Richie's been wandering around for at least half an hour by this point, yelling and shouting and being routinely ignored by staff. They probably all know that he punched someone by this point, so he can't exactly blame them, but it doesn't make things any easier. He can hear just fine, but his vision's gone totally white, as though he's walking through a thick cloud of smoke. He keeps one hand on the wall and the other outstretched, reaching, grabbing at passersby, begging for their aid, until --

...you fucking clown!

Eddie. That's Eddie's voice. Richie's heart seizes up and for a second he stills, shutting his mouth, trying to figure out which direction it came from.

"Eds?" he shouts, hoarse and panicky. "Eddie, is that you, man? Where the fuck are you?! What the fuck is going -- "

He's about to say more but he's suddenly grabbing someone by their... arm? It feels like an arm. He squeezes and doesn't let go, his unseeing eyes opened wide, his expression one of utter desperation.

Please let it be him.