runtowardsomething | (no subject)

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eddie kaspbrak

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She shouldn't be so tired. At least, Beverly can't stop thinking so, though she knows that's probably not really how it works. If she was actually asleep for two days, then it seems like it should stand to reason that she should be well-rested, full of energy. But even with a little while having past, she doesn't feel like she was asleep, still struggling to try to make sense of what happened. She was unconscious, but not dreaming. The others were with her, and as far as she can tell, experiencing the same thing. Richie was fucking dead, but he's here now, apparently having just woken up when it happened, despite the rest of them spending days in that other world, mourning him.

Though she's seen him now, she still feels like she's doing that a little. The feeling isn't one that goes away so easily. Even if he's fine now, it still happened, in some way; they all still lived it. It's not the only reason why she's so fucking exhausted, but it definitely doesn't help on that front. Part of her wants to get back in bed, or maybe lie down on the couch and watch stupid TV all day, otherwise doing nothing. She doubts it would matter much to Hopper as long as she's here for him to keep an eye on her. At the same time, she wants to be with her friends, the people who were going through this shit, too. It's all disorienting and nothing quite feels real, and although she doesn't want to make this about her, to admit to how fucked up she is when she's pretty sure the others all have it worse, she thinks the only way to combat that is together.

When she sees Eddie's text — Richie's not dead but he's still an asshole — it's too late for her to actually get the news, but she responds and winds up inviting him over. At least when she gets up to answer the door this time, she's not as sluggish as she was when Richie came by earlier.

"Hey," she says with a thin little smile. "Some morning, huh?"

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Eddie was reluctant to leave Jamie, and reluctant to leave Richie, but even if he didn't remember being cooped up in the Home for the last few days, the staff and the nurses all breathing down their necks was already starting to freak him out. So, he jumped on Bev's invitation, hurtling himself downstairs and out the door, and was already halfway there on his bike before he realized just how awkward it might be to see her, after everything they'd been through— all in their heads or not.

Still, when the door swung open and he saw the sad little smile on her face, Eddie was hit with a rush of gratitude. For a while, it had only been the two of them, and standing in her doorway, it was like being back to those first months in Darrow, when they were the only two people in the world who could really understand each other.

"Ha ha! Is it still morning?" He said, sounding a little crazed as he slipped past her, trudging over to her couch and flopping down onto it, face first.

Edited 2019-10-11 17:34 (UTC)

Though the circumstances are anything but, it takes approximately ten seconds for this to feel bizarrely, refreshingly normal, something for which Beverly is more than a little thankful. Everything is still a goddamn confusing mess, and she's tired and sad and barely able to make sense of it all, but at least some things haven't totally changed. Others undeniably have. She can't put her finger on it yet, but she can feel it, some shift that occurred when they all fell asleep and woke up in a different world, when Richie got himself fucking killed, even if they were all here and safe at the same time. It didn't happen, but it did, and there's no undoing that.

It makes her glad for Eddie's presence, the familiarity of it. Any of her friends, she'd have been glad to see right now, but it feels especially true with Eddie, who, for a while, was her only friend here, and who was the only other person from home in that fucked up world after they lost Richie. She knows, of course, that it was hard on the others there, too, but it's different with him, or it feels like it to her.

"Apparently," she deadpans, closing the door behind them before following Eddie over to the couch, finding a little bit of unoccupied space to take a seat. "Doesn't feel like it, though." It doesn't feel like much of anything, like she's really here, but she wouldn't know how to explain that feeling if she tried.

Groaning, Eddie flopped over onto his back and shifted to rest his head in her lap. Like he so often was, he was struck then by a moment he'd forgotten: A muggy, summer afternoon at the quarry, sitting awkwardly on a rock and staring, dumbstruck, at her in her bra and panties. They'd all acted so weird about her, this girl upending the delicate balance of the five of them, everything about her mysterious and a little scary, even after she fit herself into their group almost seamlessly. Like she'd always been there, a Loser just like the rest of them, before they'd even known it.

"So, that fucking sucked," he said after a moment, gesturing dramatically with his hands.

In spite of herself, in spite of everything that's happened recently, Beverly lets out a laugh at that. It comes out sounding a little choked and sad, but her expression as she looks down at him is mostly just amused. He's not wrong. It's the understatement of the goddamn century. Even now that they're here, and everything could be or should be back to normal, saying that it fucking sucked barely begins to cover it. She knows Eddie is as aware of that as anyone else, though, if not more so. She's also not sure what else could possibly said, at least not right now.

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "You can say that again." As strange as it all is to try to make sense of, she's glad to be home. She never thought she'd feel like that about a place. Everything still feels so heavy, though, and her expression softens a little after just a moment. "How're you doing?"

"Kind of awful," he admitted, frowning as soon as the words were out. "I mean, okay. We're all okay. I should be okay, but it's..."

He shrugged. If anyone could understand, despite his complete inability to use his words, he knew it would be Bev.

"Did you see him?"

Though she wouldn't have wished for it and immediately feels guilty, Beverly finds that it helps a little having Eddie say that he feels awful. It might be self-explanatory after everything, but at least she's not the only one. Even without much of a description, she thinks she gets it, too. They are and should be all okay. They're back now, safe again, and Richie is alive and well. It's not that simple, though; it can't be shaken off so easily. Richie died, and she still feels the weight of that, plus all it dredged back to the surface, like it really happened, because it sort of did. That it's been undone now doesn't change what they went through or how it felt.

"He came by," she answers, sounding a little distant, her fingers absently toying with the hem of a throw blanket on the back of the couch. "It still doesn't... It happened, you know? Maybe we were here, but it happened, all of it."

Eddie nodded, feeling the warmth of her thigh beneath his head. The edges of his vision blurred as he looked up at her, and he rolled his eyes at himself, sniffling like that might somehow suck the tears back up into his head. Ugh.

"I yelled at him," he admitted. "He just stood there, not saying anything. I've never seen him like that, it was weird."

"Richie not saying anything? That does sound weird," Beverly says, though it doesn't come out as wry as she intended. Everything might be fine now, at least on the surface, but this just isn't the time for jokes. Seeing the look on Eddie's face and the tears it looks like he's trying to hold back, she's not sure she could manage to be anything other than serious, if not morose.

At least Richie is around to say anything at all. No matter how relieved she is by that, though, she still feels like she's grieving.

"I hadn't seen your text yet when he showed up at the door. It felt like seeing a ghost."

"Ugh," he groaned, blinking rapidly to try and clear his eyes of the tears threatening to spill over.

"This fucking sucks. It wasn't even real, I don't get why it still feels..."

So awful, he thought. It was barely more than a dream, but he couldn't remember feeling this bad. The only thing that came close was a memory he barely remembered— sitting at home with his arm in a cast, aching and miserable and itchy and alone.

He sat up abruptly, wiping his palms hastily across his damp cheeks.

Edited 2019-10-28 17:33 (UTC)

"I guess because it was real, while it was happening," Beverly says with a halfhearted shrug, dutifully pretending not to see the tears in Eddie's eyes, though she shifts on the couch a little and slides her arm around his shoulders when he sits up. She won't draw attention to it, but she can still be here. She really wouldn't want to be alone right now anyway, though she's had a hard time admitting to just how far from okay she's been in the wake of all this.

"It doesn't just... get undone because he's back now, and we are. Which fucking sucks. It should be fine."

She curled an arm around his shoulders and he didn't shrug her off, even if he instinctively wanted to, if only to wallow in the hurt of it all. Instead, he reached down to grip one of her hands. Her palms were sweaty, or maybe his were, but he didn't care.

"I wish we were all here," he whispered, like a secret. "I can't remember Ben's face that good anymore. Or Mike's. I don't get why it's like this, it shouldn't be like this."

Sometimes he forgot their names, too. There were seven of them, he could always remember that, but it often took way too long to fill in the blanks of them in his mind.

"I don't, either," Beverly says, her voice hushed in turn. She glances down as she speaks to the scar on her other hand, the one she only barely remembers getting. It's kind of scary how much is just gone, or mostly faded, or hard to summon up. Scarier still is wondering how much more would be lost if she didn't have a few of her friends here, even if Eddie is right and it should be all of them. At least the ones who are here have each other. Fuck, at least Richie is okay, though she can't quite shake off the weight of that loss.

"Things come back to me sometimes, but it's... not all there."

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