now and then

V. Two Storms

then

"Richie, you're hurt," Eddie observes with a consummate frown.

"Huh. Yeah. Guess I am," Richie observes also as he lays flat on his back on Eddie's bedroom floor, staring cockeyed at the large scrape on his knee. It's large. Very large. He must have gotten it from some sharp branch on that bitch of a tree. He bets Sonia planted it. Woman was always out to murder him.

"I think I'm gonna pass out," he says, punctuated by his head falling with a loud bump back against the carpet.

Eddie is already racing over to him with his unzipped fanny pack, rifling through it like it was a Mary Poppins bag with no bottom.

"Richie, c'mon, sit up."

"Hnnngg..."

"Quit being a baby. Sit up on the bed."

Richie does—he uses all of his strength to push himself up onto the edge of Eddie's bed. Eddie's bed. With blue bedsheets and white pillows. Where Eddie sleeps and dreams. Eddie lays here every night, and it smells like him.

Richie avoids placing his hand down on the comforter and staring a little too reverently.

"What'd you do that for, 'Chee?" Eddie asks as he kneels to place a neon green Band-Aid on Richie's scraped knee.

Richie shrugs; looks anywhere but down at Eddie.

"Wanted to see you 's all."

Eddie frowns some more. "It was stupid. My mom could've heard you. And you could've died."

"What? I was so quiet! And could not. Broken a leg or an arm, maybe, but—"

"And you're bleeding all over my room." Eddie's hands are on his hips—angry, but it's so adorable.

"Eddie, relax. I'm not gonna get any blood on you, or your room. You fixed me up so good—see?" Richie wiggles his knee, where you can't even see the scrape anymore. "Good as new."

Eddie still pouts. "But you got hurt. I don't want you to get hurt just trying to see me. 'S not worth it."

Richie's eyes turn downward. Eddie had been out of school for a week now. Every time Richie had knocked on his front door to ask what the hell was up, Mrs. K said it was a bad cold, and had slammed it back in his face.

It was not a cold. Eddie had called him this afternoon in tears. He had spent the week in and out of doctor's offices and emergency rooms—poked and prodded with needles and a bunch of other bullshit tests. There was nothing wrong with him, but last Monday, he had raised his voice at his mom. Said something that made her real angry. She spent the week convincing herself, and every doctor within ten miles of Derry, that Eddie had thyroid disease, that made him irritable, and a bunch of other bullshit symptoms.

But he didn't have that either.

Eddie had not called him on the phone before, so Richie knew it must be serious. Hearing him cry wasn't very fun, either. It was pretty much the worst sound Richie had ever heard. So not seeing Eddie tonight had never really been an option. And if Mrs. K wasn't gonna let him in through the front door...well. Then, he needed to get creative.

Because Eddie was worth it.

"'Course I had to see you, Eds. You got hurt first. And worse than me, anyway."

"I didn't get hurt, Richie." Eddie looks confused.

"Yeah, you did. She hurt you."

Eddie's eyes go a little big. He starts to stare blankly off into the distance. He looks like he's thinking really hard.