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dated: Oct 5/6

It's been over a week, and nothing has happened. Nothing bad, anyway. Her family is getting used to the idea of her strange, uninvited friends crashing with them. So far, everyone's followed the rules, and most of the people who'd followed her here have enough of a grasp on Sign Language to hold and follow silent conversations.

And thanks to her mom, Regan's able to keep people somewhat entertained with board games that won't make a racket.

But it's still weird. Regan still doesn't know how she's here, or how all of her friends are here, too. She's come home, but she remembers Darrow. She didn't think that was supposed to be possible.

And yet here she is, standing off to the side while she watches all of these people that she's grown to love and care for, trying to adapt to this new, silent life. How long will they be here for? Is this forever?

It's time to get more fish, because the incredible excess of mouths to feed means they're going through their food much faster. Some of the people who'd come along are more than capable of fending for themselves, so Dad organizes them into groups, with whoever he decides is trustworthy and smart enough to keep people safe and quiet to lead each one. Regan can tell Marcus is relieved he doesn't have to go.

But she still wants to. There are enough people that she allows herself to get easily lost into one of the groups, and they make their ways out, each going in different directions. It's just smarter that way. The fewer people going through the same sandy path, the less likely they'll be to make a fatal mistake.

At least, that's the plan.

It's nice to get out of the yard for awhile, anyway. Some people have stayed behind to help Mom and Marcus get more sleeping areas set up. If they start to think this is permanent, then they'll probably have to find a way to house everyone. They can't all cramp into one space. That's a surefire way to get killed. But for now, spreading out beds is a good move. People need their privacy, and their space.

She doesn't know how it happens. She doesn't know the cause. But suddenly, people are trying to scatter, trying to hide.

And there's a creature. They move so fast, it's easy to overlook them, but she sees it. She'd recognize those movements anywhere, she thinks. And her body responds in instinct, hands clamping over her mouth and staying stockstill.

[ Another gathering! As before, jump in at any point in the post that you want to. Be one of the hunting/foraging parties that gets attacked by one of the creatures, or stay at home and maybe have an encounter of your own! Tag each other, tag around, utilize the NPC Abbott family as needed. Whichever group you want Regan to be apart of, she will be, because Darrow is MAGIC and reality is what we make of it XD be the reason the creature hears your group, or be part of a group completely unscathed and just have a nice little vacation trip to the waterfall! As before, any questions you have can be directed here, and I'll do my best to answer them! ]

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I don't want to die.

Richie remembers saying those words, in some far off, faded memory, one that's just as hazy as about a million fucking others when it comes to Derry. But he remembers being so fucking scared— they all were— and just wishing they could all go home. That they could just walk away from all the bullshit they'd gone through and just go to the arcade or the movies, or anything else.

That'd be really fucking great right now.

Frantic, he looks around them, but there's no Regan, no Jamie, no one nearby to help, and he can't call for any of them. But even from where he's standing, he can see Eddie starting to shake. Even if Richie could think of something, there's no time for it, because any second now, Eddie's going to break, Richie's sure of it. He knows his friend is brave, but Richie can't see how anyone could stay still and quiet for so long. And there's an ache deep in Richie's chest when he thinks of what happens next.

That's when Richie remembers. If there's a louder noise... the monsters will go after that instead. Fuck. Richie clenches his hands into tight fists, and realizes he's started shaking too.

I don't want to die.

"HEY SHIT SNACK!" Richie shouts at the top of his lungs, and it almost surprises him, how steady his voice sounds, "LEAVE MY FRIEND AL--"

The creature moves impossibly fast.

And Richie Tozier is gone.

At first, Eddie wasn't sure what he'd even seen. One moment, Richie was there, and then he wasn't. There was a blur, and then he was just gone.

Eddie thought he would've cried out. Would've shouted. Would've done something. Screamed, NO!.

No, don't, are you fucking crazy?

But he just stood there. He stood there, the blood rushing in his ears, and there was a sudden, quiet rush of movement to his left, and he thought, for a moment, that he was about to get taken too. He didn't even care. Okay, let it happen, he thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his chest, but suddenly, there was a big hand clamped over his mouth, arms locked around him, lifting him up before he even realized he'd been about to collapse, his knees no longer carrying his own weight.

They were moving. Silent, again. Someone was crying softly, but Eddie knew it wasn't himself. He walked or was carried, Regan's father's grim face hovering over his, hands pushing him, keeping him on track. Eddie kept looking for Jamie, and he thought maybe he was there, someone's hand gripping his as they walked, but his head was so fucked up, he couldn't be sure.

Nothing felt real. Even in Neibolt, when things were at their scariest, he'd known he wasn't dreaming. Now, he kept waiting to wake up.

They shuffled into the house, what was left of them, and it was then, walking through those doors, the faces of everyone who'd stayed behind peering at them with wide, curious eyes, that the thin thread holding him together finally broke. Quickly, he was herded into the basement, the door shut behind him, and he hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs gasping.

The crotch of his jeans was wet and cold. He'd pissed himself, but he couldn't remember when. Not standing there on the path, the creature lurking at his back, maybe, but after. In that moment, the look of resignation and triumph and then terror on Richie's face, just a split second of it before he was gone. Oh God, oh God. The burn of shame in his belly had little to do with piss, or the snot dripping from his nose. He was making sound now, ragged gasps as he struggled to breath, but careful. Careful. They were safe, locked away in a sound-proof room, but Oh God, it was my fault. Oh God, oh God.

His throat was ragged, his voice a strangled wheeze, realizing too late that he was saying all of this out loud.

Edited 2019-10-08 03:51 (UTC)

I hadn't seen it happen, but I had heard it. I had heard Richie's voice, sudden and deafening in the heavy silence of the afternoon, and I'd turned, stricken, toward the sound. There was no mistaking his voice, no mistaking why he would be shouting, and I was moving before I could think about it, sprinting silently toward where I was terrified I would find nothing at all but blood.

Regan's father beat me there and scooped Eddie up as he all but collapsed and I wildly looked for Richie. What I saw instead was a smear of blood on a tree and Richie's glasses lying in the grass, the sun glinting off the lenses.

I wasn't really there as we started to move. Somehow my hand found Eddie's, but everything was numb and all I could think about was that smear of blood and I kept imagining the crocodile lumbering through the trees. Different creatures, I tried to remind myself, but maybe it didn't matter. The ache was the same. I heard Richie shouting to divert the creature's attention to him instead of Eddie. I saw Sal putting herself between the crocodile and Charlie. People I loved protecting the others I loved.

"It isn't," I said in a hoarse voice. My legs wobbled, but I made my way toward Eddie before they gave out and my knees hit the floor in front of him. I had seen so much death, witnessed so many friends taken apart, I had dug their graves with my hands, but that didn't change the horror of it. Or this. But it also wasn't Eddie's fault.

I touched his shoulder with my numb fingers, slid them toward the back of his neck.

"It isn't."

I could say that a thousand times and it wouldn't change Eddie's mind. I knew because I still blamed myself for Sal and for every lost boy before her.

"The hell it isn't," Eddie seethed, turning angry, wild eyes on Jamie, whom he hadn't even heard come down the stairs. He jerked under Jamie's touch, ready to pull away, but as quickly as it had come, the anger left him, and he let out another strangled, anguished sound, his hands curled into white-knuckled fists against the basement floor.

"Did you see it? Why would he do that? All we had to do was be quiet, why didn't he just stay quiet?" He pleaded, gasping for air, each breath rattling through his chest. You don't have asthma, you idiot, he thought to himself, but then why was it so fucking hard to breathe?

I hadn't seen it, so I shook my head, but as I looked at Eddie, I knew exactly why he'd done it. Because I would have done it, too. If there was any chance in the world the creature would have tried to go for Eddie, I would have shouted my head off in a second to make sure it didn't happen.

I thought it was likely Eddie already knew that, but I didn't know if he would want to hear that as the reason.

At some point I had started crying, the same way I always had with the boys. Silent, stinging tears that felt like they were burning my skin as they fell, but I never made a sound. Never sobbed. They just slipped out of me.

"I want to go home," I whispered before I could stop myself.

Eddie nodded, unable to speak, and as he did, he realized that he didn't mean Derry. Of course he didn't. Derry hadn't been home for a long time. But the thought of going back to Darrow without Richie, having to explain to everyone what had happened, having them look at him and just know that it was his fault, somehow. If only he'd been smarter or quieter, if only he'd stayed back at the house, if only...

He took in small, dizzying breaths, swaying until his forehead bumped against Jamie's, one hand reaching out to grip at Jamie's sleeve.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," I said. More than anything, I wished I had an answer. I wished I knew a way to get us back home, back where scary things happened, but our friends didn't die. I wanted to have some way to undo what had just happened, I wanted to find a way to make Richie okay and here, but as always, I felt utterly helpless.

I had to go back, I knew that much. I had to go back and find what was left. Richie's glasses. Anything at all. He deserved to be buried and put to rest and if no one else was going to do it, I would. I had always done it for my boys.

Bit by bit, feeling came back into my hand. Eddie's skin was hot under my palm, his forehead warm and damp against mine. I was so scared and so sad and every part of my body hurt. I wanted to wrap around Eddie and stay there and never have to move again.

"I don't know," I said again. "I wish I knew, I wish I could fix it, I wish I could just..." I stopped and exhaled shakily, then clung tighter to Eddie.

"I feel sick," he said mournfully, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, his breath still coming in desperate gulps. Sitting back on his heels, his shoulders shook, a broken sob tearing from his throat before he could stifle it.

He felt small and weak and so, so tired. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep. Sleep until things made sense again.

He sat quietly for a moment, hiccuping and panting raggedly, then finally admitted mournfully, "My jeans are wet." Splotches of color stained his cheeks, his eyes downcast, hands fidgeting at his sides.

I wasn't sure what I felt because it had been such a long time since I'd last felt it, but I remembered it so clearly. I had stumbled onto the beach, seen what remained of Sal, and something inside of me clicked off. That was what it felt like now. Like an important part had been turned off and if it was turned back on, I was afraid I would never be able to stop crying.

When Eddie spoke, I looked at his jeans and realized what he meant and when I looked up and saw the pink in his cheeks, the bit that had switched off switched back on. Maybe just a little, but it was enough. I rose up onto my knees and hugged Eddie, hugged him tight, burying my nose in his hair as I cried softly, letting myself feel that for just a moment.

"We should find you some clean clothes," I said after a moment. "And... god, Eddie. We need to find Beverly. I don't want someone else to tell her."

Guilt seized tightly at Eddie's throat. He hadn't even thought of Beverly. He hadn't thought of much of anything, really, but now, it seemed wrong that he hadn't gone to her immediately.

Nodding, he sat a bit stiffly in Jamie's arms, not because he didn't want him close, but because he couldn't say for sure if he deserved to be comforted. Everything felt wrong, somehow.

Sitting back, he sniffled wetly, rubbing a trembling hand sheepishly across his cheeks. "I think she's out back," he whispered hoarsely, his hands going to his fly. He stood, walking over to the laundry sink in the corner. There was a hamper of clothes, there, some of them belonging to Regan, some of them belonging to her brother. Eddie began stripping out of his jeans distractedly, hardly thinking twice about it.

They'd always been careful about getting completely naked in front of each other, even when they'd shared a room, but standing in the sickly yellow light of Regan's basement, Eddie forgot to care.

Edited 2019-10-09 01:32 (UTC)

This felt harder than it had ever been before. Perhaps because, on the Island, it had felt like I was the only one who cared. I was the one who looked after the boys when they got sick, I was the one who patched their wounds, I was the one who buried the dead and made sure their last resting places were marked so we could pay our respects and talk to them if we needed to, but I was the only one who had done that, too. I was so used to mourning alone that I realized I wasn't sure how to help someone else in this state.

So I just stayed close. I passed a clean pair of jeans to Eddie, took the dirty clothes from him and put them in the hamper with the others. I touched his bare back briefly, the whole of my palm between his shoulder blades for a moment. It was meant to be comforting as much as it was taking comfort.

I wanted to hold Eddie's hand rather desperately, needing to feel that, but I looked at him questioningly as I reached for him. It felt so awful, not knowing what to do.

Cleaning himself up as best he could, Eddie pulled on the jeans Jamie gave him, his eyes downcast. He didn't mean to, but he jerked under the gentle touch of Jamie's hand, his breath hitching, tears prickling his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, sniffling as he pulled on his t-shirt, his movements slow and clumsy. As they made their way towards the stairs, Jamie reached for him, but he kept his arms folded across his chest, feeling small and barbed, like he might hurt Jamie somehow, just by being too close.

He was careful as he pushed open the hatch, peeking out into the house, eyes flickering away at the glances turned his way. Every one of them felt accusatory, pitying, and he just wanted them all to go away.

"Have you seen Beverly?" He signed to someone, nodding when they pointed towards the garden.

It isn't that she gets used to it. It would have to feel real for that, and it doesn't, even when days pass and they're still here. She's numb, maybe, or something like it. When she first got to Darrow, it didn't matter all that much. She was moving away from Derry anyway; there was nothing that being uprooted meant she was leaving behind that she wouldn't already have been doing so in the first place. This is different. She misses what she's come to think of as her home; she's grateful for Eddie and Richie and Jamie, but she misses her other friends, and Hopper. Just the idea of having a life she feels that attached to is still kind of foreign, but it happened, and there's nothing she can do about that now.

There's nothing she can do about this, either, but go with it. At least Regan's parents are nice — better than her own ever were, in a way that makes something small and sad and often ignored twist in her chest — and have taken to having a bunch of strays in their home better than most would. In turn, she's tried to make herself useful, not wanting to be a burden or more trouble than she's worth. At least she's used to keeping herself small and quiet, taking up as little space as it's possible to. It's just a different sort of monster she was trying to keep herself safe from.

Having gone out with a group earlier today, she's been back for a little while now, out in the garden mostly for something to keep her hands busy. Even with the pressure to stay quiet, the fresh air helps a bit, too. Everything is so still, so peaceful, that, if she didn't know better, if Derry's small town facade hadn't masked an insidious darkness, it would be hard to believe what kind of evil lurks out there.

Busy with what she's doing and facing the other direction, she doesn't notice anyone is approaching until the person beside her nudges her and gestures for her to turn around. She dusts her hands off on her legs as she gets to her feet, about to smile at the sight of Eddie and Jamie, until she gets a look at the expressions they're both wearing. Immediately, she pales, her eyes going wide with worry, heart already beginning to race. "What is it?" she signs, teeth catching absently on her lower lip. "What happened?"

It hurt when Eddie didn't take my hand and I quickly folded it back under my arm, then shoved both my hands in my pockets and then took them out again. They felt useless, like they were meant to be doing something else, and I was reminded all over again that I would have to go back before it got dark.

I wondered if Eddie and Beverly would want to come with me or if it was something I should do on my own.

When we reached Beverly, I couldn't smile. She knew something was wrong, I could see it in the way her eyes widened, in the pallor of her skin, and almost even before she was signing her questions, I had my hands up.

"Inside," I signed. "We should go inside."

This was something that needed to be said. I didn't want Beverly to have to try and piece together the sign language when even I wasn't anywhere near fluent in it.

Eddie didn't say anything. He couldn't. All he could do was meet Beverly's eyes, which was hard enough, and give her a small, nearly imperceptible nod.

We should go inside, it said. Trust me, you don't want to hear this out here. There were too many people watching. Too many eyes. And those things were always listening.

Without waiting for an answer, he turned to head back into the house, his arms still folded tightly around his middle, like he needed to hold himself together.

The response is hardly a reassuring one, serving only to put Beverly more on edge, her hands curling around the hems of her sleeves. She can't argue with that, though. She can sign a little, but none of them is fluent, and inside and downstairs, they'll at least be able to have a real conversation. Whatever this is about — and it's hard to stop herself from listing a bunch of possible worst-case scenarios — it'll be easier if they can actually talk, rather than stiltedly signing out here in the backyard.

Trying to ignore the twisting feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, she nods in turn, then glances over at Jamie as Eddie walks into the house. There's nothing to do but follow along, keeping her breathing calm and her steps even until they're safely in the basement. She exhales then like she's been holding her breath, glancing between the two of them with obvious worry.

"What's going on?" she asks, a shaky bite in her voice born out of fear. "Tell me."

I knew what happened, of course, but I hadn't seen it. I'd only heard Richie's voice suddenly loud and shocking in the heavy silence of the forest. I knew Eddie thought it was his fault, I knew Regan's father was probably with her now. And I knew I had to go back eventually, but not yet. This was more important.

I felt out of place suddenly. As if this should have been a private conversation between Beverly and Eddie. Richie was my friend, too, but it wasn't the same. He had known them both for much longer and they were close in ways I couldn't have been. They had experienced things together and I knew how that bonded people to each other. How it meant something deeper than it might have otherwise.

"I didn't see," I started to say, my voice shaking a little. "We were out and I was gathering mushrooms and Eddie and Richie were... they weren't far away. Just... far enough." And none of this mattered. It didn't matter what I had been doing or why. I closed my mouth suddenly, feeling stupid and sick.

Eddie didn't know how to do this. With the door closed, the basement felt impossibly small and stifling, like the walls were closing in on them. Or maybe that was just the way they were both looking at him, waiting for him to speak, when he was so breathless his vision had started to grey out around the edges.

He sat down heavily on the last step, his eyes fixated on a water stain beneath Beverly's feet.

"Richie's dead," he said flatly. He was emotionless for all of five seconds before dragging in a hiccuping breath, his hands flying up towards his face to hide the way his expression crumpled under the weight of it. We're just kids...

"It just... it moved so fast. I'm sorry, Bev. I'm sorry."

"What?" Beverly asks, the word a small little exhale as the breath leaves her lungs. She's frozen like that for a moment, staring at Eddie in stunned confusion, almost as if waiting for some cruel punchline — for Richie to jump out and declare the whole thing a joke, some fucked up forced levity in a nightmare of a world. She knows better than that, though. The look on Eddie's face, or what she can see of it before it's covered by his hands, tells her all she needs to know. They wouldn't joke about something like this, anyway, not with all they've seen and survived. It wouldn't happen.

It just doesn't make sense. They've all been in danger since they got here, and hardly for the first time — she thinks, fleetingly, of swinging the fence post through that fucking clown's face in the dirty kitchen in the house on Neibolt, a memory that comes back to her just long enough to hold onto — but even with as loud as Richie often is, she can't imagine that he's just gone now.

She shakes her head. "No, that's not—" That's not how he dies, she thinks suddenly, but she doesn't know why, and she can't make sense of that, either. It's gone a moment later, anyway. Trying to breathe is getting more difficult, her chest constricting, and she helplessly glances from Eddie to Jamie, her eyes starting to sting with tears. "No. Not Richie." Not any of them. For either of these two, for Stan back in Darrow, the people who've become the family she never had, it would have been the same.

Edited 2019-10-11 01:53 (UTC)

All I could do was shake my head helplessly when Beverly looked at me. I wanted to be able to tell her it wasn't true, that of course not Richie, because that would never happen to him. It would never happen to any of us. But he had been there one moment and then gone the next and Eddie had seen it. Eddie had been forced to watch it happen and that was the end of it.

There was nothing else I could say.

I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes and found the tears had dried up. I was expecting to find tears, but instead I was just angry. I was angry that we had been taken from our home, angry that we were forced to live with monsters, angry that one of them had killed Richie. I wanted to scream and punch something, but all that anger was pointless and directionless.

"It's true," I whispered in a broken voice.

He wanted to say a hundred things. That he was sorry. That they never should've left the farm. That Richie was stupid and an asshole and it was all Eddie's fault.

But he couldn't say anything. He sat, with his face buried in his hands, trembling silently. There weren't any more tears left in him to cry, but he couldn't bring himself to look at Beverly and see all the horror and disbelief he felt reflected back at him in her eyes.

He didn't want to look at Jamie, who was so angry that Eddie could practically feel it.

If she had the presence of mind to consider it, Beverly would be grateful that they brought her inside to tell her this, and not just because they would all have had to fumble through signing the conversation otherwise. In that moment, she isn't thinking about where she is or the rules of this place, except to consider briefly that it's probably incredible that the two of them got back here safely. Keeping quiet here hasn't been particularly difficult for her, at least not as much so as it's been for some. Now, though, it wouldn't even occur to her to try to hold back the choked little sob that catches in her throat, her breath wavering as tears start to spill down her cheeks.

She still keeps herself small and contained, out of habit as much as anything else, but the relative isolation and safety help. Being around only people she trusts as much as Eddie and Jamie does, too, useless as she feels when they all have to shoulder this. It's still difficult, nearly impossible, to try to process the idea of Richie being gone, after all they've all been through. Their reactions make hers feel more present, though, and once she's started crying, she doesn't know how to stop.

Jamie is closer to her, so he's who she reaches for first, taking and squeezing his hand in some sort of solidarity. When she lets go, it's to cross the few steps between them and take a seat next to Eddie, close at his side on the step. "I'm sorry," she says to both of them through her tears, though she doesn't know why. For Richie, or because they were there, or maybe because she wasn't and couldn't do anything to try to help her friends, irrational as that may be. "Fuck. Richie."

Beverly's hand in mine was warm and reassuring and I thought we were both trembling, but it didn't matter because it was the both of us. It was probably Eddie, too, though I felt like I couldn't reach Eddie or like he didn't want me to. I knew it was foolish to let that hurt me, especially at a time like this, but maybe it was because it was a time like this that it did.

So I squeezed Beverly's hand almost desperately and when it was gone I missed it.

"I'm sorry I didn't... I wasn't close enough," I said, although I didn't know what I could have done. I had seen the creatures now and they were different from the Many-Eyed. They looked stronger, harder to kill, and I had nearly died killing the Many-Eyed that had left my arm scarred with those circular burns. I didn't know what I thought I could have done.

Eddie lifted his eyes sharply to Jamie's face, a crease etched between his brows. What the hell could you have done? But he wondered, and for a split second, allowed himself to blame Jamie for not being there, for leaving him alone to watch Richie die.

Immediately, he felt like the worst boyfriend ever. The worst person ever.

His breath hitched and he turned towards Bev, putting a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, but beyond that, he didn't know what to do. How the hell could he comfort someone when he didn't know how to accept it for himself?

"Don't," Beverly says quietly, her voice breaking on the word as she looks up at Jamie through red, watery eyes, her head leaning against Eddie's shoulder. She hasn't seen these creatures that she's been told about, but she knows there's probably nothing anyone else could have done without getting themselves killed instead or as well. As much as she wants Richie back, she wouldn't have wanted that, either; she'd be sitting here crying over Jamie if Richie had lived but he hadn't. She gets it, though, the desire to protect one's friends at all costs. If she'd been there, she would have wanted to do something, too.

It's strange to think so, but they were lucky, back in Derry. They had each other, and in the end, that was enough. Here, sticking together, outnumbering their enemy, doesn't do shit.

"We should do something," she adds, the words abrupt in the quiet. "For him. I don't know what, but..." She remembers how scared Richie had been when those posters showed up all over Darrow, declaring him missing like so many of the kids in Derry. At the time, it was unsettling; now it makes her feel like she might be sick. They owe him that, she thinks, to not let that happen now. "I think he'd want that."