#machurin: *slowly heading towards eddie*

[toyboy-molloy]

reddie but richie meets his future self ft. turtle magic

The last thing Richie Tozier remembered was tripping over a small green turtle before face planting on the ground and knocking himself out cold. He’d been running from the Paul Bunyun statue that had come to life and tried to kill him. That much was clear. However, when he woke up, despite the blurriness that came with not wearing his glasses, Richie found himself inside someone’s house. Had his parents found him and brought him home? A good samaritan? He felt around blindly for his glasses, almost falling off the sofa he was lying on.

“Here, kid,” a strange voice said somewhere to his left, holding out Richie’s glasses, “you’re gonna need them repaired.”

Richie took his glasses and shoved them on his face, taking in his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit lounge in a house he didn’t recognise. It was nicely decorated and a small dog slept soundly in the corner of the room. Richie had been covered with a soft blanket and a glass of water rested in front him on the coffee table. He sat upright and gulped the water, glancing at the stranger. He was in the kitchen, perched on the table to watch over the teen; he was a tall man, around forty, wearing glasses much like Richie’s and possessed a very similar fashion sense. The child scrambled from the sofa, backing away from the stranger.

“What the fuck? You fucking kidnapped me, you weirdo.”

“Whoa, whoa, why the fuck would anyone want to kidnap you?” The tall stranger chuckled, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Richie adjusted his glasses, folding his arms as the stranger gestured in his direction, “you’re welcome, by the way. Next time, I’ll just leave you out in the street on your ass, yeah? Asshole.”

Richie drew himself up to his fullest height, which wasn’t much considering he was only thirteen, “you don’t know shit about me!”

“Yeah, I do. I am you,” the alleged older Richie shrugged, draining his glass of whiskey. He could see the cogs whirring in his younger self’s head, adding, “okay, before you freak out and shit your pants-”

“Will my forehead really get that big?”

Older Richie looked appalled, lowering his glass in offence, “hey, fuck you. Have I always been such an asshole?”

“You’re the asshole, asshole,” younger Richie began pacing, trying to wrap his head around this confusing turn of events. He had many questions for his adult self but first he had to make sure this was genuine. He stopped pacing and faced his amused looking counterpart, “okay, wise guy, if you’re me, what’s my favourite video game?”

“Street Fighter,” adult Richie gleefully announced, a far away look of reminiscence in his eyes, “and don’t worry, little dude. It’s still cool as shit. Only, you don’t have to go to the arcade to play it anymore.”

Younger Richie frowned in confusion, deciding to leave that line of questioning for now. He cautiously sat at the other end of the sofa, his leg bouncing erratically, “no offence, old man, but you’re, like, so fucking uncool. Are you sure you’ve got the right kid?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Are you married?” Young Richie asked without a beat of hesitation, practically bouncing with feral teenage energy that exhausted his adult self, “is she hot? Are you getting laid, like, a lot?”

“Jesus, kid, buy a magazine,” Richie had forgotten what a closeted mess he had been when he was younger. Then, growing up in Derry of all places hadn’t helped. He took a deep breath, avoiding looking at his teen self, “yes, I’m married but-”

“YES, I knew it. Is she like a model?” Older Richie wanted to laugh at his excited younger self, shaking his head fondly as Richie continued to ramble on, “are you famous? You look poor as fuck though or is that, like, your thing? Are you still funny ‘cause you don’t look like you sell many tickets. Are we still friends with the guys? Do they hang out?”

As young Richie continued his loud musings, speaking more to himself than to anyone else, older Richie pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “we married Eddie.”

That shut Richie up. The teen snapped his mouth closed, blinking at his older self in disbelief. Could it be, all his dreams coming true? He swallowed as hope filled him, hope for a world where he and Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy he was head over heels in love with, could be happy and in love together. Adult Richie rolled his eyes, removing his wallet and handing over the small photo he kept inside. Young Richie glanced at asthmatic boy, a man in this photo, a man with his arms around his older self, kissing his cheek enthusiastically.

"Whoa, that’s Eddie Spaghetti?” He nervously glanced at his adult self, who nodded happily. Young Richie allowed a small smile to spread across his face, “he’s hot as shit.”

Adult Richie raised an eyebrow, "yeah, okay, dude, that’s my husband.”

"Can I keep this?”

“No. Fuck you.” Older Richie snatched the photo from his child self’s hands with a frown. The kid just shrugged, looking very pleased with himself. Older Richie decided to throw him a bone, “Derry’s a shithole, Rich. But he likes you, too. Take my advice, get out of here as soon as you can. And take Eddie with you.”

Young Richie nodded, leaping up from the couch. He was about to leave the house when he paused at the door, grinning widely, “hey, old man, one more thing? What’s the sex like?”

His older self didn’t answer but Richie caught the disappointed look he gave him before he was shoved out into the bright sunlight. He felt something slapping at his face and he opened his eyes. Eddie was standing over him, fresh faced and concerned.

“What the fuck are you doing, Richie?”

The taller boy lifted his head, looking around; he was back in the park he’d collapsed in. There was no sign of his adult self and Richie began to wonder how hard he’d hit his head. He fell back against the grass with a thud, smiling up at Eddie. His fight with Bill meant they hadn’t been hanging out much lately and he’d missed Eddie.

“Just clown stuff, Eds,” he pushed himself upright, still shaking as he remembered his encounter with Pennywise. He indicated Eddie’s arm, “how’s your arm?”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie shrugged, hesitating before taking a seat beside Richie on the grass. He automatically withdrew his inhaler, taking several puffs, “allergies,” Richie nodded, gazing softly at his best friend. His soft brown eyes, hair gently blowing in the wind, cheeks rosy. Richie really loved him. After a while, Eddie noticed Richie’s silent staring and blinked, “what?”

“I’ve missed you, Eds.”

Eddie smiled, standing and offering his good arm to Richie and pulling him to his feet. They embraced, neither wanting to let go, “I’ve missed you, too, idiot.”