Young and Yearning (IT Imagines and Oneshots).

Reddie; Dream.

In the streets of New York City, everything was calm. The birds of the trees were tweeting softly in the distance, and the golden green trees swayed with the force of the wind. Occasionally, a car would pass on the street, their engine rumbling, and not disturbing the peace and tranquility of the neighbourhood. The Tozier household was the only one along Maine Street, the red brick outer walls glowed in the day, and loomed at night. The carefully trimmed hedges housed many creatures, ranging from insects to rodents. Just from outside of the house, you were guaranteed to always smell something delicious, and that something, was Richie Tozier's cooking.

"One or two hotdogs, babe?" Richie called, from his place on the backyard porch. He was standing over his signature barbecue, a 'Kiss The Cook' apron tied around his waist and a pair of tongs in his hand. He carefully flipped the sausages that lay cooking on the barbecue, and stirred the onions that lay abbandoned to the left.

"One, please," His husband, Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier, called back. He had recently finished cleaning their pool, and was in the process of mowing the lawn. It was a hot day in New York, and their crystal blue pool glistened as the sun bounced off of it. If it were up to Richie, they would be jumping in it as soon as they had swallowed their hotdogs, but he recalled Eddie's past words.

"You'll get indigestion if you don't digest your food, Richie, Jesus! This is common knowledge, you have got to wait for twenty minutes!"

Richie slid the sausages into their buns, and poured copious amounts of condiments onto his own, before hovering over the pool and staring at his own reflection. A moment later, Eddie's reflection joined his own.

"This is nice," He said softly, taking a bite of his food. Richie hummed happily in reply, "Would be better if I wasn't dead, though.." Richie choked, his hotdog falling into the water below him. He turned, bewildered, to Eddie.

"What?" He spat, wiping mustard from his mouth, to his sleeve.

"I'm dead, Richie," Eddie chuckled, which caused Richie's blood to boil further. It only overboiled when Eddie turned on a sing-song voice, "I am dead because of you-ou!"

"Shut the fuck up, Eddie!" Richie retaliated, scared, vulnerable and furious, "You're not dead! You're right in front of me! See!" Richie extending a hand and clapped it to Eddie's shoulder, or he tried to. His hand went through Eddie's left shoulder, and to his right. RIchie pulled it back, tears welling up in his eyes, "What..?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, Richie," Eddie muttered, his eyes now staring at the ground, "I just wanted for us to be happy before you have to kill me for good.. and now look where we are.."

"Kill you.. for good? Eddie? What?"

"Let me just.." Eddie raised a hand, causing Richie to flinch backwards violently. A sad smile took over Eddie's face, as he pushed his fingers together, and clicked.

Richie woke up in a dark room. He couldn't see anything, he couldn't feel anything. The smell, though. It was horrible and pungent and singed his nose hair. His eyes began to water, as uncontrollable tears collected in the bottom of his glasses. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout, to say anything to anyone, but no words came out. A lump had grown in his throat.

A sound broke the still silence of the room. It was a banging, and then a sharp, and warmly familiar voice.

"Richie?" Stanley Uris barged into the room, "Where are you, Rich?" The lump in Richie's throat immediately slid back down, along with this dignity, when he realised he was hung up by his hands and feet. The ropes were blistering his ankles and wrists, and the pain only seized when Stanley released him.

Richie threw his arms around Stan, his head still ringing of the dream he had just witnessed. Stan laughed lightly, patting his shoulder, before pulling Richie away and holding him at arm's length.

"Pull yourself together, man, we still have a Djinn to kill," He said, calmly, handing a silver knife to him from the belt around his waist. Stanley handed Richie a vial filled with a deep crimson liquid, popping off the top and gesturing to Richie to hold the knife out. With the most precision he could muster, Stanley poured the lamb's blood onto the knife, before tucking the vial back, securely into his pocket. A footstep emerged from the shadows, and Richie could only recognise it as one person. A much younger, Eddie Kaspbrak.

"Eds," He whispered, instinctively holding the knife behind his back, "Eddie, it's okay.."

"Richie, what do you mean..?" Stanley asked, his knife held out in front of him, but quivering slightly, "Eddie is dead, he died years ago.."

"But, I just saw him.." Richie muttered, mainly to himself, "I did. In a dream, we were married, and happy, and then.."

"Then you woke up," What Richie thought was Eddie, said, "I used to be Edward. Edward Kaspbrak. When I died, I was transformed, I couldn't go to heaven, nor hell. I remained in purgatory for years until I came here."

"He's a Djinn, Richie! We are hunters! We kill these sons of bitches!" Stanley openly pleaded. In a swift movement, he weaved his way around the Djinn, and held a silver knife to its throat, "I'm sorry, Richie.." He finally said. The Djinn let out an ear piercing, glass shattering screach, before Stanley plunged the knife into it's throat. A blindingly blue light filled the room, as the body that Stanley was once holding turned to a mere dust. Richie fell to his knees, hands covering his face, whether this was to hide the tears or shield from the light, neither he nor Stan knew. Richie knew that he couldn't be angry at Stanley.

This was the family business, after all.