#this happens way late into the flick so im counting it as a spoiler | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourprayer · 7 years

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“Quitting time at the plant. Time for supper now. Time for families. Time for a cool drink on a porch. Time for the quiet rustle of leaf-laden trees that screen out the moon. And underneath it all, behind the eyes of the men, hanging invisible over the summer night, is a horror without words. For this is the stillness before storm. This is the eve of the end.”

a twilight zone inspired one shot

based on the episode “third from the sun”

this is my it fandom secret admirer gift exchange (@itfandomsecretadmirers) present for @reddiesetrichie ! i hope you enjoy this piece, and i hope this is close enough to your interests i not so sneakily asked you about (x so sorry this is late! i hate being an adult with a job asdikkfdckj

pairings: reddie, stenbrough, benverly

word count: 12.5k

warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual activity, smoking/drinking, mild depictions of violence + to avoid spoilers, i will say only that this piece centers around a fairly heavy political subject. please proceed with caution as you read as this may be upsetting to those easily upset by political turmoil. remember that this is fiction & for fun, don’t stress yourself out/upset yourself over it! i won’t be offended if you don’t read bc it is too heavy. this is in no way intended to be a proclamation of something to come (i mean only that im not trying to say i think this is going to happen; im not trying to scare you. this is just based on the episode, and that’s what it happens to be about. this was written in the 60s for the sole purpose of being an interesting and compelling piece of sci fi. im using it for the same thing) this is getting long winded but basically, if you have any questions about content before you read, shoot me an ask and i’ll tell you privately bc i don’t want to spoil the twist for anyone. i just thought it would be really fun to do a twilight zone au, but this show can be very thought provoking, sometimes in a scary way.

the twilight zone is available on hulu, netflix and cbs all access! i recommend watching the ep before (or after, if you don’t want spoilers!) reading this piece but its not necessary! heres a link to the ep free online if you have none of those services, but the picture is off center so i recommend the services over this! + the opening theme to get you in the mood!

youtube

Richie Tozier sighed, shifting his identification card from one hand to the other in impatience. The sun had just began its descent from its highest point in the sky, and the heat of the afternoon started to seep into his skin through the heavy work suit he was wearing. Why his supervisors insisted they come to the factory is full dress attire was beyond him, but it was his own fault for leaving the suit jacket on. It was quittin’ time after all; he could just take it off. Perhaps it was the nervousness and distractions of the day that made him disregard the possibility altogether.

To say his mind was not on the task at hand would be quite the understatement. He could barely count with both hands the number of pieces he’d fudged the fabrication of; his average was usually two or three, but on this day, he knew he’d reached double digits. He almost laughed to himself, catching his mind thinking of the next weekly review; his boss, red-faced and shaking, telling him off for wasting materials. It would be quite a sight, quite a sight for a laugh, if it ever came to be.

Yes, he almost laughed to himself.

Almost.

“Mills, Germ Warfare Research.” The bored voice of the gate guard cut off his wandering thoughts as he stepped forward in line. The man in front of him had his card read and his person pursued for any out of place items or (as he knew was the real protocol) smuggled machinery by the two uniformed men minding the exit from the factory grounds. No matter the department, the employees at the facility were all funneled in a single file line through the one break in the fence, each required to show their employment I.D. upon entering and exiting the property. Richie flicked his own identification card between his fingers in impatience as he waited for the man in front of him to be cleared and begin his trek to the parking lot.

The man cleared the way, and Richie stepped forward, handing his card to the guard on his left.

“Tozier, Hydrogen Armament.” He read aloud, as the guard across from him checked Richie’s name off of a numbered list on his clipboard. “You fellas are getting pretty busy up there, aren’t ya?” The guard questioned conversationally as Richie returned his card to his breast pocket.

“Very.” Richie replied curtly, not wanting to continue the conversation. He stepped out of the line, off to the side of the path of the cars. He knew he should be rushing to get to his vehicle, he knew he shouldn’t be lingering on the premises; but he also knew his supervisor, Mr. Bowers, was just a few feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. I must maintain some image of normalcy, he thought to himself. Deciding it would be best to stick with his usual habits, he reached into the same pocket his card resided in to extract a cigarette and match from their respective packets. His nervous fingers brushed his departmentally issued employee identification button, the numbers that dictated his employee profile printed largely on the face. He sighed heavily, exhaling the smoke from his first drag, attempting to quell any physical signs of his fear that could possibly be showing.

“Hold that light, will you, Tozier?” A voice from over his shoulder jarred him as he went to shake out the match. Suddenly a hand was gripped around his wrist, raising the match towards the tip of another cigarette. The mouth behind the butt and the statement belonged to none other than Bowers himself.

“Long day, wasn’t it?” Bowers said calmly, exhaling his drag as he let Richie extinguish the match. “They’ve got us going full blast, on our end.”

Richie barely dared to give him a nod, averting his gaze as he pinched the end of his cigarette and raised it to his mouth.

“It’s coming, boy.” Richie gritted his teeth at the petty nickname, one Bowers had been using to demean him ever since he’d been hired at the plant. “It’s really coming. A big one, too.” Bowers glanced around conspiratorially. “Even now, as we’re speaking, I’ll bet you anything they’re gearing up.”

Richie swallowed nervously, taking a deep pull with slightly shaking fingers.

Bowers finally looked over at Richie, making eye contact, a frightening edge to his gaze.

“Talk is forty eight hours.”

Richie felt his blood run cold.

“Wait and see if I’m wrong.” Bowers continued, an almost goading tone to his voice as Richie took another neurotic drag. “Forty eight hours, and then…” Bowers’ expression was nearing a sneer, as he raised a hand and mimicked a projectile flying. “Whoosh..” He added the sound effect, opening his closed fist like the opening flower of bomb bay doors on the bottom of a plane. Richie watched his gesture with a clenched jaw, his trepidation and anger growing as Bowers’ fingers continued to stretch open, accentuating his boss’s apathy over the situation. “Then, there goes the enemy.”

“And what are they doing in the meantime?” Richie’s temper got the better of himself, pulling the interjection from his closed teeth, even as his mind screamed at him not to speak, not to reveal his truth.

“What do you mean what are they doing?” Bowers gave him a cross look. “Retaliating, of course, though not nearly in the same fashion as us.” He gave a small, crass laugh. “Big fucking waste of time, you ask me.” Bowers took another drag of his still-lit cigarette. Richie finished his off and crushed it under his heel, trying to push all of his anger out of the bottom of his feet so as to prevent himself from putting in his two cents again. “We get ours in first, then they can’t do much.”

“The can respond, with their own ‘whoosh…’” Richie found himself speaking again, barely able to disguise the frustration and disgust in his voice, the only thing keeping him from repeating Bowers’ gesture was his tightly clenched fist, which he refused to release.

“Oh, they can.” Bowers nearly shrugged, taking another pull. “But not so accurately. Not so powerfully.”

“Then instead of losing a million people, we lose a hundred thousand.” Richie said hardly, his voice rising in anger.

“Dangerous words there Tozier.” Bowers made eye contact again, his gaze piercing. “Not a defeatist, are you?” Richie made no move to respond, only returning the look. “You better watch what you say.”

“And what I think, too.” Richie bit back with a raise of his eyebrows, challenging almost.

“And what you think.” Bowers rejoined.

Richie huffed. “Goodnight, Bowers.” He leaned in, just enough to be in Bowers’ space. “See you tomorrow?” He said pointedly.

Bowers didn’t reply as he watched Richie retreat to his vehicle.

He just... observed.

________________________________________________________________

A light, airy tune floated upstairs as Eddie Tozier (nee Kaspbrak) busied himself with his workload. He could visualize easily in his head his husband downstairs, drink in hand and hips swaying casually to the beat as he began to unwind from a long day at work. Richie would have just arrived home, car parked safely in the garage, tie possibly still yet to be undone, hands still slightly greasy from the machines as he poured his favorite scotch. Eddie smiled at the thought as the music grew a bit louder, and decided that he should make the vision become his reality.

Taking the stairs nearly two at a time, the undone top buttons of his shirt causing the collar to open a bit in the breeze his momentum caused, Eddie rushed down to greet his husband as he did every day.

He was greeted by the sight of Richie, drink in hand, record turning lazily in their player, his back to the stairs.

Two things instantly alerted Eddie that something was off. The first: Richie’s glass contained a considerably greater amount of the amber liquid than his usual. Richie had been a heavy drinker in their youth, and after a particularly nasty bout of alcohol-centered arguments Richie had given in and placed himself on a strict regimen of limitation. The second: he was not, as he always, always did, swaying to his music.

Eddie’s smile fell as he adjusted the spectacles that had been jostled on his way downstairs, pushing the center further up his nose with his middle finger. He pushed his rolled sleeves up just a bit more, a strange way of preparing himself to comfort his husband. He then approached Richie from behind, preparing his winning smile that Richie always maintained could cut through every stressor in his life.

Eddie only prayed that now, it could do its job.

“Hey there, handsome.” Eddie said kindly, sliding a hand around Richie’s waist as he tucked himself into Richie’s side.

“Hey, baby.” Richie turned to him, a pleasant but obviously forced smile plastered on his face. He pulled Eddie into a distracted kiss, setting his drink down and snaking his arms around Eddie’s middle to pull him close. “Where’s Mike?” He asked, pulling away all too soon.

“Outside, begging the new peonies to sprout.” Eddie joked. Mike was their best friend from college, housemate, and avid gardener, who had insisted on landscaping their entire yard. Richie looked towards their sliding glass door that lead to the side garden, and made a move to exit, dropping his hands from Eddie’s back.

“Oh, no you don’t. Not before our dance.” Eddie pouted, placing Richie’s hands back on his own hips and linking his around the taller man’s neck. Richie gave him a ragged smile, for a moment considering joining him in their well practiced sway, but after a moment removed Eddie’s hands and held them in his own, between their chests.

“Some other time, honey. Promise.” Richie said quietly, before releasing Eddie’s hands, picking up his glass, and crossing to the player, turning the music off.

Eddie watched in quiet awe as Richie looked again to the door, then appeared to have thought better of it before crossing the room and sitting heavily on the couch. Richie had never been able to say no to a dance.

“Rich.” Eddie said, concern written plainly on his face and in his speech, as he moved quickly to sit on the coffee table across from his worn out husband.

“Yes, dear?” Richie joked half-heartedly, placing a hand absentmindedly on Eddie’s knee as he took a sip of his drink.

“What’s going on with you?” He placed his hand on top of Richie’s, giving him a pleading look. It was unlike Richie to behave this way, but even more unlike him to admit why. Eddie steeled himself, determined to get an answer out of the man. Richie had been a bit more tense as of late, but had often been fine after a nice massage or a particularly satisfying night spent in bed. But this nervousness and distance he placed Eddie in was downright out of character, and he needed to know exactly what the cause was, so he could destroy it.

“Nothing serious, Eds.” Richie offered that same thin smile, and it set Eddie’s jaw in frustration. Just as he was about to lay into the man, Mike came in through the sliding glass door, wiping the sweat off his brow with a rag.

“Afternoon Rich, how was work?” He called over his shoulder after he spotted Richie, crossing into their kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“Work.” Richie said in a strange tone, taking another drink. “Hey, Mike?” He said after a pause, as the other man appeared in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna invite everyone over for cards tonight. You’ll be here, right? Bill will want to see you.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, looking from Mike to Richie in confusion. They usually played cards on Fridays…

“Actually, guys, I uh…” Mike paused, taking a nervous sip of his water. “I have a date.” He said with a sheepish smile. “Maybe I could get home a little early, but..” His smile grew, obviously lost in thought of how his date might go.

“Call it off?” Richie said suddenly, worry briefly painting his features, and Eddie’s jaw all but dropped at the sight. On any other day in their normal universe where Richie was his Richie, smiling, joking, often highly inappropriate Richie, there would be congratulations and jokes about ‘making it’ and conspiratorial high-fives between him and his good friend. But here in this strange, hell universe where Richie was changing before Eddie’s very eyes into Richard Wentworth Tozier, a serious man, an alien on his couch where his husband should be, he was asking Mike to cancel a date.

“Rich, I- we’ve been planning this for awhile now, I’m very fond of her-” Mike said, rightfully flabbergasted.

“Please, Mike. I’ve had a terrible day. I’d like a night for us. Everyone, together again.” Richie pressed, giving Mike a solemn look. When he seemed hesitant, Richie extended his plea in a small voice. “Please, Mike? Just us losers.” A small smile at the end.

Eddie and Mike shared a look of concern.

“Sure, I guess.” Mike caved.

“Wunderbar.” Richie smiled, feigning his usual playfulness with his terrible German accent. Eddie noticed straight away there was no soul behind it. “Will you call everyone for me, Michael?” He asked before knocking back the rest of his drink. “I’ve got to have a private conversation with my husband upstairs, if you catch my drift.” He added a wink, some of his old energy creeping back into the conversation. Eddie watched the display in abject horror; this wasn’t Richie, this was a ghost trying on his clothing. No matter how much he tried to act like his rambunctious old self, with each attempt at humor Eddie’s worry grew.

Mike raised an eyebrow, finishing his water. “Sure I will. What time should I tell them?”

“Oh, around seven. Maybe earlier. Not before five, though.” Richie said as he stood and stretched, brushing off Eddie’s hand. Mike raised his eyebrows in confused concern and turned to use the phone. He almost reached it before he paused. “Wait, wasn’t Bill still out of town?”

“He got back this morning.” Richie replied, crossing to the fireplace and pulling another cigarette from his pack, before lighting it quickly.

“Really? I thought they were testing their aircraft all week-”

“They finished.” Richie said simply, his tone indicating the finality of the conversation. He had his back turned to both men as he took a long drag. Eddie stood, turning to look at Mike. Mike raised his eyebrow quizzically, to which Eddie responded with a shake of his head.

I’ll find out. Eddie mouthed to Mike. The other man nodded, and left to make the calls.

Richie finished about half of his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray atop their fireplace. He then turned to exit the room, but was stopped by Eddie’s hand on his arm.

“Rich-”

“I just would like a game of cards, is all.” Richie asserted, not looking at Eddie. “Take my mind off of things.”

He pulled his arm out of Eddie’s grasp, and trudged up the stairs to their room.

“Richard.” Eddie said angrily, stopping at the bottom of the stairs with his hands on his hips. The use of the full name was usually a good way for Eddie to snap his husband back into seriousness; here it was only met with a retreating back. Richie did not stop, just continued until he hit the landing and turned to enter their bedroom, finishing his drink in the process.

Eddie huffed angrily, taking a minute to steal himself before storming up the stairs after him.

Richie stood before their bureau, idly examining a few trinkets spread across its surface. He placed his glass next to a watch their good friend Stanley had given him years ago, at the bachelors party before their wedding. Eddie watched as Richie trailed his long fingers slowly over the face, as if in attempts to memorize its texture.

“Richard.” He repeated. Richie did not turn around. “What is going on?” He demanded as he closed their door.

“Just feeling my years.” Richie said quietly, his shoulders falling.

“You’re thirty seven.” Eddie folded his arms across his chest.

“Touche.” Richie laughed to himself, catching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror above the bureau. Suddenly and without warning he turned, crossing the room easily in a couple of strides, and cupping Eddie’s surprised face in his hands. “But looking at you, dear,” He paused to kiss Eddie quickly. “Your beautiful face,” Eddie rolled his eyes, face reddening, more so as Richie peppered it with kisses. “It’s just reminding me of how old I feel…” He trailed off, gazing into Eddie’s eyes, but not looking, as though his husbands face was not truly there, not looking back at him. He looked instead as though he was glancing back through a pinhole, nostalgia and want written on his features, as his eyes saw not the man in front of him, but the boy he fell in love with. He saw Eddie now as he always did then; young, freckled, glowing. Memories swirled around him abstractly, no specific events coming to mind but rather an amalgamation of the years he’d passed. He thought briefly this was what it must be to have your life flash before your eyes.

After all, he was a dying man.

Eddie watched the display in a cocktail of wonder and horror.

“Richard, I need you to tell me what’s happening.” He said in a near whisper. “I- I don’t know if it’s work, but-”

“No, no, not work.” Richie shook his head, his fondness suddenly dropping off into exasperation as he released his grip on Eddie’s face. “It’s just work, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t fucking seem like that.” Eddie’s voice raised as Richie turned around again, a hand sliding nervously through his hair.

“It’s just work! I’m just a cog in a machine baby, just a fucking part of the whole damned thing-”

“Richard-”

“Do you know how many men it takes to build a bomb, Edward?” Richie turned back suddenly, a dangerous expression in his eye as he stared down Eddie, still not seeing him. Eddie stared back in shock, bewildered by the strange question and terrified by the expression and the use of his name. Richie never called him Edward, not even in their worst fights, just when he was joking.

“What?” He sputtered, when it seemed the question was apparently un-rhetorical.

“Hundreds. Thousands maybe. I make lugnuts all day, babe, one fucking piece. Someone else cools them down. I operate the press, that’s all I do. All the other tiny pieces and functions, all of them need another person. Construction, assembly, execution… when it’s all said and done there’s so many of us. I’m just one piece. I just pull one lever….” By the end he’d worked himself into a frenzy, hands shaking as they pulled at errant strands of his barely-controlled hair, the curls Eddie had come to love so dearly over all these years protesting angrily against the gel applied that morning. Eddie wanted to jump back to that moment, Richie sitting in his trousers on the end of their bed, shirtless and smiling as Eddie worked the stuff through his hair, jokingly trying to distract him by snapping the waistband of Eddie’s boxers as he tried in vain to control the unruly locks. He wanted to go back so badly, and hold close the man he loved before he could turn into the one he saw now, frightened and frenzied as he rambled nonsense, pacing the self same room. He could not find an answer in his mind as to why his husband had come so undone; but then, he supposed he should have seen it coming, noticed it sooner. Even in that memory of the morning, even in Richie’s light smirk as he snapped the elastic for the twelfth time and looked up at Eddie, he should have seen that heaviness in his eyes. In retrospect he could see it; for weeks now, it had been there.

“If you think of it that way,” Richie continued, more so to himself. “I’m- not solely responsible…”

“Responsible for what?” Eddie pleaded, shocked by the urgency in his own tone. “Rich, please, what is this about?”

Richie stood, one hand still on his forehead, looking off to the corner of the room.

“Please. Please speak to me.” Eddie begged, stepping closer and taking Richie’s hand in his own, using the other to make Richie look at him. “Tell me what has you so afraid. I- I can see it’s been plaguing you. For some time now.” Eddie swallowed, thoughts racing. “I’ve been- I’ve been frightened too. For awhile now. I couldn’t explain it if you asked but- there’s something in the atmosphere. Like this weight, this… wordless terror. I’ve seen it in others; especially in you. Please. Please tell me. Give it a name, Richard.” He stressed the latter, almost shaking Richie’s face as he held it in his hand, eyes searching the others for some give.

“Fear.” Richie muttered to himself as he placed his hands on Eddie’s arms, still staring at the spot on the carpet.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rich. What is everyone so afraid of?” Eddie pleaded quietly, his hand trailing from Richie’s cheek to his chest, where his fingers brushed the button that proclaimed the numbers that dictated his husband. His Richie, complex, creative, beautiful Richie, reduced to a code. A cog in a machine.

“People are afraid because they make themselves afraid.” Richie said darkly, his tone shifting as he finally made eye contact with Eddie. His grip on the smaller mans arms tightened, and as he spoke he jostled Eddie a bit, his anger and frustration growing with each thought. “Because they do it to themselves, Edward, because they can’t just leave good enough alone. Because they have to take every inch they can possibly have, because there’s no compromise-”

“Chee, you’re frightening me-” Eddie breathed, attempting to pull Richie out of his trance with the pet name.

“Because no one makes any attempts at diplomacy anymore, because they’d rather play dice with our lives than pull their heads out of the sand-” Richie barreled on, Eddie’s feeble words falling on deaf ears as the taller man kept gripping, kept shaking him. “They’re afraid because now- now when it’s too late, far too late to change, to turn back, now they’re asking why-”

“RICHARD!” Eddie found himself shouting, shocking both of them, Richie’s anger lifting and being replaced with surprise, as he looked down at Eddie’s hands fisted in his lapels and gulped, realizing how tightly he held Eddie’s upper arms and letting go immediately, rubbing his hands over the muscles apologetically.

“Baby- I’m sorry-”

“What is this about?!” Eddie returned the jostle, desperately hoping he could shake an answer out of the man.

“I guess it’s too late for vagueness…” Richie nearly whispered, eyes roaming Eddie’s face.

Eddie huffed in frustration. “It sure fucking is.”

“It’s coming.” Richie said suddenly.

Eddie’s blood ran cold.

“No..” He breathed, feeling his knees go weak.

“It’s coming baby, sooner than anyone predicted.”

Eddie shook his head in denial, Richie’s arms around his back now the only thing holding him up.

“We have forty-eight hours.” Richie said solemnly, his eyes as grey as graves.

Eddie’s knees hit the floor.

“It- it can’t be-”

“It is.” Richie repeated, kneeling to pull Eddie back up into a standing position, his limp body refusing to cooperate.

“How- how bad?” Eddie caught his eyes, not moving, not allowing himself to be moved. Richie gathered his strength, both to haul Eddie up to the foot of the bed at least, and to say the heavier truth.

“Bad.” He said simply as he man-handled his husband to their bed. He sat down gingerly next to him, letting the smaller man rest his weight on him. “It’ll be the end… of everything. All of it. Our life as we know it… Gone. It’ll be a holocaust.”

Eddie could feel the world underneath him tipping and swirling as he tried to rationalize what Richie was saying. He knew that the situation was tense, that the enemy had their finger over the trigger-

The enemy, he scolded himself. No one is the enemy. There are no sides in a war that destroys us all.

He used what little strength he could muster to look up at Richie.

“What do we do?” He whispered, his voice shaking. He almost thought he might cry, but he was too shocked to form tears.

Richie raised a hand to cradle Eddie’s face, keeping it there so they could lock their gazes on each other, to help ground him.

“We’re getting out of here.” He said quietly, Eddie’s eyes widening. “Bill and I, we’ve devised a plan. The two of us, Mike, Bill and Stanley, Ben and Beverly and the kids too. We’re all getting out of here.”

“Where?” Eddie insisted, flabbergasted. If it was as bad as they’d been threatened, as bad as Richie had claimed, as bad as he had imagined, there’d be nowhere to go.

“I can’t tell you.” Richie said cryptically, instantly earning an expression of anger. “Baby, Eddie, I can’t tell you but you have to trust me. We’re leaving, tonight.” He squeezed the hand cupped around Eddie’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone. “Between midnight and one, we have to be gone. Then we’re getting out of here.” Eddie just looked at him, fear freezing him down to his bones. “You can’t say anything, to anyone. Not even Mike, or the others. Bill and Ben are the only ones who know so far, and we’ve only just told Ben. But you can’t say anything.” Richie looked deep into his eyes, and Eddie nodded robotically. “What we’re doing… it’ll be dangerous. Anyone could be- could be on to us. They could be listening-”

“Richie, hey!” Mike’s voice suddenly filled the house, causing Eddie to nearly jump out of his skin. “Bill’s here to see you!” He continued as Richie wrapped his arms protectively around his frightened lover.

“I’m coming, tell him it’ll be a minute.” Richie called back, his loud voice strange against the heavy quietness that had been with them in the room.

“Chee…” Eddie sobbed dryly into Richie’s shoulders.

“Shhh… hey, I’ve got you.” Richie mumbled, rubbing a hand up and down Eddie’s back to soothe him. “Eds, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Eddie shook his head, shivers wracking his body as the weight of his fate set in. “Baby, I have to go talk to Bill, but I’ll be back, I’ll be right back.” He gently pulled Eddie upright, wiping away the one tear that had managed to fall. “I need you to be strong for me. For yourself.” He stressed, a hand on Eddie’s knee. “I know you can, dear, you’ve always been. We can do this.”

“I’m so- I’m so frightened, Rich.”

“I am too. But you have to trust me; Bill and I have a plan. We’re going to make it. All of us; we’ll make it.”

Eddie watched, as though underwater, as Richie leaned over and kissed his forehead, before standing and leaving the room. He watched; drowning.

________________________________________________________________

“Well, buddy, you better have some fuckin’ fantastic work stories for tonight, I had to cancel a date for this.” Mike was saying with a laugh as Richie came down the stairs. He locked eyes with Bill over Mike’s shoulder, catching the same look of thinly-veiled worry that had been staring back at him in the mirror the past few days. They nodded to each other as Mike excused himself and left the room.

“Bill.” Richie said curtly, glancing out of a window near his front door.

“Rich.” Bill rejoined, shaking his head slightly to indicate they weren’t in the clear.

“You and Stan are still coming over tonight, right? Mike got ahold of you?”

“Sure did.” Bill said nervously, almost reverting back to the boyish stutter of his youth. “Wouldn’t miss it. Stan says he’s on a winning streak.”

Richie gave a curt laugh, before raising an eyebrow questioningly. “I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it, then.” He kept his tone conversational, plain, and unconcerned.

“He’ll be taking all your chips tonight, either way.” Bill said with a fake laugh as he tugged on his earlobe. Richie got the hint, glancing toward the window again. The slight rustle of a low hanging tree branch was enough to confirm his suspicion. Glancing around for inspiration, his eyes landed on the watch on Bill’s left arm.

“Say, Bill, S’at the watch Stanley got you for your anniversary?” Richie cocked his head towards the garage door.

“Sure is, made by his father, same as yours.” Bill nodded.

“Looks like it’s speeding up again, want me to take a look?”

“Sure, sure.”

The two kept their eyes locked on any open window they passed as they made their way into the garage, where Mike had set up his gardening bench, and Eddie had built his workstation. Eddie worked at a local chinaware store making ceramic figurines, each a tiny, intricate masterpiece. Richie took a moment to admire the small delicate pieces, the wonderful figures each holding the magic that he knew exuded from Eddie’s fingertips. These figurines were one of the things Richie found himself repeatedly falling in love with over and over again. Eddie never failed to amaze him with the things he could create. Every time he set about his work he would come out the other side with a magnum opus. Of course the man was always ridiculously humble about the affair, always blushing and brushing off Richie’s praises, but when he was at the bench, back hunched, glasses on the tip of his nose and his face scrunched up in concentration, he was a God in his element, and no amount of protest would ever convince Richie to think otherwise.

The reverie was ripped from his mind at the sound of Bill closing the door, the click of the latch as it slotted into place disrupting him.

“Rich, we’ve gotta change our plans.” Bill blurted urgently.

“Not yet.” Richie mumbled, eyes still on the line of figurines scattered across the work surface, a hand raised to silence Bill. He ignored Bill’s look of urgency and crossed to the bench, a hand trailing over it’s surface, before his eyes found the answer he was searching for.

Flipping the switch for Eddie’s fine sander, he turned to face Bill with a nod. The sound of the machine filled the room, as Bill crossed over to the bench to stand with him. Richie picked up one of the tools left out on the bench and gestured for the watch, fiddling with it and pretending to fix it.

“Okay, Bill. What’s happened.” He muttered under his breath, just so that he was barely audible to Bill underneath the hum of the sander.

“The guard we paid off- he’s had his shift shortened. He contacted me just a bit ago; he’s gonna be off at eleven instead of one.” Bill basically whispered, nervously watching Richie’s hands as they fidgeted.

“So we move it up a couple hours, big deal.” Richie feigned a shrug, his skittish swallow betraying him.

“Yeah right it’s a big deal, it’s gonna be a lot harder to pull off, you know there’ll be more guards on the field-”

“And if any of those guards stop us to ask, we’ll tell them we’re your family come to see the ships you work on.” He fixed Bill with a serious, placating look, steeling himself. Bill gulped.

“You think it’ll work?”

“It’s got to.”

“Does Eddie know?”

“I’ve just told him. Stan?”

“I have a.. A plan, to tell him… roundaboutly.”

“Mike doesn’t know.”

“Beverly got it out of Ben, but they didn’t speak of it in front of the kids. As long as they were careful…”

“Let’s just keep it that way, yeah? I wasn’t gonna tell Eds, but he looked like he would have about killed me if I kept talking cryptic… Maybe Stan and Mike should just…” Richie trailed off with a sigh. “God, does it even matter now? We just need to get through the evening, and if we’re only seeing each other…”

“Your point is sound Rich, but…” Bill’s fingers flew up to his earlobe again. “We both know there’s still some risk.”

Richie nodded, looking down at the watch and tool in his hands. He set both down on the bench and instead picked up one of the figures perched there. Eddie kept a small framed photo of the two of them at their wedding, surrounded by the rest of their group of friends, on the bench near his workstation. Bill, to Eddie’s right, a proud best man, and Stanley, on Richie’s left, Bill’s counterpart at the ceremony. Next to Bill was Beverly, red hair cascading and held tight in the grip of her then eight month old daughter Amelia, her proud father Ben on Bev’s other side, drink in hand and face frozen in a beaming smile. Beside Stanley stood Mike, a flower from his garden in his lapel, the arrangements on all the tables, and the boutineers of all the attending men in the wedding party. Each of them had a look of elation shining out of their faces, from Beverly’s crooked but blindingly white teeth to Eddie’s squinted eyes behind his spectacles. The wedding had taken place during the brief period in their timeline where they’d both had glasses; just before Richie’s laser surgery and just after Eddie had jokingly tried on Richie’s specs to find he desperately needed them. Richie’s eyes behind the thick frames were magnified, and in them he saw only love. His face was turned down towards Eddie’s, watching the smaller man laugh. He remembered the jab he’d just given Eddie’s side, trying to elicit a tickle-induced giggle for the camera. Richie studied his own face more. Written plainly alongside the endless stream of affection for the boy next to him was also another fountain; one of hope, of power, of bright longing for a future. The man that had gotten married that day had done so with determination to make that lovelight last. He had sworn that day he would love Eddie until he was a dying man, but had failed to consider just how soon that could come upon him.

Next to the photo was a small collection of figures Eddie had saved at Richie’s behest, one’s Richie had insisted were his best works and should be kept at home, instead of wasted in the outside world. Richie knew Eddie had only really kept them to get Richie to stop harassing him about it, but at this moment he was damn thankful to have won that fight. The one clutched in his hand was a small, vanilla painted bear, one Eddie had made clear back in the beginning of his career. It was misshapen in some places, and the paint was faded and uneven, but it was by far Richie’s favorite piece of Eddie’s. He loved it so much mostly because of the way Eddie had beamed when he had finished it, the way he had shyly handed it over to Richie and said Chee look I finished one, the way he had literally glowed with happiness as Richie lifted him in a swirling hug, laughing and kissing his face with praise. He remembered that moment every time he glimpsed the bear that sat on the bench, or sometimes their nightstand, or on the kitchen table. It was sometimes moved around, picked up on a whim and set down absentmindedly. Over the years Richie had developed quite the habit of moving knickknacks when he was unfocused.

Richie looked down at the bear in his palm, and closed his fist around it in determination. He suddenly stuffed it in is pocket, reaching out to grab the other six that sat near it. A bird, a bouquet, a bible, a key, a bicycle, and a slim silvery-black painted miniature vinyl record Eddie had given Richie for a gift one anniversary. In the shuffle it had made its way down here, along with the others, and was now joining them in the lining of Richie’s pockets. He then picked up the frame and began detaching the back, fingers trying to prize it open as Bill watched in slight confusion.

“The plan stays the same.” Richie said, still quiet under the buzzing machine, as he freed the photo from the frame. “We do everything the same, but we leave at ten.”

Bill watched him tensely as he folded the picture and placed it in the breast pocket of the suit jacket he still wore. “Okay. I’ll tell Ben when I get home.”

“Don’t. I’ll tell him when he gets here for cards. Just make sure they’re all packed.” He tapped a finger on the outside of the pocket. “You and Stan too.”

Bill nodded, fingers slowly moving to pick up the watch.

“I’ll see you at seven.” Bill said quietly as Richie turned off the saw.

“Well, Bill, I think you should be okay, but you should have the old father in law check that out when you and Stan go up and see him next month.” Richie said loudly, his raised tone casual enough to be convincing but a bit jarring after the noise. “I’m no horologist, so it’s not gonna be a perfect fix, but it should hold up till then.”

Bill nodded as he strapped the watch back on his wrist. “Thanks Rich. We’ll be over around seven for cards. Hope you’re feeling lucky.” He fixed Richie with a pointed look before turning to exit. Richie took one last look at the bench, eyes scanning over the figures scattered across its top, before deciding not to grab more and following Bill out of the room.

He did not turn to look when he turned out the light, thankfully so. Because if he had, he would have seen the not so slyly hidden face of Henry Bowers as he turned slowly to watch the two men through the window.

________________________________________________________________

“I’ll take three.” Mike mumbled, sliding his discarded choices across the glass table to Ben, who reached into the deck to grab three new cards for him. Mike took a small sip of his scotch as he accepted them, sighing a bit to himself as though he was displeased with what he received. He then dropped a single green chip into their pile in the center. He nodded to Eddie, who was absentmindedly twirling his hand through his fingers.

“Oh, uh, just two.” He took a moment to rifle through his cards before tossing two to Ben. “How much did you put in?” He asked Mike quietly as he accepted his new cards.

“Five.”

Eddie grabbed one of his dwindling stash of green chips and added it to the pile before taking a long drink out of his own glass. They had collectively decided with a silent agreement to crack open the bottle of high dollar alcohol Eddie and Richie had kept since their wedding, citing they were saving it for a special occasion. It had been forgotten when Bill and Stanley’s marriage had rolled around, and decided against each time one of the girls was born, and had remained gathering dust in their curio cabinet since.

Richie had thought tonight was as good as any to polish it off.

“Four.” He said after a swallow of his own, sliding the cards past the pile of chips between he and Ben.

“That bad, huh?” Ben joked, grabbing the new cards for Richie with a small, nervous smile. Benjamin, bless his soul, the only one of them who was still trying to find some kind of lightness in all their intensity. Richie only responded with a non committal noise as he viewed his new hand.

“I fold.” He sighed, laying his cards down and draining his glass.

“Damn shame.” Bill tried a smirk, reaching to deposit his green chip in the pile without trading in any cards. “You were just starting to turn a profit.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll just have to settle it with me next week.” Richie chided, causing silence to fall over the table. Bill gave him a small, quizzical look, as Richie raised his eyes to look at him. They shared that look for a brief moment, before Richie’s words dawned on them and they proceeded to dissolve into laughter. Ben laughed a bit timidly, like he was unsure of whether or not he was allowed in on the joke. Beverly and Mike shared a look of utter confusion as Eddie turned white. Stanley gave Bill an incredulous look, but was unable to decipher exactly what it was that had set his husband off. Bev and Ben’s daughters, Amelia and Lillian, sat undisturbed by the commotion on the carpet, playing with dolls they had brought along boredly.

Eddie cleared his throat as Richie and Bill’s laughter turned from mirth to neurotic bursts. “Maybe we should put up the bottle.” He tried, reaching to the center of the table to replace the stopper. “Um, tea, anyone? I’ve got a pitcher of iced…”

“That sounds wonderful, Eddie.” Beverly caught his eye, attuned acutely to his skittish behavior. “I’ll come with you and get some water for the girls.” Eddie nodded his agreement and the two stood, Beverly gesturing to the girls to come with them as they entered the kitchen. The sound of clinking glasses and pouring liquid pierced the silence that remained around the men in the living room before being broken completely by Mike.

“Bathroom break.” He muttered as he stretched, before standing and leaving the room. Richie waited until he heard the click of the latch before reaching for the bottle in the center of the table, unstopping it, and pouring himself another full glass.

“We finished the calculations.” Bill said after a moment of watching Richie drink. He gestured to Stan, who pulled a small folded square of paper from his shirt pocket. Stan unfolded it and spread it out on the table where Richie could see. Ben hopped the empty seat between him and Stanley that Bev had vacated, and joined the others in looking down at the diagram.

“By we he means I did.” Stan griped. “And I’d still very much like to know what this is about.” Stan gave Richie a hard look.

“You haven’t told him?” Ben asked Bill, brow furrowed.

“Coming from the guy who let it slip to Beverly-”

“She is my wife, you can’t expect me to just-”

“And I am your husband, so please, enlighten me.” Stan cut off Ben, joining him in staring down Bill, who was too busy looking at Richie for defense.

“Go ahead.” Richie shrugged, taking another swig.

“Stan-”

“Here we are, tea for everyone.” Beverly’s voice interrupted Bill, who flipped the paper over quickly in front of him. “Benny, you’re in my seat.” She joked as she handed Ben his glass, handing the other in her hand to Stanley, who was still eyeing Bill for an explanation.

“Sorry dear, just conferring with my financial adviser here.” He joked, elbowing Stan good-naturedly. “He says I shouldn’t bet so high next round.”

“And you really shouldn’t need Stan to tell you that.” She laughed as she sat down in Ben’s old seat. “Common sense should have that covered.”

There was a small smattering of snorted laughter at that, as Eddie came into the room with more glasses in his hands, doling them out to the remaining guests. Richie declined his.

“We ready to get back to it?” Stan said pointedly, practically daring Bill to respond as the the girls resettled themselves on the couch, snuggling up with the arm rests as though they were going to nap. Bill only glanced at his husband apprehensively, appearing like a fish groping for air as he searched for his words. Thankfully he was saved by Richie, who was rifling through his cards impatiently before calling out.

“Mike! Hurry up! We’re gonna get started!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Mike sighed as he turned the corner to re-enter the room, bumping into Eddie as he tried to return to his seat. “Oh, thanks.” He muttered as he accepted the drink in Eddie’s outstretched hand. He took a seat and began conversing with Richie, while Bill and Stan carried on a mumbled but heated conversation to their left, with Bev and Ben still joking around across from them.

Leaving Eddie the only one to hear the doorbell.

He froze as the small ding echoed near him. Placing his full glass on a small table in the entryway, he walked as if in a daze to their front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before flicking the lock.

“Hello-?” He said as he swung the door open, his intended end to the sentence bottoming out along with his stomach.

“Why, hello there Mr. Kaspbrak. Lovely evening isn’t it?”

The sneering face of Henry Bowers greeted him from his darkened doorway, the streetlight of their cul de sac illuminating him from behind and casting an eerie glow around his silhouette.

“Mr. Bowers…” Eddie barely managed, voice wavering as he tried to pull in a breath.

“Say, is your boy home? I have some business to discuss with him.” Henry said casually as he removed his hat.

Eddie turned to look at his friends, all distracted around the table.

“Richard?” He said in a small voice.

Richie turned to look at him over his shoulder, as well as a few of the others, whose faces all dropped as soon as they took in the sight before them.

“Mr. Bowers is here to see you.” Eddie continued, gripping the knob of the still open door as though it were a lifeline.

Richie’s curious expression was instantly replaced by one of white faced anger. He’d become no stranger to seeing Bowers at work, hell, the man was one of his superiors, he had to interact with him regularly. But it was another thing entirely for him to enter his home, as he was doing now.

They could all feel it, the memories of their youth coagulating like sludge as Bowers casually trudged across the carpet, stopping between Bill and Richie, who sat with the diagram face down between them and identical expressions of distaste as they looked up at the man. Eddie remained frozen at the door, unable to make himself move enough to swing it closed.

“Well, what have we here? A little game of cards, huh Tozier?” Henry said with a smile as he set his hat on the table, over top of the paper.

“Just a few rounds.” Richie forced himself to say, keeping his gaze on the man in front of him, no matter how much he wanted to check on his husband, still frozen at the door. He felt his blood boiling and singing under his skin, his rage over Bowers having the audacity to enter his home just barely being overridden by his terror of their plot being discovered. If Henry somehow caught them in the act, or reported them…

They’d watch the world burn from a prison cell.

He settled for clearing his throat. “Would you care for a drink?” He tried to sound as hospitable as he could.

“That would be excellent.” Henry smiled down at Richie, before turning to look at Eddie. “Does your Eddie here still make that wonderful tea?”

Eddie’s color went yellow as Richie’s jaw clenched, seething at the use of the name.

“He does. I’ll get you a glass.” Richie made to stand.

“Nonsense, he’s got it covered. Isn’t that right, Eddie?” Henry said sharply, eyes locked with Richie’s, who still sat because Henry was now far too much in his space to allow him room to stand.

Eddie stood frozen at the door, his mind fighting a million battles (first and foremost, stopping him from running out the open door altogether) before clicking back on again.

“I’ll be right back with a glass.” He closed the door, composing himself. He caught eye contact with Mike, who had been monitoring him with care. They shared their look, one perfected over many years of friendship and caring for each other, Mike’s raised eyebrow an unspoken question.

Eddie shook his head no, before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Nice night.” Henry mused as the group watched he and Richie with trepidation. The girls were settled on the couch, grateful they had gone unnoticed and hoping it would continue. Every once in awhile Ben would steal a glance at them, praying (as much as it hurt him to do so) that Henry’s attentions would stay focused on Eddie. He subconsciously reached a hand down to touch the faint scar that remained on his stomach, and remembered.

“It is indeed.” Richie responded mechanically.

“It’s a night for a tall drink on a porch. And sleep. Nothing else.” Henry gave Richie a pointed look.

“Right you are.” Bill said suddenly, trying to deflect the conversation as he watched Richie’s nostrils flare, sensing his friend’s anger was on a precipice. “Stanley and I are just about ready to head home and do just that.” Bill patted Stan’s leg, but left his hand there, hoping it would help comfort his partner, whose worry was plain. “I’ve been up north all week testing an aircraft, so I’d like to call it an early night. Haven’t gotten much sleep recently.”

“Is that aircraft the one we’ve been hearing about over in operations? The one they’ve said’s capable of even possibly leaving the atmosphere?” Henry questioned him with a raise of his brows.

“That’s uh, that’s the goal. Eventually.” Bill swallowed. “But we’re really not even close to that part yet. It’s mostly been about keeping her in the air.” He said with a timid laugh.

Eddie entered the room again, glass in hand, which was trembling as he crossed the space to give it to Henry. He reached out, slowly, doing his best to quell his quaking nerves as he extended the cup.

“Here you are.” He said, barely making eye contact with the man.

Despite his best effort, Henry took notice of his shaking hand.

“Say, Eddie, you’re a little nervous there.” Henry joked, reaching to accept the cup with one hand, the other coming up to wrap around Eddie’s wrist. Eddie’s hand shook violently, his frayed nerves betraying him. Henry removed the cup from his hold completely, the other hand turning Eddie’s arm just so, so that the jagged scar on his forearm was staring up at them. “You’re very nervous.”

Richie watched the exchange as though through a tunnel, his vision red. His mind filled to the brim with violent memories, each pulling more and more seedlings of anger out of his subconscious.

Thankfully Stanley, ever the observant friend, intervened before Richie could do something brash.

“He’s only upset over how much of their vacation money Richie’s lost to us tonight.” Stan joked. “Bill and I have been making a clean sweep.”

“I can attest to that.” Ben joined in, giving Richie a placating look. Richie missed it, his eyes locked on the hand still closed around his husband’s wrist.

“But we won’t settle it out tonight.” Bill said, looking up at Henry’s back. Bill had never been afraid to look the man in the eye, no matter how much he had tortured their ragtag gang. He only wished now he had the opportunity to. Bowers was still facing away from him, attention fully turned to the small man trapped in his grip, who was gazing at his face like it was a theatre screen displaying a particularly sickening sequence.

All his life Bill had sworn to keep any need for that expression from ever touching his friends.

“Next week. I want to give Richie here another shot.” He continued, urging the man with all his mind power to turn around.

“Next week?” Bowers turned just slightly to look at Bill over his shoulder, not releasing Eddie’s hand. “You certainly plan ahead.”

Bill swallowed, refusing to address the menacing intent in the statement. “A week? Nonsense. We play cards on a regular basis.”

“Shame you aren’t settling it tonight.” Henry shrugged. “A lot can happen in a week.”

Henry made eye contact with Richie.

“A lot can happen in forty eight hours.”

Bill’s stomach dropped.

“Not much that can sway me from collecting.” Bill managed a skittish laugh. “Though I’m sure Richie would take the gamble on that.”

“Oh I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d think Mr. Tozier here would gamble on most anything.”

Bower’s kept his eyes locked on Richie’s, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around Eddie’s wrist.

Almost.

“Well.” The hand finally released, falling to Henry’s side. “I’d better head on home. Nice evening for a bit of a walk.” He raised the glass he had been holding and downed it quickly. He replaced it on the table, lifting his hat, his eyes on the paper underneath it. He made as if to scoop it up, but it was quickly snatched by Stanley.

“Better not lose this. I’d rather get my payment from Rich in full. He’ll swindle me, I have no doubt.” He tried to joke, but the power of it died out.

“Keep an eye on him then, lads.” Henry smiled, placing his hat back on as he turned, stopping to step even closer into Eddie’s space. “Have a good evening, Eddie.” He said lowly, eyes boring into the smaller man, who was nearly quaking. Bowers then turned fully to exit, finally stepping away from the table.

“I’ll walk you out.” Richie muttered, more so to the table than Bowers, as he stood quickly and followed the man to the door.

Henry stopped once the front door had been opened and he was stood on the porch.

“I’ll see you at the factory tomorrow?” He said pointedly, glancing down the street.

“Of course.” Richie said mechanically, imagining himself slamming the door repeatedly on the parts of Bowers that still remained in its path.

“Clear night.” Henry said as he looked up at the sky, a smattering of stars visible beyond the haze of the streetlights. He paused for a beat, clearly taking his time and enjoying letting Richie stew. He knew what his superior was doing; he got the message he was sending loud and clear. What Bower’s didn’t understand, however, was just how stubborn Richie could be. “Good night for stargazing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Richie said quietly.

“Ever think about what it would be like? To be out in the beyond, among those stars? If there’s a life out there?” Bowers took out a cigarette and lit it.

“It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

“Yeah.” He took a drag. “I don’t doubt it.”

With one last glance up at the sky, he walked away, a trail of smoke following him down the street.

Richie waited until the man had turned a corner before ducking back inside, slamming and locking the door. His friends had remained frozen in their places, listening intently to see if they could hear the hushed conversation.

Eddie still stood, frozen in the same place, his wrist held close to his chest and his face vacant. Richie turned, his back against the door, sighing as the tension dropped away in waves. After a moment the two made eye contact, Eddie’s awareness returning to him, before appearing as though he would burst into tears in that moment. Richie rushed forward, pulling his lover into his arms. He wound an arm around Eddie’s middle, the other coming up to cradle the back of his head and card lightly through his hair. Beverly watched the exchange for a moment before turning to Ben, and in one swift movement they had both arisen and crossed the room to check on the girls, who looked frightened and bewildered. Stan and Bill were holding each others hands in a death grip, while Mike looked at them imploringly for an explanation. When it seemed none would come, he spoke.

“Eddie, are you alright?” Mike stood, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as he stayed wrapped in Richie’s arms. Eddie simply shook his head, face still buried in Richie’s chest. Richie stroked a hand through his hair, whispering encouragements occasionally as Eddie trembled. Mike rubbed a small circle with his thumb, sighing in frustration. “Anyone want to tell me why Henry Bowers was just in your house?” He looked at Richie, Bill, and even Ben behind him who all looked guilty. The three of them shared another look with each other before Richie spoke.

“The time is now.”

“The time for what, exactly?” Mike pressed, taking caution not to tighten his hold on Eddie’s shoulder in frustration, concentrating on keeping the touch comforting.

“Mike, I’m sorry, we should have told you sooner about this. We were trying to keep it as quiet as possible, so we figured the least of us that knew the better, but we’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Leaving where?”

“Far from here. Look, we don’t really have time to get into the details, but Ben and Bill and I have been planning this for a few months now. We’ve bribed a lot of people over at the factory, we’ve got a ship filled with supplies waiting for us, and we’re getting in it, tonight.” Richie rubbed his hands over Eddie’s back, hoping to help the man compose himself. “We have to go soon, because if there’s one thing I know for sure, that was no coincidence. I think Bowers is on to us.”

“Rich, this is a lot-”

“I’ll say.” Stan cut in, looking angry. “You didn’t think to let us all in on this?”

“It was to keep you safe-” Bill tried defending himself, still gripping Stanley’s hand.

“What I don’t understand,” Mike said loudly, commanding the conversation again. “Is why it’s got to be tonight.”

“I think you know why.” Eddie said quietly, voice muffled by Richie’s suit jacket.

Beverly went white, Lillian clutched in her arms.

“It’s coming.” She looked at Ben, who nodded.

Mike’s anger dropped, fear replacing it instantly.

“How long?”

“Bowers didn’t pick an arbitrary number.” Eddie said bitterly, standing up straight, wiping quickly at tear tracks down his cheeks.

The room remained silent for a moment as the severity of the situation sunk into the adults. Richie silently fussed over Eddie, wiping his face and fixing his hair, occasionally dropping a kiss on his forehead as Eddie gathered himself.

Bill eventually broke the silence.

“We should head out now. I’m not sure how much time we’ll have before-”

He was cut off by the tone of the house phone.

It rang loudly from the corner, its shrill tone cutting to the core of the frightened adults, sending shock waves back into Eddie as he looked at Richie, fear plain on his face. He shook his head quickly.

“Don’t.”

“Eds, I’ve gotta answer it.”

“Don’t, let’s just go.” He pleaded. Richie shook his head before letting go of his husband and crossing the room to answer the phone.

“Tozier residence.” Richie said dryly. The rest of the group waited with bated breath, unable to hear the other end of the conversation. “Tonight? I’ve already gone to bed.” Richie’s eyes darted back and forth, his hand coming up to scratch his left ear, as it always did when he was trying to think of a lie. He made as if to speak again, before the dial tone sounded, signaling the end of the call. He replaced the phone slowly, heart rate increasing. “That was my work.” He addressed the room. “They’re sending a car for me. Production services wants us all in tonight.”

“We need to leave now.” Bill said, standing. “Stan, go get our bags from the car. Ben, I suggest you get the girls ready to go, you’ll follow us in yours. Mike, can you pack quickly?” Mike nodded numbly, his mind racing to struggle to accept what was happening. “Rich, go get the car started. I’ll help you pack it.” Everyone began a mad scramble through the house, collecting various items and packing them into cars. Eddie stood frozen through the chaos, eventually slowly moving to clean up the abandoned glasses left on the table. Richie found him and stopped him, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“This is foolish, isn’t it.” Eddie said dejectedly. He looked at Richie, sadness filling his eyes. “We’ll never be back here again.”

________________________________________________________________

“Here. Gate 6A.” Bill said quietly as he pointed at a diverging path in the road they had been following. Richie made a sharp right, glancing in in the rear view to make sure Ben had followed. The headlights behind him curved, hugging tight to their path without wavering. They continued along the road for a couple of tense minutes until they came upon a section of fence. Richie pulled up to it slowly, killing the engine and the lights as they approached. He looked into the rear view again as Ben swung up behind him, the headlamps illuminating the silhouettes of Stan, Mike, and Eddie in the backseat. Richie caught Eddie’s worried gaze, hoping to infuse as much courage as possible into his husband.

But as Ben’s lights clicked off, Eddie’s fearful gaze becoming shrouded in darkness, he thought perhaps he didn’t have much in the first place.

He undid his seat belt, swallowing thickly. He shared a nod with Bill, who climbed out of the passenger side. They closed their doors softly behind them as Ben emerged from the drivers side of his own car, Beverly staying inside with the nervous girls.

Ben approached the fence, fingers trailing over the thick piece of locked chain that held the opening closed. He continued to look beyond the barrier, eyes alighting on a large, circular aircraft a few hundred yards away from them on the field.

“So there it is.” He said quietly as Bill came to stand next to him.

“There it is.” He agreed, Richie joining them.

A small pinprick of light suddenly appeared from the shrouded area of black night beyond the fence, west of the aircraft.

“Is that out contact?” Richie whispered, recognizing the light as the short flash of a handheld light.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Bill nodded, turning to the car. “Stan, flash the lights, just once hun?” He whisper-yelled. Stan nodded nervously, climbing over the front seat to reach up and flash the headlights. When he sat back down, he placed a hand on Eddie’s quacking knee.

“It’s gonna be alright, Eddie.” He said calmly.

Eddie so badly wanted to believe him.

The light returned, illuminating a razor thin beam as it cut through the darkness from the same source. Instead of being a staccato beam, it remained lit, as the holder began walking towards their small group gathered on the other side of the fence. Mike could tell from the tense set of Bill’s shoulders that something was amiss in the situation, and was about to throw open the door and emerge from the car when the hand- and face- the light belonged to was thrown into relief by the new proximity.

“Evening, Mr. Tozier.”

Next to him, Eddie gave a small, terrified sob.

“You know, when I said it was a nice night for a walk, I didn’t think you would have walked this far.”

Stanley’s blood ran cold at the sound of the dry, short laugh that accompanied the statement.

Mike’s mind stopped altogether when he noticed the gun.

Eddie made another noise of fear, this one much louder, as he presumably saw it too. Bowers took notice, raising the flashlight he had in his right hand to illuminate his face, a small smile of victory playing on his lips. He slowly cocked the pistol clenched in his left. Mike had to physically restrain Eddie from leaping over him and out of the side of the car. The last thing they needed in the situation was Eddie’s brash behavior, the way he always got when his emotions were pushed.

“So here’s how this is going to go.” Henry lowered the light, sounding almost bored as he continued. “You three-” He gestured broadly at Ben, Bill, and Richie, earning a sharp intake of breath from the group as they each collectively braced themselves for the worst. “Are going to stay where you are, very quietly. You two gentlemen-” This time, he swung the light, shining it on Mike and Stanley’s faces. “Are going to get out of the car and join them.” He reached into his pocket for a small key, used it to unlock the chain, and opened the fence to step through.

Richie was fuming, every muscle in his body screaming to rush forward and tackle the man to the ground, to pulverize every possible piece of the other man until there was nothing left.

Bowers clearly noticed.

“Then, after I join our little Eddie here, you will all get in your other vehicle and follow us to the authorities.” He finished, his smile growing as he turned to Richie, his satisfaction being fed by Richie’s look of sheer rage.

“Why him, alone?” Ben said, voice unwavering.

“Because I have a strong feeling our testy Richard will try any manners of funny business. Though I’m sure those thoughts are flying right out of your head now, aren’t they?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Most of them.” Richie said, his words poison through gritted teeth.

Bowers stepped closer, gun trained on Richie’s chest.

“I thought I made myself clear to you enough times today Tozier, but apparently I’ll need to remind you, bluntly.” He moved forward again, a small yell erupting from Eddie in the backseat as he attempted to scramble his way out of the seat. In a flash, Henry turned, eyes locking with Eddie’s, his hand flying up to aim, Richie rushing with a shout to throw himself in between them-

But the gun did not go off.

Richie lowered the arms thrown up to shield himself to see Bowers, pivoted from where he stood, gun raised and aimed directly at Eddie’s head, which was just visible over Richie’s shoulder. Eddie had fallen back into his seat, his arms held tightly by Mike and Stan to keep him from jumping up again (and to haul him down for cover if necessary).

“Still don’t understand, boy?” Bowers said venomously. “You’ve lost. Now if you don’t cooperate with me you’ll get your man pack in more than one piece.” He stepped closer again, the butt of the gun practically resting on Richie’s shoulder as it stayed trained on Eddie. “Is that what you want?” Henry whispered. “Would you like me to break him again?” He sneered. Instantly the memories came flooding back to Richie’s, and for that matter, all of their minds. He shivered in fear, his head pounding, and he was fourteen again, watching his best friend scream in pain as his arm was snapped, four boys much bigger than any of them pinning him down and pulling him apart. He was fifteen, staring at the strange misshapen scar as Eddie cried and languished over it, knowing he was doomed to live with it the rest of his life. He was thirteen, watching Ben stumble into the river with a gaping wound in his stomach. He was twelve, watching Beverly’s hands shake from across the cafeteria as she endured another string of insults unfairly thrown her way, her bruises stark and fresh against her skin. He was sixteen, hauling Mike away from a fight, the two of them running like their lives depended on it as Henry screamed profanities after them. He was eighteen, driving Stan at sixty miles per hour through their residential zone to the emergency room on the third night of Hanukkah. He was thirty seven, watching a gun be trained on the face of Bill, his Bill, one of his closest and most trusted allies in all his life. He was overwhelmed, completely terrified, as he felt the weight of the weapon over his shoulder. Henry would always have that power over him, he languished. All their years as children spent attempting to get out from under Henry’s hellish reign of the school yard, only for him to become Richie’s supervisor, to continue to torment him in small, destructive ways years into their adulthood. His constant jeers and jabs at Eddie, who used to come pick him up or bring him lunch, his constant need to drop into the dress shop Beverly ran just to tell her horrible, vile things, his insistence on driving slowly down the street next to Mike just to make him uncomfortable, just to put him on edge. He was overwhelmed, by all of it. The constant torment had worked.

In that moment, Richie felt like they had truly lost.

Thankfully for him, for all of them, Stanley hadn’t.

“Because if you keep pushing me-” Bowers had continued, unheard by Richie through his haze. “I will.”

Stanley curled his fingers around the door handle, silently thanking God that Richie was far enough to the side.

“If you’d like him to last the little time you have left,”

Stan pulled, ever so slightly, the latch releasing.

“I suggest you and your friends listen to my instructions, and-”

Stanley slammed the door into Henry’s side, taking extra effort to knock his knees out of place. Richie lept into action, hands immediately reaching for the gun to wrench it out of Henry’s hands. They flipped, Henry’s back hitting the car as Richie fought him in his daze. Bill and Ben erupted, Bill literally diving over the top of the car to grab Henry’s neck in a choking headlock. Ben jumped into the fray, helping Richie as he wrestled the gun from Henry’s hands, which were immediately restrained by Ben. Richie did not hesitate, disarming the gun before grasping the butt in his hand and clocking Bowers in the side of the head, knocking the man out cold. The three men panted as they let go of Henry’s limp body, pausing only for a moment to watch it slide to the ground. Richie then dropped the gun immediately, the cold metal suddenly searing his hands. Bill collected himself quickly.

“We have to go.”

Richie found himself nodding, his brain kicking into overdrive as Bill turned to pull the gate open all the way. Ben dashed back to his car, hopping in and turning it on. Richie followed suit, immediately, feeling Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, a silent need for affirmation that Richie was okay. He placed a hand over his husbands as Bill climbed back into the car, revving the engine and driving as fast as he could take it, his eyes locked on the aircraft swiftly approaching.

As soon as they hit the field, searchlights locked on them, a guards voice raising a call over the speakers as the security scrambled to meet them.

“UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. APPREHEND IMMEDIATELY.”

Ben and Richie pulled up to the ship haphazardly, skidding to a stop and not bothering to kill the engines. Everyone scrambled to jump out of the cars, trunks thrown open. Beverly and Stanley grabbed the girls, immediately boarding the ship with them. Ben and Bill followed them, as many bags as they could carry in their hands as they ran up the small ramp of stairs leading to an opening in the craft. None of them had time to stop and process what exactly they were getting themselves into, in the most literal sense. None other than Bill had been anywhere near the machine, which looked so unlike anything they had ever seen that they couldn’t even come up with something it was akin to. Mike and Eddie grabbed what they could from their trunk as Richie checked Ben’s car for any left behind items, double checking the backseat in case the girls had left some treasured toy. Bill came back out of the craft, running to its base to detach a strange array of pipes and pumps running into the side. Eddie and Mike ran up with their bags, throwing them inside carelessly as they turned to grab more. Richie was behind them with the last from their car, handing it up. Before they could all ascend, guards came rushing from the dark, batons drawn and poised to fight. Mike pushed Eddie, who was at the top of the ramp, back up into the aircraft, as he, Richie, and Bill remained to fight off the guards. It devolved into a good old fashioned fist fight, their blows earning them more ground as the three men moved higher up the ramp. Bill hit a switch on its side that caused the steps to start ascending into the machine. He then landed a kick to the chest of the last guard, who fell off the end of the platform. He caught one last glimpse of the ground as metal came up to meet metal, and knew, heavily in his heart, it was the last time he’d see the soil of his home.

________________________________________________________________

“How are we looking?” Mike asked, looking up from the small guidebook he was holding.

“So far, so good. It’s holding steady, just like the tests.” Bill replied, eyes on a screen of data.

“Think we’ll be able to maintain that?” Stan asked the question on everyone’s minds.

“I couldn’t say for sure.” Bill answered honestly, looking up at him. “But I’m hopeful.”

Stan took a moment to process his thoughts.

“If you’re convinced, that’s enough for me.” He finally said, crossing the small space of the hull to sit on the low bench where Eddie and Richie were huddled together. On the other side Ben and Bev were sat on the floor, each with a dozing child in their laps, Ben’s slack face nodding every so often, signaling how close he was to joining them. Beverly had remained silent with her face trained on the small viewing screen the entire time they’d been flying.

“Where are we headed, anyways?” Eddie asked timidly. “It’s stars. Stars so far away…” he trailed off as he too gazed at the screen.

“See the bright one? To the right, in the corner?” Richie said, his head chin tucked over Eddie’s shoulder. The two hadn’t let go of each other since boarding. Stan and Mike shifted so that they too could look at the screen. “That’s our destination.”

“We’ve been researching it in our division.” Bill said, joining them as they all looked at the star. “It’s got life on it, like us. It’s so damn similar to our planet, it’s frightening.” He folded his arms over his chest. “We’ll get there soon enough.”

“What is it?” Bev piped up from her corner. “What’s it called?”

“It’s the third planet from the sun. It’s called… Earth.”

“That’s where we’re going.” Eddie breathed.

Richie nodded. “To a place called Earth.”

________________________________________________________________

authors notes: okay so this is OBNOXIOUSLY late to the party but im so glad this is finally done! this very much got away from me and i wrote waaaaaayyyyyy too much so here’s this whole damn ass thing lmao. anyways i rlly hope u love it and that it suits u! i got the idea and ran too too far with it. thank u so much for bein patient, i was on a long work trip this past week and a half, so getting the last couple of scenes written didn’t happen until today //: i may need to go back thru and edit but ANYWAYS !! thank u for reading and i hope yall enjoy <3 i may end up doing an anthology series of one shots based on twilight zone episodes, so if you guys are interested in that message me and beg me to do it!!! i live to please <3

tags list: @stennbrough @s-s-stutteringbill @gazeboseddie @misssiriusblack @mythgirl96 @crackhousetozier @reddieaddict @wincestklaine @beepbeep-losers @ayyyymichele @ttrxshmouth @megelizabethvh @tapetayloe @flickerflies @ghostbustermike @i-is-gazebo @reddiesetrichie @jessicarayheyman @r-u-reddiee @wyttolff @gayzier @hanscombeverly @kaspbrak-is-our-king @babybyelers @28shoes @nicoperryy

#itfandomsecretadmirers #prior.txt #prior.fic #twizoneverse #reddie #stenbrough #benverly #it 2017 #it fic

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promtography · 8 years

Text

a little promptis

some sad promptis for the soul bc i live for angst apparently (major spoilers)

also feedback would be great, since i'm not sure exactly how coherent my writing style is, if it's too confusing or whatever since i write the same way i think, which would obviously make sense to me cause it's my own brain but idk about other people lmao

a tiny bit taken from this earlier writing bc im lazy

Their first kiss, last kiss, and all the kisses in between

The first time they kissed had been during their last year in high school. Two teenage boys who happened to be very close and well into the throes of puberty, both wondering whether their feelings were platonic or romantic, and both thinking the other was extraordinarily attractive.

It had been shy, awkward, and clumsy, neither of them having even an inkling of romantic experience outside of movies and dreams.

Noctis had been the one to instigate it, during a perfectly average day involving Prompto hanging out at his apartment, having practically moved in considering how often he was over. He wasn't sure why he chose that moment, only that he he knew suddenly- watching Prompto sitting so comfortably on his couch, fiddling with his camera and smiling gently to himself- knew that he wanted to kiss him.

Scooching across to Prompto's side of the couch, he leaned against his friend's shoulder, acted like he was interested in the photos flicking across the small screen while he attempted to quiet his nerves enough for him to speak.

A quick breath, and then, “Hey.”

Prompto glanced at him sideways before facing him fully, and Noctis felt his mind blank when that beautifully soft smile turned to him, “Yeah, Noct?”

Noctis opened his mouth, found that no words came to him, and closed it. Instead, he placed a hesitant hand over Prompto's and hoped he would read the mood, looking at his face for only a moment before he had to look away, hating that he could feel himself blushing.

Prompto, to his credit, seemed to understand yet didn't quite believe that this was actually happening. His heart was fluttering and he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the hand covering his own. He chuckled nervously, “You uh, good there, Noct?” His free hand moved to place the camera off to the side, the other clenched tight under Noctis’.

Noctis, realizing he shouldn't have counted on Prompto to take initiative, sighed with a strange mix of fondness and exasperation and tightened his hand around Prompto's before bringing it ever so slowly to his lips.

He stopped suddenly, his breath puffing against trembling fingers. He forced himself to look at Prompto's face and jolted at the intensity of the blue eyes trained on him.

Cursing, he let go of Prompto's hand and turned to hide how red he knew his face was becoming.

“Wh- hey, wait!”

Before he knew it, Noctis was sprawled across the couch, Prompto having tackled him before he could flee and now hovered tensely above him.

They stayed in this position for an awkwardly long amount of time, neither of them meeting each other's eyes before Noctis eventually snapped.

“Well?”

Prompto flinched slightly and when he spoke, his voice was fragile, “Well, what?”

Noctis cleared his throat so he could speak around the lump forming there, “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Prompto gulped and then laughed suddenly, loudly, and nervously. And because doing anything else at this point would have been blasphemous, he closed his eyes, leaned down and pressed his lips against Noctis’.

Well, tried to. He ended up missing, catching Noct's chin instead and screaming internally for the void to just take him now.

Noctis doesn't seem phased however, slowly reaching up to take Prompto's face in his hands, guiding him into trying again.

This time, their lips actually meet, but now neither of them are sure what to do from here. They dryly mush their mouths together a little bit before Prompto rears back, seemingly on the verge of tears.

They kiss a lot after that, thankfully getting better as they go, as they learn both what they themselves like and what the other likes. Prompto discovers that Noct's tummy is particularly sensitive, which leads to an unfortunate number of raspberries blown into the pale skin. Noctis takes his revenge by making Prompto all but melt with gentle licks and nips to his neck, careful that he doesn't leave marks because Prompto isn't fond of pain.

When his dad died, Noctis was not okay. It was the very thing he had been dreading, and he wasn't even in the city when it happened, couldn't return for a funeral, never gave him a proper goodbye.

Noctis couldn't sleep that night. How could he. He sat in one of the cheap plastic chairs outside the caravan, while the others mingled quietly inside, giving himthe room they know he needs. Eyes closed and head tipped back, he lets the night air soothe his lungs, tired after the harsh heaving that comes with crying.

The caravan door squeaks open, and Noctis can tell by the footsteps that it's Prompto. He doesn't move.

Prompto sits in a chair next to him, carefully quiet, as if he was afraid that if he moved too quickly, Noctis would startle and bolt like a frighten animal. He would've snorted at the thought if only he had the energy.

They don't speak. Prompto knows that nothing he says would make the situation any better, and Noctis doesn't blame him. They sit for a while, Prompto's presence dragging Noct's attention away from his own thoughts until he straightens up and focuses on the blond watching him worriedly.

When Noctis looks at him, Prompto offers a gentle smile and holds out his hand. Noctis stares at it a while before he takes it and when he does, Prompto stands, pulling Noctis up with him and into a tight hug.

Noctis can't stop himself from crying again, sobbing loudly into Prompto's shoulder, and Prompto lets him, rubbing a hand up and down his back and pressing kisses into his messy hair.

They stay like that until Noctis is all cried out, and Prompto takes his wet face in his hands and places one more kiss to his forehead before leading him back into the caravan for some cold dinner.

Noctis feels better after that, and soon realizes that he's actually enjoying himself, might even say he's having fun, if only they weren't constantly pacing in front of death’s door.

Between the hunts and the imperial ambushes, they find time for some fishing, and Noctis lights up each time.

They meet a man named Navyth who, after a series of tests and trials, eventually leads them to the home of the Devil of the Cygillian.

It takes several days as well as a good portion of Noct's lure stash, but the pure, almost childish joy in Noct's face when he finally lands the thing makes Prompto think the hours of waiting and the secondhand stress were all worth it.

After their necessary group shot, Prompto sloshes excitedly through the crystal water and sweeps Noct into a kiss that has Gladio wolf-whistling and Ignis pinching the bridge of his nose. When they pause to catch their breath, Prompto grins and murmurers “good catch” against wind-chapped lips. Noctis smiles and kisses him again.

When they part, Prompto doesn't think he's ever seen Noct look happier.

When they arrive in Altissia, all four of them are left breathless. Sure, they had heard stories, tourists bragging, but seeing it in person is an indescribable experience.

Prompto would have whipped out his camera if he wasn't already busy taking photos.

They're eager to see everything at once, but it's already getting late and they need to find lodgings before anything else.

Ignis goes on ahead to book their rooms. Gladio goes with him because he has more tact than people would expect.

And so Prompto and Noctis are left to their own devices. They set off, Prompto bouncing ahead like an excited puppy, and immediately get lost.

It's not their fault all the canals and bridges and alleyways are some kind of maze disguised as a city.

Oh well, they'll just ask around. For now, they wander and wonder at all the sights, Prompto snapping away and occasionally pulling Noct in for a goofy selfie.

They stop at a gelato cart and order for each other, taking a seat on a bench at the waterside. They chatter and watch the sunset glimmer off the waves and waterfalls, stealing bites from each other's spoons. At one point, Prompto misses and ends up smearing Noct's strawberry gelato across his lips. He thinks his heart nearly stops when Noct giggles, and even the prince himself seems surprised he made such an unbecoming noise. But then he looks at Prompto and just laughs, leans in and licks the gelato off his lips, and stays for a sweet, lingering kiss.

Luna is dead, Ignis is blind, Noctis is in mourning, and they're all exhausted both physically and emotionally. None of them are sure how things got so bad so quickly. Sure they had expected some trouble- one cannot expect dealings with gods to be so easy- but this…

The Oracle is gone, and so goes her healing. Ignis, he who detests ambiguity, must now live without sight. And Noctis refuses to leave his bed.

Gladio acts pissed, and maybe he is. They're certainly all frustrated.

Prompto feels like he should've done more, feels like at least some of this could have been prevented if only he had been more attentive, had reacted a bit faster. He tries to make up for it. Knows that he can't. Ignis insists that he's fine, Prompto knows that he's not.

None of them are.

When they finally set out again, Noctis doesn't look at them, hardly speaks. When Prompto puts a hand on his shoulder, Noctis shrugs him off and walks away.

To say things are tense would be an understatement. Prompto thinks he would rather be crawling through some dark dungeon, ass-deep in daemons. At least then they could all trust each other to have their backs.

But this, this coldness, might be the hardest thing they've dealt with yet. Maybe cause they're used to dealing with things they can stab, maybe cause they're used to dealing with things together. All Prompto knows is that right now, everything sucks.

Ignis, despite being in the most unfortunate circumstance out of the four of them, is the one who manages to snap them all out of it. Prompto wishes he were that amazing.

Prompto is scared. Terrified. Heartbroken.

Noctis chases him down the train, lashing out wildly despite the dozens of civilians around them, and Prompto thinks they could at least do this where no one else would get hurt. But then Noctis has him pinned against the wall, his eyes tinged red with hatred and Prompto wants to scream, but his breath isn't working right, and Noctis snarls in his face.

“It's all your fault!”

Prompto shatters. His vision whites out and it takes everything in him just to speak.

“Do you really mean that, Noct?”

Of course he realizes now, as he blearily watches the train hurtle down the tracks, losing consciousness and unable to move, both from the shrieking pain and the despair of his best friend nearly ending his life, that the words were not meant for him.

The realization does not make him hurt less.

He's not sure where he is, if he's even anywhere close to where he blacked out. He's not sure how long he's been here, can't tell whether his scant meals of bread and broth are on a schedule or not. He's not sure why they're even keeping him alive. The only thing he's sure of is that Noct will come.

And of course he did, Prompto never doubted he would, only doubted if he was worth rescuing.

He collapses as soon as he's released, and Noctis falls with him, and they're both trembling on the floor and Noctis clings to him as if he can't bear to be separated ever again.

They stay like that for a while, Gladio and Ignis giving them privacy they don't deserve when they should be looking for the Crystal, but none of them care at the moment.

Finally, Prompto whispers, “were you worried about me?” and Noctis stares at him before letting out a breathless laugh.

“What kind of question is that?” and Noct kisses him, smoothes back his filthy hair and kisses him again, then kisses his cheek, his forehead, moves over to his ear and down his neck. And Prompto melts.

Prompto holds his wrist up to the machine and the soft resulting beep feels like a Mesmenir kick to the chest. He doesn't want to turn around, but he does because they at least deserve an explanation as to how someone they thought of as a friend was suddenly one of the things they hate the most.

“Turns out, I'm one of them.”

Noctis steps up to him and Prompto feels the world blur until the only distinct things were his pulse thudding in his ears and Noctis’ boots in front of him.

But Noctis’ merely takes his hand and brings it to his mouth, and presses his lips so gently against the barcode printed on his skin. He coaxes Prompto's hand to relax from the fist it had been clenched into and kisses his palm, then flips his hand over and kisses each one of his knuckles, then his barcode again for good measure.

Prompto watches him in shock, and when Noctis looks at him with his soft blue eyes, Prompto feels his lip tremble. He bites it to stop from sobbing, and Noctis brings his free hand up to cup his face, using his thumb to brush away stray tears.

“Since when did where you come from matter to you?”

Prompto can't do much more than give a sheepish, watery grin. Noctis wraps his arms around Prompto's neck and knocks their foreheads together, and Prompto holds onto him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

He's gone.

None of them know where he went, or if he's safe. They don't know what else to do, only know that Noctis will return, of course he will, so they wait. They wait for ten years.

Ten years where nothing felt real and everything felt like a nightmare. Ten years of darkness and daemons and an ever-loosening grip on sanity. Nothing but endless fighting and fear and death. Prompto finds it hard to believe there was a time he didn't know what dog tags were.

The only things keeping him sane were Gladio and Ignis, and even they weren't around all the time, spreading out to help individual clusters of survivors who were fleeing from one outpost to the next, hoping to get to Lestallum before the daemons got to them.

Other than those two, he had his photos, reminders of a time when the sun still shone and he could smile without forcing it.

When Noctis was here to play along with his selfies and ridiculous poses and photo ops. Here to spend lazy mornings with him in the tent, Ignis preparing breakfast and Gladio out for his morning jog while the two of them exchanged sleepy kisses. Here to be the only one to snort at his puns and then try to pass it off as a cough, the tiny smile on his face an indicator otherwise. Here to stay up with him when he had trouble sleeping, the cramped caverns and close calls weighing heavy on his mind.

Here to give his life meaning.

His hair is longer and his face more mature, but they all recognize him the moment he steps out of the truck. He smiles fondly at Gladio and Ignis, but when he locks eyes with Prompto, they both crumble. They stumble into each other's arms, Prompto grabbing desperately onto him as if he might disappear again. They pay the world no mind, simply holding each other, breathing each other in, and hardly believing this was real.

When they finally move for a kiss, their lips fit together as if ten years had never passed.

It's unfair, Prompto thinks, how cruelly Noctis was being taken from them.

He disappears in the middle of battle with no warning, no goodbye, and when he finally comes back, it's to tell them that he has to die.

It's unfair, he thinks, but it's even more unfair to keep the world in darkness just to keep himself happy.

Their last kiss is on the stairs leading up to the Citadel.

He stands above them and suddenly he's not Noctis the bratty prince. He's Noctis, the King of Light. He gazes down at them with so much trust and love in his face, and they bow solemnly back.

When Prompto looks back up, he doesn't even realize that he's climbing the steps toward him, barely registers the daemons that have begun spawning behind them and the others readying their weapons.

He takes Noct's face in his hands and kisses him hard, and Noct kisses him back just as hard. When they part, they're both crying and Noctis takes his coded wrist and presses it to his mouth, his lips moving against the banded skin as if in prayer, and then he leans in again, this time much more gently, and the kiss is soft and sweet and not enough and will never be enough.

They stop when Prompto chokes on a sob, and Noctis cups his face, brushes away his tears and looks directly into his cloudy blue eyes.

“Walk tall, my love.”

And then he is gone, ascending the stairs without ever looking back.

The sounds of Ignis and Gladio fighting behind him echoes across the courtyard, but Prompto can't bring himself to move.

He stands there, numb, staring at the doorway Noctis disappeared through. He stands, and stares, until a shock wave blasts out from the Citadel and suddenly the sounds of fighting stop.

When the sky begins to lighten, only then does he turn around, to watch the dawn bloom across the horizon.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #promptis #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #wordy words

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