A/N: Aaaand I'm late again. Yay.

⚠️Trigger Warning: Homophobic slur⚠️

Eddie shivered slightly, drawing his arms close to his body as the chilly winter air wound through the town. He surveyed his surroundings, coming to a stop at the Kissing Bridge. A carving caught his eye, and he moved cautiously over to examine it.

R+E had been etched in the wood. Eddie felt his face flush as he traced the rough letters.

"Stop it, Eddie," he muttered. "It's someone else."

But he couldn't squash the hope blossoming in his chest. What if Richie-

No, he couldn't have, it's someone else, it's got to be someone else.

"Hey, flamer!"

Eddie turned around, heart racing. Patrick Hocksetter stood behind him, grinning maliciously. Fuck.

Eddie stood up, trying to push past him. Patrick grabbed him by the wrist and roughly dragged him back. "Not so fast, faggot."

He struggled wildly, trying unsuccessfully to elbow Patrick. But Patrick was older than him, and even though he was thin and gangly, he was wiry and pinned Eddie's arms to his sides with seemingly no effort.

"Let me go!" Eddie spat. "Fucking let go of me!"

Patrick ignored him, dragging him towards the edge of the bridge. He slammed Eddie against the fence, knocking the breath out of him. Eddie tried (unsuccessfully) to mask the mounting panic on his face.

Patrick breathed heavily in his face and Eddie recoiled. He was pushed further and further backwards until he was dangling from the edge. With one swift motion, Patrick shoved him off the bridge.

The water crashed around him, sending chills through Eddie's body that were so severe he almost blacked out.

Currents pulled Eddie sharply down the Canal. He was a fairly strong swimmer, but he felt as though ice was coursing through his veins, shutting off his body and making it increasingly difficult to stay conscious.

Waves shoved him underwater and Eddie surfaced again, gasping for breath. He fought his way through the water, finally nearing the edge.

As he reached out a desperate hand, something closed around his wrist. At last, Eddie clambered onto solid ground. He coughed out water and collapsed onto the earth.

Eventually, he gathered the strength to look up at whoever had pulled him up and gasped in horror.

His head was shoved roughly underwater again as Patrick Hocksetter grabbed him by the neck and plunged him under.

Eddie thrashed and struggled, but his head was held firmly under. Just as he was sure that his lungs would burst, Patrick pulled him up.

One, two, three seconds of relief, then his head was immersed in the frigid depths again. He yelled, but his voice was muffled in the water. No one could hear his screams.

Surely someone would notice he was being drowned, surely someone would come to his aid, but no one came. Maybe no one was out, maybe no one noticed.

Or maybe it was just the town. Derry. It. It didn't want them to see, so they didn't see. It was as simple as that.

The rhythm was repeated again and again. Each time he emerged from the water, he tried to yell, but it was hard enough to get a few solid breaths in, much less make any audible noise.

He had the murky beginnings of an idea, but god, it was so hard to form conscious thought when he could barely breathe.

Patrick pushed him under again, and this time, he went limp. After a few seconds, Patrick released him. Eddie flung his head out of the water and shoved him, sprinting. Water stung at his eyes, blurring his vision, and as he collided with someone, he was sure it was Patrick, Patrick, back to shove him under, and this time he'd really drown, wouldn't he, this time, the water still filling his lungs and killing him-

Eddie let out what was meant to be a scream, but it turned out as more of a weak choke. He stumbled back, his breath short and wheezy. Someone was yelling, but not angrily- Eddie thought they sounded more concerned than anything. But he couldn't see, he couldn't focus on anything-

He felt as though he was still in the Canal, with the currents shoving him under and freezing him and dulling his senses and-

"Eds!"

It was Richie. Richie, not Patrick. Eddie collapsed in his arms, coughing out water and shivering like mad. "Hi, Rich . . ."

Ignoring Eddie's immediate protests, Richie took off his jacket and wrapped it around Eddie, pulling the freezing boy towards him. He gently walked Eddie to his house, piling blankets over him.

"What happened, Eds?" Richie asked quietly.

Eddie rested his head in the crook of Richie's shoulder. "Patrick," he whispered. "He p'shed me into th' Canal and-"

His voice broke. He couldn't recount Patrick shoving his head underwater, he couldn't tell Richie the way he held him below the waves, the way panic had coursed through his body, the certainty that I'm going to die I'm going to die here Patrick is going to murder me-

Richie sucked in his breath, his face clouding over. He was silent, and for a few moments Eddie thought he wasn't going to say anything. But then, he said, "You . . . you're still ice cold. I could go draw you a warm bath or-"

"No," Eddie said sharply, fear spiking through his body at the thought.

"Okay . . . a shower?"

"No," Eddie repeated, just as firmly. He wrapped his arms around his body, curling in on himself.

Richie sighed. "Eds, we need to warm you up somehow. Why-"

"I can't." Eddie's voice trembled. "I can't."

Richie stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, then his face softened. "Oh."

Eddie stood up, feeling light-headed and increasingly drowsy. His lungs felt heavy and he let out short, labored breaths. Richie stood up too, his brow creased in concern. "Eds, are you-" He extended his arms and the last thing Eddie remembered was light filtering through the windows and reflecting off of Richie's glasses before he blacked out.

Eddie's eyes fluttered open. He felt as though his head had been cleaved in two.

He took in his surroundings. He was in what was clearly a hospital bed, a handful of doctors and nurses around him. One doctor bent down in front of him upon finding he was awake and smiled at him. "How are you feeling, Mr. Kaspbrak?"

"Um." Eddie didn't know how he felt, all he knew was that he was in a room surrounded by strangers and he just wanted Richie. Or any of the losers, really . . . but especially Richie. "Okay, I guess."

"You blacked out," the doctor- who, according to her name tag was Dr. Lee. "What do you remember?"

Eddie shifted uncomfortably. "Where's Richie?"

"Your friend?" Dr. Lee asked. Eddie nodded. "He's outside. He'll be allowed in soon."

"Can he come in now?" Eddie hated how pitiful his voice sounded, but he couldn't help it.

Dr. Lee sighed, but nodded. A nurse left, presumably to get Richie. The doctor turned back to him. "We think you have mild Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Do you know what that is?"

Eddie's stomach dropped. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"Our estimate is that you will make a full recovery, but you're lucky. ARDS is-"

Just then, the door was flung open and Richie rushed to his bedside. "Eds oh my god-"

The doctor cleared her throat softly, though she looked more faintly exasperated than angry. Richie gave her a sheepish grin and settled himself next to Eddie, discreetly holding his hand.

Dr. Lee kept talking, but all Eddie could focus on was the soft pressure of Richie's hand against his. He smiled slightly. Yeah, he was gonna be okay.

A/N: Wow, I promised you 5 consecutive angsty whumpshots and here I just wrote a happy ending, smh. Fear not, more angst will come.