Reddie Oneshots

-66- My Everything

"I don't understand," Eddie mumbled, stumbling drunkenly into Richie's room. He hadn't had a drop of alcohol that day, but his mind was spinning: he felt like the world had stopped but he was still hurtling through space.

"I don't— fuck— ow," he whimpered, grabbing his hand. "Richie, Richie, I don't..."

"Eddie?" Richie asked, worry creasing his brow as his husband collapsed onto the chair in the green room.

"Fucking, Mike just... you remember? The cut? And the.. fucking, the thing, when we were kids and, Mike Hanl—"

"Slow it down, Eddie, what's the deal?" Richie asked, hurrying to kneel in front of Eddie and peer up into his eyes. He was met with tears and utter panic, almost vacant and far away. "What's wrong? What the fuck, Eddie, are you okay?"

"Mike Hanlon," he enunciated each syllable slowly, voice shaking. "Called."

As Richie's face lost its colour, his phone began to buzz in his pocket. With a trembling hand, searing pain ripping through his palm, he picked up his phone.

"Hello?"

"Richie, it's Mike. Mike Hanlon."

Richie looked back up into Eddie's eyes, which spilled over with tears now.

"I'm gonna throw up." Richie dropped his phone and ran.

"Richie?" Mike's fuzzed voice came quietly from the phone on the ground. Eddie, shaking violently, picked it up.

"He's throwing up," Eddie replied.

"Eddie?"

Eddie fell silent.

"Eddie? Is that you?" he asked. "You and Richie stayed in contact?"

Stumbling just as dizzily into the room just as Eddie had done just minutes earlier, Richie froze.

"You didn't say anything... right Eds?" he whispered.

Eddie pursed his lips to keep in the waves more tears and watched as Richie's legs failed him and let him fall to his knees. "Fuck," Richie mumbled.

"Should we tell him?" Eddie mumbled, holding the phone away from his mouth.

"Hello? Eddie? Anyone, is there anyone there?"

"Fuck, we should shouldn't we," Richie groaned, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "Fuck it, what could they do? Tell us not to come back?"

There was a pause.

"Mike, we're married," Eddie breathed into the phone, heart thumping erratically in his chest.

"Married? Shit, congrats, but you're gonna be dead if you don't come back. I'll see you two soon," he replied.

Another pause, and Richie and Eddie blinked at each other.

"Yeah, we'll see you soon."

It still hadn't clicked. As Richie took the first flight home, alone, it still hadn't clicked. It didn't feel real in his mind and he was too shocked to cry. He had watched his own husband die for fuck's sake, and he couldn't even cry more than the tears he'd shed in the moment, screaming and sobbing his throat hoarse.

The gut wrenching nausea that washed over him as he took a taxi home, alone, made him ask to stop the car and try to throw up on the side of the road. There wasn't much left to throw up. Richie wiped the spit onto his sleeve and collapsed back into the taxi not bothering to do up his seat belt. After all, he wouldn't be opposed to dying painfully, maybe a shard of glass stuck clean through his torso. Just like Eddie.