(Guilt was not a new emotion for Eddie Kaspbrak to be experiencing. On a regular basis, he usually felt guilty about something even if there was nothing to warrant it. He was the kind of person who whenever he saw a shoplifting sign in a store, he automatically felt like he specifically was being targeted even if he had never shoplifted a day in his life. Then there was the more serious stuff. Feeling guilty over leaving his mom when she had no one else in the world. Feeling guilty over other feelings that he knew were wrong on a biblical level. Feeling guilty over when his doubts towards his own religion would crop up. Hearing mantras of Damnation, damnation! ringing at the back of his head wasn't new.
But this was the first time that Eddie could logically and reasonably trace the cause and effect. He had murdered people. Killed them. Had taken their lives. Brought them straight to the pearly gates himself. He could still remember what it felt like to cut the one lady open.
It didn't help that he had stitches for the deep stab wound that Angela had managed to heal some of the way, but not all, that had him sleeping on his belly most nights because he was paranoid that they would catch and he'd rip them all out. It served as a physical reminder of what happened.
That was all pretty awful, sure, but what was really awful was the fact that Richie had been dragged into it too. Richie who didn't deserve damnation the way Eddie did.
It itched at his skin worse than his guilt, and after resting for a while (though not sleeping- thanks, moon.) he wound up heading to Richie's room. No knocking. The only Loser he would bother knocking for was Bev for obvious reasons. And she had never liked any of the boys in her room for longer than they had to be- except for Eddie.
This wasn't Beverly though. It was Richie. Richie who was, even within the Losers, Eddie's very best friend. So of course there was no knocking. Maybe if it had been a few months ago, but with how things were going, Eddie pushes the door open like he would any other day of the week and shuts it behind him. He locks it too. It isn't that he doesn't trust Chloe, it's more that he's so used to having moments with the Losers being something kept private and isolated. This felt like one of those moments.
He walks over to Richie's bed and just climbs right on in, rolling right on over to his stomach and crossing his arms together, dropping his chin into the crook of his elbow.)
[ Richie's room is a disaster zone at the best of times. Even back home in Derry, he'd only fastidiously clean if it could get him a few quarters for the arcade, and while his mom did tidy it up on occasion it was a matter of time before clothes wound up on the floor, clutter was strewn about, and a visual confirmation that the floor existed was up in the air. Deerington isn't much better. Well, i's a little better, but it's still comparing a trash can to a dumpster. There's no food, it's just Stuff with a capital S, as disorganized and chaotic as Richie's mind is. It's not like he would clean if he was asked to, anyway. Not with his current state of mind.
The thing is, there's something wrong. Weird doesn't even begin to describe what Richie's feeling about this whole thing--it tugs at his chest and snaps at his heels. He can't stop thinking about it, either, and it's not like sleeping will help. Worst of all, it's different than It. It wasn't real. It was It. These were people he's killed. Real people.
Boy, howdy.
He's healing a little faster than Eddie, probably because his mind hasn't been thinking of every little way his body can fuck up in the healing process, and when he hears the door open he doesn't even roll over and sit up to see who it is. He knows. ]
If they came back, we didn't really kill them, did we?
[ There's no point in beating around the bush. 'Hi, Eddie, I know why you can't sleep, let's cut to the chase'. He wriggles around, groping for his glasses and knocking a large pile of comic books (where he had the time or money to get them is a mystery) from the nightstand. ]
(Were it any other moment, any other day, Eddie may have bemoaned the mess. Though he wouldn't have gone above and beyond to bemoan it. After all, it wasn't food. If it was, Richie would never hear the end of it between maggots and mice. But there's no energy for even playfully bitching at Richie. Not today.
Today, all of his energy is going to be spent on making sure that Richie was okay. And, in some selfish way, allowing himself to be okay too. Not that he'd ever admit to the latter.
Richie cuts to the chase and Eddie's grateful. He's quiet at first, tipping his head down to hide it into his arm, his face burning. Shame is a familiar emotion for Eddie, but he had never felt shame quite like this. Sometimes when he really thought hard about it, he could taste his mouth full of ashes. Like his soul had already started to burn up in Hell.
He doesn't even pick his head up when he hears the whispering clatter of comic books hitting the floor. Being around Richie had always meant noise and chaos. It's an adjusted state of being for Eddie at this point, and he merely just sighs. Eventually Eddie pulls his head up, eyes a little pink.)
Not so sure if it matters if they came back. We still wanted them gone forever. And...and the pain was real. (Eddie's hand creeps over his shoulder towards his stitches, but he doesn't quite wind up there. His hand drops after a second, and his head goes back into his arm. When he speaks next, it's muffled, but coherent.)
But that--that wasn't us. [ Richie's speaking is fast and loose, not panicked but certainly not clipped. His thoughts are racing with his mind, the whole thing sloshing together like a slurpee. ]
It wasn't us, it was like if--like if It had a hold on us like It did with Bowers. That's what it was, not--it wasn't us.
[ Richie doesn't realize he's grabbing at Eddie, fingers digging into the other's arm. It's not as hard as it could be thanks to exhaustion, but it's still there as Richie desperately tries to convince himself about these things as he says them. He's trying to mimic Bill, trying to think like he does.
(This isn't a side of Richie that most people ever see. Sure, he's always talking at a rapid pace, but never out of distress. It makes something swell uncomfortably tight in the pit of his chest and he wants to reach out- but Richie beats him to it. Eddie shuffles closer, his eyes burning.
Some warped part of Eddie feels as though he personally deserved the burden of murder on the soul. He thought in some weird, fucked way, this was the universe's way of tethering him permanently to hell.
But he had never wanted Richie to be tethered with him. As badly as he wanted to let himself be flayed by the judgement of God himself, his dedication to Richie far outweighed any negative feelings he might have about himself.
It suddenly didn't really matter too much to him what he did or didn't deserve. This was about what Richie did and didn't deserve, and he sure as fuck didn't deserve to think he was some monster. Besides, Eddie knows Richie is actually right too.)
Hey. Look at me. (Eddie's words are firm, and he grabs at Richie's face with the hand attached to the arm Richie wasn't holding. It reminds him just a tiny bit of that time he'd seen Richie grabbing at his own face in the Neibolt house. Only this time there wasn't a demon encroaching on them. It was just their guilt.)
You're right, okay? It wasn't us. You know us. We're the Losers. We don't want to be violent. We keep getting forced into it whether 'cause Bowers cornered us or cause some fucking clown wanted to rip us up or...or some maze tapped into some ugly parts of us.
(Eddie drops his hand from Richie's face and shifts closer yet, grimacing a bit as he moves onto his side, propping himself up onto his elbow.)
This place is really messed up, Richie. We gotta stick together now more than ever. What happened was fucking awful. We really hurt some people, but I know neither of us would ever wanna do that. If we really were cold-hearted bastards like Bowers and Hocksetter, we wouldn't be talking like this right now, now would we? Monsters don't feel guilty, Rich. They just don't.
[ Yeah. Yeah, Eddie's right--even if he's suddenly acutely aware of how Eddie's hand is gripping his face, and how characteristically uncharacteristic it all is. It's about as confusing as everything else in this fucking place, and for once in his life, Richie actually shuts up, sits still, and pays attention.
For all of Eddie's bullshit with diseases and his tangents about things that don't really matter, when Eddie uses that tone of voice, that one that's not high and strung out but clear, Richie pays as much attention to it as he would when Bill stops stuttering.
He lets it wash over him, still and silent, and he bites at his lower lip before his free hand's fingers start to tap-tap-tap an invisible rhythm on his knee. He looks at that instead, not because he's ashamed, but because it's movement he can focus on while he's getting his thoughts in order. ]
I know we didn't do it, I know it's this place, it's like Derry, I'm not worried about you. I mean, I sort of am, but--
[ Ugh. This is why Richie tries not to be serious, he can't articulate properly. He snorts, sniffing loudly. ]
You said all those adults, you can trust 'em, and we gave them some real good whacks, Eds. If--when they come back, that's all they're gonna know we did. If someone gave me a good home run, I wouldn't be lining up to listen to an apology.
And that's what we do? 'Gee, Mister, awfully sorry about slashing your face in two. Hey, lady, can we have a do over since we sliced your belly open like a fish?' What the fuck.
(Maybe it was wrong to victimize themselves in a situation where they had hurt others. But it really hadn't been like either of them. There had been some cruel, evil hold over them, poisoning their common sense and both of their natures. Richie's right. Deerington is a lot like Derry.
Sometimes Eddie thought it was because he was here. If this thing was a dream and he was connected to it, but still technically back in Derry, then maybe some of Derry lifted up into Deerington too.
Eddie grows very still and completely silent when Richie talks about the adults.)
I said we can trust them, yeah. But I never meant...as much as you could trust a Loser. All I ever meant was that they're the kinda adults who would want to help us. And that's what they tried to do. (Look at where it got them all. Granted, anyone who truly knew Eddie Kaspbrak would have known how obvious a trap the video had been. They would know that Eddie would of never called on adults for help. They would have known that Eddie somehow never got lost.
They would have known that it would have taken a lot more than a fucking maze and some psycho kids to split him up from one of his best friends.
But he knows what Richie is saying. He's rolling back over onto his belly and putting his head down into his arms, shrugging his shoulders in a small kind of way.)
...Dunno. Don't think there's anything we can do. They'll probably just hate us and that's just gonna be how it is even if we did try and make it up. (Eddie sounds kind of miserable. It actually sounds a little bit like he might be crying too, but it's impossible to tell with his face in his arms.)
What else is new? Adults find whatever excuse they can to hate a kid and we basically just gave them a totally valid reason on a silver fucking platter.
(That's the worst part too. Eddie really couldn't blame anyone of the adults they killed or attacked for hating them. He picks his head up out of his arms finally, and his eyes are wet, but he doesn't seem to be actively crying yet.)
We should probably just pray for forgiveness and hope to God maybe one of them realizes that it really wasn't something we wanted to do. I wouldn't really want to hear an apology either. And I sure as fuck wouldn't want to hear it from someone who hurt you. (Eddie isn't saying that to be sentimental. He means it with a very real awareness of the fact that those people they hurt? They probably had people who cared about them too who had to discover that they died or were hurt by a couple of kids who cried wolf.)
[ The thought that Eddie could trust anyone over the Losers is preposterous, and he thinks they both know that--it's more that Eddie trusts other people in general that Richie thinks is weird. Maybe that'll change in time, too. After all, he's only been here for less than a month. Even if so much has already happened. ]
How do we make it up? They hate us, now. And I don't blame 'em. Even if it's not our fault, we... I wanted it so badly.
I was having fun. [ He was, too--howling, laughing, thinking 'finally, just desserts.' ]
(It's true. They did both know that. Eddie gets it, really. A year ago, he would have felt just as weird over the idea. Survival changed things sometimes though. Eddie gnaws at his bottom lip, and he doesn't know what to say. He really doesn't.)
I wanted it too. And maybe I don't always wanna kill adults, but it came from a pretty real place. (It wasn't like the corn had to try that hard to make him hate adults. That hate and that fear was already there.)
I felt empowered. (Eddie mumbles this shamefully. He was small, and for his entire life, he had been told he was delicate. To give him a sickle and let him cut down trained soldiers? Well, shit. How could he not feel strong?)
Um. Yeah. Most of them. (They'd heard a lot of people too. Not just killed them, but...As far as who they killed...)
The guy we um...the guy we watched go...(Richie's got a point. It is easier to say 'grabbed' and 'go' instead of 'kill' and 'die'.)
That was Bucky. He lives down the street from us in that cul-de-sac. He's...He was a soldier. He's always been nice to me. I don't know the lady though. (And while they may not have seen Abigail die, Eddie wasn't stupid. He had got her good in the stomach. Could still feel the way her skin gave way when he thought about it. It made him queasy.)
I knew most of the other people too. Shiro- he was the uh guy I got in the face. He's always tried hard to protect me. We haven't always got along great, cause yanno, he's this guy used to telling people what to do. (And Losers suck at being told what to do.) But he's not a bad person, I don't think.
[ He takes notes of the names, memorizes them like he's going to have to hold on to them carefully--and he is. Shiro, the one with the scar. Bucky, the one with the metal arm. That's all their fault.
And Eddie's right. Eddie, as usual, is absolutely right: they had not only wanted it, but they felt so good doing it. Like it was right. Like they were showing the world how much they were sick and tired of running. 'Fuck you, everyone! Have a sickle! have some claws!'
Richie thinks he's going to be sick, and he presses his lips into a thin line to try to will the nausea away. It only half works. ]
(There's always a breaking point for some people, and Eddie Kaspbrak just so happened to have several potential breaking points. He had always just been that kind of person. Sonia had raised him like he was a baby cow meant for veal. Kept him broken down, underdeveloped, and soft in all the ways he shouldn't be. Maybe he was soft in some part just because that's how God had wanted him to be, but he just felt everything So Much More than most people. Even girls.
It was embarrassing on a good day.
And today wasn't a good day. Today was an awful day, and when Richie Tozier, his absolute best friend and something - when he says that they were the bad people? That Eddie and Richie were bad? Oh hell, it conjures up a whole lot of ugliness inside of Eddie. Age old guilt over things not even relevant, the fresh guilt of the murders, the keen sting of Richie seeing him as the bad thing he always has been but now with just a new clarity...But there was also that crushing feeling of Richie seeing himself as bad too...
Shit, it's not a shocker that it happens. There's that old saying "burst into tears" but Eddie gives it a sort of literal feeling. He's like a little geyser, his body humming with raw energy, and then he gives this pained sound and suddenly he's crying full blast. Big ole Miyazaki tears dripping down his face, and there's those awful sounds of a kid really feeling it somewhere deep. He drops his face into his arm in some pointless attempt to hide it.)
Hey-- [ This isn't what he meant to do. Certainly not on purpose, but Eddie has started wailing, and panic latches onto Richie just like when he first woke up. The bad part is that he did it, too, he said it, and--
--no. The bad part is that Richie still thinks he's right, and that nauseous feeling creeps into things again, takes over his body for a brief moment that he doesn't move.
Fuck. Fuck! What the hell would Bill do? Or Ben? Good job, trashmouth! Good job, idiot! You've made your best friend cry! Good fucking job, specs! Good job, loser! ]
Hey--
[ He doesn't want to lie to Eddie, either. He takes the other's arm, trying to gently pry him to at least look at him. He forces a smile, even if it just looks pained. ]
We--we can fix this, right? You said it yourself, this--we don't want to be violent. That's what separates us. We were the bad guys, but now we're not, and now we can work on--we can work on, uh--we can work on fixing it.
[ His face is flushed, gaze wild instead of trying to be calming. ]
Like repent or something.
[ It's Stan they need, he realizes. Stan would be the right Loser for this situation. But it's just them. ]
We survived a fucking clown in the sewer, we can survive feeling like this.
(That is the bad part. Richie is right. Eddie certainly wasn't about to say that what they did was okay, because it wasn't. They weren't Bowers and his gang. They never got off on hurting animals and beating up small kids. Murder was wrong, even if it was out of their control, and Eddie knows it.
Just hearing it said from Richie sucked. It sucked a whole lot. That and Eddie had one hell of a fear of eternal damnation. He'd been nursing on that concept for well over a year now, even before they fought Pennywise, but oh boy was it sinking in irreversibly now.
He does at least pick his head up to look at Richie. There were two Losers who could effectively pry Eddie out of himself and that would be Bill Denbrough and Richie Tozier. His head hangs there, and the wails stop, but the tears keep going.
Eddie shrugs slowly, looking down.)
I've always known I was probably gonna like, roast up in Hell, you know? But this basically secured a one-way ticket to the big man's torture chamber.
(Might as well admit it, right? Eddie isn't so sure you could scrub the stain of murder out of your soul through repenting. And his soul was already pretty messed up.)
I guess.
(Eddie doesn't sound so sure, and he's still crying, but at least he's not so hysterical anymore. He rubs at his face, his head already throbbing from crying so much.
Eddie didn't know if a certain Loser could fix this. Hell, he wasn't even sure what Bill would say or do. None of the Losers were for murder. Except maybe if they accidentally killed Bowers, but that was different. That would be self-defense.)
I'm sorry. (One can practically see Eddie pulling himself together. He shifts up to his knees and rubs his hands at his face.) Don't mean to be such a crybaby.
(He mutters the word 'crybaby' like it's a swear word. He grabs hold of the zipper on his fanny pack, the black one that had 'What Are We Going to Do With All This FUTURE' scrawled in print over the front. He digs his hand in and pulls out his Xanax. He knocks out a pill and puts the bottle away. He tucks the pill into his mouth and chews it slowly, knowing it works a little faster that way.)
You're right. All we really can do is repent. Maybe I can't do shit all to change God's mind, but I don't know if I care anymore. (He does, but he's wondering if maybe he shouldn't focus more on the Here and Now.) I think all I really want is for those people to know we never really wanted to hurt them.
[ Richie listens attentively, not once picking at his clothes or fidgeting and his leg doesn't even start bouncing up and down, not once--that's because Eddie needs him to listen, so he'll listen, even if he still has to stare off into the corner of the room as he does so. Eddie crying, even if it's less than it had been before, but it's still a lot.
He's eating those weird pills, too, and that's just second nature, he figures, because that's just Eddie. In a weird way that gives him sort sort of sense of normalcy: Richie will be loud and say something stupid, and Eddie will dope himself up. That doesn't mean it's enough, but it's a start, and Richie does the only thing he can think of and move forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Eddie's smaller frame.
He has to think of something, he has to say something-- ]
We will. [ It's still not enough. He stays like that, just holding his best friend, and decides not to wait until he can find the perfect phrase to cheer him up. He just says the first thing on his mind: ]
Hey--hey, if you go to hell, I'll be there, too. We can have a rock war with satan.
(The fact that Richie Tozier was sitting completely still and being quiet spoke volumes. Volumes that were loud enough to help begin to water down all of that panic screaming in Eddie's head. It makes Eddie begin to steady out, even without the Xanax kicking in. He stares back at Richie, taking in a few slow, deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Your lungs work just fine, Eds. It's a ghost of Richie's voice, working into one ear and out the other, even with the real Richie right in front of him.
He's gonna be okay. They both will be. Like Richie had said, they had been through worse before. Now they just had to get over feeling like this.
Eddie doesn't really know why he doesn't expect the hug. In retrospect, it's obvious that Richie would hug him after a bad breakdown like that. Any of the Losers would. But after everything from before, Eddie sometimes still didn't really expect his best friend to do this kind of thing anymore.
So when it happens, Eddie makes a keen noise of surprise, his body tensing up for all of a split second. But he's in desperate need of comfort, and Richie was the kinda medicine that they just didn't bottle up. His arms automatically lock around Richie and he's hugging back just as tightly. It's been a long, long time since Richie held onto him like this and Eddie's only tense through it for about a second before he just lets it happen.
His body sinks into it and he rests his face against Richie's shoulder. Thank God, thank God, I don't deserve this but thank you God-
Then, just as unexpected as the hug was, the statement Richie says after? It's so shocking to Eddie that he doesn't respond right away. But then he starts shaking, and at first it'd be pretty easy to figure the kid was having another break down, but then the giggling starts pouring out of him until he's full on cracking up against Richie.)
Jesus fuck, Richie! (He picks his head up and leans back just enough to look at his best friend, flushed in the face from crying and laughing so hard. Richie said a whole lot of stupid shit on a regular basis, but Eddie was always his number one supporter and he really did think this kid was gonna make it big one day. How could he fucking not with lines like that? Eddie shouldn't even be laughing so hard, but there he was, getting a cramp in his side because he couldn't stop. His face drops back against Richie's shoulder and affection crackled throughout his entire chest. Jesus, he really did love this kid.)
Fuck you, I'm trying to despair here in peace and you just-. Oh my God! (Make it completely better, is what he's trying to say.
It wasn't perfect, but Eddie felt like some of that heavy weight had already been chipped away from him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
After they went Children of the Corn on ppl - 09/25
But this was the first time that Eddie could logically and reasonably trace the cause and effect. He had murdered people. Killed them. Had taken their lives. Brought them straight to the pearly gates himself. He could still remember what it felt like to cut the one lady open.
It didn't help that he had stitches for the deep stab wound that Angela had managed to heal some of the way, but not all, that had him sleeping on his belly most nights because he was paranoid that they would catch and he'd rip them all out. It served as a physical reminder of what happened.
That was all pretty awful, sure, but what was really awful was the fact that Richie had been dragged into it too. Richie who didn't deserve damnation the way Eddie did.
It itched at his skin worse than his guilt, and after resting for a while (though not sleeping- thanks, moon.) he wound up heading to Richie's room. No knocking. The only Loser he would bother knocking for was Bev for obvious reasons. And she had never liked any of the boys in her room for longer than they had to be- except for Eddie.
This wasn't Beverly though. It was Richie. Richie who was, even within the Losers, Eddie's very best friend. So of course there was no knocking. Maybe if it had been a few months ago, but with how things were going, Eddie pushes the door open like he would any other day of the week and shuts it behind him. He locks it too. It isn't that he doesn't trust Chloe, it's more that he's so used to having moments with the Losers being something kept private and isolated. This felt like one of those moments.
He walks over to Richie's bed and just climbs right on in, rolling right on over to his stomach and crossing his arms together, dropping his chin into the crook of his elbow.)
Hi.
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The thing is, there's something wrong. Weird doesn't even begin to describe what Richie's feeling about this whole thing--it tugs at his chest and snaps at his heels. He can't stop thinking about it, either, and it's not like sleeping will help. Worst of all, it's different than It. It wasn't real. It was It. These were people he's killed. Real people.
Boy, howdy.
He's healing a little faster than Eddie, probably because his mind hasn't been thinking of every little way his body can fuck up in the healing process, and when he hears the door open he doesn't even roll over and sit up to see who it is. He knows. ]
If they came back, we didn't really kill them, did we?
[ There's no point in beating around the bush. 'Hi, Eddie, I know why you can't sleep, let's cut to the chase'. He wriggles around, groping for his glasses and knocking a large pile of comic books (where he had the time or money to get them is a mystery) from the nightstand. ]
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Today, all of his energy is going to be spent on making sure that Richie was okay. And, in some selfish way, allowing himself to be okay too. Not that he'd ever admit to the latter.
Richie cuts to the chase and Eddie's grateful. He's quiet at first, tipping his head down to hide it into his arm, his face burning. Shame is a familiar emotion for Eddie, but he had never felt shame quite like this. Sometimes when he really thought hard about it, he could taste his mouth full of ashes. Like his soul had already started to burn up in Hell.
He doesn't even pick his head up when he hears the whispering clatter of comic books hitting the floor. Being around Richie had always meant noise and chaos. It's an adjusted state of being for Eddie at this point, and he merely just sighs. Eventually Eddie pulls his head up, eyes a little pink.)
Not so sure if it matters if they came back. We still wanted them gone forever. And...and the pain was real. (Eddie's hand creeps over his shoulder towards his stitches, but he doesn't quite wind up there. His hand drops after a second, and his head goes back into his arm. When he speaks next, it's muffled, but coherent.)
I'm sorry.
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It wasn't us, it was like if--like if It had a hold on us like It did with Bowers. That's what it was, not--it wasn't us.
[ Richie doesn't realize he's grabbing at Eddie, fingers digging into the other's arm. It's not as hard as it could be thanks to exhaustion, but it's still there as Richie desperately tries to convince himself about these things as he says them. He's trying to mimic Bill, trying to think like he does.
It's hard. ]
It was the maze.
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Some warped part of Eddie feels as though he personally deserved the burden of murder on the soul. He thought in some weird, fucked way, this was the universe's way of tethering him permanently to hell.
But he had never wanted Richie to be tethered with him. As badly as he wanted to let himself be flayed by the judgement of God himself, his dedication to Richie far outweighed any negative feelings he might have about himself.
It suddenly didn't really matter too much to him what he did or didn't deserve. This was about what Richie did and didn't deserve, and he sure as fuck didn't deserve to think he was some monster. Besides, Eddie knows Richie is actually right too.)
Hey. Look at me. (Eddie's words are firm, and he grabs at Richie's face with the hand attached to the arm Richie wasn't holding. It reminds him just a tiny bit of that time he'd seen Richie grabbing at his own face in the Neibolt house. Only this time there wasn't a demon encroaching on them. It was just their guilt.)
You're right, okay? It wasn't us. You know us. We're the Losers. We don't want to be violent. We keep getting forced into it whether 'cause Bowers cornered us or cause some fucking clown wanted to rip us up or...or some maze tapped into some ugly parts of us.
(Eddie drops his hand from Richie's face and shifts closer yet, grimacing a bit as he moves onto his side, propping himself up onto his elbow.)
This place is really messed up, Richie. We gotta stick together now more than ever. What happened was fucking awful. We really hurt some people, but I know neither of us would ever wanna do that. If we really were cold-hearted bastards like Bowers and Hocksetter, we wouldn't be talking like this right now, now would we? Monsters don't feel guilty, Rich. They just don't.
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For all of Eddie's bullshit with diseases and his tangents about things that don't really matter, when Eddie uses that tone of voice, that one that's not high and strung out but clear, Richie pays as much attention to it as he would when Bill stops stuttering.
He lets it wash over him, still and silent, and he bites at his lower lip before his free hand's fingers start to tap-tap-tap an invisible rhythm on his knee. He looks at that instead, not because he's ashamed, but because it's movement he can focus on while he's getting his thoughts in order. ]
I know we didn't do it, I know it's this place, it's like Derry, I'm not worried about you. I mean, I sort of am, but--
[ Ugh. This is why Richie tries not to be serious, he can't articulate properly. He snorts, sniffing loudly. ]
You said all those adults, you can trust 'em, and we gave them some real good whacks, Eds. If--when they come back, that's all they're gonna know we did. If someone gave me a good home run, I wouldn't be lining up to listen to an apology.
And that's what we do? 'Gee, Mister, awfully sorry about slashing your face in two. Hey, lady, can we have a do over since we sliced your belly open like a fish?' What the fuck.
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Sometimes Eddie thought it was because he was here. If this thing was a dream and he was connected to it, but still technically back in Derry, then maybe some of Derry lifted up into Deerington too.
Eddie grows very still and completely silent when Richie talks about the adults.)
I said we can trust them, yeah. But I never meant...as much as you could trust a Loser. All I ever meant was that they're the kinda adults who would want to help us. And that's what they tried to do. (Look at where it got them all. Granted, anyone who truly knew Eddie Kaspbrak would have known how obvious a trap the video had been. They would know that Eddie would of never called on adults for help. They would have known that Eddie somehow never got lost.
They would have known that it would have taken a lot more than a fucking maze and some psycho kids to split him up from one of his best friends.
But he knows what Richie is saying. He's rolling back over onto his belly and putting his head down into his arms, shrugging his shoulders in a small kind of way.)
...Dunno. Don't think there's anything we can do. They'll probably just hate us and that's just gonna be how it is even if we did try and make it up. (Eddie sounds kind of miserable. It actually sounds a little bit like he might be crying too, but it's impossible to tell with his face in his arms.)
What else is new? Adults find whatever excuse they can to hate a kid and we basically just gave them a totally valid reason on a silver fucking platter.
(That's the worst part too. Eddie really couldn't blame anyone of the adults they killed or attacked for hating them. He picks his head up out of his arms finally, and his eyes are wet, but he doesn't seem to be actively crying yet.)
We should probably just pray for forgiveness and hope to God maybe one of them realizes that it really wasn't something we wanted to do. I wouldn't really want to hear an apology either. And I sure as fuck wouldn't want to hear it from someone who hurt you. (Eddie isn't saying that to be sentimental. He means it with a very real awareness of the fact that those people they hurt? They probably had people who cared about them too who had to discover that they died or were hurt by a couple of kids who cried wolf.)
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How do we make it up? They hate us, now. And I don't blame 'em. Even if it's not our fault, we... I wanted it so badly.
I was having fun. [ He was, too--howling, laughing, thinking 'finally, just desserts.' ]
Do you even know who we grabbed?
[ 'grabbed' and not 'killed.' it's easier. ]
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I wanted it too. And maybe I don't always wanna kill adults, but it came from a pretty real place. (It wasn't like the corn had to try that hard to make him hate adults. That hate and that fear was already there.)
I felt empowered. (Eddie mumbles this shamefully. He was small, and for his entire life, he had been told he was delicate. To give him a sickle and let him cut down trained soldiers? Well, shit. How could he not feel strong?)
Um. Yeah. Most of them. (They'd heard a lot of people too. Not just killed them, but...As far as who they killed...)
The guy we um...the guy we watched go...(Richie's got a point. It is easier to say 'grabbed' and 'go' instead of 'kill' and 'die'.)
That was Bucky. He lives down the street from us in that cul-de-sac. He's...He was a soldier. He's always been nice to me. I don't know the lady though. (And while they may not have seen Abigail die, Eddie wasn't stupid. He had got her good in the stomach. Could still feel the way her skin gave way when he thought about it. It made him queasy.)
I knew most of the other people too. Shiro- he was the uh guy I got in the face. He's always tried hard to protect me. We haven't always got along great, cause yanno, he's this guy used to telling people what to do. (And Losers suck at being told what to do.) But he's not a bad person, I don't think.
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And Eddie's right. Eddie, as usual, is absolutely right: they had not only wanted it, but they felt so good doing it. Like it was right. Like they were showing the world how much they were sick and tired of running. 'Fuck you, everyone! Have a sickle! have some claws!'
Richie thinks he's going to be sick, and he presses his lips into a thin line to try to will the nausea away. It only half works. ]
None of them were. We're the bad guys, Eddie. Us.
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It was embarrassing on a good day.
And today wasn't a good day. Today was an awful day, and when Richie Tozier, his absolute best friend and something - when he says that they were the bad people? That Eddie and Richie were bad? Oh hell, it conjures up a whole lot of ugliness inside of Eddie. Age old guilt over things not even relevant, the fresh guilt of the murders, the keen sting of Richie seeing him as the bad thing he always has been but now with just a new clarity...But there was also that crushing feeling of Richie seeing himself as bad too...
Shit, it's not a shocker that it happens. There's that old saying "burst into tears" but Eddie gives it a sort of literal feeling. He's like a little geyser, his body humming with raw energy, and then he gives this pained sound and suddenly he's crying full blast. Big ole Miyazaki tears dripping down his face, and there's those awful sounds of a kid really feeling it somewhere deep. He drops his face into his arm in some pointless attempt to hide it.)
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--no. The bad part is that Richie still thinks he's right, and that nauseous feeling creeps into things again, takes over his body for a brief moment that he doesn't move.
Fuck. Fuck! What the hell would Bill do? Or Ben? Good job, trashmouth! Good job, idiot! You've made your best friend cry! Good fucking job, specs! Good job, loser! ]
Hey--
[ He doesn't want to lie to Eddie, either. He takes the other's arm, trying to gently pry him to at least look at him. He forces a smile, even if it just looks pained. ]
We--we can fix this, right? You said it yourself, this--we don't want to be violent. That's what separates us. We were the bad guys, but now we're not, and now we can work on--we can work on, uh--we can work on fixing it.
[ His face is flushed, gaze wild instead of trying to be calming. ]
Like repent or something.
[ It's Stan they need, he realizes. Stan would be the right Loser for this situation. But it's just them. ]
We survived a fucking clown in the sewer, we can survive feeling like this.
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Just hearing it said from Richie sucked. It sucked a whole lot. That and Eddie had one hell of a fear of eternal damnation. He'd been nursing on that concept for well over a year now, even before they fought Pennywise, but oh boy was it sinking in irreversibly now.
He does at least pick his head up to look at Richie. There were two Losers who could effectively pry Eddie out of himself and that would be Bill Denbrough and Richie Tozier. His head hangs there, and the wails stop, but the tears keep going.
Eddie shrugs slowly, looking down.)
I've always known I was probably gonna like, roast up in Hell, you know? But this basically secured a one-way ticket to the big man's torture chamber.
(Might as well admit it, right? Eddie isn't so sure you could scrub the stain of murder out of your soul through repenting. And his soul was already pretty messed up.)
I guess.
(Eddie doesn't sound so sure, and he's still crying, but at least he's not so hysterical anymore. He rubs at his face, his head already throbbing from crying so much.
Eddie didn't know if a certain Loser could fix this. Hell, he wasn't even sure what Bill would say or do. None of the Losers were for murder. Except maybe if they accidentally killed Bowers, but that was different. That would be self-defense.)
I'm sorry. (One can practically see Eddie pulling himself together. He shifts up to his knees and rubs his hands at his face.) Don't mean to be such a crybaby.
(He mutters the word 'crybaby' like it's a swear word. He grabs hold of the zipper on his fanny pack, the black one that had 'What Are We Going to Do With All This FUTURE' scrawled in print over the front. He digs his hand in and pulls out his Xanax. He knocks out a pill and puts the bottle away. He tucks the pill into his mouth and chews it slowly, knowing it works a little faster that way.)
You're right. All we really can do is repent. Maybe I can't do shit all to change God's mind, but I don't know if I care anymore. (He does, but he's wondering if maybe he shouldn't focus more on the Here and Now.) I think all I really want is for those people to know we never really wanted to hurt them.
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He's eating those weird pills, too, and that's just second nature, he figures, because that's just Eddie. In a weird way that gives him sort sort of sense of normalcy: Richie will be loud and say something stupid, and Eddie will dope himself up. That doesn't mean it's enough, but it's a start, and Richie does the only thing he can think of and move forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Eddie's smaller frame.
He has to think of something, he has to say something-- ]
We will. [ It's still not enough. He stays like that, just holding his best friend, and decides not to wait until he can find the perfect phrase to cheer him up. He just says the first thing on his mind: ]
Hey--hey, if you go to hell, I'll be there, too. We can have a rock war with satan.
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He's gonna be okay. They both will be. Like Richie had said, they had been through worse before. Now they just had to get over feeling like this.
Eddie doesn't really know why he doesn't expect the hug. In retrospect, it's obvious that Richie would hug him after a bad breakdown like that. Any of the Losers would. But after everything from before, Eddie sometimes still didn't really expect his best friend to do this kind of thing anymore.
So when it happens, Eddie makes a keen noise of surprise, his body tensing up for all of a split second. But he's in desperate need of comfort, and Richie was the kinda medicine that they just didn't bottle up. His arms automatically lock around Richie and he's hugging back just as tightly. It's been a long, long time since Richie held onto him like this and Eddie's only tense through it for about a second before he just lets it happen.
His body sinks into it and he rests his face against Richie's shoulder. Thank God, thank God, I don't deserve this but thank you God-
Then, just as unexpected as the hug was, the statement Richie says after? It's so shocking to Eddie that he doesn't respond right away. But then he starts shaking, and at first it'd be pretty easy to figure the kid was having another break down, but then the giggling starts pouring out of him until he's full on cracking up against Richie.)
Jesus fuck, Richie! (He picks his head up and leans back just enough to look at his best friend, flushed in the face from crying and laughing so hard. Richie said a whole lot of stupid shit on a regular basis, but Eddie was always his number one supporter and he really did think this kid was gonna make it big one day. How could he fucking not with lines like that? Eddie shouldn't even be laughing so hard, but there he was, getting a cramp in his side because he couldn't stop. His face drops back against Richie's shoulder and affection crackled throughout his entire chest. Jesus, he really did love this kid.)
Fuck you, I'm trying to despair here in peace and you just-. Oh my God! (Make it completely better, is what he's trying to say.
It wasn't perfect, but Eddie felt like some of that heavy weight had already been chipped away from him.
Yeah, they definitely would be okay.)