OMG REDDIE PROMPT “who did this to you?” (if u would like to write it hashtag no pressure ofc)
(from this post)
It's odd, Eddie thinks, that it's been nearly a full day and he hasn't heard from Richie.
Normally, it's the other way around, where Eddie can't seem to find any peace and quiet from Richie. But today, he finds himself missing those cheesy jokes and terrible impressions and Richie's snorting laugh that Eddie swears is contagious.
He stops by the Tozier household, but Richie's mother tells Eddie that her son has been out of the house all day. He's not in the arcade, nor down by the Quarry. And even though they haven't played there since they were kids, Eddie checks the Barrens anyways, but no luck there either.
As he's trudging out of the woods, racking his brain for anywhere else Richie could be, he hears something. Very soft, very faint music, the kind that isn't really Eddie's go-to genre, but he can recognize as a certain someone's favourite. And Eddie knows where it's coming from- the very place he can't believe he didn't check in the first place.
He makes his way back through the forest, walking along the beaten path that leads him to the Losers' clubhouse- and sure enough, the trapdoor is laying open, with rock music streaming from it. Eddie marches over to the door, and without an announcement of his presence begins making his way down the ladder. When he sees a head of curly hair lying down in the hammock, Eddie jumps down from the ladder and breathes a sigh of relief. "There you are!" he says, approaching the hammock. "I've been looking for you all day, I wanted to ask you if-"
But Eddie stops cold in his tracks when Richie looks up from the magazine that he was not only reading, but also using to hide his face. Dried blood is smeared across his cheek and his eyebrow, and some dripping from his nose as well. The lense of one of his glasses is cracked. His bottom lip is swollen and split, and his left eye is beginning to bruise purple.
“Richie...” Is all Eddie can manage as he takes it all in. Panic flashes in Richie’s eyes as he scrambles out of the hammock, but he winces as he lands on his feet.
“Okay, before you say anything,” he says quickly, “I know it looks bad, but honestly, it looks worse than it actually is, okay? I promise, I’m fine, so don’t worry yourself-”
“Who did this to you?” Eddie asks. Richie pauses, his words dying on his tongue. When he doesn’t answer, but simply averts his eyes, Eddie takes a step closer and repeats his question. “Richie, who did this to you?”
Richie tenses, taking a wavering breath, and Eddie is preparing himself to have to ask a third time, when Richie finally mutters under his breath, “Bowers.”
The spot in his heart that was previously worrying, hurting from seeing Richie in pain and beat up, is now taken over by a different feeling- anger, rage towards Henry fucking Bowers for what he did to Richie. And while his anger is quickly building up inside of him, Eddie doesn’t realize that he’s starting to show it as well, until Richie reaches out and takes his hand, which he had unconsciously balled up into a tight fist and was digging his fingernails into his palms. “Hey,” Richie says gently, but Eddie can hear the strain in his voice. “It’s okay.”
“I’d beg to differ,” Eddie replies. “Richie, look at yourself. You’re bleeding in three different places, your eye is swelling shut, you look like you’ve had lip injections gone wrong-” Richie squeezes his hand, and Eddie stops himself, shutting his eyes and forcing himself to take a breath before he gets himself all worked up. “I swear,” he says once he’s calmed down slightly, “one day that fucker’s gonna be sorry for everything he’s done.”
And then, to Eddie’s surprise, Richie laughs. Eddie opens up his eyes, and Richie is smiling, as though everything is fine and all the pain has stopped.
“Oh yeah?” Richie says, a teasing lilt in his voice despite the circumstances. “You planning on taking him down all by yourself?”
“You don’t think I could?” Eddie asks, to which Richie shakes his head.
“Hey, I haven’t forgotten that rock fight- I remember you were pretty badass that day,” Richie says. “I think your crazy ass could take Bowers any day of the week.” Richie grins, and Eddie pretty much confirms that Richie’s joy is contagious, because he can’t stop himself from returning the smile.
Eddie feels Richie’s thumb run over his knuckles, and it’s at that moment that Eddie realizes that they’re... actually holding hands. Richie’s eyes follow Eddie’s, and it seems as though Richie dawns on the same conclusion, as he quickly withdraws his hand and stuffs it into his back pocket, clearing his throat as his cheeks flush pink. Eddie feels the tips of his ears heat up as well, especially as he can still feel the comforting pressure of Richie’s hand, Richie fingers intertwined with his long after Richie let go.
“Let me fix you up, at least,” Eddie says after a few moments of silence. “I’ve got some bandaids and saline on me, and I don’t want any of those wounds getting infected.”
Richie nods, following Eddie over to an old table and set of chairs the Losers had furnished their clubhouse with years ago. “Whatever you say, Dr. K.”
“Don’t call me that,” Eddie tells him, picking out the supplies from the bag around his waist.
“Sure thing, Eds.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but this time, he doesn’t correct Richie.
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