#it stan

"He's hurt," Richie had shouted, "we can still help him!"

But no.

No, Eddie Kaspbrak was dead. There was no saving anyone from a wound like that and somewhere inside him, Richie understood that. His friend was gone. Maybe, someday, he'd learn to accept that. Accept that Eddie and Stan were gone; start writing his own material, stop hiding. Maybe someday.

But now? Now, Richie was terrified. The weight of what he did and could've done weighed heavy on his shoulders every time he thought back to Eddie's dying confirmation, or Myra's wails when Beverly broke the news.

He was the one who looked into the deadlights. He was the one who should've died. Not Eddie.

Richie thought back to what he saw in those few moments before disaster. He saw them– everyone who came back to Derry. He saw himself and Eddie — Bill and Mike, Ben and Bev.

They defeated It.

They killed It. It was dead and he saw them alive and happy— and then Eddie threw the spear.

Richie looked into the deadlights. Richie told him the spear could kill monsters.

It was his fault Eddie threw the spear.

It was his fault Eddie died when he did.

It was his fault.

His fault.

His fault.

His fault.

His fault—

He thought to Stanley. Would any of this had been different had Stan showed up? If Stan hadn't… done what he did?

Maybe Stan was the turning point. They were always a trio, after all – him, Stan and Eddie.

Richie smiled. They were a trio. Stan, their beacon of common sense; Eddie, their bit of paranoia, and Richie…

His smile fell. He didn't know what he was. All he knew was they liked his company and he appreciated that. A lot more than he should've. And now they were both gone.

Richie sighed and tugged grey fabric farther down his forearms. This wasn't fair. Ben and Bev got their happy ending– Mike was finally getting out of that damn town, Bill finally got his closure for Georgie… And what did Richie get? A dying confirmation that his feelings were reciprocated? What was he going to do with that? Mourn? He can't exactly have a life with a corpse.

...

He should visit Stan. Eddie wouldn't get a proper burial but Stan did. .. It wasn't Richie's fault Stan died. It wasn't Richie's fault they were a duo for a few days.

That unfortunately familiar sting reached his eyes and Richie forced a sigh, shutting them. They really should have left him in that fucking house. At least then they'd be a trio again. At least then he wouldn't have to be alone.

When he first came back to Derry, after 27 years of being by himself, Richie Tozier thought the last thing he'd be doing would be coming home mourning. He'd spent so long by himself, forgetting promises and loves he swore to remember, and now they were all gone. They were gone and the only thing to prove they were ever there was a dead man's hoodie and a knife carving in a bridge.

"R+E"

Leaving Derry as a child was the second hardest thing Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier had ever done, with the first being leaving the first person he'd ever loved in a creepy, crumbling sewer house.

If you asked him at age fourteen what he thought would take that place he would have told you one of two things. In a serious light? "Killing that fucking clown." In a not so serious light? "Trying not to fuck Eddie's mom."

He'd laugh about his answer and Eddie's complaining but they both knew what he meant. At age fourteen his answer would be a vulgar joke that, in their little language, translated to "trying not to love Eddie Kaspbrak."

He wouldn't be lying. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. The hardest thing he will continue to do.

He wasn't expecting much when he came back to his apartment. Same old depressing gray walls, shelves he never brings himself to dust, stained Craigslist couch, the works. He wouldn't have even thought to check his mail — hell, the only thing Richie wanted to do was to lay down and cry — but Bev's heart filled reminder forced him back outside.

He'd already lost two friends, he wasn't going to disappoint the rest.

Unlocking his sad little box and finding a small envelope left him confused at best. Had Bev sent him something? How'd she find his address? Actually, dumb question. From Mike… probably.

Stan's neat, small handwriting placed carefully on the front was the last thing Richie expected. He didn't bother reading whatever Stanley had put on the envelope, shutting his mailbox with more force than necessary and speed walking back to his apartment. He debated even opening the damn thing- the last thing he needed to read was Stan's suicide note. Or, even worse, a second dying confession.

After sitting and staring at the unopened note for what seemed like hours Richie sighed, tearing the top open. It might help him feel better, in a weird way of closure.

The sight of Stan's small script, just the same as when they were kids, was almost enough to make Richie lose what little composure he had.

Dear Losers,

The letter read. Fuck, two words and that stupid sting was already back in Richie's eyes.

I know what this may seem like, but this isn't a suicide note. You're probably wondering why I did what I did.

Yeah, no shit, Richie thought.

It's because I knew I was too scared to go back. And if we weren't together, if all of us alive weren't united, I knew we'd all die.

So, I made the only logical move. I took myself off the board.

… Oh. Richie didn't bother stopping the globs of tears starting to fall from his eyes. He didn't even feel them, just the burning of his sinuses and painful release and restart of pressure behind his eyes.

Did it work? The script almost taunted him.

Well, if you're reading this, you know the answer. I lived my whole life afraid. Afraid of what would come next. Afraid of what I might leave behind.

You left your wife behind, Richie distantly thought, you left me behind.

Don't. Be who you wanna be. Be proud.

More tears, that Richie felt, slid down his red cheeks.

And if you find someone worth holding onto, never ever let them go. Follow your own path, no matter where it takes you.

Think of this letter as a promise. A promise I'm asking you to make. To me. To each other. An oath.

See, the thing about being a loser is you don't have anything to lose. So, be true. Be brave. Stand.

Be Proud. Be true, be brave. Richie didn't think he was ever any of those things.

Believe, and don't ever forget we're Losers and we always will be.

~ Stan Uris.

Richie stared at that note for ten minutes, unmoving, before his phone rang. He knew from the ringtone it was his agent and he declined it. He couldn't deal with that shit right now.

He ignored seven more calls from his agent that day. He stayed cooped up in his depressing house with Eddie's hoodie and Stan's stupid note. He didn't know how many times he read it. He stopped counting after six, and it had been three days since then.

Bev had called the day before. Richie could hear Ben in a meeting in the background and all he could think about was how that should be Eddie or Stan. He loved Ben, and hearing Bev's sweet voice was a much needed interruption to his brooding, but he missed Stan and loved Eddie in a different way than he could ever love or miss a person again. Mindless lovesick confessions were sent to Eddie's phone number, and though he knew they'd never be read a tiny voice in Richie's mind told him this was wrong. Eddie didn't mean what Richie thought he meant. Why would he? Who would love the trashmouth who got them impaled? Not Eddie Kaspbrak, that's for sure. Eddie Kaspbrak had standards, standards that Richie couldn't fit if he tried. Eddie didn't love him. He didn't.

Richie didn't even love himself, why would Eddie?

… Actually, now that he thought about it for over two seconds, Eddie loving him even though it made zero sense.. made sense. That was how Eddie always worked, in ways that Richie couldn't understand. It was part of what Richie had loved about him since fourteen.

Okay, so Eddie loved him… what the hell was he meant to do now? He had been mourning. He had been pining for and longing after a relationship that couldn't happen since they were in middle school. Even if he wanted a distraction, his mind just raced back to Eddie. He could read the note again but hearing a "be who you wanna be! I'll love you regardless!" from Stan almost two weeks after he died would only make him spiral more. What could he even do with that now, tell him? Like, "thanks, Stan! I can tell your spirit I'm gay in confidence!"? He could vent to the others about how much he missed Eddie, but that would only depress them.

They got their happy endings. Richie wasn't gonna fuck that up for them. They were all mourning, they had all lost something when Eddie threw that spear. They missed him too, they didn't need another reminder he was gone.

Richie felt like he was that reminder.

He was a walking, breathing reminder that Eddie was dead. They didn't need a reminder from the reminder.

Ignoring yet another call from his agent Richie sighed. Maybe if he wished hard enough, Pennywise would come back and take him too. He knew it wouldn't happen, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

"I'm sorry I called you a sloppy bitch, can you come and kill me now? I won't even complain if you milk that Betty Ripsom thing!" He hoarsely offered to his walls. The concept of his personal grim reaper however wasn't a fan, and didn't respond.

I know what this may seem like, but this isn't a suicide note.

Did Stan… leave a suicide note? It was nowhere near his business but a part of him wanted to know. A part of him wanted to read it.

He thought back to the first time they went in that house. When he found his missing posters. He wonders if it ever clicked for the others that he was never scared of just going missing.

That same little part of his brain wondered if Stan went fast. If it hurt. If Richie could manage the same wounds on himself. Richie's eyes flicker across the hall to his bathroom before they close. A bath did sound nice… Beverly always said baths made her feel better.

That night Richie, Stanley and Eddie sat under the old oak tree by the Derry river. All age fourteen, not a fear in the world.

Richie's head lay between the two boy's laps, staring up at the shaking leaves several feet above him. He glances at his friends and smiles.

"I fuckin' love you guys," he says.

Eddie smiles and Stan shakes his head lightly.

"We love you too, Rich," Eddie hums.

"Beep-beep, moron," Stan says, lightly flicking Richie's forehead.

Richie grins. He's never felt more safe in his life.