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watchoutforthefanfics · 1 year ago

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goodbye for now || Reddie (IT)

AVAILABLE ON AO3 (SOON)

Inspiration: ^^^ this amazing art by @you-are-braver-than-you-think + I love you by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie was ready to leave Derry. But that doesn't mean he's ready to leave everything in it.

TWs: crying, saying goodbye, angst, hurt/no comfort, the Forgetting (idk what to call it) and mention of the 27 years.

[[A/N: This one fucking hits. So be warned. Enjoy :)) ]]

Richie didn't believe in wanderlust. The whole longing for something bigger, better. Or that, one day, he'd want to leave Derry.

Not because it wasn't a shithole, it definitely fucking was. He knew that ever since that summer when their whole lives were changed (he still stared at the scar on his hand sometimes). Even still, he never in his heart felt like he wanted to leave his friends -they'd been through so much shit that he'd knew they would be there forever. Or at least, he thought they would be.

But then, people started leaving. Promising that they would write, that they would call.

And Richie watched their cars leave -chasing them with his bike the first time, waving so enthusiastically he almost fell off. But as time went by, they disappeared and there was nothing. Nothing from anybody. It changed.

The hugs lasted longer, and he cried a little more. All of them did. Because even though they said they'd call, or even fucking write, it never happened. It was like as soon as they left, Derry was just gone. Richie eventually learned to stop waiting.

Richie Tozier didn't believe in wanderlust when he was ten. But as he got older, colleges were reaching out and the world was at his fingertips, and well, teenage Richie Tozier believed in wanderlust. Magazines of monuments and letters from colleges, he wanted to fucking go.

Derry felt like a cage, and Richie was ready to open the door.

But it wasn't that easy.

Not as he stared at the acceptance letter from the University of California Los Angeles. Not as he saved up for an apartment with his shitty icecream parlor job (his parents wanted to help him, but they wanted him to earn it too) wage. Not as he got fucking excited about the idea of making more of himself than dirty bathroom walls (and a carving on the kissing bridge).

And especially not as he looked into the eyes of Eddie Kaspbrak and told him that this was his last summer in Derry.

"What?"

"Eds," he was laughing, but it felt like his heart was ripped open, "-I got accepted into UCLA a couple of months before we graduated. And I'm... starting in the fall."

"What?" Eddie repeated, and he watched his face twist into something Richie fucking hated (hurt), "-Why the fuck didn't you tell me that shit?"

"I didn't want to make this any worse," Richie answered honestly.

"Richie, it's fucking June," Eddie retorted, something deep and heavy in his words, "-and you're leaving in like two months and you didn't fucking tell me?"

Richie had debated it for a long time. But as he watched Eddie live out his senior year, the most free he's ever been, the decision was easy. He wouldn't ruin it for him, and, selfishly, didn't want to ruin it for himself. Make everything sadder than it already fucking was (with 3 missing faces and no contact to show for it). Because he just... god, he wanted this with Eddie. He just wanted to feel fucking happy with Eddie-

And that was a whole other thing. Richie had realized just what exactly Eddie was to him when he was 11 years old and he carved into that fucking bridge. He knew what it was, and what that meant he was. He knew that. And maybe that's why wanted to go to California. And maybe, he just wanted to remember that shit with him happily. Just in case-

"I know, Eds," he breathed out, feet dangling off the Quarry cliff -his shitty car parked just off the road, "-I'm so fucking sorry. But I wasn't going to fuck up our last year."

"It's not like we're fucking dying, idiot," Eddie retorted.

But it kinda was.

Richie knew that he'd fucking call Eddie, or even write him, whatever the fuck he wanted. He knew, if he could help it, he'd talk to him every fucking day, see him every summer, but shit... shit didn't work out that way. Everyone else said the same things, and now... now there were only 3.

Richie hadn't heard from Bev in years. Fuck, Stanley (his best friend before the Losers even existed) hadn't even called him once.

But he hoped to fucking god that wouldn't be him.

"No, we aren't fucking dying, but-" Richie relented, but it felt like a lie, "-our lives are changing. There's no going back to high school, where we're fucking together all the time."

"No, Richie," Eddie's face was pushed into a flat line, "-your life is changing. I'm gonna fucking... rot here in this shithole, by myself-"

"Eds, I told you-"

"I know what you said," Eddie sighed, turning out to the water -Richie wanted him to look at him, "-It's just not fucking happening. You know that. Ma is never-"

"You'll get away from her, Eds," Richie interrupted, "-You can't let her control you forever."

Eddie wrung his hands together and didn't look at him. Richie felt like throwing up, he just knew it would end up this way. He really didn't want to fucking leave Eddie.

They talked about Eddie coming too, running away. But then, his Mom got sick. And well, Eddie would hate himself if he left her -helpless. And Richie spent nearly every day trying to convince him differently, it hurt in his fucking chest when Eddie refused. Every time.

But he needed to fucking leave-

"I can't do that shit without you," Eddie leveled, looking at him, "-I can't... I can't stand up to her without you."

"Yes, you fucking can," Richie argued, shoving into his arm, "-You're brave as shit, Eddie. We fought a demon clown before hitting fucking puberty-"

"I did that with you guys!" Eddie burst, frustrated and Richie might've seen tears in his eyes, "-I did it with everyone. I'm not... Fuck, I can't do it alone. I don't wanna be alone."

Richie frowned, gnawing at his lips, "You're not alone, Eds. You'll never be fucking alone as long as I'm alive-"

Eddie was just staring at him, big brown eyes dusted with tears. Richie felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest, it just fucking hurt-

"-Eddie, even if I... even if I don't do anything like call or write letters, I'm still here for you-"

"Don't-" Eddie frowned, "-Don't say that shit."

"-Eddie, no, you need to hear this-" Richie leveled, putting his hands on his shoulders, "-If I don't talk to you, it's not up to me. I don't... I don't know why it's happening. But I swear to fucking god, I would come back to you, or at least fucking talk to you, okay?"

Eddie was crying now, wiping at his eyes like he was much younger (Richie flashed back a moment), "Yeah, okay."

The summer was, as expected, bittersweet. Richie knew it would be, but he kept it light-hearted or tried to with everyone not just Eddie. But still, it was heavy. In the clubhouse, which was so hard to be in now, there was something in the air. It sucked, but it was gonna happen. He knew it was gonna happen. So, he tried to make it the best summer of his life, of all of their lives.

He thinks it worked. He thinks he had a good impact. He thinks they'll remember this, or he'll try his fucking hardest to.

And then, it was August.

Richie had been packing up since late July, and Eddie made himself comfortable helping. ("You need to be fucking organized so you know where your shit is, asshole.") And Richie let him. He was pretty sure he'd let Eddie Kaspbrak do anything, honestly. So, he'd labeled boxes and argued why he "shouldn't take fucking everything you own, Richie", and danced around just what was happening. They didn't talk about that conversation over the summer, they didn't even touch the fact that he was leaving -not even over his packed fucking boxes.

Eddie just didn't seem to want to touch it, and Richie honestly didn't either. This felt normal, the bickering, even though the reason they were doing it all hung over everything like a fucking storm cloud. They still acted normal, like Richie wasn't leaving, like he was gonna stay right there. They were gonna stay. Together.

He wanted that so bad it burned, but Richie fucking needed out. It was time.

And then, it was the day.

Richie was silently packing up the last box, and taping it shut. And Eddie scribbled on the front with his insanely perfect handwriting -comics.

It was quiet, too quiet. Eddie was still crouched down, staring at the box, the words. And Richie was staring at him. Unabashedly. He thinks he should be allowed to now. And the thought crossed his mind of finally telling him, bubbled along his skin. As he watched Eddie's eyes trace the letters for the 10th time, it felt like it was on the tip of his tongue.

Richie cleared his throat -voice a little scratchy, turning toward his old bed (grabbing something under the mattress), an extra comic. A special one.

Wordlessly, Richie extended it forward.

Eddie eyed him for a second, standing up -glance landing on the comic.

"Are you fucking serious?" Eddie hissed out, "-You forgot one? You're such a-"

"Eds," Richie leveled -seriously, extending it forward -shaking it a little.

Eddie's lips snapped shut, and his eyes dropped from Richie's to the comic in his hand.

It was one they used to fight over when they were younger. He remembered particularly being on the hammock, Eddie's head on his shoulder (cussing him out when he moved too fast, but doing the very same when he moved too slow), and peeking glances when he was focused on reading. Because he was Eddie, and Richie felt a lot then. Still does, but he knows what it is now.

Eddie raised a hand, hesitantly, and pulled the book into his hands. Naturally, he started flipping through it -red pen sticking out on the page.

"I wrote notes," Richie pointed awkwardly, "-like um, like commentary. So..."

Eddie was silent, flipping through the pages -not looking up. Richie just kept talking.

"-So, it was like I was still here. Saying stupid shit."

Eddie laughed a little, something caught up in his throat. He swallowed once, heavily, eyes blinking a little too fast.

Fuck, don't cry, Eds. If you cry, I don't know if I can fucking leave.

"If you talk about fucking my Mom, I'm burning it."

Richie laughed, something heavy on your shoulders, "Well, you better get the fucking matches, Eds."

Eddie laughed a little more, finally looking up at him. The laugh faded, his smile slipping, and his eyes were the same big ass brown ones, but now they were teary. And he was just staring at him, his face falling further each second that passed. Richie felt like he was ripping out his heart and leaving it here with Eddie. It hurt so fucking bad-

And then, before Richie could even blink, Eddie was in his arms -face shoved into his shoulder.

Richie's eyes were watery now, his chest aching, and he wrapped his arms around him, unhesitatingly. He could feel Eddie's shaky breaths against him, wracking through his lungs. And Richie pulled him tighter, pressing the side of his face into Eddie's. God, he never wanted to forget him, please don't let me fucking forget him-

"Promise you'll write?" Eddie breathed out, heavy breaths against his shoulder.

And even though, they'd talked about the outcomes and the fact that, if he didn't, it wasn't up to him, something was happening. Richie still answered the same.

Squeezing him a little tighter, he whispered -maybe through bleary tears, "I promise."

They stayed like that for a while, and Richie felt it on the tip of his tongue. It almost came out with every breath.

Eddie, I love you. I think I've loved you my whole life.

It didn't come out.

Not as he and his Dad and Eddie packed all his boxes into his shitty ass car's trunk. Not as they forced his trunk closed. Not as Eddie angrily told him to take the necessary stops, don't skip meals, and stay hydrated ("Don't fall asleep on the road, dipshit."). Not as his Dad grabbed his gas can and filled Richie's tank. Not as his Mom hugged him, crying. Not as his Dad patted his shoulder and told him to "Take on the world, son". Not as he, Ben, Mike, and Eddie crowded together into a hug so tight that it hurt. Not as Eddie threw himself into Richie again (on his own), all angry edges and sharp pointy elbows ("Promise?" "Promise."). Not as he pulled himself into the driver's seat, aching like he had ripped off a limb. Not as he stared into the rearview mirror, watching as his friends waved and Eddie stared -waving so desolately that it was like he was going to war. Not even as he pulled out of Derry, and Eddie followed the car as far as he could (Ben and Mike pulling him back). Not as the trees flew by his windows, and his eyes teared up -road blurry and sobs wracking through his chest.

But as he got further along, it lessened. He stopped feeling so heavy, wondering why he felt that way before anyway. The towns passed by and he got out, hitting tourist spots (taking pictures and not being sure who to send them to). And then, he was in California, and everything felt fresh.

Pulling up to his apartment building, he trucked up the stairs over and over -boxes piling up in the empty room. When it was all inside, Richie laid down on the floor -letting a big breath out of his lungs. And then, he moved on autopilot.

Digging into his boxes, he found a piece of paper and pencil, pulled a box toward him, and set it down -throwing the pencil to the paper.

Richie blinked once.

He was supposed to write something, he felt it in his bones but he couldn't remember what, or maybe who to write to. But he was fucking supposed to, it was so... visceral.

Richie felt so... He felt something he'd never felt before, an ache in his bones. And just as everything seemed so happy, there was something nagging at him-

He scribbled along the paper, just what he felt (no header, no name).

I think I loved you.

Shaking his head once, Richie blinked and grabbed the paper, crumpling it up, and throwing it into a corner (the apartment really was fucking empty). This feeling would go away. If it mattered, he'd know.

And then, a year went by.

Eddie Kaspbrak arrived in New York, unpacking as soon as he got into his apartment. Digging through his boxes, his fingers dusted along some paper, maybe a magazine. Why the hell did I pack a magazine?

He pulled it out and eyed it for a second.

An old comic book. His eyes flicked along a red pen on the front, Return to Richie Tozier. Eddie pulled it open, skimming over the pages -hinging on red marks. They were shitty jokes, he noted.

Did I get this from some fucking second-hand store? Why? It's fucking ruined.

Eddie shut it and stared at the name again. Richie Tozier. He wondered for a second who he was, like a lot of people did with original owners of their shit, and felt something nagging in his mind. Richie Tozier, he repeated.

Nothing.

He pressed his lips together and although he didn't know shit about it (or why he fucking had it), he carefully placed it onto a table -away from anything else. He'd look at it later, maybe figure out why he kept it.

It ended up forgotten, slid into a bookshelf.

None of it would make sense. Not until 2 phone calls, 2 trips, and the hitting of a gong.

Then... Then, it would make a lot of fucking sense.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fanfiction #reddie fic #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #watchoutwriting #goodbye for now

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