS’s last instruction. He parks on the street and shuts the car off. Richie doesn’t like where this is going.
“Look, kid,” Roger sighs, “I meant it when I said I’d come back for your friend this afternoon but it’s not to get him out. I’m going back to talk out his story and see if I can prove him innocent.”
Richie feels bile rising up his throat. He can’t stand his stomach and the way it refuses to sit with anything terrible. Roger is equal parts apologetic and resigned. His bald head has the smallest bit of sweat on it, his mustache obscures any expression in his lip but his eyes say it all.
“You lied to me,” Richie is furious nonetheless.
“No. No, I never said I was coming back for anything specific. I said I was coming back for him I never said why.”
“Oh fuck you, Roger! A lie by omission is still a lie, you prick!”
“Hey! I got you out didn’t I?” Roger gets defensive now, “And I am going back for the other guy! I don’t have to do that, Richie, but I am. For you.”
Richie absorbs this in and pulls back his anger. Roger pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Richie has no reason to doubt the man but air between them still asks for further explanation.
“Detective Lopez doesn’t have much choice except to arrest Bill and send him to court,” Roger explains, “A kid died, Richie. The pressure from his parents alone is enough to force her hand let alone the rest of the community. Who ever heard of a small town brushing off a dead child?”
“Maybe you don’t. Maybe the Derry you grew up in and the Derry that exists now are different. Who am I to say? I don’t know and I don’t care much either. My condolences to the deceased and all but I’m certain your buddy didn’t do it. If he’s as good as you say he is I believe you and I’ll help him out.”
“I could hug you right now.”
“Oh, Jesus, spare me the theatrics, Richie.”
“Nope. We’re hugging. Come here.”
Roger makes a show of not reciprocating at first but then relents and pats Richie on the back. In many ways, Roger is like the lawyer uncle Richie never had. He sees him at holidays and when he’s in trouble. Really his whole team is like that, a family.
“I’m going to make a couple of calls before I head in,” Roger says before digging out his cell phone, “I remember a buddy of mine who used to teach had some super student from Maine. Henry Beaver or Reevers or something. Maybe he can give me an idea of what I’m working with in this state.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll go ahead and get you set up. Room’s on me.”
“You’re not deducting that from my pay.”
“Fuck you too, Roger.”
Richie leaves his lawyer to his calls. Luckily, the old lady who runs the place is available and manages to get a room together quickly. It’s the last one too. Richie is bouncing from nerves. He has confidence in Roger but he can’t help the nervousness bubbling up inside.
“His name is Roger Clemmings, just give him his key and let him up,” Richie explains, “he’s had a rough night.”
“Of course, dear,” the older woman answers.
Richie hears the front door opening behind him. He spins around, expecting Roger but instead finds Eddie half naked and shoeless. He’s shaking and completely out of breath.
“Eddie?” he rushes over to him out of concern and starts looking him over for injury, “Jesus Christ. What happened? Are you okay?”
“No. Yes. No. Yes and no.”
“Honey, do you need me to call the police?” the innkeeper asks, her hand already on the phone and ready to go.
“No. No. I’m fine. My whole world is falling apart but I’m fine.”
Richie takes off his coat and wraps it around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie is having a full on mental breakdown and Richie is terrified. He tries to catch Eddie’s eyes with his own but they stare vacantly at nothing. Richie assures the woman behind the counter that he’ll see to Eddie.
Suddenly the door opens again. Roger is pulling in a suitcase and fumbling with a text message. He doesn’t see Richie and his shirtless friend but Richie panics. He grabs Eddie by the arm and pulls him into the nearest door. He crams into the tight space with him and shuts the door behind him all before Roger can see.
“Richie?” Eddie’s voice is close by in the dark.
Richie shushes him harshly. He listens as Roger chats up the older woman. She has the decency not to say anything about Richie’s sudden escape and Richie lets the momentary relief wash over him.
“Richie?” Eddie whispers this time.
“Yeah?”
“We’re in a closet.”
Richie would laugh if it wasn’t so painfully on the nose.
“Why are we in a closet?” Eddie expands.
“Oh, Eds, I wish I could answer that.”
The old woman and Roger are still talking. She’s chatting him up and Richie wants to take back every kind word he thought about her just seconds ago.
“Fuck,” Richie whisper screams, “what part about ‘just let him up’ doesn’t she understand?”
The closet Richie has trapped them in is housing a broom with dust pan and a handful of coats on one side. It smells a bit like mothballs and cinnamon. It’s not the worst place to inadvertently imprison oneself. Richie rests his forehead against the door and groans quietly.
“Richie?” Eddie asks again.
Richie turns toward his voice and instantly regrets his life choices. Because Eddie is so close. He’s too close. There’s maybe half an inch of distance between them. Richie’s insides split in two directions; wanting to get even closer and wanting to run away.
“...Eds” Richie answers finally.
Eddie puts his hands on Richie’s shoulder. Richie feels like that contact is going to cause him to pass out. Eddie’s fingers find the collar of Richie’s button up shirt and gently tug at him, collar and all, closer to Eddie.
“E- Eddie?” Richie’s old habits act up, “I know this is a romantic venue and all but-”
Richie doesn’t have time to diffuse the situation with humor because Eddie kisses him. He kisses him and-
This is fucking weird… Richie thinks.
Eddie’s lips are tightly lined. It feels almost like he’s grimacing. It’s as if he’s not committing to anything more than pressing his lips against Richie’s in the most non intimate way possible. Eddie stiffly ends the kiss and takes a half step back.
“Ah, okay,” Richie doesn’t know how to respond, “that, um, happened.”
“I didn’t feel anything…” Eddie says, sounding a thousand miles away.
“Well maybe if you didn’t kiss like mashing two dolls together!” Richie cries in his own defense, “Jesus, who taught you to swap spit?”
“I kind of didn’t learn actually.”
Excuse me? Richie thinks as he thanks the dark for hiding his expression.
“I always thought kissing would get you herpes,” Eddie explains quietly, “and by the time I knew better it didn’t matter. I kissed my wife at our wedding but I don’t really. I don’t kiss often.”
This is absolutely horrifying information for someone like Richie who, on more than a few occasions, has referred to himself as a slut.
“Wait, you’re not a- are you a virgin, Eddie?”
“No, asshole!” Eddie says a bit too loudly.
Richie hushes him again. He brings an ear to the door of the closet and listens. He hears the old woman chuckling at something Roger said. He curses under breath. Richie is desperate to get out of this closet, out of this conversation. It’s so painfully awkward.
“Think about it, Richie,” Eddie brings the topic back up, “think about the kind of mom I had. She didn’t want me to roll around in grass what the fuck do you think she told me about taking a- a roll in the hay?”
“You did not just make a Young Frankenstein reference instead of saying the word ‘sex’,” Richie is at his wit’s end.
He might as well be a virgin, Richie thinks, I haven’t had virgin since I was a teenager.
“I’m pretty sure that that phrase is older than Young Frankenstein, just saying,” Eddie points out, “And if you’re going to make fun of me then you can cancel our date thing. Fuck it. Fuck you”
“No!” Richie whisper yells.
Even after being told point blank that there’s no chemistry and that Eddie has been about as intimate as an artificial insemination, Richie isn’t ready to give up. Sure, it’s a little daunting to be faced with Eddie’s circumstances but who cares? What Richie saw in the final showdown, how he felt when he thought he lost Eddie for good, that means something. Richie can feel that in his goddamn guts.
“You really, really, don’t really know how this works?”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“I’m seriously asking, Eds.”
Eddie mumbles his answer but Richie can tell it’s a yes. Richie decides to get down from his slutty high horse and really think about Eddie’s position. Richie knows what it’s like to wake up to sexuality. He’d slept with mostly women in his lifetime and he found it passable. It was about as thrilling as jerking off into a sock albeit far more comfortable. But men were a different story.
Richie has slept with a man before and it threw his entire life out of whack. It was nearly a holy experience and it almost got him out of the closet. Almost. By then he already had an established career as a straight man though and the idea of losing his career wasn’t worth the risk. Not even his team knows about his true proclivities. Which now that Richie thinks about it is entirely the reason he and Eddie are in this closet right now.
Richie can see Eddie in the dark. He can make out those puppy dog eyes looking off to the side in embarrassment. He sees generalized textures in his silhouette and good God does he find him beautiful. He wants to reach his hands under the borrowed jacket hanging off Eddie’s torso and touch everything he can.
You’ll freak him out, Richie stops himself, he can’t even kiss right and you want to grope him. Fucking relax. Shit.
“So I’ll show you what I know,” Richie settles, “as long as you’re feeling it I’ll keep going and if you’re not it’s cool. I mean I’m an asshole but I’m not a total asshole.”
Richie can see Eddie thinking the offer over. Richie’s spare coat moves in the dark in what looks like a shrug.
“Okay. Sure. Fuck it. Why not?”
“Real romantic of you, Eddie spaghetti.”
“Wow. I haven’t heard you call me that since we were kids. Good to know all your material is stagnant.”
Richie chuckles because honestly? That was a solid comeback. Eddie smiles back and chuckles. They both stand there laughing quietly in the dark like kids. Richie isn’t thinking about the fact that they’re stuck in here anymore. He just realizes that he likes Eddie smiling as much as he likes him pouting and annoyed. The moment fizzles out and they’re just staring at each other for a solid minute.
Richie gives Eddie a quick peck on the lips because he can’t take it anymore. He has to give something to him, something better than that sad excuse of a kiss from earlier. Richie pulls back quickly, worried that he may have been too fast. He’s genuinely surprised to have Eddie mimic the maneuver.
Richie isn’t sure if it’s the close quarters of the smell of sweat coming off of Eddie that’s putting him on a high but he goes with it. He leans his body into Eddie’s. Eddie’s back gently hits the back wall but Richie takes care not to dominate the position. He kisses Eddie again, slowly and softly. Eddie repeats the gesture and this is what Richie had been picturing all this time.
Richie licks Eddie’s bottom lip, prompting him and Eddie takes to it like a natural. Eddie’s mouth is a little dry but that’s to be expected since he had physically exerted himself earlier. Richie doesn’t care. He lets his tongue wet Eddie’s and together their kiss moves into something makes the whole closet feel hot and heavy.
Eddie places his hands on Richie’s hips and the contact sends strong signals to his member. Eddie gives a cautious bite to Richie’s lower lip that comes off as seductive, coy even. Richie can’t tell if this is experimental or if Eddie’s really feeling it but right now he doesn’t care. It feels good. Eddie feels good and Richie’s been wanting this for a long time.
“I thought you didn’t know what you’re doing,” Richie swallows hard as they break their kiss.
“Don’t ruin it,” Eddie murmurs and kisses him again.
Light floods into the closet and the older woman squeaks at finding the two men in their compromising position.
“Christ!” Richie shouts and flings himself as far away from Eddie as physically possible.
“Oh! Oh my!” the woman continues to stammer, “No! It’s fine, boys! I’m- I’m hip! My nephew is a homosexual! He and his boyfriend are wonderful people!”
Eddie silently exits the closet and heads upstairs, leaving Richie to the awkwardness alone. Richie doesn’t see this silent escape until it’s too late.
“Well, we’re not exactly boyfriends-” Richie desperately tries to rouse some sort of explanation.
“It’s fine! Really! I prefer people do those sort of things in their rooms but you’re not the first couple I’ve stumbled on in there! No shame, sweetie! No shame!”
Richie seems to put his embarrassment aside as his ear picks up on that last fact.
“Really? Other people have done this?”
“Well,” she retracts a bit, “maybe not in the same manner as you. But I’ve found a couple or two after a stormy night entangled in there. Don’t feel bad.”
She may be the first person ever to directly tell Richie not to be ashamed of what he’s done with another man. Richie really looks at her for the first time; she’s upwards of sixty for sure and dressed like a Stevie Nicks impersonator. She’s not cookie cutter like so much of Derry was and still is. Richie berates himself for making fun of her interior decorating earlier.
“What’s your name again?” he asks her.
“Doris,” she answers slowly, “I’m pretty sure I said that when we met.”
“I had a lot on my mind then and I’m kind of an asshole.”
Doris nods in consideration which makes Richie laugh. He starts to head up the stairs.
“Well Doris, you’re getting an excellent Yelp review after all this.”
“Oh good,” Doris smiles.
Richie can barely contain himself at the top step as he hears Doris mutter to herself:
I sent off to join AO3! I’ll still post full chapters here on tumblr for those who prefer it but I’ll also be posting separate links to the AO3 copies! Thank you so much to everyone who’s been reading my fics!
