runtowardsomething | (no subject)

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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"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."