NINE CHANCES | REDDIE

- D E P A R T U R E

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EPILOGUE

Killing Me To Love You

I'm bringing you home
It's been so long
We're finding the road
Back to where we belong

- by Vancouver Sleep Clinic, 2017

Richie thought it was kind of fucked that nobody was there to see him when he woke up, if he was being fucking honest with himself— and let's be real, anyone in his situation would want to be as honest with themself as fucking possible.

Since his arm had been casted he didn't have to sit around very long. But while he did have to sit around, he checked his phone.

No text messages, no calls, zero, zip, nada.

He was pissed.

He called Stanley first— to complain. When the man picked up, he didn't hesitate.

"Hello—?"

"Do you know what just fucking happened?" Richie burst out. "I wake up in a hospital bed— my arm's fucking broken— there's not a single person waiting for me to wake up. Not a single text message or call worried about how I'm doing. But that's not even the worst part. Do you know what the worst part is?" He didn't wait for Stan to answer. "The worst part is that there's not a single person waiting for me to wake up to tell me what the fuck happened to Eddie. Where the hell is my Goddamn Spaghetti? It's not just that nobody is worried about me— Not a single text message or call to ease my worrying about how Eddie is doing. Should I let myself be devastated yet? Is he dead? Am I killing myself, or not? Jesus Christ. I need an aspirin."

"Are you done?" Stan asked, and he sounded exhausted. Richie sighed heavily. "Because if you're done, I was just about to come in."

"Yeah, I'm— wait, hold up a fucking second," Richie said, making a face. "Come in? You're in fucking Atlanta, Staniel. There is no 'coming in' from where you are, okay?"

"Look outside your window, dipshit."

Richie did as he was told, and his jaw dropped. A tired Stan Uris, all grown up but still recognizable, was standing outside his room. He lowered his phone and waved with a sarcastic smile.

"Stanley!" Richie shouted into his phone, and the man flinched even though the device wasn't close to his ear. "Stanley come inside please! I missed you so much! Come see me!" The man was laughing, exasperated as he looked, and he entered the room. Richie got up and lunged for him, locking his arms around him in a huge hug. His broken limb ached slightly despite the cast, but he didn't care. Stan hugged him back, and Richie buried his face into his best friend's neck.

"I missed you too," Stan told him. "You look like shit."

"Yeah, well I feel like shit," Richie commented, pulling back and standing at his full height. "They're filing my paperwork then I'm out of here, I guess. Going home. Living the lonely life."

"You sure about that?" Stan asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm pretty fucking sure," Richie rolled his eyes. "What are you even doing here, anyway? You were supposed to stay home."

"Yeah, well I had to pull your fucking weight and save your boyfriend, didn't I?" Stan pointed out. Richie tensed, and Stan's eyes widened. "Richie—"

"He's alive?"

It came out as hardly more than a whisper, but it was still earth-shattering. Richie felt like throwing up. Or crying. Or both. The tears stung his eyes and he covered his mouth with his free hand. His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.