#richie tozier is a bruce springsteen stan truthers unite

[neverwasreddie]

Richie doesn’t love visiting Eddie in New York right now, what with his divorce being not-quite-finalized and his house being not-quite-sold. Things between him and Myra seem amiable, at least, as far as Richie can tell, but it doesn’t mean he personally wants to spend any more time with the ghost of Sonya Kaspbrak than he has to.

But Eddie is wrapping up loose ends at work before his two-weeks’ notice is up, and he insists to Richie that he can’t fly out to LA right now, that it’s absolutely imperative that Richie keep his schedule clear to come see him, instead.

Richie plays nice and flies out to New York and even brings flowers to Myra as a peace offering, a “thanks for putting up with your almost-ex-husband’s best friend sleeping on your couch.”

Eddie will be moving out of that loveless townhouse soon enough, he figures, a thought that has absolutely nothing to do with him personally but still sends a little thrill through Richie every time he thinks of it, regardless.

Eddie meets his Uber out front, grabs him in a hug and practically throws his flowers inside the house with barely a word to Myra on his way back out. He doesn’t even give Richie a chance to step inside, just grabs his duffel bag and throws it into his own car and herds Richie into the passenger seat.

“We’re staying outside the city tonight, if that’s okay,” he says, swerving through city traffic and eventually navigating out of the city entirely. “I have something planned. Don’t hate it, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Richie says with a laugh, half-nervous and half-delighted, the way he always feels around Eddie.

They check into a hotel somewhere in New Jersey just off the Turnpike, grab something to eat, and then get back in the car. Before long, they’re pulling into a crowded parking lot outside of a massive football stadium.

“Eddie, no offense, but I’m probably the wrong guy to bring to a football game.”

“It’s not even football season.” Eddie rolls his eyes good-naturedly and continues manhandling Richie, this time out of the car and up to a long security queue outside the stadium. “It’s a concert. Promise me you’re not going to hate it, all right? These tickets were expensive. You have to have fun or I’m not hanging out with you anymore.”

The fact that Eddie seems nervous weirdly calms Richie’s nerves, though his heart starts pounding as they make their way inside the stadium and up to their seats. They’re in a decent spot in the crowd — not floor seats, but not nosebleeds, either, and fairly centered in front of the stage. But Richie has been taking note of the merch tables on the way in, all the T-shirts worn by the guests around him, and he can’t stop his hands from shaking.

“Eddie,” he says, leaning in to be heard over the rising din of the crowd, “don’t tell me this is what I think it is. I’m gonna fucking die if you brought me to a Bruce Springsteen concert.”

Eddie whips his head around to stare hard at Richie. “I did. Why? Do you not like him anymore? I thought you loved him. You always used to listen to him in high school.”

Richie did always love Bruce Springsteen, and still does; that’s the problem. The amount of nights high-school Richie wished on shooting stars and called in to radio contests, praying to win Bruce tickets so he could take Eddie to a concert, to make it a real date…it’s all he ever dreamed of, and to have it now, without the deeper meaning behind it, is breaking his heart just a little.

But it’s also the best thing anyone has ever done for him, and he can’t help it if his eyes get misty and he has to throw his arms around Eddie and squeeze him tight.

“Alright, alright, I get it, enough,” Eddie laughs as the opening chords blare through the stadium. But when he pulls back, there’s something glimmering in his eyes, and he briefly rests a hand on Richie’s cheek before turning to the stage.

Halfway through the show, when the Boss is crooning about ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away, how it’s a town full of losers and he’s pulling out of here to win, Richie turns to Eddie and squeezes his hand.

“When your 2 weeks at your job are up,” he says quickly, “when your divorce is finalized. Don’t stay here. Come to Los Angeles. Come live with me.”

The final harmonica notes are fading out by the time Eddie’s incredulous frown is smoothed away into a look of disbelief and then, miraculously, a smile.

“Hell yeah,” he says quietly, then again, louder, over the booming opening chords of the next song. “Hell yeah!”

He squeezes Richie’s hand back and then keeps holding on, doesn’t let go for the whole show.

[neverwasreddie]

literally is there anything more richiecore than bruce springsteen. short little fireball running around onstage kissing another man directly on the mouth. singing songs about leaving your small town. “born to run.” “I got a bad desire, oh, im on fire.” “sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull and cut a 6-inch valley through the middle of my skull.” “thunder road” and how it would feel to drive through town at night with eddie in his passenger seat blasting this song at top volume with the possibility of Leaving hot on their minds. “it’s a town full of losers [Losers], I’m pulling out of here to win.” werewolf metaphor richie and “hungry heart.” richie desperately trying to hide who he is hearing “brilliant disguise.” once again can I just say “i’m on fire.” “thunder road.” “baby, we were born to run.” i simply cannot stress this enough.