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writhingcreature · 5 years ago

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Lovers ~ Ep. 1: Chapter 1

Summary: As senior year at Derry High begins, Bill Denbrough is faced with the anniversary of his brother's death. Meanwhile, the rest of the group has trouble letting go of the past

Episode Length: 8000+ words

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It was raining outside. You could hear the thick raindrops plopping against the window almost methodically. The sound was rhythmic and peaceful, the sound sinking into one's skin and loosening up their muscles. The sky was cloudy, but not so much that it blocked out the sun. Even when it rained the sun still shone on Derry. I guess only nighttime could truly conquer the blazing sun.

William Denbrough was making a boat. No one called him William and when they did it was usually a teacher or parent and he was in trouble, so to say he much preferred his nickname, Bill, was an understatement. Bill's fingers traced along the binding of a notebook as he carefully tore the page out, one hand gripping the end of the other side of the page as his other followed along the rip lines to make sure it was a clean tear. He began to carefully fold it, a frown on his face and his eyes centered on his work as he leaned in a little. Everything he did he liked to do well, but this was a boat and if Georgie was going to be able to float it, it had to be perfect. He didn't want the younger boy to come home crying because it had sunk.

George Denbrough was sitting in a corner. He had a very short attention span. Even after meaning to pay attention, he still ended up at the window, his finger tracing the fogged up glass to draw two dots and a curve underneath. A smiley face. George, like his brother, didn't hear that name too often- unless he was lost in a store or running too far away on a walk. People usually called him Georgie. Bill called him Georgie. He preferred that name, especially when it came from Bill.

Thinking of Bill, Georgie frowned. "You sure you won't get in trouble, Bill?" He asked his older brother, turning from the window to the boy he was speaking to.

Bill, sitting on his bed, paused in making the boat just for a second. "Don't be a w-wuss," he scolded. "I'd come with you if I weren't-" he cut off to cough twice. "Dying." Bill was still in his pajamas, comfy and warm. And he intended to stay that way.

"You're not dying!" Georgie insisted as he stood, a little irritated and a little worried. He didn't like the idea of Bill ever dying.

"You didn't see the v-vomit coming out of my nose this morning?" Bill asked far too innocently, fighting a smile as he began the boat making again, finishing up.

"That's disgusting." You could hear the scrunch of his nose and the curl of his lip in the way he said the word, but Bill could also see those things on his face and both almost made him crack and begin laughing right there.

As Georgie began to approach the bed, Bill had just about finished. One last thing... "Okay, so get the wax."

Georgie shifted his weight to his other foot, his stomach suddenly filled with a funny feeling and his fingers feeling itchy. But not itchy like they needed a scratch- itchy like they needed to move. He just didn't know what to do with them. "In the cellar?" He asked, his disgust and joking gone and his voice a little quieter.

"You want it to f-f-fl... float, don't you?" Bill's stutter would truly be his downfall one of these days. He and everyone else were convinced of this.

"Fine," Georgie sighed, his eyes falling to the ground as he began moving around the bed and toward Bill's bedroom door. On his way out, he grabbed a walkie talkie as Bill wrote "SS Georgie" on the hull of the paper boat, finally finished and waiting for its wax coating.

The smile on the window fades finally, giving way to the rain outside and the warmth inside.

Georgie makes his way through the house, to the cellar door. He passes his mother on the piano, and feels a little comfort from the sick feeling in his stomach at the familiar, safe curve of her face. She has the same look Bill does when he's concentrated on something too. Usually hers only comes out for big tasks or things she wants to do perfectly, since she does almost everything out of habit or years of practice and therefore doesn't need to focus on them too much to do them well. Georgie is thankful for just a second for the family genetic, and then he has moved on and he can no longer see his mother and he takes a silent breath to try and loosen up his body, which has begun to get more tense the closer he gets to the cellar. He wonders why he feels like this. Maybe he's getting sick too...

The door is white, but when Georgie sees it it might as well be covered in blood. It couldn't scare him more if it was, he had already reached peak fear. Or, so it seemed at least. Suddenly the music his mother is playing sounds... haunting, above anything. He realizes the weird feeling must be fear, as it grows and begins to twist his insides into knots. He's silent as he stops just before he can see into the darkness below, staring at the door as he tried to decide if he wanted to gather his courage or just call it a day. But then he thinks about running back into Billy's room, shaken up and refusing to go into the cellar just because- because what? It was dark? No. Bill would tease him his entire life for this one incident, even if he never did it again. Georgie could already hear the, 'Whats the matter Guh-Georgie? Still afraid of monsters in the c-cellar?" Even in Georgie's mind, Bill stuttered as an adult Momentarily he wondered if Bill would ever get over it... and then that distraction helped him take a step. And another. And then again. Suddenly he was slowly but surely clunking his way down the steps of the shadowy cellar steps, his heart racing and his breathing audible now and his eyes fluttered everywhere, never settling anywhere as he tried to take every corner and fold in. Just in case. Georgie can't hear his mother on piano anymore. He pauses, unsure once again. How is he ever going to get to the wax if he takes this long?

As if the thought summoned him, the walkie-talkie goes off, causing Georgie to jump as it made the static sounds of connect before Bill snapped, "Hurry up," on the other end. It wasn't too harsh a command, but Georgie still felt himself curl away from the device he held. But perhaps that was the fear he felt mixing with the sudden unexpected noise and the terrible idea of angering Bill, rather than Bill actually being angry. Bill was rarely angry, if ever. Never around Georgie at least, unless Georgie really pushed his buttons. And when that happened there was no reason to be scared if Bill himself. Just... the thought of even just disappointing him... no. Georgie hated it.

Georgie noticed the room smelled a little strange. Almost sweet, like rotten fruit. He shook his head. His parents would worry about it if it needed worrying about. No reason to get jumpy.

Taking in a breath, he began to move again. Climbing down the stairs until he was all the way down, eyes scanning the shelves much more slowly and more purposefully now. Looking for something specific instead of scanning the unknown for something much worse than the bad feeling that cake after Bill got mad at him.

"Where's the box? Where's the box?" He whispered to himself, filling the silence and reminding himself why he was here.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he froze, eyes slowly rising to the wall in front of him as he finally found the box of wax, but completely forgot why he was looking for it. His mind was far too occupied with the sudden feeling that something terrible was about to happen. That something horrible was watching him. Crouched in the darkness. Not coming closer, but sitting further back, licking its lips and waiting for him to move towards the stairs before jumping out and devouring him. He turned around slowly, stiffly. Immediately his eyes caught two little pin points of what looked like light. Georgie's breathing grew faster. The little lights looked to be eyes. The creature he so feared was looking at him. Stalking him from the darkness. He could imagine hands opening and closing as they itched to reach for him. Shaking, his eyes flew to the side as he looked for- Ah! There it was!

He turned back to the little maybe-eyes as he flicked on the flashlight, revealing- light bulbs. Two little lightbulbs, probably reflecting light from upstairs. He had left the door open after all. Georgie found he could suddenly breathe again and he shook his head, trying to clear it. What a silly thing to get so worked up over. Thunder crashed, echoing, and Georgie was kicked into gear as he full on sprinted to the stairs and up them, never pausing to turn off the light or close the door as he booked it to Bill's room.

Thankfully Bill didn't point out the slightly shaky state of his little brother, who took comfort once again from his mother who he could once again hear in the piano, and the same older brother that might laugh at him for needing comfort at all.

Bill had moved to his desk, the boat on top. He motioned Georgie over and the younger boy came, handing over the can of wax. Bill immediately got to work with a thick paintbrush, not as focused as before. Much more relaxed. Georgie hovered a second before pressing his chest against Bill's back, resting his chin on Bill's shoulder. His brother's warmth and the movement of his body made him feel even better and in just a second he forgot his fear altogether.

"Alright," Bill finished, picking up the boat and handing it over to Georgie, a little smile of pride on his face at his finished work. "Sh-she-she's all ready, Captain."

"She?"

"You always call a b-buh-boat she," Bill explained.

Georgie smiled. "Thanks Billy." And then he opened his arms and hugged Bill. Bill hugged back without thinking, both of them smiling. After a second, Bill's hands shifted so his fingers pressed into Georgie's sides- they wiggled. Georgie giggles softly, squirming away as Bill chuckled along, smiled turning to grins and the room lighting up and warming with the interaction. "See you later!" Georgie called as he jogged through the room with the boat in one hand, his other reaching out to scoop up his rain coat as he passed by it. "Bye!" The small boy was out the door with excitement too soon, and Bill felt... odd. He had forgotten something. Something that was poking and prodding at him. He just had to do something. Something important.

It clicked in his head as he stood up quickly, moving to the window slowly, eyes scanning the rain mess for his younger brother. When he saw Georgie, the child waved enthusiastically, the grin still on his face. Bill wondered how Georgie couldn't feel the sudden nervousness he himself did. Perhaps he was just being weird. "Be careful," he spoke into the walkie-talkie anyway. The boy ignored him and Bill swallowed before quickly adding, "I love you." He didn't know why he did it. What possessed him to. It sounded like such a deeper goodbye, and the feeling of unease grew.

Georgie paused upon hearing his brother. He turned back to the house, raising his own walkie-talkie to reply, "I love you too Billy." And then all too soon once again, Georgie was out of sight and lost in the rain.

Bill turned away from the window, staring intently at his bed before shaking his head and then taking a deep breath, forcing a soft smile before it came more naturally, the bad feeling fading away. It would all be fine.

It was a sunny day, which seemed so very wrong. The sun rays filtered through the curtains that attempted to block it out, warming and brightening the room without permission. The warmth was suffocating, rising anxiety and making the still boy inside feel anxious to move, even though he couldn't quite get the energy to leave his spot on his bed. If only the sub would go away... but no. Even when it rained the sun still shone on Derry. I guess only nighttime could truly conquer the blazing sun.

William Denbrough was crying. No one called him William and when they did it was usually a teacher or parent and he was in trouble, so to say he much preferred his nickname, Bill, was an understatement. Tears traced trails already set in his face from ones that had fallen before. He was on his back, staring at his ceiling with messy hair, in his pajamas. He had only had the ability to kick his blankets off before his mind set and he realized what day it was, causing him to fall into the nearly comatose state he was in now. There was a voice in his head, from a boy he knew what seemed forever ago now. Five years. A smile he missed. A laugh he so wanted to hear. A hug he desperately needed. Things he would never get again from the boy that was long gone from his life.

His door opened slowly, quietly. A flare of red enters the dark room and there stand Beverly Marsh, tall and grinning. She moves to the curtains first, allowing Stanley Uris into the room as well. Stan - this is our Mr. Uris, who, like Bill, goes more often by that name than his full one that's been reserved most often for moments of scolding or professional settings - was smiling just as Beverly was, but the one he wore was much more strained. Forced. As the sun was allowed to come in more, Bill thought to himself that it was Beverly's smile that really light up the room. Not the annoying sun he wanted to disappear on a day the whole world should be mourning.

Beverly moves to his bed, a hand moving to her hip. "Oh come on, Bill, you have school today. No sitting in bed all day." She looked at Stan who was on the other side of the bed. The interaction seemed almost scripted, the positions familiar and broken in. They'd done this exact thing - or something very similar - quite a few times it seemed.

As if Bev's look was a cue, Stan moved forward. "Mike brought one of his warmest sweaters today. It's blue so it'll go really well with your eyes." His smile was a little more natural. Small and soft and warm.

Stan and Bev both moved to either sides of the bed, offering Bill a hand to help him sit up. Bill sighed before taking them, allowing them to pull him to his feet. Bev pulled out a well work t-shirt from Bill's closet, setting it on his bed. Stan set Mike's pullover he'd had tied around his waist until now next to the shirt. He got a pair of shorts and set it on the other side of the jacket. "We'll be in again in a bit." Bev left a little kiss on Bill's cheek and then both of his friends left the room. He was alone.

Bill stared at the clothes laid out for him. He felt small and stupid, requiring this from his friends. He also felt lucky that they were so obliging to do it every year. Usually he was fine, but when this day hit it was impossible to cope. It helped that his parents always went on a vacation or trip without him to distract from the pain they felt. He was allowed to be alone and didn't have to waste energy conjuring up a happiness for their sake. Plus, his friends could just walk in and take care of him without his parents getting on his case about it.

Legging loose another sigh, Bill began to change out of his pajamas and into the outfit left for him. The shirt was familiar and soft. The jacket was a little big on him and it felt like a hug. A little heavier than his own sweaters, and long enough to hide his hands if he pulled his arms in. The outfit was perfect. Comfortable and warm and soft and familiar and a representation of everything he was lucky to have. Friends that had his back. A found family that understood and cared about him, even if no one else did.

He left his room to see Stan and Bev chatting about a book outside of his room. The conversation died as Bev's eyes moved to Bill as he approached them. Her smile was almost as soothing as the sweater and when she put her arm around his shoulders, he couldn't help but relax a little.

The house smelled amazing. The trio moved to the kitchen where Ben and Mike we're making breakfast. Eddie and Richie were bickering about which ice cream flavor was best, getting heated about how Strawberry wasn't anything compared to Chocolate and how Vanilla was a waste of time and Rocky Road was absolutely amazing but not quite as good as dick-

"Beep beep Richie," Bev and Ben said at the same time. They looked at each other, both wearing amused smiles. She winked at him and he was suddenly very interested in breakfast again.

"Stanley the Manley!" Richie cheered. "Tell the Spaghetti boy that vanilla ice cream is NOT a waste of time and that the sweet simplicity let's you add anything you want and that he's just jealous because he could never produce such a sweet necture himself."

"Gross," Eddie groaned.

Stan seemed to consider for a second. "Are we completely ruling out cookie dough ice cream?"

Bill moved further into the room, taking a seat at the table. "Breakfast will be done soon," Ben said as he joined, leaving Mike to finish the rest. Eddie and Bev sat down too. It seemed that Stan had taken Eddie's place in the argument, and it was goikg a lot more insistently now. Before it had been obvious that Richie and Eddie were bickering to fill the silence, but now it almost seemed that Stan and Richie were just going back and forth simply because that's what they always did. They got into dump arguments that lasted hours because Richie had the kind of connections in his brain that took forever to explain, but totally lined up once he did; Stan was just very straightforward and good at debating. Richie was simply stubborn and set in convincing Stan, and Stan was just as stubborn on not being convinced. They finally realized everyone's migration pattern when Mike announced that the food was done and began to move things to the table with Eddie's help. Everyone sat down - Stan and Richie, across from each other, still adding little comments and new thoughts about ice cream flavors they'd forgotten or new points to consider - and began eating.

It was hard to breathe around the food and through the thick atmosphere. The sun shone through the curtains as Bill stared at the sausage and hash browns and eggs and pancakes that all looked and smelled so good. The meal that he otherwise would have inhaled was now scraping against his mouth like sandpaper. He couldn't appreciate it so he ended up just staring at it, wishing he could enjoy it. Wishing he could enjoy anything. Next to him, Ben leaned closer so their shoulders were touching. He pretended he wasn't doing it on purpose, but he wasn't lowkey enough.

Bill's love language was physical touch. Hugs and hand holding and clothes that were comfortable were what comforted him. This show from Ben was a way of comforting without bringing attention to Bill's emotions and thoughts- even if it wasn't necessary since everyone at the table noticed. It was just something none of them ever said out loud. Not today.

At some point Stan and Richie's argument turned to a new topic, and Mike mentioned something about a new book he was reading and Ben picked up the conversation so the two went back and forth. As with the earlier attempts, it was lacking the usual gusto and felt a little awkward and strained. Any silence was suffocating and every pause seemed to stretch eternities. Bev, across from Bill, leaned closer and began to tell him about a bunch of random things. Gossip. The latest fashion and how she didn't like the turn it was taking for some people. New designs she had in mind. Some pieces she wanted to work on. A little while back Bev had picked up a hobby of taking her old clothes and clothes from thrift stores and making them better. More her current style, or "cuter" or more in fashion. Then she'd give it to someone or wear it, changing it again if needed. She was really good at it and it gave her a lot to talk about.

Sometimes Bill thought Bev would be better as an actress than a seamstress. As good as she was with clothes, she was still eternally better when it came to pretending nothing was wrong. While everyone else struggled and Bill didn't even try, her words were easy and her smile was bright and her posture was relaxed. She was casual and made everything seem a little better- just like always. Nothing changed on this day when it came to Bev. It amazed him. Maybe it was that she'd never met Georgie... but neither had Mike or Ben, and they felt the tension too. How did she do it?

Practice.

Now that was a thought he REALLY didn't want to think about.

Her warmth and ease was contagious. As they cleaned up after breakfast and got on their bikes to head to school, there was a sudden relaxation that wasn't there before. Richie rattled off jokes and comments and jabs as usual, and Bev laughed at every single one. She egged him on and cheered everyone up at the same time. She made the sun bearable and the air easier to breathe with her laughter. She pulled smiles from each of them, and for the first time ever no one told Richie to shut up or rolled their eyes or shot comebacks at him or threw a "beep beep" in his direction. They all just smiled and laughed and enjoyed his voice that never left room for the silence that allowed too much time to think and remember. Remember dark tunnels that had a burning, terrible smell that sunk into their skins and never left their clothes. Remember a small boy with a bright smile and messy hair and the best intentions. Remember red hair and glowing yellow eyes, and rows and rows of razor sharp teeth ready to slice into them if they let their guard down for even a single second...

When they got to school, it was business as usual. Locking up their bikes and heading inside. Bill noticed randomly and suddenly that they all held their backpacks differently. Eddie had both hands on the straps of his backpack, while Richie had only one strap on his shoulder. Like Eddie, Stan had both straps on his shoulders but held only one of them in his hand. Bev had a shoulder bag that her hand loosely kept hold of, while Ben wore both of his two straps like Eddie and Stan while he left his hands dangling by his sides. Mike, who wasn't quite used to school yet even though he'd been going to public school for a little while now, had his bag by the loop on the top as he left it slung over his shoulder. He had a strapless bag and hated to keep it at his side because the students around them too often kicked it out of his hands. Bill himself wore only one strap of his backpack like Stan, but kept his hands by his sides like Ben. These similarities and overlapping details somehow eased Bill. He was one to notice small things like this when he was anxious. Perhaps it was his mind that did it. The same mind that wrote stories with the kind of details that painted out a scene in a reader's mind. The same mind that could recollect and recreate images on paper that seemed so realistic only because it had depth and character- hairs out of place, a car going by, a sign in a shop window- and on and so forth.

"Bill?" The boy's head snapped over to Stan, who was looking at him expectantly.

Feeling sheepish, Bill rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, what was that?" He hadn't been paying attention.

Unsure of what exactly had been on Bill's mind, Stan tried not to let his worry show. Sometimes when Bill got too quiet and spaced out too much, his mind went to dangerous places. Especially on days like today. "I was just asking when the last time you got a new jacket was. This one has a hole, and cold season is just around the corner." It was never REALLY cold in Derry, but Stan's sentiment was always there and well meaning.

Bill thought a second, trying to recall when he'd gotten his current jacket, which indeed had a hole and was getting quite worn down. "I think- two Christmases ago?"

Stan glared. "You have to get a new jacket. Immediately. Honestly, what would you do if I wasn't here to remind you?"

This made Bill's heart drop into his stomach and for a second, he remembered.

"Bill!" It was a whiny call and that was probably the biggest reason the older Denbrough even acknowledged it. "It's so late, Billy, why are you still awake?" The boy standing in the doorway was bleary eyed and had messy hair- he had obviously been a sleep until something had woken him up and carried him into the doorway he was in now. Perhaps it was the light from Bill's room.

"I know what time it is-"

"It's midnight."

That surprised Bill. His irritation vanished as his eyes flickered to his clock, which was too far away to catch his eyes unless he looked over at it, like now. That's probably how so much time had passed since he'd last looked at it. It was indeed far too late for him to be awake. He had gotten so caught up in the current art project he was doing that he'd lost track of time. He softened, looking back at his brother. "Thanks, Georgie. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Yeah." The word came out a croak, his throat and mouth suddenly far too dry. "I'd loose my head." He forced a smile but it was too tight. Strained and awkward.

Stan felt sick. Bill had remembered. He had remembered something. Something that had hit him hard and upset him deeply. He only made that expression when he had remembered. "Uh, yeah." Stan blinked, trying to get his mind in order.

"What kind of jacket will you get?" Eddie jumped in helpfully, trying to cover up Stan's blunder and continue distracting Bill.

Bill cocked his head. "There are more than one kind?"

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd ask that question. Of COURSE there are! There are different designs and patterns and colors. Come on."

There was a second that Bill considered this. "I don't know which one I'll get. It'l depend on where I go and what's there."

"Get a brown one," Mike chimed in. "The dirtiness doesn't show as much and you don't have to wash it as often. Then it'll last longer." Eddie and Stan both stared at him like he'd just had a ginormous bug crawl out of his mouth. "What?" He asked, unsure what he'd said wrong.

"Or get a blue one!" Bev piped up, not allowing Stan and Eddie to reply to Mike and divert attention from the positive thoughts and feelings. "It'll go with your eyes and make them pop out more. It'll be a great look for you!"

"I mean you guys are only thing one color here," Richie added next, his hands moving to enunciate how into this he was getting. "Get one with ALL the colors." He wore a shit eating, excited grin that almost got Bill to smile.

Shaking his head, Bill rose an eyebrow as he said, "I think the spot for dressing like a clown is already taken by you, Trashmouth."

Richie's smile wiped off his face. Stan jumped in to snag Bill's attention away so he wouldn't be able to think about what he'd just said. "I like Bev's idea with the blue. I think if you went yellow it would work really well for your hair, since you have some blonde highlights. Or maybe a blue and brown. A combination of colors might actually work."

"I have to go," Richie suddenly choked out, his tone suddenly dead and dark and his eyes a little spaced out. "I- I have to get to class."

Bill went to ask what was wrong - because when Richie was upset, it rarely showed, so to have such a drastic change in character was startling - but Eddie spoke up first. "You're right. It's almost time. Let's go." The two boys had first period together so they headed toward it together as well. It was a relief to Richie, who didn't want to be alone as something he'd tried so hard to forget replayed over and over in his head.

A yellow rain jacket clutched in Bill's hands. The same coat moments before on a small boy. A boy that was so different than Richie remembered. A coat that Richie had seen Georgie Denbrough wear and treasure for nearly three years now. It was a hand-me-down from Bill, who'd never worn it but had meant to. He'd just had a growth spurt before he could use it. Before that though, Bill refused to let him touch it. He said it was special from mom and dad, and he didn't want Georgie to mess it up- not even on accident. Bill had complained for weeks after it had been too small and Georgie had gotten it, but Georgie secretly told Richie that he loved it. It was a little too big when he first got it, and that's why he had it so long. Georgie thought the jacket precious.

"It has to be special if Bill was so upset when I would touch it," Georgie explained one day, with that same bright smile and eyes full of light and life and excitement and pride.

That same boy, in the dark room with the floating bodies and the large piles of trash and the terrible smell, wore the yellow jacket that until now hadn't gotten a single speck of dirt on it that Georgie wouldn't furiously clean off. Except the bright yellow was dim and faded and crusted with muck and mud and grossness that made Richie sick. He had wondered at the time how Eddie and Stan were handling the dirtiness, when even a speck of dust usually bothered them.

Georgie, with a tarnished jacket, for the first time ever, didn't smile. His eyes were blank and lifeless. And just a few moments later, Bill would plant a nail between his eyes and the Georgie that so wasn't Georgie wold become taller. His limbs would grow longer. He would become... would become...

Eddie's hand was solid on Richie's shoulder. "Rich?" His gaze focused on Eddie's brown eyes that he found himself let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Eddie. Eddie was here, clean and pristine. The only blemish was the frown that curled his lips the wrong way and the deep concern in his gaze.

"Sorry." Richie cleared his throat and shook his head to clear it. "I was just-"

"Remembering?" It was a grim silence as they both took a break from the forced emotions they had to keep up around Bill. It was Bev and Stan's plan in the beginning, but once they'd done it the first two years it had sort of become unspoken law and now they all did it without thinking about it. Expressing how horrible this day made them all feel was rude to Bill, who had been hurt by all of it the most, arguably. Richie nodded without speaking. "I do it too." Eddie took a breath, mirroring Richie's head shake to push away his own dark thoughts. "This morning, on my way out, I was making lunch and accidentally cut my finger." He held up his ring finger on his right hand, which had a bandaid on it. In the rush and focus that today demanded each year, Richie had missed it before now. "It was small, but bled a little. I was already thinking about today. Preparing. So it was only too easy to think about... about the bathroom. Remember?"

Richie sighed. He remembered it only too well. His brain raced to try and come up with a joke to relieve the tension or bring a smile to Eddie's face again, but for the first time in years, nothing came to mind. "Come on Eds, we really do have class."

"Don't call me that," Eddie spat halfheartedly, his face scrunching up. Richie managed a smile, which then pulled one from Eddie just like Richie's smiles always did.

As they went to class, Eddie tried not to let his face show that he was far too clearly seeing the red room coated in blood that he'd tried so hard not to allow his brain to conjur up this morning when it had all happened. He mostly succeeded, but couldn't get the memory of his friends' faces as they scrubbed and cleaned and tried not t think about what they were scrubbing and cleaning. He tried not to remember how the blood was warm and how it stained the bottom of his shoes and stuck under his nails and how it made him dizzy when he first saw it. How sure he'd been that he was about to pass out.

The bell rang and class started, giving Eddie a diversion. Eddie usually dreaded the sound of that damn bell - especially when it meant that the long day of sitting still and biting his tongue as student and teachers alike annoyed his will to live right out of him. Today, though, he was more relieved to hear it than he was when he washed his clothes and put on a warm, clean shirt that smelled of detergent and warmed his skin and made everything better somehow. Which, honestly, was saying something major.

Mike rubbed his face with both of his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. "I just can't do this," he complained softly to Ben, who was sitting next to him and patting his back in an attempt at easing a burden they all carried. A burden that was dragging them all under and drowning them. How could he help Mike with his weight if Ben couldn't even take care of his own? He couldn't. That wouldn't stop him from trying though. "Pretend that nothing happen everyday, and then go on like THIS everyday time this year. This day is hell for all of us. And I understand why its hardest for Bill, but Georgie's death is a constant reminder of what happened and I just can't stand the holding my breath and walking on eggshells and never letting my guard down all day for a whole day, like-" He cut off, shaking his head.

"You're honest," Ben offered softly. "It makes it hard to look at Bill - one of your closest friends - and lie. I get it."

A heavy sigh came out of the teenage boy. There was a pause, and when Mike next spoke, his tone was dark and heavy and it made Ben stop cold. "What do you most remember about it?"

Frowning, Ben's hand dropped into his lap as he tried not to indulge Mike too much. He had to watch out for his own mental health too. However, the second Mike asked the question, Ben knew the answer. "Red." At first he thought the word hadn't made it out of his mouth all the way, but then he felt the shudder go through his body as the sound of his own voice hit his ears, and he knew he'd done it. "The way It turned into Bill's mom. And the balloon. And, uh, Beverly's hair." He coughed and Mike chuckled dryly, too anxious to laugh but too amused not to acknowledge the blush that never failed to peek out when Ben mentioned the redhead. "I just remember so much red that summer. And then the bloody bathroom..." He shuddered and when his eyes opened again, he saw something else other than the green grass- just for a second.

She was standing there. Her smile was wide as it seemed to make the warm a little more, as per usual. A little more bright. A little more warm. A little MORE- in general. Better and more fulfilling. He saw the light reflecting off of her fiery head as she tilted it back in laughter. Her gorgeous eyes that focused on Bill Denbrough instead of him. She was standing there with that smile and those eyes and her short, wonderfully messy hair looking at someone else.

And suddenly she turned and her eyes found him, but that wasn't part of the memory while he cleaned the bathroom, witnessing a scene he wasn't supposed to be near enough to know was happening. Suddenly it wasn't Bev and Bill, and the hair was a different kind of red. The skin was far too pale and the smile was cruel and twisted. And the eyes... they weren't soft and green and full of life. They were blue. Dead and empty like a sky on a blank day. A day without clouds or birds or any sign of life. A weirdly beautiful blue, that should have been calming but was anything but. Not like Bill's blue eyes. It's blue eyes. Blue eyes that were replaced with glowing yellow lights that stared into his soul as the Thing blinked.

"Ben!" Suddenly his vision was blocked as a slight pressure lay over his eyes. He was somewhat in the present, half consumed by darkness and hot breath and half sitting in a warm day with a slight breeze, one of his closest friends blocking his vision because calling his name hadn't worked well enough. As he came to, it was slowly and with struggle, like he was moving through honey rather than his own mind. He became aware of things slowly. His fast, shallow breathing. His hair that had been pushed out of the way as Mike covered his eyes. His racing heart that was still loud in his ears. His shaking hands. His trembling lip. When he was more calm, Mike stepped away and all Ben could see was a caring, concerned expression and a cloudy but bright sky and green trees and grass and bushes and then the streets and the school. "Are you okay?" Mike flinched as he asked the question.

"Fine." His voice betrayed him. Even in just the one word, it was obvious that he was emotional and upset. He sounded almost winded, and he wondered if he was about to have an anxiety attack or if he'd already had one while he was too stuck in his head to notice. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, Mike."

Mike shook his head. "We all need help."

"Where would we get it from?" Ben asked after he caught his bearings and got a full grip on himself.

The care on Mike's face deflated in resignation. "That's the thing, isn't it? We can't get it from anywhere." Never had a more hopeless thing been said or heard. The two boys sat in heavy silence. The two boys who were usually soft and bright and warm now sat under a storm cloud that blocked out the sun and any warmth and drenched them in a torrent of emotions that ripped them apart viciously and mercilessly from the inside out. There wasn't a single hint of a smile between them.

When school ended, it was a relief.

The Losers all gathered up, most of them beat down and failing to do their job. Usually once they hit the end of the school day, only two Losers remained standing. An awkward but willing Stanley Uris and a bright, chipper, forever unfazed Beverly Marsh. The others branched off early, touching Bill in some way of comfort before leaving. Eddie elbowed him gently to catch his attention before waving goodbye. Richie ruffled his hair, shoving his head a little to get him to laugh. It almost worked. Ben reached out and tugged on his hand to get his attention before heading his own way far earlier than he'd turn from the group usually. Mike pat Bill on the shoulder before saying he had to head home to help his grandpa with the sheep. And then Mike's face went dark and his eyes glazed over for a second and it was as if Bill and Mike were both seeing the staple gun pointed at a boy that was too small and standing despite fully missing an arm and having been assumed dead. Then Bev was catching his attention and Mike seemed to be running a marathon, in the way he got on his bike and began racing for home like his life depended on it.

Stan and Beverly kept his mind busy all day. The three of them had dinner, with Stan cooking and Bev talking Bill's ear off. Then Bev got him into pajamas and they both lay in bed with him for a little while, until he fell asleep. Bev got up far sooner than Stan did. Stanley lay next to Bill as Bev got dinner cleaned up and everything ready to go. His hand found its way to Bill's nose, brushing the back of it against the bridge of Bill's nose to help him fall asleep more deeply. When they left, they kept up their energy. They were much more at ease now, fed and having fallen into a pattern after the others left. The two had an easy friendship, bonding deeply and closely over experiencing something the others hadn't had the horror of yet.

Because when Beverly and Stanley thought of It, they didn't think of colors or details or smells or small boys- even though Stan knew Georgie. They both thought of one thing and one thing only. Bright lights and a hazy thickness that blocked their vision and clouded their mind, shoving blurry and nonsensical scenes that were supposed to be the future. Scenes that were far too clear for comfort, and yet still were so broken and scattered that they rarely ever made sense. And when they did, they both wished it didn't.

So they didn't think about it all day. They were so good at keeping Bill busy, because they had practice keeping themselves and each other busy. Not just one day a year but every day all day every week of every month- all year long. Usually they handled it perfectly fine, focusing on what was currently happening and not what would or had happened. Focused on this stupid town and their amazing friends and school - even though it was sometimes the worst - and homework and swimming in the Quarry and a Summer full of games and laughter and chasing each other and dunking each other under the water and staying up too late and waking up too early and bird watching and telling jokes and secrets and rolling their eyes and judging people together and even judging each other... less together.

Because when they did focus on It... When they looked back and remembered, it wasn't a memory or a panic attack. It didn't knock the breath out fo them or leave them breathless or weakened or scared or shaky or emotionally vulnerable.

No that would be too kind. When they did think about what happened, it was only at one of their houses and at the end of the day, after the two of them were completely alone and they were having a secret sleepover the others didn't know about. It was only when Stan's parents were asleep and they'd pretend to go to bed. And then like clockwork, without even looking at the clock, midnight would hit and the day would be over and their unspoken vow to keep it together all day for their friends and family would crumble and simultaneously, the unbreakable Beverly and sturdy Stan would shatter and crack and explode. They would sob, shaking violently and clinging to each other. They would gasp and close their eyes tight. They wouldn't just cry- they would completely loose it. Thankfully they were both quiet criers, but that didn't change the violence of their mutual shut down. They would let all their barriers down and let loose all the emotions they'd been holding in all day. All year. And suddenly they weren't two kids who had been through a similar experience. They were one person, agonizing over a same pain only they could understand. And for a night, that was okay. It could just be the two of them and no one else and they could feel this pain.

How else were they supposed to deal with the memory of the Deadlights when none of their friends could handle their own trauma, let alone Stan and Bev's horrors?

No.

Bill sat awake and listened to the silence in a house that pretended like Georgie never existed, his parents on vacation because they refused to be in town or anywhere near anything that reminded them of the son they never stopped grieving- including the son they still had.

Mike fell asleep but woke often to nightmares after having to use the nail gun again- just as he'd dreaded. The action alone dug up so many memories that between those and the whole day combined, he couldn't handle it... Sleep was still important, though. They had school tomorrow after all.

Eddie spent the night half asleep. Sort of conscious and aware; drifting in and out; sort of noticing the world and sort of resting. His dreams were all foggy and empty and he was unable to collect a coherent thought or make sense of the blobs and nothings that every once in a while popped out at him when he was a little more sleep than awake.

Ben slept like a rock, still and locked down to the bed despite the occasional twitch. So very unlike how he actually slept, where he was usually pulling blankets and pillows close to his chest and burying his face in something soft or warm or familiar, now he lay still, on his back, with nothing near or even touching him. At least he slept.

Richie didn't even bother getting into bed. He sat on his window sill, his window open and his legs hanging out to dangle against the side of his house. He leaned against his banister and watched the stars and moon and hummed random, terrible sounding tunes under his breath and let the stress of the day melt away.

Bev and Stan held each other and cried until they passed out. Bev was out first, Stan using the same trick on her that he did on Bill. Gently caressing the bridge of the nose always worked. No matter how old the person was or how often they had it done to them, it always worked. He fell asleep with a heavy heart and an enthusiasm for what the next day would bring.

It was fine. It was all fine...

It had to be.

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