autistic Bill Denbrough nation

Last Update: 05/06/2024

All fundraisers have been looked into by me or vetted by others. If anyone notices issues in validity with any of the fundraisers listed please let me know. Funding updates daily!

Fadi Al-Sharif and family ($10,439/$62,500 goal)

Hayam Taha and family (€8,718/€30,000 goal)

Deyaa and family (€7,764/€20,000 goal)

Fatima Alshanti (kr5,085 SEK/kr150,000 goal)

Shahed Ghazi and family ($6,776 CAD/$94,838 goal)

Little Yusuf and family (€5,960/€85,000 goal)

Sara & Huda Hajjaj and family ($240/$15,000 goal)

Mohammed JH Shamia's family (kr20,168 SEK/kr250,000 goal)

Maram Ahmed and family (€1,032/€30,000 goal)

Hamza Almofty and family ($3,772/$35,000 goal)

Mahmoud Jomaa (€400/€10,000 goal)

Dr. Mohammed Shara ($445/$20,000 goal)

Abdulrahman Alshanti and family (kr137,402 SEK/kr350,000 goal)

Besan Almabhouh's family (€5,767/€25,000 goal)

Said Tanani and brothers (€30,935/€50,000 goal)

Donia Tanani and family (€67,538/€100,000 goal)

Hussein Shamiya, his pregnant wife, and son ($8,042/$40,000 goal)

Mohammed Shamia and family ($15,020/$35,000 goal)

Amro Bakr & kids Bakir and Tala (€1,772/€15,000 goal)

Almadhoun family ($18,365/$80,000 goal)

Child Mohammed (€6,420/€10,000 goal)

Sana'a and family (£19,668/£50,000 goal)

Noha Ayyad and family ($23,050/$95,160 goal)

Nazmi Mwafi and family ($5,151/65,000 goal)

Ibrahim Almofty and family ($535/$40,000)

Hamdi Hejazi and family ($10,236/$25,000)

“You can tell me,” he says instead, voice soft.

Eddie turns to look at him, half his face pressed into the cushion of his pillow. They’ve been laying like this for two hours now, since they came up from dinner, bodies almost fitting into each other, but never touching—a crown shyness.

“It was on a business trip,” Eddie says slowly. “Ten years ago. We were passing through Nebraska…went out for drinks before checking into a hotel, and there was a man sitting by the bar. Young. My age, maybe.”

He’s quiet, then, for a stretch of time—mouth pursed at the ceiling like he’s trying to get something out. He covers his face in both of his hands as though to filter the shame in his voice, but it bleeds through.

“I was married.” It sounds like a wail, the way it’s ripped from Eddie’s chest, but when he pulls his hands away, his face is collected and dry. Richie feels an electric shock through his body, but keeps still. Memories of his own experiences, experiences with men in bars, creep in. “Men…they always say ‘oh, I was drunk’, ‘oh I wasn’t thinking.’ But. I knew what I was doing.” He sniffs. “When I offered to go up and order our drinks. When I told everyone I’d meet them back at the hotel. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

There is a sorry there, underlining the shame in his voice, but Richie isn’t sure if it’s a sorry—period or a sorry for not being sorry at all.

“Eddie,” he tries, a sense of impending doom seeping through his chest. Eddie closes his eyes.

“I kissed him on the sidewalk outside that bar and he slipped me the name of his motel and I…Richie I wanted to go. I wanted to go so badly. But it felt like… I was just on the edge of something. Just on the edge. And that if I did, the earth might open up and swallow me whole. And I wouldn’t come back.”

His eyes stay closed, and Richie wonders if he’s imagining it. The kiss. The kiss outside of some hole-in-the-wall bar in Lexington.

In his hands, Richie can feel it. The fold of a man’s dress shirt where it had been tucked into his slacks. The way his back curved into the press of his fingertips when he’d leant into him; soft, then hard, then relentless. He was twenty-five, looks no less strange than they’d always been, but at a peak where they could, at an angle, be mistaken for handsome. He’d just finished a gig earlier that evening; one on a list of self-booked tour dates that would send him from one side of the country to the other, alone in his mom’s beat up, old van, but not before being halted abruptly right here, in Lexington, Nebraska, by a man in a bar. Would catch sight of those freckles and spend the rest of the night making one drink last two hours, ridiculously hoping that when the rest of his friends left, he would hang behind. Must have hoped well enough, too, because he had.

Eddie lets out a huff of air. “You know I forgot his name by the time I was in the cab, but can still remember the room number? Like…like part of me is still hoping to go. Still trying to.”

Richie swallows. “208,” he said.

Eddie whips his head back to Richie. “What?”

“208,” Richie repeats. “208, it was room 208 and I stayed…an extra day I stayed before hitting the road in case…just. In case.”

His heart hammers humiliated in his chest as he watches Eddie’s mouth turn down, his eyes widen.

“Richie?” he says softly, name wavering on a lilt.

Richie just shakes his head, uncomprehending, and looks up at the ceiling. After a moment he feels Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, moving down to his chest, over his heart. It’s shaking, and Richie holds it in his own to steady them both.