the more things change (the less they stay the same)

by orphan_account

Summary:

what if the lucky 7 wasn’t the lucky 7?

 

or:
the one where pretty much everything is the same but the bowers gang and the losers come together to get rid of pennywise.

 

Chapter 1: the turtle has a migraine

Somewhere, some time

The terrors which had begun long before the earth had seemingly wouldn’t end until the lucky 7 became 5.

The terrors, of course, had started long before then, and stretched out further than that, spanning across multiple universes.

But, no matter what, those tendrils of evil never spread further than Derry. It sunk its claws into the people of Derry, yes, and it never did fully release them, even after they were long gone.

In what could be considered our ‘main’ universe, 7 losers once again became 5. In the aftermath, Bill Denbrough (who could be considered our ‘main’ hero) thought desperately and wildly: “I wish things were different.”

This was not the first time our ‘hero’ had thought this, no, it was far from the first time. This thought echoed through Bill’s life, ever since that rainy day all those years ago.

The thing was, nothing ever was different. In every universe, Bill inevitably thought the same thing. “I wish things were different.” No matter what, 7 losers becomes 5, just in different ways and different times.

The turtle couldn’t help them in millions of universes, they all repeated themselves. 7,5,7,5,7,5. In some universes it was Mike who died, or Ben, or Richie, or sometimes even Bev. Sometimes Stanley made the flight to Derry. Sometimes the creature known to the losers as ‘Pennywise’ lived. But no matter what, Bill survived, seemingly only to think that thought.

“I wish things were different.”

There was only one universe that strayed from the rest, for reasons vastly unknown to Maturin. He had not stepped in on this universe, no, his powers were not strong enough to change so much. But perhaps some other far away being did? Perhaps they had heard Bill Denbrough’s desperate pleas through so many timelines? It was hard not to after all, as his voice echoed through thousands of years and millions of universes. After millions of years, Maturin could feel a migraine coming on.

Maturin had thought long and hard about this theory. If he wasn’t alone, who else was there? And why had they done what they had of all things? Why not just eliminate IT altogether as opposed to... their solution.

He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it, though, as much as he thought an alternate solution may have been more efficient. He just hoped that when the end of the hellish creature ‘IT’ came in this timeline, Bill would somehow be able to find peace. Maturin had come to admire the boy, for his resilience against everything thrown his way. Throughout watching every universe, Bill had become Maturin’s only constant. No matter what the other variables were, Bill was left a little bruised, a little broken, but alive. He couldn’t say that for the others. He was not familiar with the practice of gambling, but if he was, he would bet everything on Bill.

However, now all bets were off. Because never before was there a universe where 7 was never 7, but instead, 10.

Chapter 2: After the Flood

Summary:

A little boy plays outside while teenagers feel a strange pain.

Derry, 1963

Our story begins, like it always has, with a little boy in a yellow rain slicker and a boat bobbing in the rain.
Bill wouldn’t listen to Fur Elise ever again after that rainy day in 1963. It had been what his mother had been playing as he had waved goodbye to an already drenched Georgie.

Bill had an awful feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, one that he had at the time written off had lingering effects of his flu, but would later pinpoint to a premonition.

Bill had only been 12, Georgie merely 6, he would have been 7 in a few weeks.

(The turtle had always thought that they were too young, too too young.)

Bill had attempted to fall back to sleep in hopes of waking up and feeling better, however he was far too restless to even close his eyes. Maybe the rain was the cause? (Bill knew this wasn’t true, the rain had more than once been what helped him lull to sleep, but it was better than the alternative.)

He tossed and turned before finally looking at his clock, realizing an hour had passed. This had struck fear into Bill’s heart immediately, though he thought maybe Georgie had just got a bit carried away, is all. As soon as that thought struck his mind, however, a searing pain cut into the very core of Bill’s adolescent body.

He immediately doubled over in pain, thinking this flu would be what took him out at the ripe age of 12. Just as his vision was about to go out and he was nearly deaf from the screeching in his ears, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

Little did Bill know, all over town at the exact time, 4:01 pm, he was not the only one who felt it.

 

Bev had been starting to make dinner for her father when it struck her, causing the plates she held to clatter to the ground.

“Bevvie? What happened?” Her father called from the next room over.

Through grimaced teeth, Bev muttered something about a shelf breaking.

 

Belch had been listening to the radio with his mother when he nearly passed out. Before she could ask him the problem, it was gone.

 

Stan was drawing in his journal, a goldfinch, when it hit him, his grip was so tight his pencil broke in between his fingers.

 

Mike had been making some last minute deliveries, despite the rain, and was on his way home when the pain was so bad he crashed his bike.

 

Henry had his hands fisted in a kids shirt, who he had released as he doubled over. The kid took this as a message from god and spit on Henry before running away with his tail between his legs. Henry’s knuckles turned white against the railing of the kissing bridge.

 

Ben hadn’t even moved to Derry yet, but was packing as he collapsed next to his suitcase. He chalked it off to nerves.

 

Vic was sitting in the barrens, taking in the rainy day. The pain hit him like a brick on the stomach and he dry heaved long after the feeling left him.

 

Eddie was watching the rain roll down his window from his room, when he felt it, he knew something was wrong and he must have appendicitis and what if it was cancer or if it was irr- the thoughts abruptly cut off just as the pain did.

 

Richie was seeing a movie, but when he felt it he couldn’t help stumbling out in the rain for fresh air. He swore he could hear Fur Elise drifting by with the wind.

 

The turtle couldn’t help but think that this was all very, very interesting.

Chapter 3: the bottom of the well

Summary:

tw for some slight mentions of blood and also murder 😳

Derry, 1964

Henry woke up, heart racing and sweat pooling on his forehead.

He had another nightmare, (something that would haunt him far into his adult years) he could hardly remember it, except for the clown.

That clown had been haunting his dreams since the fall, corresponding with his ‘episodes’ as Patrick called them.

Henry sat up and wiped his the back of his hand on his forehead, taking deep breaths. He looked over at the alarm clocked that rested on a milk crate he had fashioned as a bedside table. It read 4:14 am, over 2 hours before he would usually wake up for school.

He groaned and contemplated going back to sleep, but instead opted for doing his chores now as opposed to after school.

Yawning, he tosses his comforter over his mattress and sets off to work.

By the time he’s done, showered and ready for the last day, he still has an hour or so to kill. He decides to walk to school, the long way to clear his head and think about his nightmare.

Carefully tiptoeing out the front door, Henry makes note of his sleeping father, beer bottles decorating the floor as per usual.

Rolling his eyes, Henry was off.

———

Henry kicked at the dirt pathway leading from his house to the road. The sun was beating down quite brutally on the back of his neck, another reminder that it was finally summer.

“I need to do it today.” Henry muttered, gripping his shirt tightly, “I need to.”

He turned towards their well, gulping as he approached it. He had actively avoided the thing for years now, ever since what he head seen all of those years ago. He shivered at the thought, despite the temperature and his leather jacket. He reached for the wood piece the bucket hung on, pulling himself up to look down to the bottom. What had once been rocks and coins was now a layer of concrete.

Henry is a firm believer that there is at least one event that happens in someone’s life that will haunt them till the day they die, never quite leaving the back of their mind.

For Henry, that day was it. Butch, being a cop, had no trouble getting away with what happened. All he did was report her missing, and hide some of her jewelry and clothes to look like she had left him.

But, Henry knew what really happened.

The thing was, he wasn’t supposed to see any of it.

His mom was his favorite person in the whole world because she didn’t yell or hit like his father did.

She was also the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a mix between Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe. She dressed nicely and wore makeup even on days she didn’t leave the house. Henry admired her strength, a different strength that his father’s, yes, but strength all the same.

One day when he was 9, his parents took a turn for the much, much worse. They always fought, but this fight ended when his mom threatened to take Henry and leave, and Butch threatened to shoot himself, saying he could never live with the shame and promised to be better.

That night, Henry heard an almost hollow crunching noise and whimpering like a dog. He ventured downstairs to see what it was, but when he slowly peered into the kitchen, he saw his father, crouching over something, hitting it with a hammer. Butch had blood all over his hands and arms.

“Dad? Are you okay?” He asked cautiously, approaching where he stood.

Butch whipped around, hammer in hands and a wild look in his eyes.

That’s when he noticed the blood.

Butch was covered in it, something that would later remind Henry of Carrie when the movie came out over a decade later.

“If you know what is good for you, go back to sleep.” He said, still with that unhinged look in his eyes.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Listen to me when I speak, boy!” He spat, holding up the hammer and shaking it, as if threatening him.

At this point, Butch had moved enough so that Henry could see what was laying on the ground.

It was his mother.

The woman that had fed him, bathed him, loved him, was now laying on the linoleum tile, lifeless.

Just as Henry opened his mouth to scream, his father’s fist connected to his skull and all he saw was darkness.

When he woke up the next morning, in his own bed, he had thought it was all just a dream. All he needed to do, however, was look out his window and see his father crouched over the well, pouring cement down it, to know that it was no dream. (It was a nightmare, yes, but that nightmare was his life).

Henry, now 6 years older and much taller, stood at the well opening, looking down at the concrete. His mom didn’t belong down there in such an awful place. She belonged somewhere beautiful, flowers surrounding her, the sun shunting down over where she was buried. Even the coins that had once stood for wishes were long gone. No one wanted to wish there anymore, Henry especially.

“I’m sorry.” was all he could say before he began to break down and cry.

————

His walk to school was unlike any other, except for his weird staring contest with Denbrough as he walked by.

Once he realized it was his house, he walked a little faster to avoid confrontation, but was instead met with Bill getting onto his ridiculously huge bike. Both immediately froze up, Henry more in surprise whereas Bill was frozen in fear.

“Take a picture, it will last longer.” Henry said, crossing his arms.

Bill nearly tripped getting out of his way.

Henry felt Bills eyes on the back of his neck as he passed him, deciding not to start a fight because he was already emotionally exhausted and it wasn’t even 8:00 am.

Henry knew he had given most of the losers a much harder time than usual, but the thing was, Henry couldn’t ever remember afterwards.

He would see the new kid or trash-mouth in the halls, go to make his usual comment, maybe shove them around a bit, but instead he would blackout. When he would come to, his knuckles would be split and their faces would be even worse off.

Vic and Belch seemed more apprehensive to be around him these days, which was a shame because he much preferred them to Patrick. His little episodes had the opposite effect on him, instead making him like Henry more.

He shuddered at the thought.

——

School was, like most days, shitty, but at least it was the last day. (And at least Henry was not going to get held back.)

“Henry!” Vic called out behind him.

Whipping around, Henry shoved his way through the crowd and sneered at anyone that looked at him dirty.

“You going to the diner?” He said, smiling softly up at him.

“Who’s buying?” Henry asked, ignoring how he never used to smile like that before Henry’s episodes.

“Belch since he lost last time.”

Henry snickered, recalling how badly Belch had done on the pinball machines at the diner.

“Ok, I’m in.”

Vic smiled again before it slowly faded.

“What the fuck is your old man doing here?” He asked, pausing to gesture towards him.

“Fuck. I hope he’s not here for me.”

“Wait, it he with Betty Ripsom’s mom?” Vic whispered, straining his eyes.

He was, but Henry didn’t need to say it. She was very clearly distraught, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt.

“You don’t think..”

“Another case?” Henry proposed, shrugging. “Patrick’s probably eating them.” He tried to joke, nudging Vics shoulder, though his frown only deepened.

“Unless ‘them’ refers to ass, you are incorrect.” Patrick said, putting his gangly arms around the two boys.

“You are disgusting.” Belch said, appearing behind them, avoiding the punch that Patrick had sent his way.

“That’s enough about me..” Patrick paused for effect, “guess who’s got keys to his daddy’s truck!”

“No shit!” Henry said, playfully hitting Belch on the shoulder. “How’d you manage that?”

He simply shrugged.

“Hey, look, it’s our favorite losers!” Patrick said, glee laced in his voice. “Come on!” He almost skipped towards them, whereas Henry just walked slowly. Belch and Vic followed closely behind Henry.

Patrick knocked both Uris and Trashmouth together with their backpacks, snickering as they fell to the ground. “Nice frisbee, flamer. “ Patrick sneered as he took Uris’s kippah and tossed it across the road.

After Belch burping in Kaspbrak’s face, the kid pulled his inhaler from his pocket, which Henry snatched from his hand.

“What type of pipe is this?” Henry asked, tossing it from hand to hand.

“Give it back!” Eddie wheezed, reaching for it.

Henry tossed it to Patrick, who held it just out of Eddie’s reach.

“G-g-give it back!” Bill said, jumping and hitting the inhaler out of Patrick’s hands and into the grass.

Eddie reached for it and triggered it into his mouth, breathing deeply.

Henry scoffed and shouldered Bill as he walked by.

“You s-s-suck B-bowers!”

“And you swallow, Denbrough!” Henry said, causing a chorus of snickers to erupt from the gang.

As the group walked towards Belch’s truck, he felt the losers eyes watching them as they left.

Henry paused for a moment before getting in the passenger’s side, thinking.

He couldn’t remember why he started hating Bill Denbrough. But he was too far into the game to quit now. He rolled his eyes and slammed the car door, hoping the noise would drown out his thoughts.

Chapter 4: the crescendo

Derry, 1964

Sometimes Eddie thinks if there really is a god, he must hate him.

Every time he swallows a pill, he guiltily thinks this thought, immediately feeling bad for his lack of faith. The thought never quite leaves his mind, however.

The thought certainly seems to be extra relevant today, as Eddie is currently standing at the entrance of a GOD DAMN SEWER. He tries to still his shaking hands, think about the bath he will take when he gets home, but it’s no use, really. The pleasant thought is drowned out by the smell.

Richie and Bill are knee deep in greywater already, and Eddie is trying not to think about the water entering the scrapes on both reckless boy’s knees.

Beside him, Stan stands, posture more rigid than Eddie is used to seeing. No matter the situation, neither Stan nor Eddie would dare to say a word about how disgusting this situation is because of how much it means to Bill.

There had once been a time where they would have been building a dam and playing in the creek on the first day of summer as opposed to trying to find homicide clues, but that blissful summer was taken along with Georgie.

 

———

 

It wasn’t unlike any other day, other than the feeling of the first day of summer after a long year.

Victor had a vision of how he hoped this summer would go. (Or a feeling, at least). However, it was becoming increasingly more obvious that this was rather unlikely.)

All he really wanted was to spend some time with his friends, eat some fries at the diner, drive with the windows down, feel the grass beneath his bare feet, (and maybe, if they were really lucky, get to the bottom of whatever was going on with Henry. )

Victor knew something bad was going to happen as soon as Patrick leaned on the center console to flip through the radio channels.

Victor watched with bated breath as Henry’s shoulders slowly rose in the air as Patrick couldn’t decide on a channel.

Like a rubber band snapping, the anticipation crescendoed into Henry pushing Patrick back into his seat and sneering at him. Patrick went to snap at Henry, but very suddenly, Henry lurched forwards and grabbed his head, grimacing.

“Left!” He shouted, and Belch jerked the steering wheel.

Dread settled into Victor’s bones.

Henry twitched before settling back into his own skin, posture rigid and eyes wide.

“Tits is at the library.” Henry said, voice scratchy.

Henry looked back at them with a smile and Victor couldn’t help but notice Henry’s eyes.

They were yellow.

——

Ben knows if there really is a god, he definitely hates him.

He knew it as soon as his mom had said they were moving.

He especially knew it every time he looked at himself in the mirror.

But this? This definitely takes the cake. This goes farther than God just hating him, this is just plain loathing.

Ben’s eyes drift to the knife in Henry’s hand, breath hitching as he thinks of all of the things Henry could do with it. Ben takes note of Henry’s eyes, more animal than man, they’re practically glowing.

He’s vaguely aware of Patrick cheering Henry on as he inches forward with the switchblade, can hear the disturbed grunts coming from both Belch and Victor, but it’s almost like he’s just watching it all happen.

He doesn’t feel the pain when Henry’s knife cuts into his stomach, but he feels Vic’s grip loosen, and suddenly he’s back in his body again.

Ben inhales and exhales. He kicks Henry. And he lets himself fall.

Chapter 5: a hard day's night

Summary:

Belch takes charge, meanwhile Ben meets Richie, Eddie, Stan, and Bill, and Mike gets a visitor on the farm after a particularly tough day.

tw: gay slur

Notes:

This might be the longest chapter I've written? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, I have been working on this for a few days and was very excited to share this chapter with everyone! This was one of the chapters I was the most excited to write, and you'll hopefully be seeing the next chapter (which is also very exciting) in 1-3 days.

Derry, 1964

Belch was frozen in place, hands still hovering over where he had been holding the new kid. Mustering up all of his courage, he spoke. “Henry, what the fuck man?”

Henry looked at him, wildly, and Belch was suddenly stuck with the fact that Henry had the capacity to do the same to him.

“I- I..” Henry began, shaking slightly as he looked down at his blood covered hands. “I don’t-.. I-” He blinked rapidly, looking at the others.

Vic was backed up against the truck, violently emptying the contents of his stomach, while Patrick was careening over the edge of the bridge to look for the kid.

Henry looked down at his hands again, then turned, and ran.

“Henry!” Belch called after him, beginning to chase him down, but Henry moved with almost superhuman speed, and disappeared around a corner before Belch could even catch up to him.

“Fuck!” Belch screamed, bending over to catch his breath. “Fuck.” He repeated again, jogging back to Vic and Patrick.

“Henry’s gone.” Belch told them, and Vic bent over and vomited again.

“So what? I say we finish what he started.” Patrick said, putting his spindly legs over the bridge.

“Patrick, are you-” Belch went to say ’fucking crazy’, but he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that question. “Serious?” he finished.

“Yeah, I mean who’s he going to tell?” Patrick said, laughing a little too long. “You pussies coming or what?”

“We need to find Henry, I’m worried about him.” Belch said gesturing to the corner he had disappeared behind minutes prior.

“He can handle himself. It’s not our problem.” Patrick said, rolling his eyes and beginning to make his way down the hill. “Now, come on.”

Belch shook his head. “Fuck this. I’m out of here.” He said, taking the keys from his pocket and unlocking his truck. “Come on, Vic.”

“Whatever! Pussies!” Patrick called after them as they shut the car’s doors.

Belch took a breath before he put the keys in the ignition.

“We shouldn’t have left him.” Victor said, suddenly, face a ghostly white.

“Patrick?”

“No, the kid. Patrick will kill him. We should’ve helped.”

The rest of the ride, the air between the two was heavy with guilt.

------

“I’m glad I got to meet you before you died.” Richie said, as Bill, Eddie, and Stan ran into the front door of the drugstore.

“Gee, thanks Trashmouth. Certainly makes me feel better.” Ben deadpanned, gritting his teeth in pain.

“Haystack gets off a good one!” Richie exclaimed, suddenly turning on his ‘announcer voice’ “You heard it here first ladies and germs… resident ‘new kid’ is thinking of trying out for a comedy club!”

Ben laughs, mostly at the sheer absurdity of the situation, but hey, a laugh is a laugh to Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, so he isn’t complaining.

Richie crouches down next to Ben. “Hey, buck up kid. You’re in good hands. Eddie is basically the best doctor in town. He’ll fix you right up.”

Ben, secretly grateful for the reassurance, nods, shooting a smile Richie’s way.

“So, Ben, right?”

“Yep.”

Richie nodded. “If you don’t mind me asking, what the fuck happened to you?”

“Bowers.” Ben said simply.

“Holy fuck…” Richie muttered, understanding, but also shocked at how far Henry went this time. “Must be off his rocker.”

“Probably. I thought he was really going to kill me. It looked like he wanted to.” Ben paused, and Richie could tell he must be recounting the moment in his head. “I mean, I know I just moved here, but I didn’t think he was capable…” Ben trailed off, but Richie knew what he meant.

“Neither did I.” Richie thinks back to his recent encounters off Bowers, ‘Fag!’ he hears in his ears, like he was back in the arcade again. “It’s like he’s some villain in a Hitchcock movie.

At this, Ben was clearly confused. “Wait, have you never seen Psycho? You know, Norman Bates?”

Ben shrugs. “Oh my god, Bennie. Do you live under a rock? As soon as you’re all patched up you’re coming over to mine.”

Ben reddens at this, surprised at Richie’s loving and inclusive nature.

A bell rings, signalling the boys exit from the drugstore, and they all stumble into the alley, dropping various things onto the road.

“Jesus, Butterfingers.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says as he begins to open the antiseptic with shaking hands. “Stan, cotton balls.”

“Wow, where’d you go to medical school, Eds?” Richie quips, putting his hands on Eddie’s small shoulders.

“Stop touching me! And don’t call me that!” He squeals, turning back to Ben’s wound.

“Ok, I won’t call you 'That'. How about I call you Eds?”

“I will kill you where you stand.”

“Whoa, whoa, maybe Eddie is actually the Norman Bates, you certainly have the mommy iss-”

Eddie attacks Richie, not unlike a small feral animal, and Stan is forced to keep them apart.

“How about we focus on the task at hand?” Stan says, exasperated.

“Fine, but only if Trashmouth over here keeps quiet.” Eddie says, glaring in Richie’s direction.

Richie sticks his tongue out at him.

Richie, bored without the banter refocuses his attention towards Bill, who was staring at a ginger girl like she was god.

“Even Steven.” Richie overheard, and when she held up a pack of cigarettes he recognized her as Beverly Marsh. She smiled at Bill before taking note of first Richie, then the scene unfurling in the alley. “Ben?” She questioned, beginning to approach where Eddie was once again sterilizing the wound.

“Oh my god Ben, what happened?” Beverly said, leaning over Eddie’s shoulders to get a better look.

“Oh, uh, nothing, I just… fell.” Ben pulled at his shirt to cover his stomach.

“Yeah,” Richie felt himself saying, before he could even think. “Right into Henry Bowers.”

Stan, Eddie, and Bill all stiffened at the revelation, and Ben once again looked around bashfully.

“Well,” Beverly said finally. “Looks like you’ve had a Hard Days’ Night.” She winked at him, obviously referencing some inside joke the two must’ve had. “I better head out.”

“W-wait! All of us g-guys are h-heading down to the q-quarry tomorrow, m-m-maybe we’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” Beverly smiled at them. “Maybe.”

And like that, she turned around the corner and was gone.

“Wow.” Ben said, his awe audible to everyone.

“Nice job bringing up Bowers in front of her, you heard what she did,” Eddie muttered, looking around as if someone would overhear them.

“What’d she do?” Ben asked.

“More like who’d she do, from what I hear-”

“Beep beep Richie,” both Stan and Bill dead-pan simultaneously.

“Ok, ok,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender.

“Ok, Ben, you should be fine now, just don’t make any sudden movements, the cut stopped bleeding but it could start again.”

“Thank you Eddie, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you all hadn’t found me.” The five of them grow silent, thinking it over.

“I better get going. My mom will have a cow if I’m not home by five.”

Richie looks down at his watch. “Better pedal fast then, it’s 4:56.”

“Shit!” Eddie exclaims, hopping onto his bike. “See you later, alligators!” He calls, and the four laugh.

“You still on for Psycho?” Richie asks Ben. “My house is only a few blocks from here.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Bye losers,” Richie grins at Stan and Bill, and the two beam back at him.

“Hey, you’re a part of the club.” Bill smiles.

“Thanks again for your help guys,” Ben says, reddening as Bill hugs him.

“Don’t worry about it. That makes you a member of the Loser’s Club, too.” Bill says.

“Let’s go Bennie,” Richie taps his foot impatiently. “I’m not getting any younger.” He says, in a high nasally voice.

They boys break into hysterics.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, Rich.”

 

------

Mike Hanlon arrived at his home, still shaken up from the earlier confrontation with the Bowers Gang back in town… and whatever it was he had seen before that.

The clown.

Mike was a level-headed guy, he prided himself in his philosophies and was grounded in logic.This was nothing more than a strange dream, or a hallucination, he had initially rationed, but after doing some work out back with the animals, and having some more time to think, he wasn’t so sure.

He considered the possibility that he had seen an animal, but what animal made those noises and behaved like that? Possibly a prank from Bowers? But that didn’t make any sense either. He considered telling his grandfather, but he didn’t need to be shipped to the looney-bin.

The unbridled fear Mike had felt when he had seen those charred hands again, that was something that he knew could never just leave him. He would carry that with him for the rest of his life. (Maybe he did need to be sent to the looney-bin, he thought glumly).

With a sigh, Mike shook his head and began to feed the chickens, who squawked happily at him.

He watched them for a blissful second, but was quickly brought back to reality when he heard footsteps in the grass. His shoulders rose with both tension and anticipation, and in his gut he was well aware whoever was there wasn’t there to do good.

“Mike?” He heard, and turned around, ready to fight, tooth and nail.

Victor Criss stood about 15 feet away from him, looking somewhat sheepishly at him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mike said, boldly, and unafraid.

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you.”

“About what? The rest of the crew hiding in the bushes?” Mike said, reaching for a rake to use as a weapon.

“No, no, I wanted to apologize.”

“Yeah right.” Mike said, gripping harder onto the rake.

“No, seriously. There aren’t…” He paused, gesturing vaguely into the air as he searched for the right words. “There’s nothing I could say, I know.” He picked at the cracks at the wrist of his leather jacket. “I just… is there anything I can do?”

“Yeah, get the hell off my property.”

“Mike-”

“I’m sorry, but why should I trust you? You’ve bullied and belittled me for as long as I can remember for just… simply existing in this town. Why am I just supposed to suddenly forget all that?” Mike said, shaking his head.

“I know, I know.” He held his head in his hands. “Just, let me give you a hand? Okay? I know it’s not much, but I just want to help you.” Victor looked at him, and suddenly Mike saw him, almost as if for the first time. Victor was scared. He was guilty. And he wasn’t trying to hide any of it.

Mike and Victor stared at each other, words still left unsaid between the two.

“Fine. Don’t think this means I forgive you.” Mike said, turning back to grab a large bag of fertilizer and tossing it over his shoulder.

Victor gave him a lopsided grin and tossed his leather jacket to the side, “of course.” He followed Mike’s lead and grabbed a bag.

Maybe, on a day when he didn’t see a clown hanging from inside the butcher shop and didn’t see burnt hands reaching for him behind the door, Mike would think this was very strange. But, now? Victor trying to befriend him seemed to be the most normal thing that had happened all week.

Notes:

leave me a comment, question, suggestion, etc.! I'd love to hear what you think :D

Chapter 6: on anger and stupidity

Summary:

Bill runs into two people he never thought he would.

Derry, 1964
Bill Denbrough hadn’t exactly expected to find any clues to Georgie’s disappearance that hot June afternoon, and he certainly hadn’t expected to find the new kid all cut up. But as he rounded the corner of his house and saw Henry Bowers drenched in blood, he couldn’t help but think the universe was trying to give him heart palpitations.

Bill stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Henry who hadn’t yet noticed him. A wave of courage (and anger (or maybe stupidity)) washed over him, and he found himself dropping Silver to the sidewalk and stomping over to him.

“Who the f-fuck do you think you are? You almost killed B-Ben.” Bill yelled, fuming.

Henry turned to face Bill, and he took in the sight. Henry’s arms were cut up, bleeding badly all over, and blood was soaking through his slashed up jeans.

“What the fuck? What ha-happened?” Bill said, curiosity winning over anger.

“I.. I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Henry said, and Bill noticed the tear tracks through the grime on Henry’s face.

Bill paused to think. Was this just some weird trick? Or was Henry really bleeding out a block from his house? Bill wanted to favor the latter, but his and other’s past experiences overrode the kindness in Bill’s heart.

“Well then, remember.” Bill said, venomously, thinking once again of Ben.

Henry winced at his volume, and Bill’s heart tugged again. He groaned and put his hands over his face.

“Listen, my house is a block from here. My parents aren’t home, why don’t you let me fix you up.” Bill said, exasperatedly.

“Eww, I’m not some queer.” Henry sneered, backing away from Bill.

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed together- what the fuck was he on about? “Ok, nevermind, when you bleed out and die tell God I tried to save you.” He turned on his heels and picked up Silver’s handlebars.

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Henry said, grumbling a bit.

“That’s more like it. Come on.” Bill said, gesturing for Henry to follow him. “Do you need help walking?”

“No,” Henry insisted, but Bill could tell he was lying.
___________

“T-Try not to get bl-blood on the carpet, my mom will kill me.” Bill joked, though really, she probably wouldn’t even notice. Ever since Georgie had gone missing, like a stumbling ghost she haunted their halls.

“Ok,” Henry said through a grimace, following Bill upstairs.

“This is i-i-t,” Bill said, leading Henry into a bathroom and pointing to the toilet lid, gesturing for him to sit. Henry did so reluctantly as Bill began to scour the drawers for first aid supplies.

“Ok, Mi- Mickey Mouse b-bandaids... rubbing al-alcohol... bandages... hmm, wha-what would E-Eddie do...” he thought desperately back to what Eddie had done earlier with Ben, but couldn’t quite recall since he was so accustomed to tuning Eddie out when he was having one of his doctor episodes.

Ok, Bill. Just breathe. Yes, this is weird, he glanced back at Henry, ok, yeah, really weird.

“Apply Pressure!” Eddie’s voice came to him suddenly, saying the same thing he did when Richie had cut up his leg on a tree branch.

Bill grabbed the bandages, the rubbing alcohol, then a rag which he began to run under the warm faucet. He turned back to Henry.

“This is probably going to hurt, huh?” Henry asked.

“Y-yeah, d-d-do you st-still n-n-not remember wh-what happened?” Bill asked, squeezing the excess water out of the rag.

“I… freaked out. I had one of my ‘episodes’ again, and when I came to, Belch and Vic looked like I killed someone… I was worried I did.” Henry said, eyes focusing on the shower door. “I think I did it.” He paused and looked down at his arms. “I cut myself.”

Bill paused, mulling this over. What did Henry mean by episodes? And he really didn’t know what he did to Ben? Yeah, right.

“You tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you.” Henry snapped, before grimacing at his sudden movement.

“You a-a-are the o-one sit-sitting on m-my toilet.” Bill responded, eyebrows raised. “J-just st-stay still.” Bill grasped Henry’s wrist, holding it up as he wrapped the rag around a section of his cuts and began to apply pressure. The white rag began to soak with blood, and he continued holding it until it had stopped spreading. He put the rag back in the sink, grabbing another one.

“Ok, I-I’m going t-t-to u-use the al-alcohol now.” Henry nodded glumly.

He poured it over the section and Henry only flinched slightly, surprising Bill. He began to dab at the cuts with the new, dry rag. Bill nodded, as if approving his own work.

“Th-these a-are the o-only b-b-bandages w-we have.” Bill said, producing the ones that had Mickey Mouse on them.

“It’s fine.” Henry said, like he had no energy to fight or even make a snarky comment anymore.

Bill washed out the bloody rag and began to repeat the process.

________

 

“O-okay. A-a-all done.” Bill said, smiling at the amount of Mickey Mouses covering Henry’s arms.

“Thanks, Denbrough.” Henry said, getting up to grab his leather jacket on the counter. “I guess I owe you one.”

“Yeah, k-keep it in m-m-mind b-before y-y-you punch my t-teeth in,” Bill deadpans.

“Maybe it would fix that stutter of yours,” Henry rebuttals, before quickly apologizing, “Shit, now I really owe you one.”

“D-don’t worry a-about i-” Bill began, but was interrupted by a loud crash from the kitchen downstairs.

“I g-guess m-my p-parents are back.” Bill says after Henry flinches at the noise. “C-c-come on, I’ll w-walk you o-o-out.”

Henry nods apprehensively as they set out from his bathroom into the hall.

“Ma?” Bill calls to no response. “D-dad?”

The two pause at the steps before cautiously peering into the kitchen.

“M-mom?” Bill asked again, and a figure stepped out from behind the counter. Bill heard Henry gasp beside him. Bill’s heartbeat quickened, echoing loudly in his ears, so loud maybe even Henry could hear it.

“G-Georgie?”

Chapter 7: below

Summary:

somebody's there.

Meanwhile, thousands of feet below a shocked Bill Denbrough and Henry Bowers, miles down from a still working Victor Criss and Mike Hanlon, under a snoring Ben Hanscom and drooling Richie Tozier, millions of inches below Stanley Uris taking a bath, a stressed out Belch in the bed of his truck, beneath the socked feet of an exhausted Eddie Kapsbrak, yet only inches below the pipes of Beverly Marsh’s sink, Patrick Hockstetter was floating.

How he got there was complicated, and though he would never admit it, he had gotten carried away with the whole fat kid thing. He was known to have his obsessions, but that was neither here nor there.

When his milky white eyes slowly faded back to brown, his first thought was ‘Wow, that was the best high I’ve ever had.’ However, as he took in his surroundings, he realized something was up- he wasn’t in Vic’s basement smoking weed, he was somewhere far worse, and far more disgusting.

Bones and piles of organs surrounded him, stinking the air in only the way a human can. He gagged. Next to the bones were enormous piles of toys, Patrick never paid attention when learning about measurements, but he had to guess some of them were about 6 or 7 stories tall. The toys were mostly rotted, some looking as old as one hundred years. He shivered-where the fuck was he?

It was then when a light, not unlike a spotlight, suddenly rained down from the top of the cavernous space, landing on a children’s desk with a singular paper and a quill on top.

Cautiously approaching, Patrick put a hand on his switchblade in his jacket’s pocket. Was this lardass’s idea of a joke? Because if this was him, Patrick was going to slit his throat from ear to ear, who would be laughing then?

He smelt the air again. Though, and wasn’t so sure the kid had it in him.

He looked down at the desk, and read the paper:

‘SIGN AWAY YOUR SOUL!’ It said, in a fun, cursive red handwriting. Heavy footsteps sounded behind him.

“Ok, is this your idea of a joke?” Patrick said, exasperatedly, turning around, expecting to see the fat kid, but instead seeing a clown, likely over 6’5.

Patrick wasn’t an easily scarible guy, he had done and seen things far worse than this. But...there was something about this clown. He wasn’t your typical Bozo. He was brightly colored like a typical clown, but his clothes were torn and covered in a rich red blood. His makeup wasn’t so much makeup but scarred designs in his face, forming a U like shape over his eyes. His head was bulbous, a stark white against the dark red blood on his face and clothes.

“Hi-ya Patrick!” The clown said, and goosebumps cascaded down his entire body. “Whadya say we make a deal?”

Patrick was...speechless.

“Ah, come on patty cakes! Your friends have left you,” The clown said making a faux-sympathetic face towards him.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” He uttered, the only words he could find.

“Where’s Vic right now?” He asked, mimicking a gossiping teenage girl, and when Patrick didn’t respond, he continued. “With Mike.” He twiddled his hair between his fingers.

“Ye-yeah right! Probably beating him up.” He crossed his arms in a brave protest (against his better judgement).

“Ok, what about Henry?” Bozo asked, raising his eyebrows (or rather, where his eyebrows should be). Once again, Patrick was stunned quiet. “No guesses? What’s that queer’s name? Biff? Biff Deadbrough?” The clown snickered slightly.

“Bill?” He suggested, eyebrows knitting together, “Why would he be with him?”

The clown gave him a look, “Why does it matter? He betrayed you? He’s letting me down, too.”

Patrick looked at his shoes.

“So whaddya say to… new friends?” The clown says, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him to the desk.

The smell in the air suddenly shifted from rotted organs to popcorn.

Patrick took the quill.

And he signed.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment :D (also I'm sorry this chapter is a little all over the place, but I like the spooky vibe it ended up with.)

Chapter 8: he can’t swim but he can float

Summary:

Stanley chills and then we check in on Henry and Bill (oh, and also Georgie)

Unlike the children all over town, Stanley, a very respectable young man, had a very respectable, relaxing night. He had started it with a bath (one of his favorite ways to destress), then proceeded to do a puzzle on his tiled bathroom floor (it had over 1,000 pieces but he finished it in less than an hour) and finally finished up his day by doing some bird drawings in his journal.

As he started drawing a toucan (not a bird they had in Derry, but one he wanted to see one day, regardless) he noticed Victor Criss walking down the sidewalk. Looking at the clock, it was passed 9:30, well over 2 hours after the curfew, and too late to be out doing anything good. Stan watched from behind his blinds as Victor lit a cigarette, took a drag and kept walking. Stanley’s heart began to race- what if he is out so late because he’s behind the missing kids? He took a note of what he had seen in case anything suspicious occurred within the next couple of days.

It appeared Stanley may have a lead.

——-

The boy looked the same as he had when he had left on that rainy day only months ago (yet it simultaneously felt like years ago and yesterday). His hands were clasped around his boat, the one Bill had made for him and covered in wax so it would float. His big brown eyes, like portals to his soul, clearly showed his fear, and he was looking at Henry.

“Billy! He is the one who took me! I ran all the way here from Neibolt house, that’s where Henry was keeping me!” Georgie exclaimed, bursting into tears and dropping his boat to the ground. Bill couldn’t help his natural reaction to his younger brother, wrapping his arms around him in a protective hug as Bill began to cry. “He,” George hiccuped, “took all the kids! Tried to,” he sniffled, “make me float but I told him no!” Georgie wiped his eyes, still swollen with tears like a gutter with rain. Bill was rocked to his core, here is his brother, presumed dead for at least 6 months, alive and seemingly well, claiming Henry was the one who took him.

“H-Henry, what i-is he t-t-talking about?” Bill asked, fiercely staring into Henry’s eyes, a showdown.

“W-what,” Henry began, stammering. “I have no idea what he’s talking about Bill. I swear.” He paused, wincing: “I swear on my mother I am just as lost as you are.”

“Liar!” Georgie screamed, running to the cellar in a tantrum-like fit.

“G-Georgie!” Bill called, barely brushing Georgie’s raincoat with his callused finger tips.

Bill followed him without hesitation but Henry paused for a moment, still shocked to the core.

As Bill flung open the door, they were once again shocked to find the basement to have a level of roughly 3-4 feet of water, no Georgie to be found.

Henry had his hand grasped in the sleeve of Bill’s shirt, both boy’s trembling slightly.

“You left me to die, Billy! It’s your fault!” They heard Georgie cry from beyond the stairs, and Bill nearly fell trying to get closer.

Henry gripped Bill’s shirt tighter. “Wait,” he said, with sudden desperation. “Bill... I don’t think that’s Georgie.” It struck Bill suddenly. Henry had never just called him Bill before. Before Bill can acknowledge that Henry even spoke, Georgie is screaming again.

“Now you’re going to let me drown Billy?” He called, voice twinged with sadness. “So you can do what? Suck that little failed project’s dick?” Bill would’ve laughed, in all honesty, but that was clearly not Georgie down there. And that’s was a much worse problem.

Henry suddenly lurched forward, grabbing Bill by the collar of his shirt. “You’ll float when I kill ya, oh you’ll float..” he said, pushing Bill against the wall as he desperately tried to claw at him to get him to let go. The cuts that Bill had just worked on for the last hour or so seemed to have reopened, and the blood began floating lazily in the air, like anti-gravity or something.

“Henry,” Bill gasped desperately, “please.”

Henry and Bill locked eyes for a moment, Henry’s suddenly clearing and returning to their natural color. He let Bill go and he grasped at his neck where Henry’s hands had been moments ago. Henry was about to speak when ‘Georgie’ appeared at the end of the steps.

“You’ll alllll float.” He laughed, “I’ll kill you so slowly you’ll pray for death to free you,” Henry’s hands found bills shirt again, this time in fear (and protection?) as opposed to possession.

“Henry knows all about that, don’t you? Whatever, it doesn’t matter, the point is; you, your friends, your entire town will be begging for mercy on their hands and knees and I will laugh in their faces,” Georgie’s voice slowly gave way into a deep, gravely voice, not unlike a smoker’s. “You can’t kill god. You’ll die if you try,” he whispered, Georgie’s features melting away into that of a clown, “you’ll die if you try,” he repeated, creeping up the stairs. “You’ll DIE if you try,” he said, building volume. “You’ll die if you try!” He said, even louder and getting even closer; Henry tripped over his own feet as he missed a step, pulling Bill with him. “Die if you try!” The clown screeched, as both Henry and Bill scurried to their feet and took off running, the clowns voice loud and clear as they slammed the door.

The two boys stood in stunned silence for what could’ve been hours after they emerged from the cellar, neither one wanting to verbally acknowledge what had just happened. Henry reached for his cigarettes, and with a shaky hand gently place one in between his chapped lips.

“My, m-my m-m-mom doesn’t l-let a-a-anyone smoke in h-here,” Bill said, looking down at his hands.

Henry nodded curtly and turned on his heels into the front yard. It wasn’t long before Bill heard the unmistakable flick of a lighter.

Notes:

Thanks for reading I love you so much and hope you enjoyed. I’m so so so sorry for the late update I’ve had a rough last few months. Thanks for taking your time to check this out.

Chapter 9: I look at him and drown

Summary:

Henry & Bill try to cope.

Notes:

hi!!! Here’s another chapter, I hope you enjoy :) Henry and Bill have a really interesting dynamic I’ve had a good time exploring it.

Henry leaned against the Denbrough’s porch, breathing in the smoke of his cigarette like it would somehow fix what he just saw. He had another episode, that was for sure, but he had never remembered them afterwards, like he did now.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, as he peeled off his jacket, now flush against his skin with more blood, or at least, what appeared to be blood. It was much darker than the blood that typically came from his wounds, so dark it was nearly black.
“What the fuck is even going on anymore?” He spoke, maybe to God or, maybe, just to the universe. He was in a much worse pain now that his cuts had been reopened. He was much colder, too, as the night air stuck to the blood on his arms like magnets. He breathed deeply, and wanted to laugh, or maybe even cry.
“I-I don’t k-k-k-know w-what t-t-to s-s-s-say.” Bill said, startling Henry from his thoughts.
“So don’t say anything,” Henry said, coldly. “We never have to talk about this—or anything—ever again, okay?” He stomped out his cigarette, and turned to leave.
“W-wait-'' Bill said, grasping Henry’s wrist, causing him to flinch. Bill immediately let go, and Henry pulled his wrist closer to his chest. “I-I’m s-s-sorry.”
“No, I am. I should’ve never come over here.” “Do y-y-you w-want t-t-t-t-to talk a-abo-”
“No.” Henry answered quickly, “Why, do you?” “N-not r-r-r-really,”
“Good.” “G-g-good.”
The air had still not lost its weight, both boys had suppressed what they really wanted to say, instead disguising it as: “good.” It was not unlike a game of chicken, one that Henry played many times, where the two were standing on the railroad, practically begging to be hit by the train.
To further the trainwreck, both boys went to speak at the same time. “He-” “Do-” and then silence.
“I-It wasn’t i-important. Y-y-y-you g-g-go.” “It’s your house. You can go.”

“O-ok, f-f-fine.” He paused taking a deep breath, “A-a-are w-we both c-crazy? I m-mean, y-y-y-you s-saw that t-t-too, r-right?”
Henry nodded, “I have no idea what the fuck just happened. Does Georgie have an evil twin you didn’t know about?
Bill stared back at him, not amused. “W-we should d-d-d-d-do r-research or s-s-something. See w-what c-c-causes joint h-hallucinations.” (“Joint hallucinations, or joint h allucinations?” Bill hears RIchie saying in his head.)
Henry reflects on this for a moment, before looking down at his converse. “I don’t know, man.” “W-whatever, it’s n-n-n-not important. W-what were y-you s-s-s-saying?”
“Listen, Bill, if you stay out of my life, I’ll stay out of yours. We’d be better off.” Henry said, glancing between the door and Bill. “I’ll just...go.”
“Hen-“
“Can it, Denbrough! I’m going home before my dad skins me alive.”
“Don’t.” Bill asserts.
“What?”
“D-don’t go home. Just c-c-call your d-dad a-and s-say y-you’re with your g-goons. Stay h-here. You c-c-could b-bleed to d-d-d-death o-over n-night.”
“Please. I want to get the fuck out of here as quick as possible.” Henry said, pulling his leather jacket back on with a grimace.
Bill raised an eyebrow at Henry’s contorted face.
“Ok. You know what? Fine. But you tell anyone, anyone, I stayed here, I will eat your legs and let you bleed out in a fucking ditch, Denbrough.”
——
“H-here,” Bill said, as he tossed Henry an oversized flannel that used to belong to his grandfather.

Henry caught it, giving Bill a dirty look that cried: “turn around, creep!” So, he did. However, Bill peeked behind him as Henry pulled off his shirt. He was much scrawnier than Bill had imagined, shoulder blades and spine jutting out unnaturally. Scars littered his back, burns, cuts, and other, worse yet more unidentifiable scars as well. They were on a backdrop of bruises, the big, bad, black and blue kind. Bill whipped around as Henry began to button up the shirt, but he couldn’t get the picture of his back out of his mind for the rest of the night... that and the feeling of Henry’s hands tangled in his shirt.

Notes:

The boys 🥺 anyways the title to this and the last chapter are both from the song Hit so Hard by Hole which has been constantly in my head (also kinda fitting to the story😉) anyways hopefully I’ll update soon but PT has been taking a lot out of me, if you’re reading this I love you

Notes:

thank you for reading!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of come together