Their Dirty Little Secret

Twenty-Seven Fucking Years

Richie's breath catches in his throat, they'd done it, finally after twenty-seven years. It was gone and all they had to do was bully the damn thing to death. He almost laughs at the thought, but the whole idea of laughing at a time like this feels alien. He swipes a hand through his matted hair, caked in grime, sewer water, and blood. Blood. The thought rings dully in the back of his mind and Richie's eyes only linger for a moment as the rest of the Losers continue to stare blankly at the spot where Pennywise had just lain. As the adrenaline slowly ebbs away, replaced by exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of being covered in filth, one thought comes to Richie's mind. Eddie. It's Eddie's that's spattered across his shirt and somehow found its way to mat the curls on Richie's head to lay flat. They had killed it, Eddie was safe, well safer than he was moments ago. He was no longer under attack by a fucking demon clown. The feeling of relief that Richie thought that would come with the defeat of It was soon replaced by a quick pang in his chest at that thought. Was Eddie even alive? Did it even matter Pennywise was dead if Eddie was already gone? Richie shakes his head. He didn't want to think any further, for fear he might jinx his luck, which he was sure was running out. Even though It was dead, there was no guarantee Eddie wasn't far behind. Richie wasn't sure if he had said his name out loud, or if it was just his one-track mind taking control, but based on the other sharp intakes of breath around him, and the scuffing of shoes against the ground, he was pretty sure he must've sounded pretty desperate and was nearly positive Eddie's name left his lips- warranted or not.

Richie throws himself forward, scrambling down the spire, knees protesting against the movement, and his foot twisting at an awkward angle upon landing on the rocky ground. Richie hardly noticed the dull throb of pain before he raced down to the cavern where they had last left Eddie, before hey finally finished the damn clown off. The sounds of multiple pairs of shoes scraping against the harsh stone floor are enough of a reassurance for Richie that the other Losers are not far behind.

Ducking into the cavern, it isn't hard for Richie to spot Eddie's slouched form, even in darkness. His hands loosely clutched Richie's jacket against the wound in his chest and from the looks of it, his jacket is nearly soaked through with blood. Bile rises in Richie's throat, how is there so much, he thinks desperately as he skids to a stop next to Eddie, finally allowing himself to gulp down a breath of the stuffy air, which is permeated by the coppery scent of blood, and he can practically taste it in his mouth. He slowly reaches his hand out to brush against Eddie's uninjured cheek. Richie half expects Eddie to swat his hand away, or grimace, but his head only lolls to the side, leaving the full weight of his head to rest in Richie's palm.
"C'mon Eddie we did it," he attempts to allow some excitement to seep into his voice, "We killed the It, it's gone for good," all that's left is a shitty imitation of triumph. Richie glances over his shoulder to spy Beverly standing right behind him, hand reaching out to grip at his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.
"Richie," her voice is soft, more so than normal, and though it's meant to be comforting it scares the shit out of him. Her tone sounds final even though she's hardly muttered his name. He shifts his gaze to Ben, who has a sad look in his eyes, and Bill stands near the mouth of the cavern helping Mike through with an outstretched hand. Finally when he'd thought the dust had settled, everything, god forbid he say this, but that everything was going to be okay, the expressions on everyone else's grime slathered faces had dashed his hopes, no matter how fleeting they had been.
"Richie. Honey, he's gone," The words strike Richie right in the chest. He shakes his head and glances back towards Eddie. The life looks like it's draining out of his body through the wound in his chest by the second. Even in the dim light, his skin looks gaunt and pale, stretched across his cheekbones. His eyes are shut and his mouth hangs open so slightly that only his lips are parted. The cavern around them groans, but Richie swears on his life he hears Eddie groan with it. Richie's hand drops away to rest on the jacket pressed against Eddie's torso. He shakes his head automatically. No, no he's not. I just heard him breathe for Christ's sake, he can't be dead, that's impossible. We finally killed It, he can't die now. Not now. And although it's selfish, and an absolutely fucked up thing to think of when your best friend is on the brink of death, and none of that seems to register completely in Richie's brain, the thought weasels into Richie's mind. I never got to tell him.