cliché || reddie ✔️

twenty two

They don't know how long Richie's been out for, or how long they've been sitting in the coop. All Beverly and Eddie do know is that they are exhausted, hungry, and scared. Richie has had some signs of coming back, little flutter of his eyes or twitch of a foot or a hand, but nothing groundbreaking. Nothing that gives them more than a fraction of hope.

Eddie pulls his aching legs to his chest, nimble fingers playing with a loose strand on his jeans. Beverly moved to the other side of the coop, laying her best friends head in her lap and staring at the wall with her fingers in his hair.

"He's warming up," Beverly says into the thick air. Her voice is strained, most likely from all the crying.

Eddie looks up at her, then down at Richie's face. Richie was never a pale kid, but he defiantly has fairer skin than his friends. It might be because there's not much light coming into the chicken coop, or because his hair is damp and therefore darker, but he doesn't look very good. His cheekbones protrude from his face and his body looks thin from under the blankets. He doesn't look good at all.

"He looks sick," Eddie says back. His eyes linger for a second, running over Richie's body before dropping back to his knee and the frayed jeans. He hears Beverly sigh softly and watches as she continues to comb her fingers through Richie's hair in his peripheral.

They sit again in silence for a moment before Beverly looks up and says, "Eddie, I know you're scared. But he's getting better. I can feel it, alright?" Eddie's eyes snap up to hers and he asks, "What makes you think I'm scared?"

"Because we all are."

Eddie opens his mouth to snap back, a habit and a bad one, but when Beverly's glimmering eyes silently plead with him, he reluctantly closes his mouth. There's dried tear streaks running down her cheeks, and they way her eyes hold so much worry makes her look even sadder than the heavy mood that hangs over them.

"Why don't we just.. throw water on his face. Or put Bill's shoe to his nose. Something," Eddie says. Beverly gives a small smile and shrugs. "You punched him and I tried slapping him awake. I don't think those'll work Eddie," she says, looking down at him.

Eddie sighs, sounding deeply annoyed. "I'll run him over with a car."

"With what driver's license?" Beverly snorts softly.

"Hey, that won't stop me. Whatever it takes to get him to wake the fuck up," Eddie says, raising his voice at the end and directing it towards Richie. This comment receives a full laugh from Beverly, who lets her head fall back as she giggles. It's a nice change to hear Beverly laugh. Eddie finds it hard to keep his own giggles back, and soon they're both laughing softly in the dimly lit coop.

It could've been Beverly shifting or Richie naturally moving in his cold-shocked coma, but his head rolls to his side and his eyebrows furrow. Beverly's giggling stops and she sits deathly still, the two watching in anticipating silence.

He moves again. A little flutter of the eyes just like all the other times, but it's different now. Richie lets out a soft groan and his eyes open from behind his glasses. Eddie gasps, shocked still as Beverly breaks out in a wide smile.

"Holy fuck," Eddie breaths out, watching as Richie lifts his head and blinks in his direction. He jumps out of whatever trance he was stuck in and crawls across itchy hay and hard wood to get to his two friends.

Richie's eyes dilate and expand at the soft light of the chicken coop. He tries to prop himself up on his elbows, the blanket sliding off and exposing his bare chest, but his arms shake horribly under his own weight and he collapses back down onto Beverly's legs. "Hey, hey. It's okay," she whispers softly.