Work Text:
At one point in each of the Losers’ lives, they realized they had fallen in love with Bill Denbrough. And who could blame them? It’s easy to fall in love with someone who’s brave enough to stand tall, stutter and bolden blue-eyed, and stare the Devil down. He did that, and he brought all of them back to safety because he was him. Bill was brave but more importantly he had this way about making someone feel seen.
When you were having a conversation with Bill Denbrough, he wasn’t looking at the color or the weight of your skin. He could care less if you wheezed on every breath or didn’t know how to take a breath when talking. He didn’t judge you based on what rumors had been spoken by the adults and mean kids alike, he only cared what you were saying. Talking to Bill Denbrough made you feel like you could face the mightiest of dragons and jump off the highest of cliffs.
Of course, the Losers fell in love with him. He was the sun and them but the orbiting planets. The thing about being in love with Bill Denbrough though, it hurts.
Bill could be an enigma, even to the ones who’ve known him the longest. The inner working of Bill’s mind was more complicated than one would guess at first glance. As much bravery was stored there, there was as much guilt. A feeling that haunted him, constantly constricted around his chest and crushing his ribs, so intense he could feel it in the hollows of his bones.
It tightened every time the sunlight glinted off of the scars that haloed Stan’s face. It itched in the back of his teeth every time he watched Eddie scrub raw at his hands, trying to get the sewage he still saw from underneath his nails. It threatened to drown him every time Mike would flinch at any sound of a bang, the sound of the bolt pistol still ringing in his ears.
To Bill Denbrough, he considered himself unlovable. What kind of person leads his friends into the depths of the sewers chasing the ghost of his little brother? He’s the reason they will never be whole again, their missing pieces lost beneath the gravel of Derry. Was the price of winning worth the cost? Most days he’s not sure.
The Losers loved Bill, but he couldn’t even love himself so how could he ever be who they needed him to be? So he distanced himself the moment they got to college. It was more painful than guzzling push pins, but it would be better this way for them. College was supposed to be their glory years anyways, they would hardly notice him missing.
From a distance he watched them start to love each other in a way he could only dream of being a part of. He’d spot them across campus, Ben and Richie holding hands, or at parties, Bev, Stan, and Richie doing shots, and laughing. In the library he’d see Mike and Eddie hunched over the same book, reading together, smiling. He was so happy for them even though it tore him up inside. It was just better this way he’d remind himself, they don’t need him.
-
It pained them to watch Bill separate himself from them. They weren’t complete without him, like a train with no engine, but trying to have a conversion with Bill Denbrough nowadays is like trying to capture rising smoke with your fingertips. Maybe it would make them feel better if they saw him having fun, make it hurt less if they knew that Bill leaving wasn't because he didn’t love them. It was the years of guilt, of him never letting anyone inside that festered to a boiling point. They knew he loved them, he just wouldn’t allow himself to be with them.
Ben is the only one out of the group who still gets to see him regularly. They share English 101. Ben sits in the front and Bill sits all the way in the back, purposely making it hard for Ben to see him. Bill always slips into class at the last minute and is always the first one out the doors when it’s over. It kind of hurts Ben’s feelings, does he really think that he’s going to confront him in front of everyone?
He sometimes will steal glances at him, just needing reassurance that Bill’s still real. He almost regrets it each time. Bill is all sharp angles now, cheeks gaunt and his collarbones poke out of t-shirts, and he wonders when was the last time Bill ate something other than vending machine chips. There are purple eye bags under what are now dull blue eyes and makes Ben want to help, but Bill won’t look at him. Bill doesn’t look at anyone in the class, which incites the Professor's rage one day.
“Mr. Denbrough! Are you wasting your money on a spot to daydream or do you actually plan to learn something in this class?!” Professor Todd booms.
Ben flinches, but when he looks back at Bill, because he has to check on him, he smiles. Bill is staring down at the Professor, his lower lip trembling. Not in fear, no, Ben knows this, but in anger. It’s the first emotion he’s seen Bill have since coming to school. The Professor smirks, raising his eyebrows, mistaking his look of defiance for a look of a boy on the verge of tears. Ben watches with bated breath…only for Bill to slump back in his seat with a “Sorry Pr-Professor.”
The class resumes but Ben can’t tear his eyes away, unbelieving what he just witnessed. For the first time, Ben doesn’t take complete notes in class, his mind running away from what’s going on around him in the room. All the way back to the sewers.
When the Professor excuses them after class, Ben bolts out the door and after Bill. He can’t let him get away, not this time.
“Bill! Bill, wait up!” he shouts, apologizing to the people he accidentally knocks into.
For a brief moment, he gets scared that Bill is going to disappear into the crowd, that he’s going to ignore him. But Bill is still Bill and very reluctantly he stops. He leans against the hallway’s wall and stares at the toes of his converse. They still have the smiley faces Richie drew on them during their junior year of high school.
Ben is giddy when he catches up to Bill, he doesn’t even care that he won’t look at him, it’s just nice to be back in his presence. That is until he realizes he had no plan when he chased Bill after class. “I’m sorry about Professor Todd.” There’s no need for him to apologize about what had happened in class, but he just needs an excuse to talk to Bill.
Bill glances up and those blue eyes still take the breath out of Ben’s lungs. “It’s okay, Professor Tuh-Todd is d-dick.”
“He is, isn’t he,” he agrees, a smile cracking across his face. Bill starts to shuffle on his feet like he’s fighting the urge to walk away and Ben is just not ready for that yet, “So um…we have that poetry due next week, and I was thinking that if you wanted to I could help you out,” Bill shoots him a look he can’t read, “Only if you wanted too though! I know you struggle with poetry, not that you’re bad at it of course! It’s just you used to always complain about it and writing fiction was always-”
“It’s fine Ben,” he huffs, amusement playing in his voice. Ben was rambling, and Bill didn’t mind, he never minded, and the small smile he gives Ben makes his heart soar. It can’t last though. Bill’s small smile drops almost as fast as it came, “I already have my puh-poem done, thanks any-anyways.” Bill pushes off the wall and leaves, turning his back to Ben.
Helplessly he watches their fearless leader disappear into the crowd.
-
When Richie sees Bill for the first time in two months it’s a complete accident. It wasn’t like he was looking for him, not like the others discreetly and constantly do in the crowds around campus. Because if Richie’s being honest, he’s angry at Bill.
He hates Bill for having a savior complex and he hates how the others hurt because they miss him so. Most importantly and selfishly he hates Bill for leaving him. They were the dynamic duo. Batman and Robin, to which they had many arguments over who was who.
So Richie being Richie, he tried to forget that Bill even existed when Bill started distancing himself from them. It didn’t work. Instead, he always imagined that when he finally did see Bill again, they were going to fight it out. It’s how they handled things when they were younger. That doesn’t happen, because like mentioned earlier, he didn’t plan on seeing Bill when he did.
He was out with some friends from his Theater Arts class, and not the losers for once. It was late on a Saturday night and they had just left a bar, heading down the twenty-four hour burger joint on campus. Richie was painfully sober because he was tonight's designated driver. Which was fine! He honestly didn’t mind, but as the drunks were ordering their grease, he really needed a cigarette so he snuck away outside.
Behind the building was a bench, a smoke break area for the workers. It was empty except for one guy leaning against the bench, trying to get his cigarette lit with a shitty lighter. Richie didn’t pay him much attention as he lit his own, but after watching the poor guy struggle a little longer, he takes pity on him.
“Here man,” he reaches over, offering his lighter. The lighter with faded musical notes printed on it, the one he bummed from Bill after senior prom and never gave back.
The worker takes it with a small “Thanks” and lights his cigarette.
In the amber glow of the burning end of the now-lit cigarette, Richie realizes the man is Bill under the white paper burger joint hat at the same time Bill notices the design on the lighter. Bill stares very hard at the lighter, and it’s a good thing Richie is stunned because otherwise, he’d be demanding Bill to at least look at him. In his stupor, he just stares at Bill as if he’s seen a ghost until Bill finally gathers his balls to look at him.
The air is tense and heavy between them, their cigarettes between their fingers momentarily forgotten. Both waiting on the other to make the first move. A toss-up between the two, Big Bill versus the Trashmouth.
This time it’s Richie, “You work here now? Can’t imagine that helps you get your dick wet.”
It’s a lame joke but at least it chips away at some of the tension in the air. Bill doesn’t laugh but the corners of his mouth twitch up and Richie thinks how he misses Bill’s smile with a desperation. He hates this, things were never awkward with Bill before. Bill takes a drag of his cigarette, reminding Richie to do the same. “It’s extra cuh-cash and I work the gruh-graveyard shift anyways.” Richie knows that’s all the explanation he’s getting.
“Well, you’re cute in your little paper hat.”
A brief chuckle escapes Bill’s lips before he reigns it back in, as if he’s not allowed to laugh anymore. “Beep beep Richie.”
Richie doesn’t say anything else and the two settle into silence, smoking their cigarettes. He wonders if Bill ever stopped smoking his shitty menthol cigarettes but they’ve become a staple of Bill’s smell and he thinks he’ll miss them if Bill has. Any other loser right now would be trying to talk to Bill, maybe begging him to come back. Not him, he’s a simple man and he’s just happy to share this time with Bill. The fact that Bill didn’t bolt the moment he saw him is a win in his book.
As Bill snubs out the end of his cigarette as he checks his wrist watch and sighs, “My bruh-breaks over…sorry,” and turns to head back inside through the building's back door.
“Hey, Bill!” The words slip out before he can stop them, “I have to drive everyone home but after I can always come back. Whadda ya say? Me an’ you go dicking around town?”
Bill looks over his shoulder, and he can see he’s got that furrowed eyebrow of his. It always means Bill’s thinking long and hard and it used to lead to some pretty awesome adventures. Now it just leads to heartbreak, “I can’t Rich.” Richie's shoulders slump, at least he tried. “Hey Trashmouth!” he shouts from where he’s opening the door, and when Richie looks up, Bill tosses the lighter right at his chest. Richie catches it before it hits the ground, “Tuh-take care of yourself,” Bill tells him before the door closes behind him.
“You too Big Bill.” That's the last time Richie uses that lighter.
-
Maybe it was because Ben had told them what happened with Professor Todd, or maybe it’s because Richie told her he saw Bill last week with his eyes glazed over with tears he refused to let fall, but she’s not surprised when she sees Bill. She was expecting to run into him sooner than later.
This time comes when she sees him in the hall between classes, making his way into the hall’s gender-neutral bathroom. The front of his pants and bottom of his shirt is soaked as if Bill spilled his morning coffee into his lap. Bill was always a clutz. She has no qualms about following him in there.
Bill doesn't notice the door open, too busy yanking paper towels out of the dispenser, dabbing at the wet stain. The unfortunate stain makes it look like he pissed himself, and there’s a blush steadily rising on the top of Bill’s cheeks, which are more sunken in than she remembers. Ben and Richie were right, Bill looks bad.
“It helps if you damp the paper towel first.”
Bill jumps and drops the wad of coffee-soaked paper towels in his hand. He looks at her in the mirror, not unlike how a prey animal eyes a looming predator. How did things get so messed up?
“Just, here,” she huffs, going to grab her own handful of paper towels, this time dampening them and wringing them out. She holds them out to him, not wanting to cross any lines by touching him. Not that long ago Bill would scoop her up and spin her around till they were both giddy with laughter.
Hesitantly Bill takes them and starts dabbing at his pants, “Thanks B-Bev.” God, it feels so nice to hear him say her name.
“If you damp the paper towel it’ll clean away the sugar so that you’re not sticky when it dries,” she gives him an explanation he didn’t ask for, “Your pants are probably going to be damp for the rest of the day though.”
He grimaces, “Gruh-great.”
Without a second thought she drops her backpack and shrugs off her pastel green sweater, thankful she decided to wear one of Richie’s band tees underneath, “Here, you can tie this around your waist.”
“I-, It’s fine Bev. Th-Thank you, but it’s not the fuh-first time I’ve spuh-spilled coffee on me.”
She smiles, “I know, and it’s not the last time you will,” she holds the sweater against his chest, the back of knuckles rap against his breast bone. Bill looks at the sweater, guilt bleeding into his blue eyes. “Bill please, I really don’t mind. You can just return it later, okay?!” She pleads. She needs Bill to let her do this for him, things can’t continue the way they have been, things can't continue being this messed up.
Bill shushes her gently and grabs the back of her hand, the one currently against his chest. His eyes are glazed and Bev can feel her tears running down her cheeks too, God, this is so fucking fucked up! “Bevie, I cuh-can’t,” he chokes out. Bill drops her and brushes past her, leaving her to watch the reflection of him in the mirror flee, her sweater still fisted in her hand.
-
Mike has always loved the library, so it made sense for him to work as an aid at the university's. He likes to brag and say he has the best job out of all the losers. (He’s the only one with a job.)
During his shift, every Tuesday and Thursday evening, it’s pretty much his own show. He gets to shelve books, and set aside any new history book Ben may take an interest in, or sit behind the desk and get his school work done, the occasional student needing help locating a book. Sometimes one of his Losers will drop him off a snack, or just hang around. The only time Richie comes into the library is when he’s working, the other librarian, an old lady named Patricia, kicks Richie out every time she’s working. Richie is willing to behave for Mike.
Mike’s pushing his cart of books down the aisle, shelving when he sees him. The book shelves aren’t too tall, but the top shelf can be tricky for people on the shorter side. Bill’s on his tippy toes, and he still can’t reach the book he desires. There’s a step stool a little further down the aisle and either Bill didn’t see it, or he’s being stubborn. Mike knows which is more likely.
He chuckles to himself and goes up to him, pulling the book Bill was reaching for down with ease. “Here ya go,” he passes the book to Bill.
Bill is startled, but the tension in his shoulders relaxes when he sees it’s just Mike. “Thanks, Mikey, I cuh-could’ve got it th-though” he pulls the book to his chest, subconsciously putting up a barrier between them.
“Yeah, I know Bill.” He’s smiling at him, he’s missed Bill just as much as everyone else has, but he knows Bill will come back to them when he’s ready. “So you’re deciding to read Little Women?” he gestures to the book in Bill’s hands.
“Oh, yeah. I wuh-watched the m-movie the other night when I was h-h-high.”
Mike doesn’t want to wonder how often Bill’s getting high nowadays. “Eddie and I read it together last month. Eddie fell in love with Laurie, almost made me jealous.” A brief flash of pain crosses Bill’s face and he regrets bringing up Eddie. He changes the subject, “I heard you were working at the burger joint on campus, how’s that going?”
“It’s uh, well it suh-sucks,” Bill breathes out, never having been able to lie to Mike but still thankful for the change of subject, “It puh-pays decent and so-sometimes they let me eat luh-leftovers.”
“Oh Billy,” He whispers, he doesn’t mean to let it slip and he sees the dread filling Bill’s eyes. They both know how this will play out, it’s inevitable. Just like what happened to them in the sewers, fate is a train barreling towards them at full speed and they can’t jump off the tracks. Best to get it over with, “You know if you want a different job, I can convince the boss lady to give you one here. You’d enjoy it a lot better.”
Bill regards him with sympathy, “Uh yeah Mikey, I’ll thu-think about it,” they both know he’s not going to, “I th-think I’m g-g-gonna go check this out, go see how hot Luh-Laurie is.” He steps around him, and his shoulder barely brushes Mike’s bicep. He gets the delirious idea to scoop Bill up in his arms, hold on to him and never let go, and take him back home to the Losers because then everything would be okay. They’d be complete.
He doesn't give in to temptation and watches Bill disappear out of the aisle, taking a little piece of him stuffed inside the pages of Little Women.
-
Stanley Uris is very aware that he is being watched right now, and he’s very aware that those eyes belong to one Bill Denbrough.
It’s Sunday evening, and all the other losers were busy studying or doing homework. (“We can’t all be perfect like you, boy scout,” Richie had grumbled at him. Stan kissed him on his forehead for his troubles.) Looking for something busy himself, he decided to pay the park a visit to birdwatch. Usually, birdwatching was reserved for Saturday mornings, with Bev accompanying him. She didn’t watch the birds, and would rather opt to curl into his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder to take a morning nap. He didn’t mind. Besides, Bill was the one who would go birdwatching with him but Bill has decided that he’s unlovable.
Bill’s hand is flitting across the page of the open sketchbook in his lap. He’s sitting on the bench across the way, probably assuming that Stan is too busy looking for a Garbler or a Finch. No, Stan saw him. He knows the feeling of being watched all too well, that fucking clown. What is Bill drawing now? Are his hands still perpetually stained in ink? He longs to know these simple things.
Every glance of those blue eyes on him feels like they’re burrowing into his skin. Stan keeps looking through his binoculars. There’s a Blue Jay up in the tree, a piece of hay in its beak. It jumps from branch to branch before flying down to the ground. It hops a few times until it lands a few feet in front of worn converse. Shit.
He probably looks like a dork staring at Bill through his binoculars, but Bill’s never been one to think such things, especially about the Losers. Stan drops his binoculars and they both stare at one another, unable to move. It’s like they are trapped in this hopeless purgatory, invisible to outsiders. He plays with the idea of just getting up and leaving, because his heart may just break again if he talks to Bill. The Losers have spent too long putting him back together.
Bill moves first, surprisingly, and it’s not away like Stan was expecting. He approaches Stan’s bench slowly, and Stan watches him approach with a look of contempt. Bill stands awkwardly in front of him, fiddling with the frayed edges of his now-closed sketchbook. What fills the pages of it? Is it still the Losers or have more monstrous memories taken their place? Or to Bill, are they one and the same now?
“Hi, Stanley.”
Stan studies the bridge of Bill’s nose, checking to see if any new freckles have joined the smattering across it. He says nothing.
Bill doesn’t react to Stan’s silence, he’s too busy doing his own studying of the silver scars that line Stan’s face. Stan and Bill were in a relationship of sorts before Bill distanced himself, looking back Stan has realized he was in a relationship of sorts with all of the Losers, but for a brief moment he and Bill had their own private thing. Each one of their kisses would be brought to a stop the moment Bill cupped his face and felt those scars. It made Stan hate them all the more. And here Bill is again, letting those stupid scars prevent them from being together.
“What do you want?” The words sound more venomous than he intends, but he can’t find it in him to care.
Bill flinches. He’s probably wondering why he even came over to talk to him, especially when he had no problem ignoring Stan and the others for this long. Stan knows that because he’s wondering the same thing.
“I ju-ju-ju-ju-ju-ju,” he stops and swallows down the fighting words, “I don’t know. Nuh-nevermind,” he gets out evenly and starts to walk away.
Stan’s on his feet in a moment, hysterical laughter spilling out his gut as he grabs Bill by the wrist, preventing him from taking another step, “That’s it? That’s all I get? An ‘I don’t know'? You ignore me for fucking months! Ignore the Losers and then I guess because you’re bored you decide to talk to me?!” He doesn’t remember when he started yelling.
Bill yanks his wrist out his grip like Stan has burned him, “It’s buh-better this way! Cuh-can’t you see th-that? Can’t any of you ruh-realize that by n-now!”
“Better Bill?! You think this is better? You left us!” his throat is tightening up but he will not cry, he is done crying over Bill Denbrough, “You left me!”
“No! You left me! You’re not my friends! You made me go into Neilbolt!”
In the distance a bird coos and there’s a cheer of someone making a basketball goal. Between Stan and Bill, it is stone silent. Stan wants to grab Bill’s hand and use it as a lifeline to steady himself like he used to, but if he reaches for him and Bill pulls away, he’s not sure what he’ll do. So he balls his hands into fists at his sides, knowing that his nails will dig into his palms till they bleed. “Just...Bill please, come home to us,” he says lowly.
Bill opens his mouth to speak but chokes on any words that try to come out. He shakes his head and walks away, and this time Stan lets him.
-
It’s Saturday night and Eddie would rather not be walking the sidewalk, on his way to a college party, and yet, here he is. According to the phone call he just had with Ben, bless his soul- he’s only sober one right now besides Eddie- Bev and Stan started taking shots, Richie is very stoned, and even Mike has had one too many. They aren’t completely blacked out wasted but if Eddie doesn’t get there to help Ben moderate them, they will be by the end of the night.
He almost thought he was going to get out of coming tonight, having to stay home to work on his paper for Intro Into Medicine, but he was able to wrap it up quicker than he thought. Stan was supposed to be the other designated sober person tonight, but after what he says happened with Bill last Sunday, he doesn’t blame him for wanting to drink.
Their party is at a sorority house, one of Bev’s friends Kay invited them to, but along the way, he passes the frat party that is also going on tonight. Drunk shirtless gym bros are running around the yard and a couple is making out and grinding on the front porch. Eddie can’t tell you what the name of the frat is, but he’s pretty sure he and the Losers have partied here before. This frat has a big party every Saturday night and he wrinkles his nose, remembering how the house smells like stale beer and piss.
There’s some unlucky soul crouched down and vomiting in the bushes in the corner of the yard by the street. Eddie goes to give them a wide berth as he passes them but then in the porch light he sees auburn brown hair and he knows.
Bill’s hands are on the ground as another retch travels up his spine, his knees in the dirt, his jeans to forever be grass-stained.
Eddie really wishes he had a bottle of water, or even a fucking rag as he immediately kneels down by Bill, rubbing his back. He hates sickness but it never bothers him if it’s one of the Losers. “Let it out Big Bill,” he coos.
Bill’s head snaps up to him, just now noticing Eddie’s presence. His face pinches up but before he can say anything he throws up again. He continues to rub Bill’s back, cooing, and selfishly a part of him loves this. Just being in Bill’s presence and being here for him.
He throws up everything in his stomach until he’s just dry heaving, “Eds,” he croaks. Bill pulls himself away and tries to scramble away from him. But Bill is utterly wasted and ends up tripping over his long legs, falling down on his ass. He clamors back to his feet, trying to flee down the sidewalk.
“Bill! You idiot!” He yells as he takes off after him.
Bill gets to a turn in the sidewalk and trips, taking a hard fall into the road. Panically Eddie runs to him. Bill is laying face down on the gravel, and when Eddie flips him over, he has a bloody chin and left cheek, some pretty nasty road rash. His forearms aren’t any better. Surprisingly, Bill is still conscious.
He tries to say something to Eddie, but between his stutter and the slurring of his words, it’s unintelligible. It gets worse when he starts sobbing.
Eddie cradles Bill’s head to his chest, murmuring " It’sokayit’sokayit’sokay,” over and over. At some point, Bill passes out, and while trying not to disturb him, Eddie fishes his phone out of his pocket to call Ben. They are still on the road after all.
-
He can hear them when he wakes up. They’re murmuring all around him. Someone is laying beside him on the bed and the rest are either sitting on it or standing in the room. Someone is running their fingers through his greasy hair and without looking he knows it’s the scrape of Bev’s nails across his scalp just as he knows it’s Richie’s long legs that lay across his. Maybe a subconscious attempt on his part to make it harder on Bill when he wakes up and chooses to flee. They don’t know he’s already awake, he had some sense to keep his eyes closed when he woke up.
A headache is ringing in his ears and his mouth tastes of stale alcohol and vomit. His face is slightly burning from when he fell into the road but it feels like someone, Eddie, has put Neosporin on it. His arms are the worst and every shuffle of the sheet against them makes it feel like they’re on fire. He deserves it, especially after putting Eddie through that last night. Eddie hates illness.
He didn’t mean to get that drunk last night. He was sad and everyone was invited to those frat parties, he just needed some alleviation. The more he drank, the less he thought about Ben’s look of disappointment, the coldness around Richie, the pain in Bev’s eyes, and the way Mike had breathed out his name. And Stan, he doesn’t know what he was thinking last Sunday. He just misses them and he had a moment of weakness, and Stan suffered for it. Again.
The mattress bends as someone else sits on his other side. More Neosporin is being delicately applied to his cheek. Whose bed is this he wonders? Or do they all share a bed? Before college started they planned on looking for an apartment together, that was the same time he had started to pull away, secretly filling out a form for a dorm.
“You just found him last night?”
“He was getting sick in the bushes and then he bolted when he realized it was me. He tripped and fell in the road, I wouldn’t leave him there.”
“Running away nowadays seems to be his forte.”
“Beep beep Richie.”
“Well, thank you for bringing home Eddie.”
“Thank Mike, Bev. He’s the one who had to sober up and carry him home.”
“Do you…do you think he’ll stay this time?”
“I hope so, Stan.”
They hush each other as Bill moves, he doesn’t want to hear any more of this. He opens his eyes and blearily takes in the dim bedroom, the light is off and the afternoon sun is bleeding through the window. Bev stops playing with his hair and moves back a little so that he can push himself up into a sitting position. The pain in his arms makes him wince.
Richie sits across the wall, his legs still stretched out over his. He pushes his legs harder down onto Bill’s, trapping him. Eddie sits to his other side, Neosporin still clutched in his hand. Stan is sitting beside Richie, snuggled up and protected under Richie’s arm. Ben sits on the other side of his legs and Mike stands by the door. He is in all senses of it, trapped.
“You look like shit dude.” Richie gets a throw pillow in the face for that from Ben of all people. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” he holds his hands up in surrender.
Richie’s not lying. Aside from having a massive hangover and fucked up face, Bill hasn’t slept a full night or eaten a proper meal in months. Aside from munchies when he’s stoned or the occasional burger that was sent back because it was wrong at the burger joint, he forgets to eat. A side effect of his anxiety.
“Here, take this,” Eddie passes him some Advil from the nightstand. He swallows the pills dry before he sees the glass of water in Eddie’s other hand. He takes the water thankfully and avoids Eddie's eyes.
“Are you going to fucking say anything? Or are you still on your savior complex high horse and insisting it’s ‘better this way.” Stan’s words tear into him. No one beeps Stan but Bev’s hand returns to hair. He allows himself to lean into it.
What is he supposed to say? He wants to stand by what he's said because it is better this way, but he misses them. It’s felt like he was drowning and right now, in the same room with all of them, it’s the first time he’s been able to take a proper breath. “It’s stuh-still better-”
“Cut the shit Bill,” Bev tells him. Her hand hasn’t stopped soothing him, but she looks ready to strangle him, “We need you here.”
“I know, I know that you blame yourself for what happened to us, but please stop letting IT punish you. We’re the Losers, we’ve proven that we were stronger than IT ,” Mike adds, walking further into the room.
“We’re not whole without you Big Bill,” Richie jokingly punches the side of Bill’s thigh, like how a bro would ‘punch’ another bro on the shoulder. A stubborn smile creeps on his face at Richie’s antics.
“He’s right,” Ben continues, “They’re all right. We went through something horrible, but we went through something horrible together. We’re supposed to be together.” Ben, ever the romantic.
Eddie grasps his shoulder, “We love you, Billy, I love you.”
That's what breaks him. Eddie, his first friend, his first love. Eddie still loves him. He knows the light Eddie grew up seeing him in, always looking at him like he was the invincible one. But to Bill, he was always in awe of him, of how brave the little boy with the inhaler was. Eddie kisses him and he kisses him back, tasting the salty tang of tears. From whom, he doesn’t care. It’s so nice to be here, with them in this moment, and to feel the pure love Eddie is pouring out his soul for him into the kiss.
Eddie pulls back, teary-eyed and smiling. Bev stops playing with his hair and gently grips his chin, guiding him to face her. Her lips are just as plush against his as he remembers. Richie crawls his way onto his chest, providing a comforting weight and grounding him into the present. Mike pulls Eddie into his lap and they both curl into him, touching any part of him they can. Ben gets between his legs behind Richie, his big hands rubbing at his kneecaps. When Bev breaks their kiss with a parting kiss on his cheek, he sees Stan still sitting at the end of the bed, apprehensive.
“If you stay, you can’t- you can’t leave us again.” It kills him how Stan’s voice breaks.
He can’t promise he’ll stay. There’s still a voice in his head telling him they’d be better off without him, but for right now, the love he feels for the Losers is kicking that voice to the back seat. “I’m guh-gonna try.” He can give Stan and them the truth.
Stan thinks on it for a moment before quickly nodding his head, accepting Bill’s honesty. He quickly shambles up the bed and crawls between him and Bev, pulling Bill into an earnest kiss. Bill's hand automatically flexes, but he prevents it from reaching out and touching Stan’s scars and just lets Stan kiss him breathless.
Under the weight of his Losers, he’s protected. They won’t let the guilt float him away.
Things start to get better. Not all at once, but over time. Bill moves in with the Losers the next week, primarily staying in the guest room. It’s so nice to have Mike’s home-cooked meals again, he quickly gets back to eating on a schedule. Within the month he officially starts dating the Losers, filling in the missing piece.
He starts going birdwatching with Stan again and shows all the birds he’s doodled in his sketchbook since he left them. Bev is there too now, and it just makes sense. Sometimes Bill decides to sleep on Stan’s other shoulder. Richie has dragged him out into town, solely to fuck around or get high. He’s missed his Robin, because yes, Richie is Robin. If he says otherwise he’s wrong. He sits by Ben in Professor Todd's class now, and Ben helped him get a B+ on a poetry assignment, take that Professor Dickface! Thanks to beautiful Mike, he quits that awful job of his. Working in the library is much more his speed, and an added bonus, he doesn’t leave smelling like burnt oil.
There are still bad days. Sometimes he thinks he’s made the wrong call, that the Losers are still better off without him. But then one of them is there, reminding him of why he chose to stay.