Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summer was supposed to be good.  Summer was supposed to be fun.  Summer was not supposed to be wishing for someone back, someone that everyone was trying to say was dead just like every other kid that went missing.

Bill ignored them.  He had to for his own sanity.  If everyone else wanted to believe that Georgie was dead, then they could do that.  They could sit there and believe whatever they wanted, including his parents.  They were the first ones to give up, too.  Bill couldn’t believe it.  Georgie was out there somewhere, and no one would listen.

At least, pretending like he wasn’t dead was easier than accepting the blame.  Bill knew it was irrational, that there was no way he could have done anything, but if he had gone out with Georgie, maybe his parents wouldn’t hate him.  Maybe his parents would still be happy and wouldn’t ignore him anymore.  Or maybe he would have been the one to disappear, and his parents would still have Georgie.  They always loved him more anyway.

But that was months ago, and now it was summer.  It was time to move on, but how could he when Georgie haunted his dreams, when his parents’ stares permeated his thoughts.  He wished he knew what they were thinking.  He wished he could confirm what he already knew.

That was for another day, everyone said, because it’s summer.  It’s time to forget responsibility and fuck around and do nothing important because it’s summer.

Bill couldn’t forget, but he tried.  When his friends said “summer”, they meant it, and he should listen.  And besides, it was hard not to listen when Richie was talking.

That night, the first night, they drove out in Richie’s brand new very used truck that he got for his 16^th birthday to that field outside of town that the high schoolers visited to get drunk and high and cause a ruckus they couldn’t cause in town.  Bill and Stan sat in the bed of the truck, while Eddie got the passenger seat.  It didn’t surprise Bill in the least.

“Do you think,” Stan said, “that we’ll ever get the coveted passenger seat?  Or is that reserved exclusively for Eddie?”

“Th-th-think about it, Stan,” Bill said.  “Have we ever gotten the same treatment as Eddie?”

“I’ll take that as a hard no,” Stan laughed.

Bill looked inside the cab and Richie was singing loudly to the song on the radio that Bill could only hear the muffled sounds of.  Eddie was trying to clap a hand over Richie’s mouth.

“Are they…” Bill started.  “I mean, what d-d-do you think of them?”

“Are you asking me if they’re together?” Stan asked.

“Yes and no,” Bill said.  “If you know something, you don’t have to tell me, but if not, I wanna speculate with you.”

“Bill,” Stan said, “I know as much as you do, and I will say that if they don’t get their shit together by the end of summer, I’m going to do it for them.”

“What if we lock them in a room together,” Bill said, “and not let them out until they admit their f-f-feelings?”

“Absolutely genius.”

They pulled up to the field, a spattering of cars around, but nowhere near as many as Bill thought there would be.  Richie and Eddie hopped out of the cab and into the bed.  Richie immediately opened the cooler and cracked open a beer, handing it to Eddie before grabbing one for himself.

“What?” Stan asked.  “No table service?”

“I’m not a waiter,” Richie said.  He adopted a horrible French accent.  “Unless you are willing to pay, garcon.”

“Pay you for what?” Stan said.

“Being annoying, probably,” Bill said.

“Ouch, Billy,” Richie said.  “Tell me how you really feel.”

Stan grabbed two beers, one for himself and one for Bill.  Bill thanked him very loudly and in an over exaggerated way, looking directly at Richie the entire time.

“You should have just done it, Rich,” Eddie said.

“I work for no man,” Richie said.

“Then how come you work for Eddie?” Stan suggested.

Bill cursed the dark, but he could have sworn he saw Richie (and Eddie) blush.

“Well, short round over here,” Richie motioned to Eddie, “needs a helping hand sometimes or else he’ll hurt himself.  Don’t want him in the hospital over a boo-boo he got from opening a beer.”

“You think I’m delicate, Trashmouth?” Eddie said.  “We can fight, right here, right now.”

Bill rolled his eyes at the suggestion.  They fought far too often for it to be a coincidence, and it never seemed to be a show of strength because it was only ever a minute before Eddie gave up and let Richie hoist him over his shoulder or pin him to the ground.  Bill wasn’t that into fights, but sometimes, he thought he would have paid money to see Richie and Eddie actually duke it out instead of whatever weird shit they were doing.

“You’re on, Kaspbrak!” Richie said and put his beer down.  Eddie did the same and they both hopped out of the truck and started circling around on the grass.

Bill turned his attention back to Stan.

“Awfully early in the night for this shit,” Stan said.

“They haven’t even finished their first beer, yet,” Bill said.

“I got him!” Richie’s shouts rang loud and clear.

He had Eddie in a fireman’s carry, Eddie kicking but still laughing as Richie toted him around.

“Let me go, you big loser,” Eddie said.

“Only if you address me by my full title,” Richie said with his British voice.

Bill knew what came after that.  Richie would only listen if they addressed him as Sir Harry Weiner, which was arguably not the best fake name he had, but it was his favorite voice, so it stuck.

Eddie hesitated a second before saying, “But of course, Dame Dixie Normous.”

Richie stopped the voice and looked at Eddie.  “Hey, that’s a good one.”

“And I’m copyrighting it,” Eddie said.  “You’ll never become famous with a name like Harry Weiner, and I’ll become famous under my new title.”

Richie dropped Eddie on the ground, flat on his back.  Eddie swiped at Richie’s legs, pushing them out from underneath him, causing Richie to fall to the ground too.

Bill took another sip of his beer as Stan laughed.  Suddenly, with his friends so happy and having fun, he wanted to be anywhere else, alone and with his thoughts.  But he pushed through until he was four beers in and starting to lose control of what he was saying.

It was an hour later, and Richie and Eddie had calmed down, sitting behind the cab with their legs tangled together.  They had managed to drink a couple more beers than Bill, and Stan had two total, realizing halfway through his second that he would be the one driving home.

But Bill wanted to talk.  There was a lull in conversation after Richie’s long rant about how there should have only been one Back to the Future movie that was closely followed by Eddie’s counter argument that Richie actually liked Part 3 and he was being a baby over the second one.  Bill wasn’t exactly listening, too busy thinking about what he had been thinking about for months.

He was hoping to forget, to go out with his friends and exist away from the things he thought about himself, to drink the pain away and wake up feeling like he could actually move on.  Unfortunately for Bill, the alcohol did the opposite, and he kept drinking anyway.

“Why do you guys think they never found a body?” Bill asked unprompted.

“Of Georgie?” Richie asked.

Eddie kicked him and gave him a death stare.

“Yeah,” Bill said.  “You’d think if he died in f-f-fucking woods or something, they’d find a b-buh-body.”

“Maybe we should take you home,” Stan suggested.

“Or you could answer the qu-question,” Bill said.

“Look, Billy,” Richie started, “Sorry to be an asshole, but Georgie is dead.  There’s – there’s no way he could still be alive.  You have to know that.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill said getting angry.  “That’s easy to say when it’s not your brother.”

“Bill,” Stan said.  “Please calm down.  It’s not that we don’t want to help you –”

“It’s just that you don’t, and would rather forget about it,” Bill said.  “It’s fine.  I get it.  Whatever.”

Eddie, in one sloppy motion, moved to straddle Bill’s legs and held his face in his hands.  The smell of beer on his breath was pungent as he spoke, slowly and with meaning.

“Bill,” Eddie said.  “It sucks.  It really fucking sucks, but you can’t live your life wondering about something you’ll never know the answer of.  It sucks but that’s what you have us for.  And if you keep getting pissy with us then you won’t have anything.  We love you, Billy, but you need to move on for Georgie’s sake.  And for yours.”

Tears stung Bill’s eyes and he leaned forward into Eddie’s chest.  Eddie wrapped his arms around Bill, and they sat there for a second before Bill pulled away.

“I think I wanna go home,” Bill said.

The others agreed, and that how they ended up with Stan behind the wheel (after much wrestling the keys away from Richie, “C’mon, Stanny, I’m barely drunk”), and Bill squished in the middle between him and Richie with Eddie on Richie’s lap.

Richie had refused to sit in the back, and Stan and Eddie didn’t want Bill to sit out back either.  And when that left Eddie by himself, Richie patted his lap and said, “There’s a seat right here,” to which a drunk Eddie happily obliged.

Stan was driving the speed limit, and apparently that pissed Richie off.

“Can you go any faster, Grandma?” Richie said.

“If you want cops on our ass,” Stan said, “then, yeah, let them pull us over and smell the beer and also see it in the back of your fucking truck so we all get busted for it.  Sounds like a fun night, Rich.”

“Well, Eddie’s heavier than he looks.”

“He could have sat in the back,” Stan said.  “You too.”

“No way was I letting my Eds sit back there in the cold,” Richie said wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle and leaning against his back.

“Then quit complaining, asshole,” Stan said.

Bill laughed and Richie smushed his face into Eddie’s back.

“Eddie,” Richie whined.  “Stan’s yelling at me.”

“There’s something,” Eddie started.

“I see them,” Stan said slowing the truck down.

Bill saw them too.  Bowers and his gang were hovering over someone as the truck shined its lights on the kissing bridge.  They turned to look at the headlights, a slightly scary sight, Bowers with a knife in his hands, eyes like a deer in the headlights.

“Run them over,” Richie said into Eddie’s back, not bothering to look.

“Fuck off,” Stan muttered.

Bowers and his gang ran off when Stan put the truck into park, obviously not wanting to risk there being adults or cops in the vehicle.  Stan was the first one out of the truck, and Bill followed close behind.

The kid was in their year, someone Bill recognized but didn’t know the name of, someone he was guilty of calling “new kid” for the past school year because he had never bothered to learn his name.  He was bleeding from his stomach as Bowers had started carving his name into him.  A gruesome sight, but nothing Bill didn’t think Bowers was capable of.

“You okay?” Stan asked helping the kid up.

“Fine now,” he said.

“I’m Stan,” Stan said.  “This is Bill.”

Bill gave a small wave.

“Ben.”

“Well, c’mon, Ben,” Stan said.  “We can drive you home.”

“I’ll kick Eddie and Richie out of the cab,” Bill offered.

They fought Bill when he told them to get out, but Eddie changed his tune when he saw Ben, and immediately sobered up and offered to grab his first aid kit from home to patch him up, cursing the fact that he had stopped carrying his fanny pack a couple years ago.

“Or we could rob the pharmacy,” Richie suggested.  “Mr. Keene doesn’t lock it.”

“How do you know that?” Stan said before quickly adding, “No, don’t tell me.”

“I knew that too,” Eddie muttered.  “Just so we’re not throwing Richie under the bus.”

Bill looked between them, a memory they shared that they wouldn’t tell anyone else passed between their eyes, and Bill almost asked how, but decided against it.  They could have their secrets.

At the pharmacy, Eddie let himself in, looking around briefly to make sure the streets were deserted before entering and inviting the rest in.

The pharmacy was strangely peaceful when it was empty and dark, and Bill found himself wanting to wander the aisles and maybe the back where the kept the prescriptions, but also thinking about how Mr. Keene was likely to get arrested should anyone with power find out about this.

Ben sat down near the door examining his stomach where the bleeding had almost stopped.  Stan sat with him, while Eddie wandered off and Richie followed close behind.  Bill decided to give in to his urges, letting himself go behind the counter.  He read the prescriptions that were sitting out, wondering what each one did and who in town needed it.

He rounded a corner and smelled smoke.  He was almost ready to berate Richie for lighting up while they were inside when he realized the smell was coming from Mr. Keene’s office.

There was a girl.  She was holding a desk lamp in the ready position like she was about to defend herself.  Bill didn’t think it was good that the first thing he thought when he saw her was pretty because she was clearly a human being with complexity, but she was.  Her red hair cascaded down her back in a loose ponytail, framing her round, freckled face and big eyes.

Bill was sure he had seen her around school before, and unfortunately, when he tried to recall her name, the only thing that came to mind was what all the other guys in his class called her, “that whore”.

“Oh, sorry,” she said putting the lamp back down.  “I thought you were Mr. Keene, or the police.”

“What are you d-d-doing here?” Bill asked.

“This is my hideout,” the girl said.  “Mr. Keene doesn’t lock the door as you know, and he told me that to my face so…I took that to mean I’m allowed here whenever I want.  A better question is what you are doing here.”

“Needed some stuff,” Bill said.  “We, uh, met this kid who was getting harassed by Bowers.”

“Oh, lovely,” the girl said.  “I’m Beverly, by the way.  You can call me Bev.”

“I’m Bill,” Bill said.

“Well, c’mon, Billy,” Bev said brushing past him out of the office, “let’s go make sure the kid doesn’t die.”

Bill followed her out of the office, hoping Eddie had finished patching up Ben so he wouldn’t have to look at the wound any longer.  Eddie was bent over Ben, latex gloves on his hands, securing gauze and tape to his stomach.  Richie was lightly leaning into Eddie, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder, watching him intently.

“Hey, new kid on the block,” Bev said strolling up to the scene.

“Hey, Beverly,” Ben said looking up at her, cheeks flushing.

Richie hopped up.  “If it isn’t Beverly fucking Marsh.”

“You know, Richard,” Bev said like they were old friends, “if you wanted to meet up with me in the dark and empty pharmacy late at night with no one else around, you could have just asked.”  She finished with a wink.

Eddie glanced at her before resuming what he was doing.

“Would you have said yes…dah-ling?” Richie said.

“Like I said,” Bev said.  “All you have to do is ask, dear.”  She turned back to Ben while Bill tried to ignore that exchange.  “Bill said Bowers did this?”

“Yeah,” Ben said.  “But, I mean, I was out alone at night.  It was bound to happen.”

“Like fucking hell,” Bev said.

“Where were you going, anyway?” Eddie asked.

“Um, here, actually,” Ben said.

Bev turned back to Richie and smirked at him.  “We had a date.”

“Wait,” Bill said, “if you knew he was coming, then why were you about to hit me with a lamp.”

“I would have killed to see that,” Stan said.

“Because Ben and I have a password,” Bev said.

“Which is?” Richie asked.

“Like I’d tell,” Bev said.

“There,” Eddie said pulling off his gloves.  “Should be good.”

Ben mumbled a thanks before getting up.  He stared at Bev for a second before thanking everyone in a much louder tone.

“Alright,” Richie said, “we’ll get out of your hair.  I can tell when we’re not wanted.”

“Which is never for you,” Stan said.

“Stan the man,” Richie said clapping a hand on Stan’s shoulder.  “When will you man the fuck up, living up to your title, and just admit that you’re hopelessly in love with me?”

“When pigs fly, Dick,” Stan said brushing Richie’s hand off him.

“I will make that happen, my love.”

“Let’s go, guys,” Bill said, and suddenly his friends were ready to go.

They said their farewells to Bev and Ben, and went outside and back to Richie’s truck.  Richie and Eddie decided to sit in the back, Eddie mostly sober and not willing any longer to sit on Richie’s lap.

Stan drove them home, taking them all to Bill’s because his parents were the only ones that wouldn’t notice him coming in this late.  Bill pulled out some sleeping bags and Stan almost crashed on Bill’s bed while he was doing so.  Eddie went to brush his teeth and Richie said something about needing a smoke.

When Bill had finished preparing his room, he went to the bathroom, ready to kick Eddie out for taking too long, but he heard voices, low and hushed.  It was definitely Eddie and Richie.

“There’s nothing, Eds,” Richie said.  “She’s just a girl.”

“I literally know nothing about her,” Eddie said, and Bill could hear the pained expression he likely had.  “Why wouldn’t you tell me you smoke with her?  It’s not a big deal.  Like you said, she’s just a girl.”

“I don’t know,” Richie said, desperation rising.  “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“Yeah, but,” Eddie started to reason, “she’s like, your friend.  Even if you say she isn’t.”

“I can have friends,” Richie said.

“Yes, you can,” Eddie said.  “But there’s a reason you didn’t tell me you’ve been hanging out with her.”

“Not everything is a fucking puzzle you need to solve,” Richie said.  “She’s just a fucking girl I smoke with sometimes.  Nothing else.”  A moment of silence.  “I’m sorry, okay?  I really don’t know why she never came up, but I’m sorry that I made you feel shitty.”

“You can have friends, Rich,” Eddie said.  “But it makes me feel weird when you don’t tell me about them, especially when they’re girls…cause…you know.”

“Yeah, baby,” Richie said.  “I know.”

It took Bill far too long to realize that he shouldn’t be listening to this conversation, that he had stumbled upon something personal that wasn’t meant for his ears.  He ran back to his room, keeping quiet so that Richie and Eddie wouldn’t know he had been listening, and tried to forget what he had heard.

But he couldn’t.  Try and try all he could, he couldn’t get the words out of his head.  It was all super vague, but Eddie was mad that Richie was friends with Bev apparently.  Or at least, that Richie didn’t tell Eddie.  It sounded very…strange.  The way they spoke and the subject matter felt like they had a secret between the two of them, and Bill couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t something going on.

Richie had called Eddie “baby”, and then there was that cryptic wording from Eddie.  You know.  Richie knew, but Bill didn’t.  He decided not to tell Stan.

They came back to Bill’s room a few minutes later and turned in immediately, barely sparing a “good night” before they went to sleep right next to each other like they always did.

They rode their bikes down to the quarry the next day, mostly for somewhere to go that wasn’t too far seeing as Richie’s truck started leaking power steering fluid during the night.  He managed to get it home, but that was as far as he could go, and he didn’t have the right tools to fix it anyway.

They went down to the quarry because there was nowhere else to go.  They had already seen the movies at the theater, the arcade was filled with middle schoolers, and their respective homes were off-limits now that it was summer and also Saturday.  (“Go play outside like you do every summer”)

They were not expecting to come across their new friends on the way there.  Bev and Ben were standing on the kissing bridge, chatting idly when they rode up to them.

“Morning, boys,” Bev said.

“How was your date?” Richie asked.

“Beep, beep, Rich,” Stan said.

“Can’t a guy ask a question?” Richie said.

“No,” Bill said.  “We know why you’re asking.”

“Our date was lovely,” Bev said.  “Ben is a gentleman.”

“Thanks,” Ben said.  “I had fun too.”

“Gag,” Richie said.  “What about the good shit?”

“Now can I say it?” Stan mumbled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy?” Bev said, answering Richie’s question.

“Where you guys heading?” Ben asked.

“Quarry,” Eddie said.  “You guys can join us if you want.”  Eddie looked at Richie who didn’t seem fazed.  Or at least, he was hiding it well.

“Sounds fun,” Bev said.  She and Ben grabbed their bikes to join.

Bill didn’t know what to make of it.  He didn’t know what to make of a lot of things anymore.  He had just wanted a normal day with his friends, and he was sure that these two would be fine, but he couldn’t shake the strange tension between Richie and Eddie.  He couldn’t forget like he wanted to.

Their trip to the quarry turned into a shitshow as soon as they arrived.  They thought they would ride out, sit on the ledge for a while, throw rocks into the waters, and do whatever the fuck else they thought of, but instead, they rode up to Henry Bowers threatening a kid, that homeschooled kid, with a gun.

That took Bill by surprise.  Bowers was a knife guy.  He toted it around and showed it off and used it all the time, but a gun was a new low, even for him.  And he had it pointed right at the kid.

Bill thought about riding away, pretending like they hadn’t seen anything, but decided against it.  He wasn’t going to let Bowers intimidate this kid.  And besides, Bowers had seen them already.

“Aww,” Bowers said.  “A gang of fairies came to save you.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Bowers?” Richie yelled.  “Or better yet, why don’t you go fuck your dad?”

Bowers turned the gun towards Richie.  “Say that again, fag, and I’ll blow your head off.”

“How are you sure we’re even here?” Bev started.  “This could all be a part of your crazy delusion that you’re the most important person on the planet and that you deserve to kill us.  So, your mind is letting you live that out, even though we’re not really here.”

None of that made any sense, but it didn’t matter because Bowers didn’t understand either.  He lowered the gun towards the ground as his face scrunched in confusion.

“What the fuck are you on about, Marsh?”

“I’m just saying,” she continued, and Bill noticed Ben creeping forward on his bike, just slow enough that it was barely noticeable, “that it’s okay.  We’re here to help you and your delusions.  We want you to get better, buddy.”

Bowers lifted the gun back up, pointing it at Bev this time.  “Shut the fuck up.”

Ben had closed enough distance, and rammed full speed into Bowers.  He fell to the ground and the gun fired.

“Shit!”

Bill thought for a second that the sound came from Bowers, but when Bowers pushed Ben away and grabbed the gun again, Bill knew the sound had come from behind him.  He turned and saw Eddie on the ground, hand pressed firmly to his ear, Richie at his side.

“Fucker got my ear,” Eddie said pulling his hand away.  It was hardly anything to worry about, only a section of his right ear had been hit, leaving a nick where the bullet had hit.  It was barely bleeding, but Bill knew that didn’t matter because Eddie was seeing red.

Eddie stood up, ready for a fight, when Bowers pointed at him.

“I won’t miss this time,” Bowers said.  He moved closer and closer, and all anyone could do was watch as he got close enough that the barrel of the gun was only an inch away from Eddie’s head.  Eddie had gone from seething to terrified in a matter of seconds.

“You won’t do it,” homeschool said.  “I know you, Bowers.  You’re all bark and no bite.”

“You wanna fucking go?” Bowers shouted back, but not daring to move the gun.

“If you were gonna kill me,” homeschool said, “or any of us, you would have done it by now.”

“You wanna test that theory?” Bowers said smugly.

There was barely a second before Bowers whipped around and shot the ground in front of homeschool.  He jumped back and fell over.

Bill felt something.  A compulsion in the air.  Something drawing him towards the cliff and into the water.

Bowers was one guy, but a guy with a gun and now six rounds, someone was bound to get seriously hurt.  He already nicked Eddie’s ear, so what could he do if he was trying?  But he needed to tell them, and he needed a distraction.

And thankfully, like always, Richie provided.

“You know, Henry,” Richie said and Bowers practically growled.  “Are you sure all this pent-up anger isn’t a growing resentment towards your father?  Does daddy beat you?  Does daddy call you a faggot?”  Richie had adopted a pouting face and a baby voice to taunt Bowers, something that usually got him a fist to the face.

Bowers pointed the gun at him.

“It’s okay,” Richie said undeterred.  “It’s okay to be a faggot.  You’re in good company here.”

Bowers pointed the gun back at Eddie.

“You sure you wanna keep talking, Tozier?  Or should I just shoot your boyfriend again?”

A car pulled up, a saving grace that quickly turned into a nightmare as Bowers’ friends unloaded themselves from the car.

“C’mon, man,” Patrick Hockstetter said to Bowers.  “Let’s just kick the shit out of them.  We don’t wanna get locked the fuck away.”

“But you don’t know how good this feels,” Bowers said motioning him over.  When Hockstetter was there, he placed the gun in his hands.

Hockstetter tested it out, pointing it around, and Bill started inching towards the cliff.  Down in the water they could hide.  They could hide in the caves or in the woods.  It didn’t matter.  All that mattered was the compulsion to jump.  The compulsion to be down there instead of up here.

Bill locked eyes with Stan who in turn, tugged on Richie’s sleeve and the process began.  They all knew.  All they needed to do now was to get there.

Hockstetter handed the gun back to Bowers.

“Dunno, man,” Hockstetter said.  “Kinda just want to finish our carving from yesterday.”  He pulled out a pocketknife and motioned towards Ben.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bowers said.  “They squirm a lot more with a gun in their face.”  To prove his point, he pointed the gun directly at Hockstetter, who reacted as Bill had hoped.

“Whoa, man.  Point that thing at them.”

Bowers cocked his head.  “Yeah, you’re right.”  He moved to look around, choosing his next target.  They were so close.  Only a few steps for each of them.  If they could distract him one last time, they could jump.

“B-b-b-bowers!” Bill yelled.

“What’s wrong, buh-buh-billy?” Bowers mocked.  “Oh, I forgot.  You lost your voice when you lost your brother.”

“F-f-fuck you,” Bill said as someone threw a rock at Bowers.  It was the distraction he needed, and he jumped down into the quarry, followed closely by everyone else.

He landed in the water and a cold chill ran up his spine and he thought he was dying.  He couldn’t breathe, and not just because he was underwater.  There was a pulling sensation in his gut, keeping him from swimming up, and he didn’t feel like he had been under long before everything went black.

Chapter Text

Richie woke up in his bed, laying on his stomach facing the window.  He knew it was midmorning because the sun had the audacity to hit him directly in the face while he was trying to sleep in.  Normally he closed the blinds before bed to ensure this wouldn’t happen, but he must have forgotten last night.

What the fuck happened last night?

He couldn’t remember anything after going to the quarry, so they must have gone out drinking again, and he must have gotten absolutely wasted.

But that wouldn’t make sense either.  If he was smashed, he would have slept in his truck or at Bill’s, unless he stumbled his way home during the early morning hours when his parents wouldn’t have caught him.  It would explain the pounding headache too.

It was all too much to think about now, and Richie decided he would call Eddie in an hour or so, after he got some more sleep, if only the fucking blinds were closed.

Even though his eyes were closed, he felt the room go dark, as if the sun had disappeared from the sky.  His eyes shot open.  Nothing of that nature had occurred, only that the blinds were now closed.

“What the fuck?” Richie muttered.

Richie tried to think.  Sometimes, when his mother was feeling generous, instead of barging in and waking him up because she needed his dirty laundry or to vacuum his room, she would tiptoe in and close the blinds or fix his blankets.  His first thought went to maybe his mother did this.  But that couldn’t be right.  He would have heard her and seen her when he opened his eyes, and besides, she and his father were at church right now.  They wouldn’t be home until noon.

And then there was the crazy coincidence that the blinds closed when Richie wished they would.  But that’s all it was, a coincidence, right?  The blinds fell and when he opened them, they would do the same again.  His mom was always complaining about how they needed to get new windows anyway.

That’s what it had to be.  A coincidence.

But then there was the fact of what happened last night, something Richie still couldn’t remember.  There was a trip to the quarry during the afternoon, and then…nothing.  He tried to recall who was all there.  Bill and Stan and Eddie, and those other two, Bev and Ben tagged along too when Eddie invited them.

Richie didn’t mind them coming, but when Eddie invited them, he knew he was in trouble.  Eddie was scoping out Bev, and Ben too, especially after what Richie had said the night before when Eddie found out about his smoking habits with Bev or that the both of them were really attractive because Richie didn’t know how to keep his big mouth shut around his boyfriend.

That was a problem for later.  Eddie wouldn’t be mad forever, and Richie could usually squirm his way back into Eddie’s good graces in a day or two.

But who else?  He remembered that homeschooled kid was there getting harassed by Bowers.  What was his name?  Mike?  He swore he heard Eddie mention him before.

But more importantly, Bowers was there waving his dad’s gun around like it was a toy, like it wouldn’t seriously hurt them if he tried.  Fuck, it did hurt Eddie.  It only got his ear, but Richie was pissed, and then Bowers pointed it at Eddie’s head.  He was ready to jump Bowers right there and take whatever consequences came to him, but he held back.  The fucking guy had a gun to Eddie’s head.

Then…then…they jumped.  They jumped into the water after Bill told them to.  It was a good idea and Richie wished he had thought of it first, but that was why they followed Bill around.  He was always protecting them.

Richie fondly remembered the first time he met Bill in kindergarten.  Some boy pushed Richie down after Richie said, “at least my glasses can let me see your mom’s tits”, which he only said because the boy had called Richie a four-eyed freak.  Bill had pushed the boy back and both him and Richie got in trouble over it.

Richie was ready to follow Bill ever since.

So, he followed Bill into the water.  Although, it wasn’t like he didn’t feel the need to jump already.  Once Bill had suggested it, Richie needed to jump.  It was like if he didn’t, he could never go back, that this was bridge he needed to cross and if he didn’t do it now, the bridge would collapse.

He jumped…and now he was here.

And the blinds closed when Richie wanted them to close.

Maybe it was a long shot, but he tried again.  He thought about opening the blinds, the sun pouring into his room and warming his face, all without having to leave his bed.

The blinds moved.  They didn’t go up completely, only an inch.  Richie thought again, and they moved more.

It was frustrating watching this snail’s race.  He was impatient.  If he could move things, then he wanted to do it now.

The blinds shot up when Richie sighed, and suddenly it was a game.  What else could he do?

He tried multiple objects around his room, small things, large things, anything within his sight.  His shoes skirted across the floor, but he couldn’t seem to lift them higher than an inch.  He could flip through his records and almost brought one over before he realized he wasn’t breathing and then dropped it.  He tried his desk, the entire thing, and nothing happened.

He locked and unlocked his door with ease.  He shuffled his clothes and flipped through papers and flipped his light switch like it was nothing.  Slightly bigger objects were more of a challenge and large things were a no-go.

He would have to practice.  He would practice after he called Eddie.

“Hello?” Eddie picked up, groggy and slurred.

“Eds,” Richie said, “what the fuck happened yesterday?”

“We…” Eddie stopped.  “What the fuck did happen yesterday?”

“I’m freaking the fuck out.  I can move things with my mind.”

“What?”

“Like, the blinds,” Richie explained.  “I made them shut and open, and then I could move things around my room without touching them.  It’s fucking insane and I need you to see this shit.”

“Are you fucking with me, dude?”

Richie almost winced at dude.  It was far too platonic to make Richie feel secure that Eddie wasn’t mad anymore.

“No,” Richie said.  “Why – why would I lie about this?”

“You lie about other shit.”  The words came from Eddie so easily.  It stung.

“That’s not – I’m sorry, okay?” Richie said, stopping himself from giving anymore excuses.  “Just, please come over.  I need you to see this and tell me I’m not losing my fucking mind.”

There was a pause.

“Fine,” Eddie said.  “Give me ten minutes.”

Eddie took longer than ten minutes.  Richie knew by now that either Eddie was mad at him, or that something had happened to Eddie, and based on their conversation, it was likely the former.

Richie didn’t know why it was such a big deal that he had a friend that was a girl, or why he didn’t tell Eddie about her, but he knew now that he should be telling Eddie everything.  They were dating, after all, even if it was in secret.  But three months was barely any time to learn how to be a good boyfriend, especially when he didn’t have his friends to tell him what to do.  He also thought that maybe that was a good thing, then he could learn and figure shit out and be better than he used to be.

And he wanted to be perfect for Eddie.  He wanted to give Eddie the world and keep him safe from every fucker in this town that was the reason they couldn’t tell anyone.  Richie couldn’t help but wondering what Bill and Stan would say, knowing they would be okay with it, but still running through the anxiety of the other what if.  That they wouldn’t be okay, that they would hate them just as much as the bullies that hurl insults at them every single fucking day.

But Eddie was never mad for longer than two days.  Richie knew Eddie could hold grudges, so he had to believe that Eddie was as committed as he was.

Most of the time.

Right now?  Richie knew he was in the doghouse for having a friend who was a girl that playfully flirted with him, even though it seemed she was taken.  That was a given.

Eddie arrived at Richie’s fifteen minutes late looking like he had seen a ghost.  Maybe something did happen to him.

“Richie,” Eddie said bursting into Richie’s room and jumping on his bed, “I think I might have kind of an idea of what’s happening.”

“What?” Richie asked.  “I haven’t even shown you –”

“No,” Eddie cut him off.  “On my way here, I scraped my knee.”

Eddie showed Richie his right knee with clean and unbroken skin.

“Eds, there’s nothing there.”

“Exactly,” Eddie said as though it was obvious.  “I scraped it.  I went to clean it and put a band-aid on it, and now it’s gone.  And – and my ear.”  He leaned his right ear forward to show it to Richie, and Richie vividly remembered the nick in it yesterday that was now gone.  As if it never happened.

“So, what?” Richie questioned.  “Your skin magically healed?  That’s not the same as me, though.”

“Maybe not,” Eddie said.  “Maybe we all got something different.”  He paused.  “Sh-show me what you can do.”

Richie nodded.  “I’m going to turn the lights on and off.”  He knew he could do that with no problem.  He focused on the light switch, imagined it flicking up and down rapidly, and suddenly the lights went with it.

Eddie looked at the switch and then back to Richie with wide eyes.

“What else?”

“Um,” Richie said trying to think of something bigger but still easy.  He pulled the blinds down and then back up again, the first thing he knew he could accomplish.

“Sick,” Eddie said under his breath.  “So, you can move things with your mind?”

“Yeah, seems like.”

“Anything?”

“I don’t know,” Richie confessed.  “I just fucking woke up and wanted the blinds closed and then they closed.  I don’t think I’m strong enough or whatever the fuck for everything.”

“Still,” Eddie said.  “That’s really fucking cool.”

Richie couldn’t help it when his heart skipped a beat.  That never seemed to stop for Eddie.  He didn’t think it ever would.

“Right?” Richie said trying to play it off.  “But I’m still freaking out.  Like, what the fuck?”

“I – I don’t…” Eddie started.  “Maybe we should call Bill or Stan.”  He paused, lost in thought.  “But, I wanna try something first.”

Eddie grabbed Richie’s wrist and pulled him downstairs to the kitchen.  He grabbed a knife from the drawer, studied it for a second, then held it to the inner part of his forearm.

“Wait!” Richie said.  “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Testing,” Eddie said.  “I want to see if I heal again.”

Richie supposed Eddie had a point, that the only way to figure out what was going on was to test it, but he didn’t want to watch Eddie cut himself. 

“If I cut my arm,” Eddie continued, “right here, then I can patch myself up fine if it doesn’t work.  It’s fine, Richie.”

Richie didn’t say anything, but crossed his arms and looked away.  After a second, he turned back to Eddie, a slice across his arm, bleeding slowly.  Eddie grabbed a paper towel and wiped at it, and when the blood was gone, so was the cut.

“Okay,” Richie said.  “What the fuck?”

“It still hurt,” Eddie said.  “And I still bleed, but it’s gone.  It healed itself in a second.”

“It hurt?” Richie asked.  He didn’t like that at all.  If he was going to protect Eddie, how could he do it from himself?

“Yeah,” Eddie confirmed.  “But it’s fine.  We should call someone.  Test this out some more and see what they have.”

“Test it?” Richie said, a lump forming in his throat.  “I don’t want you to keep hurting yourself.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie said taking Richie’s hand.  “But something weird is happening and I wanna figure this out.”

Richie’s hand was growing hot.  Eddie wasn’t mad at him anymore, but Richie still wanted to be better.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Richie said.  “I really don’t know why I didn’t tell you about Bev, but I’ll be better in the future.”

Eddie studied his face, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up to his eyes.  “Forget it, Rich.  It’s in the past.  This is…a hell of a lot more important.”

“You sure?”

“Look, I just…” Eddie tried to find the words.  “You like girls too, right?  So, when you get like, flirty with a girl it makes me feel weird, like you’re going to realize it’s easier being with girls than with me.  They wouldn’t be your dirty little secret.”  Eddie sighed.  “But let’s forget it.  It’s fine.  Bev’s taken anyway.”

“Eddie, you’re not some dirty secret,” Richie said.  “I love you, you know?”

Eddie stood on his toes and gave Richie a small kiss on the lips.  “I said forget it, okay?”

Richie smiled, but he almost couldn’t believe him.  He had messed up, and Eddie was forgiving him almost too easily.  Or maybe that was the curse of being in love, you have an uncontrollable need to please the person you love.

And maybe the other part of the curse was that you wanted to scream it from the rooftops.  I love him!  Richie wanted everyone to know.

“I want to tell Bill and Stan,” Richie said.  “About us.”

“Me too,” Eddie said.

“Really?” Richie asked.  “I thought I would have to convince you.  I was working on my speech.”  He cleared his throat and brought out a cheesy motivational speaker voice.  “Now, see here, Edward.  You can do it if you just believe you can.”

Eddie smiled.  “I believe you’re an idiot.”

“Guilty as charged, baby.”

“They’ll be fine,” Eddie said, almost reassuring himself.  “They won’t –”

He was cut off by the phone.

Richie answered.

“Richie?” It was Bill.  “Is Eddie there?  You guys n-n-need to meet me at the quarry.”

“What’s up, Bill?” Richie said.  “We were just about to call you.”

“Something’s happening, Rich,” Bill said.  “We need to fucking talk.”

Chapter Text

Ben awoke to the sounds of his mother knocking on his bedroom door, telling him that he had slept in late enough, and that she and his father were going to church.  They wouldn’t be back until later but they expected Ben up and doing something by then.

Ben rolled over in bed and debated getting up.  Even though it was Sunday, he still liked getting up in the morning, despite having stopped attending church with his parents last year, but his head hurt worse than it ever had.  He speculated that this was what a hangover was supposed to feel like as his stomach growled, begging for breakfast.

He should get up.  If anything, he needed to eat and…and…fuck.  What happened yesterday?

That didn’t matter right now, he decided as his stomach growled again.  He would get up and make some breakfast and maybe call Beverly to hang out.

He still couldn’t believe that he had swung a girl like her.  She was beautiful and kind and completely out of his league, but somehow, she had agreed to go on a date with him and liked it.  But she had fed him just as many compliments as he fed her, so he must be worth it.

It was strange, the way she invited him for a midnight break-in at the pharmacy for their first date, like she was hiding something, a secret that might make Ben not be interested any longer.  He wasn’t lost on the bruises on her wrists, but he figured that was something she would tell him with time.

But what was even stranger was the way that she flirted with that guy, Richie.  It was so easy for them, and nothing like the way she spoke to Ben.  And he also caught the way that Eddie’s hands slipped when they did talk, so maybe he wasn’t the only one to question that relationship.

It didn’t matter.  Once those guys left, Ben and Beverly had a nice night sitting around the pharmacy and talking, and Bev showed him how she used to steal cigarettes when she was younger, before she knew Dr. Keene kept the place unlocked.  Ben played Dr. Keene, and Bev showed him how she would take his glasses and he would grossly compliment her.

Ben didn’t know why he chose that moment to kiss her.  He leaned across the counter and gave her a short, sweet kiss that he almost thought was a bad idea when she took a second to react.  But she smiled and he walked her home and she kissed him good night.

Then they met up again…and…the quarry happened.

Something happened at the quarry, but Ben couldn’t think on an empty stomach.

He finally peeled himself out of bed and went to his door.  It was slightly jammed like it always was, and Ben gave some force to open it like he always did.  Only this time, he wasn’t prepared for the door to be pulled off its hinges with barely any force.

The door in his hand, Ben looked around as if he was going to wake up from a dream.  He slapped his face with his free hand and then placed the door back down, leaning it against the wall.

Did he do that?

Or was it the shitty house falling apart again?

He decided to ignore it.  Maybe if he went downstairs and made breakfast, things would go back to normal and he would stop hallucinating things.  So, that’s what he did.  He tried to pretend the door didn’t happen, and instead started making himself some eggs.  He cracked two in the frying pan, and tried a pan flip trick instead of using a spatula.  Instead of flipping or failing, the eggs flew up, sticking themselves to the ceiling.

Twice was a coincidence.  Three times was a pattern.

Ben turned off the stove before going to his kitchen table, placing one hand underneath and lifting.  The table went up as though it weighed nothing.  Well, that wasn’t entirely true.  Ben thought it weighed about as much as a math book, but that was still much less than a dining room table.

He set down the table, trying not to panic.  Something else.  He had to try something else.  Anything else to prove this was a dream and not his new reality.

He went to the garage where his dad kept that ’59 Cadillac he was trying to restore.  It was under a dust cover, but Ben knew it was there, and he knew how much it weighed.  This was it.  If he could lift this, something was wrong.  Something had happened to him.

Gingerly, he placed his hands underneath the front bumper, and lifted with his legs, expecting a challenge, but it was nothing.  Granted, it was still heavier than the kitchen table, but there was no way in any reality that Ben should have been able to lift this car by himself, at least, not without years of bodybuilding.

Something had happened at the quarry yesterday.  Bowers was there waving a gun around and they jumped into the water and he woke up at home.

It must have been the quarry then.  Or maybe it was those kids he met, the ones that saved him from Bowers the night before.  Something about them was strange too, like Ben ought to know something about them, the same strange thing that made him desperate to follow them to the quarry in the first place.

But was it them?  Ben hardly knew anything about them other than they went to the same school.  He had only introduced himself to them two days ago.

There was Bill who appeared to be the natural leader, especially when he was the one to suggest and lead their plunge into the water, a smart idea that seemed to have brought on disastrous results.  There was Stan, someone who seemed more reserved at first and Ben felt like he could get along with well once they began talking. 

And Richie, who Bev had mentioned before, who was crude and loud, and honestly hysterical.  Ben didn’t think he had ever met someone who was so sure of his humor, and he didn’t know how to let Richie know that he admired that without it seeming off putting.  And finally, there was Eddie, odd and distant, but protective of his friends, that much Ben could tell.  He didn’t need to know anything else about Eddie to know that he liked him.

But it couldn’t have been them, or anyone else that happened to be at the quarry yesterday.  It couldn’t have.  It was all one big coincidence that they all happened to be there for, and now Ben was dealing with the consequences of…super strength?

That seemed an odd thing to be worried or mad about, but it happened over night and after the strange feeling of the water and waking up immediately the next morning, Ben wasn’t ready to write it off as something cool just yet.  Perhaps, he ought to call someone to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, or that it wasn’t only him dealing with this.

He found the slip of paper with Beverly’s phone number on it, the explicit directions written below that felt like an oxymoron with her cute curly handwriting, “If my dad answers, hang up and try later.”

Thankfully, she was the one that picked up.

“Hello?”

“Beverly, can you talk?  It’s Ben.”

“Sorry,” she said loudly, almost as though she was speaking to someone in the room, and not into the telephone.  “I think you have the wrong number.”  There was only a second before her whispered voice came back over the line.  “Wait five minutes.  I’ll call you back.”

The line went dead.

Ben waited patiently, and three minutes later, his phone rang.  It was her.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Bev said.  “My dad’s home.  I’m in a payphone right now.  It’s been…um…a really fucked up morning.”

“I hear that,” Ben said.

“Do you know what happened yesterday?” she asked.  “I can’t remember anything after we jumped into the quarry and now I…  Do you remember?”

“Nothing,” Ben admitted.  “You what?  Did something happen to you?”

“No,” Bev said.  “Maybe, but you’re not going to believe me.”

“Beverly,” Ben said thinking about the car he just lifted, “I think you would find it hard for me to not believe you right now.”

“Meet me at the quarry,” Bev said.  “We need to talk to the others, and that’s probably where they’ll go.”

“Right,” Ben said.  “You can do something too, can’t you?”

“Ben, honey, I want to tell you, but I think it’s going to be a hell of a lot easier to show you.”

Chapter Text

Bill wasn’t sure if it was his headache or the voices that woke him up.  Maybe the voices were giving him the headache.  And what the fuck were those voices anyway?  They sounded like…his parents, but different.  He could hear them quietly arguing outside his room, but it was about something stupid that Bill couldn’t quite make out with how many voices he could hear.  Something about his dad leaving his towel on the bathroom floor?

It didn’t matter because the other set of voices were detached from each other, like they still belonged to his parents, but these voices weren’t having the same conversation.  There was too much going on, and Bill could only make out brief statements from the different voices like his mother saying “always does this” and “I have to do everything” and his father saying “she’s so high strung” and “if she suggests couples therapy one more time”.

Bill tried not to think about it and closed his eyes again, hoping that falling asleep would drown them out.  He drifted for a second, and while his parents’ voices stayed the same, the other voices, the ones he didn’t want to think about, got louder.  It only then occurred to Bill that he must be dreaming, a nightmare fueled by his parents growing distaste for each other and for their son.

He forced his eyes open, something he believed would wake him up, but the voices wouldn’t stop.  He couldn’t even hear his parents arguing over the towel anymore.  It was only the other voices, the ones that were growing louder and louder.

Bill pulled himself out of bed and opened his door.  His parents, standing in front of their own bedroom door barely across the hall, stopped in their tracks to look at Bill and apologize.

“I’m sorry, Bill,” his mother said.  “We must have been too loud.”

I didn’t realize he was home, his mother’s voice permeated his thoughts.

She wandered off downstairs without giving Bill a second glance.

“Sorry, son,” his father said.  “But you know what they say, early bird gets the worm.”

Ungrateful, his father’s voice said, ought to teach him to look at his father like that.  His father disappeared inside the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

That was…not what Bill was expecting.  He couldn’t hear their strange voices anymore, or rather, he should call it what it seemed it was.  He was reading their minds.  Somehow, he could read their thoughts.

But how?  He was definitely awake, that was certain, so this wasn’t a dream.  No, this was something else.  Bill racked his brain for an answer, trying to recall what happened the day before.

The quarry.

He had been called to the quarry.

They went there for fun, to dick around and hang out, and when Bowers pointed a gun at them, the quarry called to him.  It told him to jump.  He was supposed to jump.  They were all supposed to jump, right then and there. 

Was that it?  These voices, were they given to him by the quarry?  And why?  To hear his parents either not care about where he is or think he’s being a brat because they woke him up at 9 in the morning?

But Bill couldn’t help but wonder what else they were thinking.

He went downstairs to where his mother had tucked herself away in the kitchen, mindlessly scrambling some eggs.  He looked at the back of her head.  She didn’t know he had come down yet, or maybe she just didn’t care.

I don’t know why it’s so hard to pick up a goddamn towel.  I cook and I clean and I ask for one thing and he can’t do it and blames me for being a mess.  It’s not my fault he doesn’t want to fix us.  I wonder if I shouldn’t just file for divorce already.  But could I do that to Billy?  But, I have to think about me, too, and Billy’s so messed up anyway after Georgie, it’s so hard to look at him and see–

Without realizing, Bill hit the off switch.  He couldn’t hear her anymore.  He didn’t know if he had done it on purpose or if emotions had gotten the better of him, but he couldn’t bear to listen to her thoughts any longer.  He tried to justify it by saying that they were her private thoughts, that he didn’t have a right to listen, but wasn’t this what he had wanted all along?  To know?  And now he did.  He knew exactly what his mother thought every time she looked at him.

Look at Billy.  He’s so messed up.  He’s just a reminder of Georgie, the better son.

Bill took a seat at the kitchen table, not wanting to make a scene or tip off his parents in any way.

“Did you want some eggs, sweetie?” his mother said looking over her shoulder.  “I made plenty for all three of us.”

“Yes, p-puh-please,” Bill said.

His mother plated some eggs and set them in front of Bill.  “You know, Billy,” she said, “I’ve been looking into some speech therapists in Bangor that might be able to help you.  They’re not too expensive and your father is looking to get a raise soon.  If you’re interested.”

Bill wondered for a second if he could turn the voices back on, if he hadn’t turned it off permanently.

His mother was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“I’ll think about it,” Bill said.  “I think I’m growing out of it, th-though.”

“Alright,” his mother said.  “If you say so.”

Bill tried flipping the switch.

He can’t just say yes, can he?  Just like his father, I offer something nice and he turns it down.  I’m so tired of having to hear –

Bill had heard enough.  He decided then that he would only talk to his parents if they spoke to him first, although that wasn’t much different from where they were now.

But besides learning the harsh truths about his parents, he also learned that he could easily flip the switch on and off.  He could read minds when he wanted to and only when he wanted to.  That was good to know.  He wouldn’t get any information he didn’t want to get, and hopefully he wouldn’t overhear anything he wasn’t supposed to hear.

Hypothetically.

He at his eggs quickly and excused himself to his room where he immediately called Eddie who wasn’t home.  Typical.  Richie had probably already staked his claim on him when he woke up to discover that some weird shit happened yesterday.

He called Stan instead, who picked up right away.

“Hello?”

“Stan?” Bill said.  “Is anything…weird…happening to you?”

“Weird?  You mean like whatever the fuck happened yesterday weird?”

“Kind of.  But I mean has anything happened to you this morning?”

“Not really,” Stan said.  “I woke up in my bed.  Ate breakfast with my family.  They asked me a million invasive questions about my life, the same ones they ask at least once a week, and then you called.”

“And nothing else?”

“No.  Why?  Should something be happening?”

Bill paused.  Was this only happening to him?  “I can read my parents’ thoughts.”

“Mind reading,” Stan repeated.  “Like in the movies.”

“I guess?” Bill said.  “But not as cool.  I woke up and I could hear their thoughts while they were arguing outside my door.  And I read my mom’s thoughts and…I…figured out I could turn it off and on.  Like a light switch or some shit.”

Bill purposely left out what he had heard.  He didn’t need Stan freaking out over him again, not like the other night.  He could deal with his parents on his own.

“Seriously?” Stan asked.  “Can you read my thoughts right now?”

“Over the phone?” Bill said.  “I can try.”  He flipped the switch on and was grateful he couldn’t hear his parents.  He focused on Stan and the phone receiver.

Nothing.

“No,” Bill said.  “It must only work in person.  What were you thinking?”

“That this is bullshit,” Stan said.

“That’s because you haven’t seen it,” Bill said.

“Maybe.”  He paused.  “Look, even if you can or can’t read minds or whatever, something fucking weird happened yesterday, so maybe we should call a meeting over it.”

“Yeah, too bad Eddie’s not answering the phone though.”

“Bill, do not pretend like you don’t know where he is.”

“Fine,” Bill said.  “I’ll call them.  Meet me down at the quarry.”

“Are you okay?” Stan asked.  “Did you…hear something?”

Bill answered with another question.  “Do you think it’s normal for parents to resent their kid that’s still around?  When they think the other d-d-duh-died?”

“Is that…” Stan said.  “Do you parents think that?”

“That’s what I heard,” Bill’s voice cracked.  “They can’t even look at me without seeing Georgie.  Not to mention they f-f-fucking hate each other.”

“I…wish I had anything good to say,” Stan said.  “We’ll figure it out.  Let’s just meet down at the quarry and we’ll figure this shit out together, okay, Bill?”

But Bill wasn’t so sure.

Chapter Text

Bev was awake before she could even process that something strange had happened yesterday.  It was Sunday, the one day her dad didn’t work, and she was always up before he was, ensuring that he had breakfast ready for whenever he woke up from his drunken stupor.  But she had slept in this morning.  She had forgotten to set an alarm, although she was usually woken up by the sunlight peeking through her window, but today she was late.  He wasn’t awake yet, but he was sure to be soon.

She quickly dressed, noting something feeling off but not wanting to pause long enough to figure it out, and started making breakfast.  She started the coffee machine and began frying some sausage.

Out of habit, she took a second to pull her hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of her way, thinking only for a second, like usual, about how much she wanted to chop it all off.  She went to pull her hair back, but that was when the odd thing manifested itself.  Her hair was gone.  Her long locks were replaced by a short cut that curled around her face, a cut that she had always wanted, but never had the nerve to give herself because her dad loved her hair.  It made her look like her mom.

Bev grasped around her neck desperately, as though her hair was hiding just outside of her reach.  She didn’t cut it off.  At least, she didn’t think she did.  It only just occurred to her that she didn’t remember much of what happened yesterday after…they jumped in the quarry.

In fact, she didn’t remember anything after that.  She could have very likely cut her hair off after that and wouldn’t remember it now, but she wished that she didn’t.

Her father stirred from his spot on his recliner, a gruff moan that meant he would be fully awake in a few minutes.

Bev resumed tending to the sausages now that they were starting to brown.  If she burned them, she would never hear the end of it.  (“You think I’m made of money?”)

She hoped he wouldn’t notice.  That maybe he would be so hungover that her new hair wouldn’t even register, that he would be so exhausted and pleased by breakfast, that it wouldn’t matter.  Then, he would let her run off without question, and she could figure out what the fuck was going on.

A chair pulled out from the table as her father sat down, quiet and foreboding.  She would give anything for her hair back.

“Breakfast ready?” her father asked in a gravely tone.

“Just about,” she said.  “Another minute for the sausages.  I’ll get your coffee.”

Bev pulled a mug out of the drying rack and poured the coffee in, setting it in front of her father without looking him in the eye.

“You know, Beverly,” he said, “you look more and more like your mom every day, right down to those beautiful locks of hair.”

Bev almost dropped the coffee pot that she was returning to the machine.  That had to be a joke.

“Really?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said.  “She always kept it long like that.  Beautiful.”

Bev reached around her neck again, but there was still nothing.  She hadn’t mysteriously grown her hair back, so her father must be messing with her, but he wasn’t the type to do that.  If he was going to be mean, he wasn’t going to play with her feelings like that.  He would just do it.  Could he really not see what her hair looked like?

Bev finished frying up the sausages and gave them to her father when the phone rang.

She picked up.  “Hello?”

“Beverly, can you talk?  It’s Ben.”

She pulled the phone away from her and turned her head towards the kitchen where her father was still eating.  “Sorry.  I think you have the wrong number.”  She put the phone back up and whispered, “Wait five minutes.  I’ll call you back,” before hanging up.

Now all she had to do was get out of the apartment without her dad asking any questions.

“I’m heading out,” she yelled at the front door, waiting only for a vague response.

“Don’t get into trouble,” her father yelled back, and she took that as a good sign.

At the payphone, she hesitated before calling Ben back.  He was so sweet, the nicest boy she had ever met, and she really liked him.  She almost felt bad for having to give him instructions for when he called, but her father didn’t want her hanging around with anyone, much less with boys, and even less going on dates with them.

Bev thought that Ben deserved better than that, better than her and whatever messed up fucking life she had.  Ben deserved someone who didn’t make him come around at midnight after risking himself by running into Bowers and getting carved into.  She couldn’t get over that one.  If she hadn’t suggested that date, if she hadn’t asked him out in the first place, that never would have happened, all because she was afraid of what people would think.

That included her father, but it was everyone else too.  Everyone else who spent their time calling her a slut or a tramp, claiming that every boy she’s ever talked to, she had also fucked, somehow including Richie in that even though everyone in town was also under the impression he was queer as shit.  Bev wondered how that worked.  But she couldn’t do that to Ben.  She couldn’t be under that scrutiny as well.

And he had been so kind about it.  He was more than willing to go on a midnight date and he laughed at all of her jokes and he even kissed her in a way that was soft and sweet and not too much.  He had wanted her to feel safe and cared for in a way Bev didn’t quite understand.  He didn’t want anything from her besides her company.

She didn’t get it.  At least Richie was an asshole like she was.  She understood why they got along.  She didn’t think she would ever get Ben, but that didn’t stop her from falling for him.

She had said five minutes, so she didn’t think she should make Ben wait any longer.

He agreed to meet her at the quarry so he could see what she did.  But what did she do?  She made her father think she still had long hair when in reality she didn’t.  That was her, wasn’t it?  Or was it some strange occurrence in which he completely missed it?

Or maybe she could make people see things that weren’t there?

It was worth a shot.  She thought of the most inconsequential image, something she knew couldn’t be there, but wouldn’t be difficult to construct in her mind, a small butterfly floating through the air, landing on her hand.  She felt it in the way you feel dreams.  She could see it, but it was like a hush, a whisper on her skin, a secret between her and the wind.

She lost her concentration when a car honked on the nearby street, and the butterfly disappeared.  Bev tried to conjure it again, but nothing came.

She tried something else, a flower blooming in the grass, quick like a stop motion video they show in science class.  She managed halfway before the image faltered and disappeared, and suddenly her headache was back.

Maybe it was time to go see Ben.  She had something to show him whatever this something was.

Ben was already there when she arrived, idly tossing rocks into the water below.

“Hey, stranger,” Bev said dropping her bike and walking up to him.

“Hi, Beverly,” Ben said.  There was something about the way he called her ‘Beverly’ instead of ‘Bev’ that made her stomach twist into knots, but in a good way she noted.  She liked how sweet it was.  “Your hair…”

Bev reacted by absently touching her neck where her hair used to be.

“It looks beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she stuttered, hoping she wasn’t blushing too much.  “So, uh, what the fuck is going on?”

“That’s a really good question,” Ben said.  “I have something to show you.”  He tapped his hands and then moved over to a small boulder sitting off to the side.  “Maybe you should try first.”

“To lift it?” Bev asked.  “It’s way too heavy, Ben.”

“Please try,” Ben said.  “It’s important.”

Bev obliged, proving what she already knew was the truth.  It was too heavy, too large.  It was a boulder, after all.  She took a step back from it, assuming Ben was going to show her something with it, and he reached down and lifted the boulder over his head like it weighed nothing, like it was a prop rock on a movie set.  Which is probably why Ben asked her to try first.  She needed to know this wasn’t a trick.

“What the fuck?” Bev asked as Ben dropped the boulder.

“Super strength,” Ben said like it wasn’t obvious.  “I think.”

“That’s obvious,” Bev said.  “I meant more like what the fuck is happening to us?”

“Didn’t you have something?”

Bev had almost forgotten.  She wasn’t sure if she could even make something appear for Ben considering she had only tested it on herself.  And her father, but that was an accident.

She chose a simple image, something that wouldn’t bring back the headache, but also something that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.  She envisioned a cobra slithering across the dust.  It lifted its head and hissed.

Ben jumped and the cobra was gone.  It was clear she needed to learn how to focus if she wanted to get better at that.

“Illusion,” Ben muttered.  “Can you do anything?”

“Maybe?” Bev said.  “But you can see it?”

“Yeah,” Ben said.  “Yeah, I can see it.”  He kept his eyes locked where the cobra had been, or at least, where he had seen it.  “But it’s not real?”

“Just an image,” Bev said.  Bev bit her lip and locked eyes with Ben, whose face read deep thought.  “Those guys…do you think the same thing happened to them?”

It was then that that boy, the homeschooled one, the one that was here yesterday, rolled up on his bike like this was the first thing he had done this morning, riding here hoping for answers that no one seemed to have.

“Looks like we’re gonna find out,” Ben said.

Chapter Text

Mike had just wanted to go for a bike ride.  He had completed his chores and wanted to get off the farm for a little bit, ride his bike around and be by himself for a minute before he had to go back and complete afternoon deliveries for his dad.  Then, he had the bad luck of running into Bowers.

Usually, Mike could worm his way out of an encounter with Bowers, spewing some academic bullshit and using the largest words he could think of to stump him.  Bowers would stutter over something and Mike would hop on his bike to get away.  Even with Bowers waving that gun around, Mike figured it wouldn’t be hard to trip Bowers up before his gang showed, and he could return to the safety of the farm, a place that Bowers didn’t dare go.

But then those other kids showed up.  Mike didn’t want to say he was ungrateful for the way they were willing to defend him, but if they hadn’t shown up, Mike would have gotten away unscathed and without having to jump in the quarry.

Which did whatever it did.

Mike hoped he wasn’t the only one that basically passed out after jumping in the water, which is why he came back in hopes of seeing them there.  Other than losing the rest of the day, forgetting how he ended up back home, nothing else strange had happened.  But that one thing was strange enough that Mike needed some answers.

It didn’t help that the one thing he did remember was a feeling in his gut pulling him to the quarry, an inescapable voice in his head that was screaming at him to jump.

He completed his morning chores and hopped on his bike to find some answers, or at least some people who were just as confused as he was.

He had hoped for all of them, but only two of that group were there and he knew them by name.  It often surprised people that Mike knew nearly everyone in Derry by name, especially when no one knew his, but he supposed that was a perk of being a fly on the wall.

He had never had any issue with these two, or any of the others for that matter.  They usually left him alone, or would sometimes wave from a distance, nothing substantial but enough for Mike to know he could trust them.

And he did trust them.  He had to trust someone.

Mike dropped his bike and strolled over to where Ben and Bev were standing.  “You guys too?”

“You have no idea,” Bev said.

It took him a second to notice that her hair was different from yesterday.  She had cut it all off.  He guessed it made her look cuter, but Mike never really let himself think about the girls in Derry like that.  If anyone like Bowers caught him thinking like that, he might not be able to talk himself out of a run-in like he usually could.  Although, it wasn’t like he ever had to stop himself that often.  He didn’t dare put a word to the thoughts he pushed away even more than his thoughts about girls.

But the haircut made Bev look cute, although, it seemed every boy in town thought so before.  Mike didn’t talk to anyone, but he still overheard what people said about her.  He knew about her dad, and so did everyone else in town, but the subject was always her flimsy attitude.  Watch out the boys would warn each other.  Marsh will break your heart they would say.  At first Mike thought it was because she often turned boys down, that she had high standards, and that was true, but the boys were warning something else, and Mike didn’t know if it was true or not, but he soon caught onto the rumors, that Beverly Marsh will fuck anything resembling a boy and not feel a goddamn thing over it.

Mike didn’t know if it was true, but standing here with her made him not want to believe it.

“So, what happened?” Mike asked.

“No idea,” Ben said.  “Jumped in the quarry and now weird shit is happening.”

And then there was Ben.  He was new and probably the friendliest to Mike out of everyone in town.  Ben didn’t know any better and Mike almost felt sorry for him.  He would have if he didn’t enjoy Ben’s company as much as he did.  It wasn’t often, but sometimes he and Ben would run into each other at the library and chat idly over whatever they were studying.  The conversation never lasted longer than a few minutes, but sometimes, when Mike was having a bad day, he wished that Ben wouldn’t talk to him.  It would be easier that way.

“Weird shit?” Mike questioned.  “Like how?  I just can’t remember anything.”

It was then that the others showed up, all four of them at once like they were attached at the hip.  Mike had to assume they were considering he never saw one without at least one other one with him.

He didn’t really know much about them other than that Eddie was kind enough to have learned his name, and that they were higher than he was on Bowers’ shit list.  He felt a pull to them, and he assumed it was because of that, the natural camaraderie of sharing a bully.  Mike ignored the other feeling in his gut, the same one that led him back to the quarry this morning.

“Wow,” Richie said, “it’s like the world’s lamest meeting.”  He cleared his throat and adopted an announcer voice.  “Yessiree, folks, and thus this week’s meeting of the loser’s club is now starting.  Everyone take your seats.”

“Beep, beep, Richie,” Bill said with no heart.

“Just trying to keep it light,” Richie said.  “We’re all scared shitless so I figured we could use a good hearty chuckle.”

“Not everything is a joke, Rich,” Bill snapped.  “Zip it.”

Mike didn’t know much about them, but from what he had gathered, Richie wasn’t the type to shut up when he was told to do so, and yet, his mouth snapped shut.  There wouldn’t be another word out of him for a while.

“Let’s just figure out what’s going on,” Stan suggested.

“Weird shit,” Mike said.  “They were telling me that weird shit was happening.”

“Yeah,” Ben said.  “Let me…let me show you guys.”

So, Ben showed them his strength and then Bev made an illusion and the others admitted things like that happening to them.  Eddie was healing at lighting speed and Bill could read minds which he proved by having Stan think of a number between 1 and 1000.

And Richie didn’t say anything.  It was like he couldn’t, like something had glued his mouth shut because no matter how hard he tried, his mouth wouldn’t open.

Eddie took Richie’s face in his hands, turning him from side to side, examining him as Richie’s eyes went wide.

Bill muttered something to himself before looking back at Richie.  “I said it.”

“’Zip it’,” Stan repeated.

“Richie,” Bill said, “you can talk.  U-u-unzip it…or whatever.”

But Richie still couldn’t open his mouth and he started panicking.  He looked wildly around, like someone could easily help him, but all anyone could think to do was stare.  There was nothing to be done until Bill figured out how to undo what he did.

Richie scrunched his eyes closed, and the air went still.  Pebbles and rocks and sticks and leaves started rising through the air, swirling around Richie as his breathing went heavy.  The rocks started flying around, and a few hit Bill.  They didn’t hit anyone else, giving Mike confirmation that this was Richie, this was what happened to him.

Thankfully, Eddie was there.  He kept Richie’s face in his hands, holding Richie’s gaze while telling him to calm down.  The flying debris slowed, still hovering, but not flying.

Eddie turned back to Bill.  “You – you have to mean it,” he said.  “Before, you were pissed that he was talking and you meant it.  You can’t stutter over it.  You have to want him to talk.  I – I think.”

Bill braced himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground, closing his eyes and concentrating.  “Richie.  You can talk.”  His voice vibrated through the air, and Richie gasped for breath, his mouth finally free to open again.

“What the fuck?” was Richie’s first words.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Bill said.  “I can c-cuh-control minds, too…apparently.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Richie said.

In the commotion, Mike had forgotten what was hard to think about when he watched everyone show off the strange things that were happening to them.  Nothing like that had happened to him.  Was he the only one?  No.  Stan hadn’t said anything either.

“What about you?” Ben asked turning towards Mike.  “You came down here for a reason, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Mike started, “I just thought the forgetting thing was weird.  I didn’t…not like you guys.”

“I didn’t believe it,” Stan said.  “But…I don’t have anything either.”

“So, what?” Bev asked.  “This stupid magic picks five out of seven at random?  Maybe you guys just haven’t figured it out yet.  I mean, I figured mine out on accident.”

“Me too,” Eddie said.

“Maybe,” Mike said although he had a hard time believing that.  He thought he should be relieved because now he didn’t have to deal with whatever the fuck was happening.  He could go back to being an outsider like he was supposed to be.  But it was still kind of disappointing in an odd way.

“Some kind of m-muh-magic,” Bill said.  “Or something.  Maybe it…maybe it has to do with…”

“Billy,” Eddie said sympathetically.

“It’s the same feeling,” Bill said.  “Something’s wrong and I can feel it.”

“Wrong?” Ben questioned.

“What are you talking about?” Bev asked.

“My brother,” Bill muttered.

“The little Denbrough boy,” Bev said, almost to herself.  “But he went missing.  He’s dead, isn’t he?”  She paused when she saw Bill’s expression.  “I mean, that happened months ago.  Are you sure?”

“Completely,” Bill said.

“Bill,” Stan said.  “I know it’s hard but –”

“Don’t, Stan,” Bill said.  “What else could it be?”

“Can we talk about it first?” Stan asked.  “Maybe there’s something we missed.”

Bill stopped long enough to ponder that.  Mike didn’t know what he was going through, but he remembered the posters of that boy, Bill’s brother.  He remembered hating them, seeing the face of that boy and knowing his life was probably over, and now he hated seeing Bill, someone who couldn’t let go of the posters.

The least Mike could do was help find him some answers.

He scanned the scene, trying to remember every detail from yesterday.  Right there was where he stood, gun in his face as Bowers hurled insults and threats.  Over there was where the others rode up on their bikes, and somehow Eddie was standing in the same spot where the bullet went through his ear.

And there was the spot where Bowers was standing, waving his gun around pretending like he was hot shit because he lifted it from his old man.  Mike knew the exact spot because the gun was still there.

He went to grab it.  If Bowers had dropped it, then he was going to take it.

As soon as flesh connected with metal, there was a flash, a surge of memories that Mike didn’t know the origin of.  He saw a series of recollections, images that weren’t from his own mind.  He saw target practice on an empty beer bottle and a dead squirrel falling from a tree and the dust flying up from Bowers’ feet as the bullet hit the ground.

And somehow Mike knew who these memories belonged to.  They belonged to the gun.

Mike dropped the gun as quickly as he picked it up and fell to the ground.

“What was it?” Ben asked.

“Are you hurt?” Eddie said.

Mike took a breath.  “I think I figured out what I have.”

“What?” Bill asked.

“I – I know about the gun,” Mike said.  “I know that Bowers’ dad bought it in 1976 and it’s been fired 92 times, 27 times for target practice, 58 times at animals, 5 times at Bowers’ feet, and the two times yesterday.  Bowers dropped yesterday…when he decided to follow us.”

“He jumped in, too?” Ben said.

“I don’t know,” Mike admitted.  “I only know what he was thinking when he dropped it.”

“Psychometry,” Richie said.

“What?” Mike asked.

“Psychometry,” Richie repeated like Mike should know what it was.  “Ability to read objects.”

“Or people,” Eddie added.  “If you touch a thing, you know everything about it.  Or feelings or thoughts too, sometimes.”

“Like Abe Sapien,” Richie said.

“Or The Crow.”

“Judge Anderson, kind of.”

“Are we supposed to know who these people are?” Bev asked cutting them off.

“Comic characters,” Mike said avoiding the idea that he could now read objects.  “I think?”

“Yessir,” Richie said.

“So…” Mike continued, “I can read objects.  Maybe people?”

“You probably don’t want to test the people thing,” Richie suggested.  “If you can’t control it, who knows what kind of shit you could dig up.”

“Try another object,” Ben said.  “Someone’s bike, maybe.”

Bill brought his forward before saying, “Close your eyes.  M-m-my bike has a name and you can try and t-tell me it.”

Mike did as instructed, closing his eyes and reaching his hand forward, waiting for Bill’s bike to hit it.  Once it did, there was no question as Mike’s eyes shot open and he said, “Silver.”

“R-right,” Bill said.

“So now what?” Ben asked.  “I feel like I have more questions than answers.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Eddie said.  “We test our limits.”

Chapter Text

He knew he was in deep shit the minute he woke up.  His dad was pounding on his door, ready to barge in any second, yelling for his gun.

Bowers had taken it for target practice.  He didn’t think his dad would miss it.  He had a fucking collection, after all, but apparently that was his dad’s favorite, the one he kept for protection or fun or intimidation or whatever the fuck his dad did.

Bowers wasn’t planning on doing anything other than shooting a few squirrels or maybe a beer bottle off a fence post, but as luck would have it, that homeschooled kid showed up and Bowers thought he might have a little fun.  The kid didn’t squirm nearly as much as he wanted, staring down the barrel of the gun without a blink of the eye.  He never did like that kid much.  He ought to stay on that fucking farm where he belonged.  At least the other kids give him a reaction.

And thank god they showed up when they did.  Bowers wasn’t planning on shooting them, or at least not seriously hurting them, although, if he did, the world could thank him for one less fairy to deal with.  He was surprised he had even nicked that sissy Kaspbrak in the ear.  Watching the fear in his eyes made Bowers completely forget about the fatty that rammed into him.

Or at least, he almost forgot.  All those fuckers pissed Bowers off.  They jumped in the quarry and he had no choice but to follow them.  He wasn’t about to let them get away from him, not when he was just getting started.

He hardly heard the calls from his friends to let them go, that it wasn’t worth it, and he jumped, dropping his dad’s gun on the ground.

Those fucking friends of his better have grabbed it or else some lousy friends they were.

But Bowers jumped, and he tried to remember what happened next as the pounds on the door grew louder.  He didn’t know why his dad didn’t just come in.  He didn’t know why his dad had to fuck with his headache like this.

“What?” Bowers yelled.

His dad flung the door open.  “I know you took my handgun.  You best get your ass out of bed and find it or else you’ll have something to be yellin’ for.”

Stupid fucking faggot.  Don’t he know I spent money on that piece?

“I don’t have it,” Bowers said.

Bullshit.

“And I’m the fucking president,” his dad shot back.  “If I don’t get it back today, you’ll be sorry.”

I’ll whip his ass, tell you what.

And with that, his dad left, slamming the door behind him.

Bowers almost didn’t catch what he heard, the extra noise that presented itself with his father’s voice.  Did he hear that right?  He heard the words, but they didn’t come from his father’s mouth.

He had to be hallucinating.  There was no fucking way he had actually heard his father’s thoughts.

But then it occurred to him that his father hadn’t touched the door on the way out.  He never shut the door once he opened it.  Bowers always had to get up from his bed and close it himself, usually slamming it to let his father know how pissed he was.

And the door slammed without anyone touching it.

Bowers flopped back on his bed, running through what he missed.  After he jumped in the water, he thought he was dying.  And right before he passed out was a single thought, this will help you.

Thinking on it now, he did feel different, and not in the weird way that adolescence made him feel.  He felt like he could do anything, like the world was his if he could only figure out how to grab it.  Maybe that’s what the thought meant.

Maybe he had heard his father’s thoughts.  And maybe he had slammed the door.

He could feel it.  He didn’t know what it was or what was telling him to do this, but he could feel the power coursing through his body.  He could feel his newfound strength and his confidence growing.

He could do anything.

He took his pocketknife and without hesitating, sliced his wrist.  It bled for only a second and then he felt the skin tighten, healing and fixing itself.  He sliced again, two, three times down his arm.  It took a second longer, but healed no problem.

There was a lot of fun he could have with this.

He got out of bed, placed his hands underneath and lifted.  His bed that usually required two people to move lifted over his head without a problem, like it weighed nothing.

He dropped it and went to the window.

Fuck his dad.  Fuck his dad and fuck those kids.  Fuck his dad’s gun and fuck those kids for making him jump in the water.

No, he should thank them.  That water gave him this, whatever the fuck this was.  His mind reading and his telekinesis and his strength.  There was more.  There was so much more but he couldn’t do it here.  He had to go somewhere to try this out, to test what he could do.  Those fucking faggots would never see him coming.

Bowers opened the window and perched on the sill, glancing down from the second story.  He could jump and be fine.  He would heal and it would scare the shit out of his dad.  That would be hilarious.

But he could jump and it would be fine in another way.  Bowers didn’t know what was telling him to do this, or who it was.  Maybe it was himself.  All he knew is that he didn’t have to land on the ground.  He didn’t have to scare his dad and heal himself quickly because there was something else inside of him that would let him jump from this window.

He closed his eyes and pictured it, a large falcon, talons sharp as a knife and a cry that could be heard across town, and he jumped.

Chapter Text

Eddie was more than enthralled with his newfound ability to heal.  He was obsessed with everyone’s powers, but his held amazing potential.

Even though he was sixteen, his mother still had a hold on him, coddling him over every little thing that happened to him, either physically or emotionally.  Every paper cut and scraped knee was the end of the world, and now she would be none the wiser.  He would heal before she would ever get the chance to see.

Although, he wasn’t sure if he could still bruise.  If he could bleed, he was sure could bruise, but that was what testing was for.

Richie had put up a fight.  Not a very good one, but one that Eddie could sympathize with.  His boyfriend didn’t want to see him hurt himself, and it was very sweet, but even Richie knew the purpose of these tests.  They had to see where their powers could take them.

Eddie wasn’t reckless, though.  He wasn’t going to put his life in fatal danger on the off chance he would survive it.  Before he began, before he even suggesting testing things out, he had already made a list of things that were off-limits.  No head shots and no chest shots.  And also, nothing that would break his entire body.  Or any bones for that matter.  He could heal just fine, but the pain would be unbearable.

So, he pulled out the knife he stole from the Toziers’ kitchen and held it out.  It was a medium-sized steak knife, large enough to do damage but small enough to heal if somehow his powers stopped working.

“I still don’t like this,” Richie crossed his arms.

“I don’t think any of us do,” Bill said, “but we have to t-t-try.”

Eddie lifted his shirt, planning to hit his stomach where he knew the least amount of internal damage would occur.  His hand shook.  He had a high pain tolerance, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

He closed his eyes and took the plunge.  He felt the knife leave his hand before he felt his closed fist hit his stomach.

He opened his eyes to see the knife floating midair before dropping to the ground.

“Richie,” Eddie said turning to look at him.

“I didn’t mean to!” Richie defended.

Bev sidled up next to him, placing a hand on his arm and muttering something Eddie couldn’t hear.  His heart leaped into his throat as he looked away and went to pick the knife back up, cleaning it off on his shirt.

He said it was fine because he wanted to get over it, but in reality, Eddie was jealous of her.  He wasn’t even mad at Richie about it because Eddie knew he was only friends with her, but Eddie couldn’t help himself.  She was pretty and had a reputation.  Eddie had heard people talk about her, the school slut, will sleep with anything with a pulse, and when he figured out she was friends with Richie, every insecurity that Eddie had about being someone’s boyfriend had jumped out front. 

So, he projected it onto to Richie and the deal was done.  Eddie wouldn’t have to think about not being good enough because it would be Richie’s fault.  He wouldn’t have to think about how he wouldn’t even let Richie French him for two weeks, or about that time Richie offered a handy and Eddie panicked and had to take three showers, or that time he gave Richie a hickey, all proud of himself for staking his claim, only for his mother to notice and call Richie “dirty” and “filthy” and a bad influence.

And Richie was patient, but Eddie was prepared for the day that he wouldn’t be.  Eddie was prepared for the day he’d run off with someone who would give him what he wanted without question, without anxiety, without hesitation.  And if it was going to be anyone, Eddie was sure it would be Beverly Marsh.

Stop it, he told himself.  Richie said they were just friends, nothing more.  Eddie had to stop thinking like this.

When he felt the knife was sufficiently cleaned (don’t want an infection), he spared a glance back over to Richie, who had turned his back to Eddie.  Bev gave a small thumbs up to indicate that Eddie would be able to finish this time.

Eddie repeated the motions, this time faster because he was ready to be done with it.

The knife plunged into his stomach down to the handle, burning his entire abdomen with pain, blood trickling over his fingers as he held the knife there for a couple seconds.  He pulled it out and dropped it, his hand seizing with anxiety.

What if it doesn’t heal?  What if he bleeds too much and passes out?  What if…what if…dirt gets in the wound, and it heals over, effectively infecting his entire body, and he dies?

He clasped a hand to his wound that was still bleeding profusely.

“Is it healing?” Stan asked.  “Should we get the bandages out?”

“It is healing…right?” Richie said slowly, glancing over his shoulder.

“I don’t…know,” Eddie admitted.  He couldn’t feel anything other the pain of an open wound and the blood between his fingers.  He chanced a look at it, trying to wipe away the excess blood.

It was healing, slower than the other wounds he had, but it was healing.  In a couple minutes, it would be like it never happened.

“Yes,” Eddie said.  “It’s gonna be another minute, though.”

“Thank fuck,” Richie said turning back around and walking up to Eddie.  “You’re an idiot and please tell me we’re done with this.”

“For now,” Eddie said.

“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack, Kaspbrak,” Richie said with no tone of humor.  “You know that, right?”

Eddie wiped at the wound, clearing most of the blood to see that there was nothing there any longer.  “Yeah, I do.”

He glanced up to see Richie’s concerned gaze, his brows scrunched together in discomfort, arms folded and closed off.  Everyone else had varying degrees of fear, worry, anxiety.  Eddie decided that if he were to test this any further, he would do it alone, but that was a big “if”.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to harm himself on purpose any more than this right now.

“Alright,” he said.  “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go,” Bill hopped forward.  “But, what should I d-d-do?’

“Didn’t you have trouble focusing?” Stan asked.  “When you tried earlier?”

“Too much interference you said,” Mike said.

“Try focusing then,” Eddie suggested.  “We can all think, er, loudly or whatever, and you pick one person to focus on.”

Bill nodded and closed his eyes.  They twitched beneath his closed lids and his face scrunched in concentration.

Eddie tried to think of anything at all, and he thought it loudly, whatever the fuck he meant by that.

I am thinking for Bill.  Thinking thoughts for Bill to focus on or ignore.  Thinking about how fucking weird this is and how it’s definitely not anything to do with Georgie like Bill said.  No, don’t think that.  He could hear you.  But what if it is?  What if all these disappearances are tied into whatever the fuck is happening?  Derry isn’t big, Derry isn’t special, so why us?  Why the fuck should a bunch of losers like us get powers that we can’t handle?  What if these powers aren’t good?  What if I heal from everything?  What if I can’t die?  What then?

Eddie.

It was Bill’s voice.

Bill collapsed on the ground, clutching his head.

“Fuck,” he said, hunched over on his knees.

“Did you…do that?” Eddie asked.

Bill looked up.  “You could hear me?”

“Hold the fuck up,” Stan said.  “He can send thoughts too?”

“How’s that fair?” Richie chimed in.  “Bill get three fucking powers rolled into one and we get our one pick of the litter.  And Stan gets the runt that dies two days later.”

Stan shifted uncomfortably where he stood, surprisingly not saying anything.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie said quietly.  “Beep, beep.”  He nodded in Stan’s direction and Richie nodded to indicate he understood.

“So, sending thoughts, huh?” Richie said.

“Pretty useful,” Bev said.  “Telepathy.  You could cheat on tests or gossip across the lunchroom about Gretta Keene’s terrible new haircut.”

“Or about those weirdo losers that keep making eyes at each other from across the lunchroom,” Richie said.

“I see,” Bev said.  “So, this universe has two kids who can send and receive thoughts?”

“Not without getting a f-f-fucking migraine,” Bill said.

“You just need to practice, Billiam,” Richie reached over and slapped Bill’s shoulder.  “Soon, you’ll be able to send poor Eds all the answers to the math test after I send them to you.”

Bill raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah, Trashmouth?  You think I can’t get the answers myself?”

“That B minus I saw on your report card says otherwise, baby.”

It was Richie’s disposition.  He flirted with everyone.  Eddie knew that, and he had made peace with that, but something about him calling Bill “baby” made his skin crawl.  Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was his frustration with the lack of answers, but he was ready to tear Richie a new one.  He swallowed it and moved on.

“I guess Bill’s out for now,” Eddie said trying to change the subject.

“I’d like to try,” Ben stepped forward.  “But I don’t think there’s anything here that’s heavier than that boulder.”

“You could just carry two of us on your shoulders,” Richie suggested with a wink, “like the big macho man you are.”

Ben blushed.  “Yeah, but that’s not heavier than the boulder.”

“Oh, but it’d be fun,” Bev said.

“D-do you want to?” Ben asked.

Bev nodded and pranced over to Ben who took her up on his arm, which she sat on like a swing.  It was cute, Eddie supposed, and suddenly he wished that Richie was the one with super strength, although, Richie could lift him pretty easily anyway.

“Get a room,” Richie teased.

“Don’t be so jealous, Richie,” Bev said.

Ben extended his other arm in a fake flexing motion, looking towards Richie.  “If you want.”

Richie’s face broke into a grin.  “Benjamin, I thought you’d never ask.”

It took Ben minimal effort to lift Richie onto his other arm.  He smiled widely as he pretended to weight lift the two of them.

Everyone was smiling, laughing at Ben pretending to be some kind of body builder, lifting Bev and Richie on his arms.  Eddie wasn’t.  He wasn’t sure if it was his jealousy, or something else that was eating away at his desire to move forward.  Something was telling him to test things out, and that something wasn’t finished with him yet.

Instead, Eddie tried to get anyone else to make an effort, or at least he was going to before Richie freaked out and jumped off Ben’s arm.

“Think the carnival’s over,” Richie said hopping down.  “Someone else should go, right?”

Richie looked absolutely shaken.  Eddie would have to ask about that later.

Ben set Bev down gently.  “Yeah, sure.”

No one asked any further questions, but Stan locked eyes with Eddie, conveying that they would have to corner him later, or implying that Eddie would have to.

Talk to him later.  That was weird.

Eddie quickly turned to Bill, who was clutching his head again.

Don’t do that, Eddie thought, and Bill nodded.  I can’t trust you if I don’t know when you’re going to turn it on.

It took a second as Bill massaged his temple.  Sorry.  He scrunched his eyes closed and covered them with his hand.  Eddie could almost feel the pain.

“Hey,” Richie said.  “No secret messages over there.  I see you, Bill, with your headache.”

“Too bad we were t-tuh-talking about you, Trashmouth,” Bill said.

“It’s cause I’m so beautiful.”

“More like you’re a pussy,” Bill negged, “and we want to see what you can really do.”

Richie swallowed.  “Fine.  What then?”

“Move things?” Eddie suggested.  “Like you did before?”

Richie shifted uncomfortably.  “That was hard.  I don’t know if I can do all that again.”

“What about when your mouth was shut?” Mike asked. 

“Yeah,” Richie said.  “I was freaking the fuck out.  I don’t really want to induce a fucking panic attack every time I need to move something with my mind.”

“It might help you learn to control it,” Eddie said.  “If you can get it going, maybe you can calm down and still use it.”

“I don’t really want to, though,” Richie said defeated.

“Then move something,” Eddie said, getting upset.  “Move something and show me you don’t need to use emotion to do more than just flip a fucking light switch.”

“I took the knife out of your hand,” Richie defended.  “Isn’t that enough?”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” Eddie said, “you didn’t want me to do it.  I think emotion came from that, right?”

“Fucking fine,” Richie said.

He extended his arm, something he didn’t need to do but likely helped him focus, and kept his eyes locked on his bike.  Richie was tense, clenching his teeth, his hand started to shake.

The bike rattled, and then it didn’t.

“I can’t,” Richie said relaxing his arm.

Eddie knew he was trying, but not hard enough.  It was like he didn’t even want this, like he would have rather forgotten that this had happened to them in the first place.  It would have been nice.  They could have moved on and had a normal summer, but they couldn’t.  Eddie couldn’t forget.  This was too fucking weird to forget about.

“Try harder,” Eddie said.

He was aware of everyone staring at them.  It had become an argument, a lover’s spat, although they didn’t know that.  Eddie didn’t care.  No one else would push Richie to the point he needed to go, and Eddie wasn’t about to sit here and let them coddle Richie when Eddie needed answers.  He would get answers if it killed him.

“I’m trying as hard as I can,” Richie bit back.

“Mike,” Eddie said, an idea forming, “give me the gun.”

Richie’s eyes flashed with realization.  “No fucking way.  Mike, do not give him the gun.”

Mike held his hands up.  “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

Eddie wasn’t going to hurt himself or anyone else.  He was going to scare Richie, to make him feel something to get his powers working again.  It was the only way.

“Mike, please,” Eddie asked.

Mike hesitated for only a second, reading the exasperation in Eddie’s face, before handing it over.

Richie huffed.  “So, now what?  You gonna point it at me?  Scare me so I take it from you?”

Eddie pointed it low, towards Richie’s feet, although if it went off now, he wasn’t so sure it wouldn’t hit Richie.  Eddie had never held a gun before.  The weight was odd, unbalanced, and it was much heavier than he thought it would be.

No, he couldn’t point it at Richie.  He remembered yesterday when Bowers pointed it at him, and he didn’t flinch.  But he did when Bowers pointed it at –

“No,” Eddie said.  “I know what you’re scared of.”  Eddie slowly lifted the gun to his own head, the right side, directly above his ear, finger hovering over the trigger.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Richie’s face dropped.

Eddie didn’t dare look at anyone else, but he could feel their concern piercing him from all sides.  He could feel Mike’s regret in the air:  He should have listened to Richie.

“If you’re not going to test your powers,” Eddie ventured, “then I will.”

“That’s pretty fucking stupid, Eds,” Richie said quietly.

“Take it from me if it’s so stupid.”

“I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.”

“Take it,” Eddie said, ignoring the mutterings of everyone else.  “Cause I really wanna know if I can survive a shot to the head.”

“This is fucking stupid,” Richie said getting mad.  “Put the gun down before you hurt yourself.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Eddie said, matching Richie’s anger.  “I can’t hurt myself, remember?  Or were you too busy looking away?  Being a fucking baby about it?”

“Shut up!” Richie said.  “Shut the fuck up!  Why are you acting like this?”

“Because I need answers!” Eddie said.  He pressed the barrel of the gun into his hair, tight against his head.  “So, take the fucking gun from me!  Or we’re gonna see just how much I can heal.”

“I can’t!” Richie said.  “Put it down!”

“Take it!”

“I can’t!”  There were tears in Richie’s eyes, and nothing was happening.  Or at least, that’s what Eddie thought.  He had been so focused on Richie, on the gun, on aggravating him over the edge, that he hadn’t noticed.

Just like before when Bill had glued his mouth shut, pebbles and leaves and sticks were floating in the air, lightly swirling around Richie, and he couldn’t even tell.  The bikes were rattling, and the air was filled with tension, and all Richie could focus on was Eddie.

Eddie looked deep into Richie’s eyes and caught a glint of…something.

He had to push Richie over the edge.  If he wanted to see what Richie was capable of, he had to do something to get him there.  He couldn’t shoot his head.  There was no telling what that would do or if he could recover.  He wasn’t about to test something that high stakes right now, but there were other things he could shoot.

Eddie glanced down, taking quick aim with his mind, and shot his foot.

Except he didn’t.

The sound of the gun going off triggered a rift in the air.  Everything was frozen where it was.  The bullet had stopped midair, halfway between the gun and Eddie’s foot.  He looked up.

His heart skipped.

Richie had stopped the bullet, but Richie had also stopped a lot of things.  He was there in front of Eddie still, but suspended a few feet in the air, eyes glowing a bright blue, his hair floating gently around his face.

The rocks and leaves remained in the air as though time had stopped.  Their bikes too, were floating a couple feet off the ground.

There was no question that this was Richie.

Eddie felt sick to his stomach.

“What the fuck?” Bev said.

“Richie did this?” Ben asked.

“He must have,” Stan said.  “How else…”

Eddie put the gun down on the ground and took a step back from it.  “I – I didn’t mean…”

The air moved again, and everything fell to the ground, including Richie.  He groaned from where he collapsed and lay in the dirt.

Eddie rushed over, quick to fall to his knees and inspect Richie.  Richie was opening his eyes, a good sign, and raised his hand to block the sun.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said.  “I just wanted you to do something.”

“Was it cool?” Richie asked.

“Scary,” Bev said.

“Pretty cool, though,” Bill interjected.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked placing a hand on Richie’s forehead to check his temperature.

“’M fine,” Richie muttered.  “Tired, but fine.”

Eddie breathed a sigh of relief.  This was his fault.  Richie knew what he could and could not safely do, and Eddie pushed him too far, thinking no one would get hurt.  They couldn’t possibly get hurt after what happened yesterday.  No one did get hurt, but it was close.  Scary, like Bev said.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Mike suggested.

The others agreed and Richie tried sitting up.  He was fine.

Eddie couldn’t focus.  Someone suggested going back into town to get lunch, that maybe a good meal was what they needed, and it would give Richie a cool space to recharge in.  That was a good idea, everyone else said, and they all picked up their bikes, choosing to walk them instead of ride.

Richie got up slowly, telling the others to go ahead, he would catch up, and Eddie could see his aches with every step.

Eddie waited back to walk with Richie.  Once the others were a good distance away, he took Richie’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Rich,” Eddie said.

“Nah,” Richie said.  “I was being a bitch about it.  I’m fine, right?”

“But what if you weren’t?  What if it did hurt you?”

Richie looked at him with intensity.  “That sounds really familiar.”

Eddie thought back to earlier, knife in his hand, hovering over his stomach, Richie painfully watching like it hurt him more than it would hurt Eddie.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said again.

Richie cupped Eddie’s cheek, rubbing it with his thumb.  Eddie leaned into the touch before Richie jumped back, looking up the road where their friends had disappeared from sight.

“Richie?”

“Hey, um,” Richie started quickly, “can we, uh, hold off on telling Bill and Stan?  About us, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said confused.  “Of course.  But, why?  You were the one that said it.”

“Uh, changed my mind is all.”

Richie was jittery, shaking as he picked up his bike.

“Let’s go,” Richie said trying to feign his usual upbeat tone.  “I’ve got a rumbly in my tumbly.  Need some lunch, you know?”

There was a quiver in his voice, an unmistakable sound of fear and pain.  And knowing Richie, Eddie would have to pry it out of him, but not right now.  There was no way Richie would talk now.

“Sure,” Eddie said picking up his bike.  “We gotta catch up, right?”

Richie nodded and rode away on his bike, Eddie following close behind. 

Chapter Text

To say the least, Stan hated every second of whatever the fuck was happening to his friends.  He hated the weird supernatural shit and he hated that they cared so much about getting answers and he hated that they all seemed kind of excited to explore the new possibilities.  And maybe he should have counted it as a blessing, but he hated that there was nothing special about him.

He should have been grateful, he told himself.  He wouldn’t have to worry about powers or potential responsibility or whatever supernatural shit was about to go down, a tension that no one wanted to mention, but instead, all he felt was isolation.

He shouldn’t have wanted something too.  He shouldn’t be desperate for a power that he wouldn’t know how to control.  Hell, look at Richie.  He shouldn’t want something like that.

But he did.  He wanted to fit in with them so badly.  They were all outsiders, but now they were outsiders with a connection.  All of them except him.

It was a few days later.  Stan had given up attending their practice sessions because no one could seem to figure out if he could do anything.  Stan had suggested that Mike read him, but Mike had refused, stating that if he read something he shouldn’t, Stan would never forgive him.

Stan gave his permission, but Mike still wouldn’t listen, leaving Stan with nothing new.

He abandoned practice today to go bird watching, and Richie had joined him.  Richie probably should have been there, trying to hone his powers and control them without going haywire, but Richie was tired.  He wanted a day off.

Stan leaned against the fence, binoculars pressed to his eyes trying to see the blue-winged warblers in the trees.

Richie sat on the ground next to him, back against the fence post.  He had been uncharacteristically quiet this afternoon, but Stan hadn’t had the heart to bug him over it.  Richie would talk when he was ready.

“Hey, Rich,” Stan said.  “Do you ever wish you were a bird?”

“Sometimes,” Richie said with no emotion.  “Fly away from this shithole.”

“Sounds nice,” Stan said under his breath.  “What kind would you be?”

“Eagle,” Richie said without hesitation.  “Big and talons and cool.”

Stan chuckled at Richie’s easy answer.  “I guess.  The eagle was the animal of Zeus, so they’re pretty cool.”

“The lightning god?” Richie asked.  “Fuck yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Stan started, “about you.”

And he had.  He had been thinking about all of his friends’ powers, but he had been thinking about Richie the most.  Richie’s power had so much untapped potential and it was frightening.  Richie not being able to control things was probably the most frightening part of all.  But Stan thought about how the air went still, how the wind had stopped, and there was an almost electric feeling in the air when Richie had panicked a few days ago.  What could Richie do with practice?  What could Richie do when he was really truly trying?

“Don’t,” Richie said.  “Just don’t.  Eddie’s up my ass about everything and I just want to hang out with you today.”

“How’s Eddie?” Stan said offhandedly.

“W-what do you mean?” Richie asked.

“I just mean…” Stan trailed off trying to find the words.  What did he mean?  He didn’t want to accuse anything or be too blunt.  Richie would get defensive and pissed off, and then would shut down, refusing to tell Stan anything.

“Do you ever wonder,” Stan tried again, “if there are ways you’re different, that you’re not supposed to be?  Like, everyone’s telling you that you shouldn’t be the way you are.”

Stan thought about the truth in that statement, the way he always felt so good when Bill called him, the way he shivered at Richie’s touch, the way his heart skipped when Mike acted so chivalrous over reading him.  Richie wouldn’t talk unless he did first.  But he was so unsure himself.  What was there to say?

“Maybe,” Richie muttered.  “I don’t know.”

“Like, when Eddie looks at you,” Stan continued, “it feels like the world, like Derry and Bowers don’t exist and you’re allowed to be the way you are.”

“Stan, I’m not –”

“Like me,” Stan finished.  “Like you focus on girls because it’s easier and you do like them, but when Eddie focuses on you, it’s easier than the girls.”  He paused.  “I mean, I don’t have an Eddie, but…you know what I mean.”

Richie didn’t say anything, leaving Stan in silence for a good minute.  He let Richie digest that.  He let himself digest that.  He had never said those things to himself, much less to anyone else, but they were all true.  He and Richie were one and the same, and he needed his friend to know that.

“What kind of bird would you be?” Richie asked.  “You asked me, but I didn’t ask you.”

“Tufted titmouse,” Stan indulged.

“Why?” Richie said.  “Besides the obvious reason.”

Stan smiled.  “They’re small and nimble, but not too small, and they’re beautiful to watch.”

Stan wished there were some titmice here to watch hop around on the branches.  He pictured them playing with each other, flying from branch to branch, their colors blending into the leaves and flowers effectively hiding them from predators.

And suddenly, something had changed.  Stan could figure it out until he saw where he was standing, looking down and noticing that he was on the fence, rather than next to it.  Holding onto it with his…feet.

Stan looking behind him, and there was Richie standing and staring, having grown exponentially in size.  But that didn’t make sense.  If Stan was on the fence, and Richie was huge.

“What the fuck?” Richie said, breaking into a grin.  “Dude!  You figured it out!”

Stan tried to talk.  What the fuck are you talking about?  But the only sound that came out was the call of a tufted titmouse.

He was the tufted titmouse.

He felt trapped, condensed and small, too small.  He wanted to be himself again, and then he was.

“Holy shit,” Richie said.  “You were a bird.”

“Uh, ye-yeah,” Stan said.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”  That was the truth.  Stan couldn’t figure out if he should be happy or worried or scared.

“Hey,” Richie took his shoulders, “it’ll be okay.  We can figure this out.”

“Right,” Stan said.  “We’ll figure it out.”

“We can figure everything out,” Richie said, and Stan had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the powers.  “I, um…”  His hands fell from Stan’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Stan said.

“Yes, I do,” Richie said.  “If you did, so do I.”

There was no use in arguing.  Stan knew Richie well, and he knew that Richie wouldn’t let this go.  If Richie had to do something, he was going to do it.

“I’m, um, like you,” Richie said.  “It’s Eddie, yeah.  He, uh, did it for me.  But you can’t tell anyone, not even Eddie cause we said we’d do it ourselves the way that we wanted.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed.  “But I mean, now that I know, you can tell me the details, right?”  Stan raised an eyebrow, trying to play things off for Richie’s sake.

“Staniel,” Richie said, “you’re lucky I love you.”

They sat on the ground against the fencepost, all warblers in the tree forgotten as Richie told Stan every detail of his and Eddie’s relationship.  They got together back in March on a late-night adventure to town after sneaking into the pharmacy.  Eddie was having an asthma attack, having left his inhaler at home, and Richie was ready to break a window to get him a new one.  He didn’t have to, but that was enough for Eddie who kissed him.

It was downhill from there when they decided they couldn’t tell anyone, not even their closest friends.  Stan felt for them.  He couldn’t imagine having to hide who you loved from the world, but he knew their pain.

“I think I want to try again,” Stan said when Richie was done talking.

“Turning into a bird?” Richie questioned.

“Yeah,” Stan said.  “Do you think I can do any bird?  Like, how much do you think I can do?”

“Not turn into Eddie or anything, but that’s what testing it for, isn’t it?” Richie said.  “Try something really cool like a penguin.”

“I was thinking an eagle,” Stan said rolling his eyes.

He stood up and flexed his fingers, preparing for something.  He did what he thought he did before, closing his eyes to concentrate.  He pictured a golden eagle, large and predatory and “cool” to quote Richie.

Something happened.  Stan opened his eyes and Richie had gone huge again.

“Stan,” Richie said, “this is so fucking rad.”

Stan tried to remember the science behind flying, how birds catch the air in their wings, and it keeps them in the air.  He took a running start, spreading his wings, ignoring how strange it felt to even think about what his body looked like right now.

And then he was in the air, wind blowing all around him.  The feeling of freedom surrounded him in a way he had never experienced.  He could go, he could fly out of here, abandon Derry for something more than this wasteland that dares to call itself a community.  He never felt like he could do anything until this moment, and he wanted to do everything.

But instead he flew in a circle, and landed at Richie feet, morphing back into his human self.

“How do you feel?” Richie asked.

“Really fucking cool,” Stan replied.

Stan wasn’t scared of it anymore, at least not like he used to be.  He recalled the fear he used to have going into his father’s study, looking at the painting on the wall of the woman with the flute.  She wasn’t anything to be scared of now that he was a month shy of turning sixteen, but there was still something about her that set him on edge, like she knew a secret that he didn’t.

He supposed he would never like the painting.  It was gaudy and too abstract for his taste, but there was also the dark and menacing nature of it all.  She stared into his soul every time he went into his father’s study.  She knew about him.

But she was a painting.  She was a painting and there was nothing to fear about her.

That didn’t mean Stan didn’t avoid his father’s study whenever he could.  Sometimes he had to go in, like today, because his mother was looking for him and told Stan to go check his study because that’s where he usually was when she couldn’t find him.

He wasn’t there.  He was likely on his way home and forgot to call so now his mother was worried and Stan had to do the heavy lifting.

Being in his father’s study mostly made him feel sad these days.  Stan was never going to be everything his father wanted him to be, remembering with a shudder how he tripped over his words at his bar mitzvah, stumbling through the Torah reading and being scolded afterwards for not trying hard enough.

You will never be good enough.

Stan spun around to find the source of the words.  There was no one.  He tried to think of who the voice sounded like, but there was no one that came close, the voice being barely higher than a whisper in his own head.

He should just leave.

But the painting stopped him, looked at him in a way it had never looked at him before.

You were the last one to find your powers.  Doesn’t that mean something?

Stan wanted to scream.  She was talking to him, not with her mouth but with her mind.

I know how sad you are, Stanley.  I know how much you wish this would end.

She was reading him, reading his deepest, darkest secrets and he couldn’t move.  He was planted to that spot in front of the painting, fated to listen to her talk about him and the depression he tried to ignore, the feelings of inadequacy that he tried to push away.  She knew him.

Don’t you wish…

She moved.  She actually moved, her hands gripping the frame.  She launched forward and Stan finally removed himself from the ground, falling backwards on to his back as the lady in the painting came out of the picture, manifesting as an abomination in the real world.

This wasn’t real.  This couldn’t be real.  Stan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, and she was there, two inches from his face, bearing her sharp teeth.

…you could just die?

She opened her mouth, unhinging her jaw in the most grotesque way, like a snake ready to swallow a rodent, she was the predator, and Stan was nothing more than a rat.

Would it be so bad to die?  No more expectations or planning for the future.  No more fathers to disappoint and no more fear and pain.  Would it hurt?

Stan didn’t have time to find out when the door to the study burst open, his father toting a stack of books to put away.

The woman disappeared, the frame on the wall swallowing her whole and returning her to her prison.  She suddenly looked more human than she ever had before, her 2-D self contained to nothing more than a tacky frame holding a horror masquerading as a piece of art.

“Stanley?” his father said seeing him on the ground.  “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Stan said.  “Just tripped.”

“Can you help me with these?” his father asked.

Stan scrambled up, taking half of the stack from his father and putting them away on the shelves in the study.

When he was done, he left, and for the first time in years, Stan put a hand up to his face to avoid looking at the woman with the flute as he walked out the door.

Chapter Text

Don’t touch other boys, Richie.

Don’t, or they’ll know your secret.

That morning before he heard that, he did want to tell Bill and Stan.  He wanted to tell them more than anything, tired of being afraid, tired of hiding.  He wanted to share his love with them.  He wanted them to know just how much he loved Eddie, how he would lay his life down for Eddie.

Then it happened.  He jumped at the opportunity to ride around on Ben’s arm because it looked like fun and Ben was kind of cute.  Sue him.  But that wasn’t the end of it.

He was fine, having fun, when he heard it.  Don’t touch other boys, Richie.  And he panicked.  He jumped off Ben’s arm because he was scared of what it looked like, scared of the implications of what him riding around on a boy’s arm meant.  He didn’t know where it came from.  He thought that maybe it came from inside himself, a warning that he shouldn’t do the things he did, a warning that he needed to stay hidden.

Eddie was fine with it.  Eddie was fine with staying hidden a little longer if it meant Richie was okay.  Richie was overcome with how much he loved Eddie that he couldn’t help himself and put a hand on his cheek.  He loved touching Eddie, and he loved that Eddie always leaned into it, reminding Richie that this was okay.  They were okay.

Don’t, or they’ll know your secret.

Richie had jumped, looking wildly around for the others who were likely watching from a distance, ready to jump on the chance to ostracize them.

But no one was around, no one but Eddie.

And then Stan had asked that question, implying what Richie knew he was implying, that Richie was different.  Stan didn’t have a tone of malice, but Richie couldn’t help but read into it, sensing that Stan had ill intentions.  Richie didn’t ever think that Stan wouldn’t love him, but Richie also had a hard time believing Stan wouldn’t think about him differently either.

Richie didn’t want different, he wanted normal.

The normal ship had sailed the day he carved his and Eddie’s initials into the kissing bridge when he finally accepted his fate, his curse.  He would have to deal with this and that was fine.  Tortured souls always made better comedy anyway.

He shared that curse with Eddie, and things were slightly better, although his worry about the secret getting out shifted from him onto Eddie, fearing the worst for his love.  Richie could handle it, the insults, the beatings, the pain, but he saw the way it got to Eddie.  Eddie put on a brave face, but Richie knew things were hard.  Life would be so much easier if they weren’t cursed.

And apparently Stan was too.

You focus on girls because it’s easier, but when Eddie focuses on you, it’s easier than the girls.

It was like Stan could read his mind.  There were always girls Richie found attractive and could be drawn to for a moment or two, make a joke or hit on her, anything to remind people he was still halfway normal, but then Eddie would laugh, roll his eyes, lecture Richie about something stupid, and Richie was all his again.

Stan was like Richie, and things would be fine.  They would be fine until someone like Bowers found out, or their other friends decided it would be too hard to care about them, to deal with the awful hand they had been dealt.

Richie pondered this as he smoked under the bleachers at school.  Summer sports camps had started, and elementary schoolers were playing flag football on the field.  It was only a matter of time before a coach or disgruntled parent called the sheriff on Richie to make him go away.

He had come here to be alone, but he should have known she would show up.  She always did.

Bev sat cross-legged in front of Richie, pulling out her own cigarette to smoke, and lighting it up.

“Afternoon, Richard,” she said after blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Hiya, Miss Scarlett,” Richie greeted.

“Wanna see something cool?” Bev said, grinning widely.

“Everyday.”

Bev took a deep breath.  “Look behind you.”

Richie peeked over his shoulder and behind him was Bev, full-formed and sitting on the ground like she was in front of him.  It almost tricked him until he noticed her missing ears.  He reached out, hoping to slap away the apparition, but his hand went through as though nothing was there at all.

He studied his hand when he turned back to the real Bev, wiggling his fingers.

“She didn’t have ears,” Richie said tonelessly.

“That’s the most I’ve been able to do and that’s what you have to say?” Bev asked.  “Are you trying to be an asshole?”

“Probably,” Richie said.

“Quit it and talk to me.”

Richie huffed.  Now that they were all tied by the powers they had gotten, Bev and Ben and Mike, but especially Bev, liked to think they had an in with Richie, like they were entitled to his story and thoughts and feelings and emotions.  Before everything, Richie would talk to Bev in the most vague and casual way, like they barely knew each other and were just shooting the shit, throwing in a flirty joke here and there.

She didn’t deserve to know Richie’s thoughts.  She didn’t need to know.  He didn’t even tell Eddie half the shit he thought about and now here was Bev, a girl he barely knew, asking him to spill his guts for her.

Fuck that.

“Some bullshit,” Richie said.  “I’m dealing with it.”

“Some bullshit like you refuse to practice?” Bev suggested.  “And that Eddie won’t leave you alone about it?”

Hearing Eddie’s name come from her mouth felt wrong, like she wasn’t supposed be using it.

Sure, maybe he and Eddie hadn’t been getting along since that first day, that maybe it was kind of Richie’s fault and he should apologize, and that maybe Eddie should too, and they could work on it.  But that was his business, not hers.

“Sure,” Richie said.

“Are you going to be a brat all day?” Bev asked.  “Cause like, I actually wanted to talk to you.”

“And I wanted to be alone.”

“I can wait,” Bev said with such vitriol.  “Boys like you always talk when it’s too quiet.”

“Like me?” Richie questioned.  “What the fuck do you know about me?”

Bev raised her eyebrows like this was a game.  She was trying to dig deep into Richie, to work him to get him to spill, or maybe make him so uncomfortable that he couldn’t help but lay everything out.

He sighed, and his bag that had risen off the ground dropped.  Maybe Eddie had a point and he did need to practice, but that was a conversation for another time.

“You say that like you know anything about me,” Bev said smugly.  She was winning this game and she knew it.

“I know about the rumors,” Richie stated, and Bev’s face dropped.  “I know that everyone seems to think that you’ve fucked about half the guys at this school, likely because you gave some dude a handy once and he told all his friends he scored, and now you’re probably wondering when Ben is going to reveal himself as a scumbag that’s just trying to get into your pants.”

Bev didn’t say anything, and Richie feared that he had taken things too far.  He wanted her to shut up, to leave him alone, but he didn’t want to hurt her.  He never wanted to hurt anyone.

“For the record,” Richie added, “I never believed any of it.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Bev asked, face filled with hidden rage and pain.

“Also,” Richie continued, “I don’t know Ben that well, but I know him enough to know he’s not that kind of guy.  I see the way he looks at you like you’re the fucking sun or whatever.  Guys who just wanna fuck don’t look at girls like that.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Bev said quietly.  “They always want the same thing.”

“I don’t,” Richie said, “if that makes you feel better.”

“Doesn’t really count if you’re queer.”

Richie heart stopped in his chest as he froze with his cigarette in his mouth.  He took a second to regain his footing, hoping to god that she was fucking with him like he did with her.

“What?” Richie stuttered.

“But for the record,” Bev said, her tone getting lighter, “I never believed those rumors either.  About you or Eddie.”

Richie relaxed.  “Yeah, well, you’d be the first.”  He took a pull on his cigarette.  “Apparently we’re not allowed to hug each other without everyone and their mom thinking shit like that.  Like we’re rubbing it all over each other or something.”

A lump formed in Richie’s throat as he joked, but he kept a smile on his face as Bev let out a laugh.  She wasn’t bad, Richie thought, she just had the bad luck to live in Derry.  But she would never be good either, would she?  She laughed at his joke, which meant she would laugh if he told her the truth.

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Bev asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Bev clarified, “why is he…so…”  She motioned something vague with her hands, something Richie sort of picked up on.

“Uptight?”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“But you were thinking it,” Richie said.  “I’m not gonna tell you his tragic backstory or anything, but let’s just say he’s a control freak.  He needs things to go his way or else you send him into panic mode.  Not in like, a bad way.  I just mean he has a lot of anxiety about stuff.”

“Is that why he hates me?” Bev asked.

“He does not hate you,” Richie said.

“Then why does he roll his eyes every time I say something?”

Unfortunately, that sounded like Eddie, and with the way things had been going lately, Eddie was a mess.  Eddie had started stressing over everything, including Richie, and maybe Richie had been a little insensitive to what Eddie needed.

But, god, he was being so annoying about it.

Instead, Eddie was taking it out on Bev, apparently, who Eddie had already picked a fight over, although Richie still couldn’t figure that one out.  Bev was nice and just a girl he talked to sometimes.  There was nothing more.

Oh.  Eddie was jealous.  Eddie was really jealous.

“He, um,” Richie started trying to come up with something to cover for them, “you know, has anxiety.  It’s just been the four of us for a while, so new people hanging around is gonna stress him out a lot.”

That sounded…okay.  Bev seemed to buy it.  She nodded and took a pull on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly.

“Just give him time,” Richie added.  “He’ll grow on you.”

“A lot like you, then,” Bev remarked.

“I resent that statement,” Richie returned.  “I’m a delight.”

“In your dreams, Trashmouth,” Bev said.

Richie recoiled at the nickname, a name given to him by his friends, a name that he had grown used to over the years because he knew his friends loved him, but hearing it from the mouth of someone he wasn’t close to, someone who’s love still felt conditional, made him shiver.  He never realized the horrible implications of having a nickname like that.

Years of his classmates rolling their eyes and shoving him into lockers and yelling at him to shut the fuck up manifested itself, reminding Richie of how everyone saw him.

“Am I allowed to say that?” Bev asked noticing Richie’s drop.  “Trashmouth, I mean.  I heard Bill call you that and I thought we were friends enough, but if we’re not…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Richie said trying to play it off.  “You’re good.”

“You’re allowed to tell people how you feel,” Bev said.  “Especially your friends.  So, if something bothers you –”

“You’re fine, Marsh,” Richie said.  “I mean it.  I just don’t know how to make friends, I guess, so…”

“You get defensive,” Bev finished.  “I get that.”

“Really?”

“You know I’m not popular, right?  You’ve heard the rumors.  Shit like that turns people on you.  Girls think you’re a slut and guys only want one thing.  You get defensive.”

Richie could understand getting defensive.  Hell, he did that on the daily, though maybe not for the same reasons Bev did.  Richie had to combat them ahead of time or else they’d call him all the names he’d heard countless times – four-eyes, freak, faggot.  It got tiresome and annoying.  So, he would defend himself before the names came.  He would crack a joke or throw out a voice in an attempt to make people like him before they had the chance to hate him, and Bev was obviously trying to do the same thing with him.

“Don’t worry, Red,” Richie said. “You’re cool with us.  I hate to break it to you, but the only one of us trying to get that one thing is Ben and he probably would wait until marriage if that’s what you wanted.”

“Cool?” Bev questioned.  “Do you think you’re cool?”  She clicked her tongue and took a pull on her cigarette.  “Honey, you guys are the biggest losers I’ve ever seen.  But don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry?” Richie repeated.  “About what?  The fact that you think we’re losers?  I feel like I oughta kick your ass in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, baby,” Bev said cracking a smile.  “Do you honestly think I would hang out with you if I wasn’t a loser, too?”

Richie laughed and finished his cigarette, stomping the butt out with his shoes, his old chucks that had holes worn into them and writing on the rubber toes, old things drawn on by him, but also a little red heart that Eddie drew about a month ago.  The shouts of children and volunteer coaches penetrated the silence between him and Bev, a silence that was easy and simple, like they were supposed to be friends all along.

Richie had finally fixed his truck and was driving around, hoping to find some clarity to the muck of thoughts that was starting to settle in his mind.  He had to talk to Eddie, that was certain.  After his conversation with Bev, he figured out what he needed to do next.

You’re allowed to tell people how you feel, Richie.

But that was the ultimate question, wasn’t it?  How did he feel?  He knew Eddie was dealing with something, something that was pushing him to freak out over the powers and making him obsessed with finding answers that weren’t there.  Richie couldn’t understand why Eddie couldn’t move on from this, why he couldn’t forget about the things that were happening.  He knew about Eddie’s anxiety, but it seemed like there was more to it every time Eddie hounded Richie about not caring.

And why couldn’t Richie care?  He wanted to.  He wanted to know why he couldn’t control his powers and why they were so connected to his emotions, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look for the answers, like he knew they were out of reach and the search was pointless.

He stopped off the road at the kissing bridge to look at the carving he made three years ago, a carving he made out of anger and resentment, fueled by love and adoration.

R+E.

Richie ran his fingers over the letters etched into the wood.  The indents had faded slightly, and he got his pocket knife out to quickly carve them back in.  He didn’t want it to fade.  It would be like his love faded.

He remembered fondly the night he and Eddie got together, after Eddie had kissed him in the pharmacy, he thought he was going to pass out, but instead, he pulled himself together, took Eddie’s hand, and brought him to the bridge.  Eddie kissed him again and Richie’s knees actually gave out underneath him.

He never would forget the way Eddie panicked over him, and then his laugh when Richie cracked a joke about needing those knees for later, or his blush when Richie managed to stand back up.

Richie smiled softly to himself, knowing Eddie would understand his strange emotions over everything.

“Whatcha doing?” a voice said behind him.  Richie knew that voice.

He turned to see Eddie standing there, leaning against Richie’s truck, arms crossed like he knew a secret that Richie didn’t.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie said.  “Just, um, visiting.”

“Cute,” Eddie said biting his lip.  “I heard Stan knows about us now.  I thought we were gonna keep it secret for a while.”

“Oh,” Richie said.  “He told me he wouldn’t say anything.”

“Well, I know,” Eddie said getting up from the truck, wandering closer to Richie.  “And I thought I could tell everyone if that’s what you wanted to happen after that.”

“N-no,” Richie stuttered, confused.  “I told you I didn’t want to.  Stan figured it out and he’s – he’s like us.  We’re in this shit together.”

Eddie started playing with the hem of Richie’s shirt.  “Yeah, well, I know a lot about Stan, too.”

Something was wrong.  Richie couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was out of place, like that time his mom bought store-brand Cheerios instead of the regular kind, the slight taste of wrong, but just close enough that you might not notice.

Richie took a step back.  “Like what?”

“Does it matter?” Eddie said.  “I thought I told you…that you shouldn’t touch other boys, Richie.”

From Eddie’s eyes came the impossible as streams of blood began falling down his cheeks, slowly, inching their way downwards.

“You’re not Eddie,” Richie said slowly.

“And now Stan knows,” not-Eddie said, “that you like boys.  You’re lucky he’s cursed like you are, or else, who knows what he would have called you.”

The blood from his eyes ran down towards his mouth, more and more coming out slowly as his face began disintegrating, flaking away and blowing into the wind.

“What the fuck are you?” Richie asked.

“Freak,” not-Eddie continued.  “Faggot.  You know, Richie…”

Not-Eddie came at him, and Richie tried to step backwards again, tripping over his own gangly legs, falling flat on his back.

Not-Eddie revealed itself, it’s true form as what Richie could only see as a clown, white face with the blood streaks from his eyes to his mouth, bright red hair shooting out from It’s head in no particular fashion.  Richie was sure he was going to die.

“I hear they kill freaks in this town!”

There was a flash.  Richie felt his body go numb and then stiffen all at once, like it had the other day when Eddie shot his foot.  It felt like only a nanosecond had passed before Richie could see again, only he couldn’t.  His glasses had flown off his face.

He reached around in a frenzy, finding them only an inch above his head and put them back on, sitting up and looking around.

It was nowhere to be seen.  Did he send it away?  Was that him?

He had to go.  He had to see Eddie.  He had to do something.

So, he went to Eddie’s house like he planned.  He pounded on the front door, only to be greeted by Sonia Kaspbrak with her hair in curlers and a scowl on her face.  Richie sometimes couldn’t believe he was so intimidated by a woman that was nearly a foot shorter than him, but it was often like her eyes could peer into his soul, sensing the way he was infecting her son.

“Can I help you?” she said as though she wished she hadn’t answered.

“Is Eddie home?” Richie asked.

She sighed, knowing that Richie wouldn’t leave without an answer, and probably guessing that Richie would sneak in no matter what she told him.  Sonia turned and yelled up the stairs, “Eddie!  Your friend is here.”

The distant call of Eddie (who must have guessed it was Richie) from his room came down to the front door.  “Send him up!”

Sonia stepped aside as Richie entered the house, careful to take off his shoes before bounding up the stairs and into Eddie’s room.

Richie flopped on the bed where Eddie had been reading a book, and much to Eddie’s dismay and obvious distaste, he started talking.

“Eddie,” Richie started.  “I don’t even think I know where to begin right now.”

“How about sorry for making me lose my place?” Eddie said carefully placing a bookmark in the pages and setting the book down on his nightstand.

Richie loved him but he was starting to get really ticked off at Eddie’s pissy mood lately.  Between his constant badgering over practicing their powers and his distancing from Richie, there was tension brewing that was getting under Richie’s skin.

“Look,” Richie continued, “I talked to Bev earlier and I just want you to know that I’m allowed to tell you how I feel.”

Eddie scrunched his brow in confusion.  “Yeah.  I knew that.  Did you know that?”

“No,” Richie confessed.  “But now I do.  Maybe I should be more careful and try harder, but I also think you’re taking all this shit way too seriously.  I think there’s something wrong that you’re not telling me.”

Eddie bit his lip, pausing for only a moment.  “You know Bev better than I do.”

“Yeah,” Richie said piecing things together, “are you –”

“No!” Eddie said cutting him off, blushing wildly from cheek to cheek.

“Jealous?” Richie finished.

Eddie swallowed and hugged his arms close around his chest.  “Are the rumors true?”  He paused and then corrected himself.  “I mean, not about you and her, but about her in general.”

“Do you believe they are?” Richie asked.  He was friends with Bev, and he didn’t like hearing those rumors even before he started talking to her, so hearing Eddie ask, that maybe he believed, it hurt.

“No,” Eddie said quietly.  “Not really.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie lied.  “Maybe it’s cause her reputation was so…”  He waved a hand as if to show what he meant.  “And I’m not…like that.”

“Like what?” Richie asked.  “Like a slut?”

Eddie was taken aback.  “Uhh, to put it bluntly, yeah.  I know you want more…and I can’t…I’m not…”

“It’s a good thing I fell in love with you long before I even wanted that shit,” Richie said confidently.  “So, don’t worry, baby.  I can wait as long as you need.”

Eddie visibly relaxed, smiling softly.

“But,” Richie said, “that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

“Oh,” Eddie said.  “Right.  The powers and all that.”

“Yeah,” Richie said.  “You heard what I said.  I’m sorry I’m not trying harder, but you need to let up, okay?”

“Sorry,” Eddie said thumbing at his comforter, avoiding Richie’s eye.  “I’m scared and I just want to know what the fuck is going on.”

“Me too,” Richie admitted, “but you have to admit that there’s no answers anywhere right now.  I promise I’ll practice more if you let up.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded.  “Okay.”

“Okay,” Richie echoed.  It was hard to ignore what this was, their first fight as a couple.  Richie had been living in a nice bubble these past few months that he forgot that shit like this can happen, that there was work involved in being with someone.  He didn’t like it, but he loved Eddie, and maybe that was worth it.

Richie leaned forward, pressing his face into Eddie’s chest, and for a second he swore he felt Eddie tense, but quickly after, Eddie pulled Richie down to lay with him on the bed, limbs tangled together while Eddie played with Richie’s hair.  Richie breathed in Eddie’s scent, the strong smell of soap and the light smell of bleach, something Richie never thought he would love, but here he was, pressing his face into Eddie to take in every minute of it.

“There’s something else,” Eddie said after a couple minutes of them laying there.  “And I don’t know where to begin.”

“That’s a scary thing to say, Eds,” Richie said.  “You make it sound so bad.”

“It’s not about you, asshole,” Eddie said, fingers still tangled in Richie’s hair.  “I was walking by the Neibolt house earlier.”

“And you saw a ghost.”

“Shut up,” Eddie said all too seriously.  “I was walking by the Neibolt house earlier, and I ran into a clown.”

Chapter Text

Richie was right and she hated it.

Bev knew that Ben was good, that he was and thoughtful and wonderful in every way, but Richie was right when he brought up that unshakable feeling that Ben was going reveal his true colors eventually.  They always did.

Richie was close when he brought up how the rumors got started.  It wasn’t a handy like he suggested, but rather she frenched some senior when she was a freshman and now the entire town thought she would put out for anything that could pop a boner.  Boys would flirt with her and she would think they actually liked her, and they would take her on a date only to expect the same thing at the end of the night.  She did have a reputation, after all.

She came to expect it.  So, when Ben kissed her and it was soft and sweet, she was speechless.  She didn’t know what to do but smile and keep moving forward like it didn’t break her heart that a boy could be so nice. 

She liked him a lot, and her conscious mind knew he was good, but there was that feeling, that stupid, invasive feeling that would never leave her alone, that maybe Ben wasn’t as good as she thought.  But she shoved it aside because she liked him.  She would get through this.

It didn’t help that now she was dealing with another bullshit thing in her life.  These powers that she didn’t know what to do with kept her up at night as she tried perfecting them.  She discovered that she couldn’t make things disappear from sight, but she was close to creating a full body apparition, minus the ears like the one she showed Richie.

Bev tried to think if there was a reason for this, a reason for these things happening to them, because it wasn’t just her dealing with this either.  Those boys had them too, and it was obvious they were all trying to hide the fact that they were all terrified.

They went out and practiced every day they could, hoping that somewhere along the way, someone could come up with an answer, and every day it was the same.

Everyday Bill said it had to do with Georgie.

And everyday someone, usually Eddie, would look at him with that same sad expression.

So that day when everyone dispersed, breaking off into whatever pairs or groups they usually weaned off into, Bev promised Ben she’d stop by later, and ran off to Bill who was walking home alone.

“Why do you think it has to do with your brother?” Bev asked as she fell in stride with Bill.

Bill was taken aback, looking at Bev with wide eyes before walking faster.  “I don’t want to t-tuh-talk about it.”

Bill was walking with purpose, which was obviously to get away from Bev.  She managed to keep up, gently grabbing his arm to slow him down.

“Sorry,” Bev said, realizing that she had crossed a line.  “I just thought maybe you want to talk about it since everyone always brushes you off.”

Bill slowed his stride enough for Bev to keep pace.  “It’s fine.  They’re right.”

He said it with such finality that Bev almost took him for his word, but he had brought it up nearly every day, so she wasn’t about to let him get away.  The least she could do was convince him to talk to someone he trusted more than her.

“It has to be something, doesn’t it?” she suggested.  “I mean, other kids have gone missing too, so maybe something else is happening.”

“I don’t know,” Bill shrugged.  He stopped, and turned to Bev.  “Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on the secret,” Bev said trying to keep things light, but when Bill stared at her, she knew it was serious.  “Yeah, of course, I can.”

Bill looked up and down the street, checking to make sure that no one was around.

He sighed.  “I’ve been hearing things.  Not, the voices,” he quickly corrected, “in people’s heads, I mean.  This v-v-voice comes when I’m sleeping.”

“Like a dream,” Bev said.

Bill shook his head.  “Kind of, but this feels so real.”

Bev wasn’t sure what to make of it, and Bill was acting so coy and secretive about it, giving one short bit at a time that Bev had way too many questions to ask, unsure if Bill would answer any of them.

“What is it saying?” Bev ventured.

Bill paused, taking a moment to think.  “I’m not fully sure.  It feels like advice, b-b-but I’m not sure what it’s for.”

Bev must have looked extremely confused because Bill actually continued without prompt.

“‘It’s in the sewers’ the voice says,” Bill says.  “One time it told me Georgie is dead, and another it told me…last night actually, that…”

Bill trailed off, not wanting to continue.

Bev believed him.  There was no reason that she shouldn’t, but he needed to finish.

“What, Bill?” she asked.

“Th-thuh-they’re a gift,” Bill said.  “The voice gave them to us.”

“Oh,” was the only word Bev could find.

So, what?  There was a mysterious force that gifted them these powers?  For what?  There was something in the sewers.  Georgie was dead.  And there was a reason this was happening to them.  But Bill had kept this to himself, instead choosing to spout the same words day after day much to everyone’s chagrin, to the point that they stopped listening.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bev asked.

“Do you honestly believe me?” Bill stated.

“What choice do I have?”

After a minute, Bill said, “I’ll think about it,” and left Bev standing there on the sidewalk.

Without thinking, Bev ran off, unsure of what she was looking for.  Answers?  A place to think?  Ben?  She couldn’t have said.

Instead, she found herself at home and surprised to find her father there when he was supposed to be at work.  She almost turned around, but he caught her before she could.

“You look like you seen a ghost,” her father said.

“Just out of breath,” she said trying to run off to her room where she could sneak out the fire escape.

“Hold up,” her father said.  “You don’t wanna sit down and talk to your daddy?  What happened to our little chats?”

Bev wanted to scream that they disappeared when her mother died, that the last thing she would ever do was talk to him out of her own free will, but here she couldn’t do that.  So, she lingered in the archway to the living room, careful to preplan her escape if needed.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

“Since when do you have a boyfriend?” her father asked.

Her heart skipped.  “What are you talking about?”

“That fat boy you’ve been hanging around,” he said.  “You think you’re grown enough for a boyfriend, do you?”

“I’m sixteen,” Bev said.

“Still a child,” her father said.  “What happened to my little girl?”

Bev debated whether or not she ought to just leave, waiting for him to go to bed tonight before she came back, face the consequences in the morning, but instead she stayed, hoping to ride this out and get out unscathed.

Her father started talking again before she had a chance.  “Aren’t you scared he’s gonna take advantage of you?”

That confused Bev.  She knew her father well, and he wouldn’t try to convince her to not date Ben.  He would complain and eke his way into her psyche, convince her that she was too young, too fragile, that she was still his little girl and she ought to only be his.  This was too…protective, too invasive, as well.

“What do you mean?” Bev asked, voice shaking.

“Just like all the other boys,” he said.  “Every single one of them waiting for their turn.  It’s only a matter of time before he shows himself, Beverly.”

Bev nodded slowly.  “Right.”  She started for her bedroom, hoping to escape whatever daydream this was.

She turned down the hall, only to come face-to-face with what she had to assume was the puppet master behind the image of her father she had just seen.

It was a clown, face painted white and nose like a red balloon.

She stopped dead in her tracks, frozen in place, knowing this was It, this was the thing that was reason for their powers.  Maybe it wasn’t It, but the connection was there, and she cursed herself for thinking about that instead of how to get out of there, staring at the drool dripping from It’s mouth, knowing there was something to fear behind those lips, those ugly, blackened teeth.

“He’s only waiting to fuck you, Beverly,” It said.  “Isn’t that what you’re waiting for?”

It took a step forward, shaking the entire apartment, and yet Bev remained glued to the floor, unable to do anything.

An image, she thought.  Anything to distract It.

But there was nothing.  Nothing she could think of would have dropped this thing.  It was too focused on her to allow itself to be distracted.

It took another step, and Bev found her feet, running to the door and trying to open it.  Locked.  She tried and tried and shook the doorknob to no avail.  She was stuck with It, inching closer and closer, taking It’s time, making her wait, making her suffer.

Slowly.

She had time, and It knew that.

That was the torture.

She had all the time in the world, and there was nothing.

She could think of nothing.

She was trapped, and a nightmare that repeated itself began.  Trapped by boys who want more, trapped because they were stronger and bigger, and she always got out, but not before she was trapped with all the time in the world while her mind went blank on how to save herself.

Until she thought of it.

Bev ducked into the kitchen, the quakes from It’s steps still shaking the apartment.  She thought it.  She thought as hard as she could.  It was still missing ears, but it would be close enough because she had to use her remaining energy to give it a chair and send it out.

The illusion she created went back into the hall, throwing the chair at the door.  Bev couldn’t wait to see if It took the bait, and walked through the living room, back into the hall and to her room, glancing briefly over her shoulder, catching the back of It and her illusion.  She went to her window and opened it.

“Beverly,” It called from her apartment.  “Come out and play.”

The illusion was over.  She stepped onto the fire escape and closed the window, taking two steps at a time down.  She practically jumped from the ladder at the bottom, and took off when her feet in hit the ground.

She didn’t make it very far when right around the corner was Ben, walking his bike towards her apartment.

Bev stopped when she got to him, pulling him into a tight hug, unable to pull away, unable to think, ignoring the fact that maybe this was a trick too.  She didn’t dare think that.

“Beverly,” Ben said softly, and Bev knew it was him.  “What’s wrong?”

Bev pulled away, and Ben kept his hands on her shoulders like he was holding her in place.  His touch was comforting.

“Clown,” she said.  “Was my dad, but clown.”

“A clown?” Ben questioned.  “You need to tell me what happened.”

So, Bev told him, from the negging that her illusion father gave her to the taunting It did to escaping out the window.  Ben nodded through everything, and Bev chastised herself for ever thinking that Ben was just like every other guy.

“Honestly,” Ben said when she was done, “before this week, I don’t think I would have believed you, but with our powers and the research I’ve been doing…I think something weird is going on.”

“You’re telling me,” Bev joked, but it felt hollow, like she was acting.

“I want to show you what I found,” Ben gestured to his backpack, “but let me take you somewhere safe, okay?  Let’s go to my house.”

Ben nodded his head back down the road he was walking up, and started walking.  Without thinking, Bev took his hand, lacing her fingers with his, knowing he would have an easier time with his bike with two hands but unwilling to let go for fear of him disappearing.

“You’re thinking about what It said,” Bev said after a few minutes of silence.  “About the bullshit about me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ben said, trying to look ahead.

“Yes, you do,” Bev tried.  “You’re just too nice to say so.”

Ben took a moment before responding.  “I really like you, Bev.  Sometimes I can’t believe you ever asked me out.”

“That’s because you’re a sweetheart, New Kid on the Block,” Bev said, smiling to herself.  “And you’re nothing like the other guys.  At least not the other guys that have been interested in me.  Those other losers that we’re hanging out with now are pretty cool, too, but you’re the best.”

She meant every word of it, hoping Ben would catch how much she appreciated him and his gentle nature.  She could easily see herself falling in love with him, and maybe she was already, but that was a thought for later.  They were taking things slow.  Bev had too much to think about already, and Ben was willing to wait, to go at her pace.

She should have known he wasn’t like the other guys that first night.

“The other guys don’t deserve you,” Ben said, “if they treat you like that.  I don’t know if I deserve you, but I’ll try and keep up.”

You do, Bev thought, but she decided she would prove it to him instead.

She stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked.

Ben was taller than her by about half a foot and growing still, and she couldn’t wait for the day that she would have to stand on her toes to kiss him, but for now, she pulled him into a kiss, soft and sweet and with meaning.

She pulled back, smiling widely, as a small smile played at Ben’s lips.

“You’re super rad,” Ben said.  “You know that?”

She winked.  “You’re preaching to the choir, honey.”

At Ben’s house, Ben announced to his mother that he had a friend over, and his mother called back asking if it was “that girl he had been talking about”, to which Ben stuttered out a “yes”, before quickly pulling Bev into his room.

“You talk about me?” Bev asked coyly.

“Sometimes,” Ben said blushing wildly, “but I can’t help it.”

Ben dropped his backpack on his bed and began rooting through, pulling out library books with bookmarks poking out the sides.  Bev took a second to scan the room, noting the band posters and art, all of which felt very generic and impersonal, but Ben did listen to those bands, and he often marveled at simple art with little meaning, finding the easy beauty in things like that.

“Shut the door,” Ben instructed.

“Your mom will let you?” Bev chuckled.  “With a girl in here?”

Ben went red again.  “She won’t mind.”

Bev shut the door, catching one more poster hidden on the back, obviously there for a reason.

“There it is,” Bev muttered at the large New Kids on the Block poster plastered on the back of the bedroom door.

“There what is?” Ben asked and looked up.  “Oh, uh, that.”

“It’s cute,” Bev said.

“Um,” Ben said, and Bev thought she would never get over making him blush like that, “let me show you what I found.”  He gestured to the books he had pulled out, and Bev stood next to him look over what he had.

“This is about the powers?”

“I think so,” Ben said.  “It doesn’t look like anything like this has happened before, but I found something else.”  He flipped open a book filled with old newspaper clippings, opening to a news article dated 27 years ago.  “I don’t think Bill’s too far off with everything.  Apparently, every 27 years in this town, there’s a bunch of kids that go missing, and this year is the next.”

“What is it?” Bev asked.  “Bill’s brother went missing because of some weird shit?  And it does have to do with us?”

“It must,” Ben said.  “I can’t think of anything else it would be.”

Bev remembered what Bill had said, why he thought the powers had to do with his brother’s disappearance, and the voices he had been hearing.  Bev almost didn’t believe him, that maybe they were only dreams, but so much had been happening that it was hard not to believe.

“Bill said something about a voice,” Bev confessed, and perhaps Bill would be mad, but they had to get to the bottom of this somehow.  “It’s telling him things, and he wanted me to keep it a secret, but…I think the voice gave us these powers.”

“The voice,” Ben repeated.  “Does he know who, or even what it is?”

“No,” Bev shook her head.  “I think it’s helping us…the clown.”

“The one you saw?”

Bev nodded.  “I mean, the voice is helping us against the clown, whatever the fuck It is.”

Ben looked between the books and Bev as if double-checking his notes.  “You think so?”

Bev remembered It’s face, the snarling teeth and the drool from it mouth, the wide eyes and disheveled hair, the air of pure evil permeating around her, and how her power was what saved her, distracting It long enough to escape.

“I sure hope so.”

Chapter Text

Before Richie surprised him by coming by and talking about the clown, Eddie had to run to the pharmacy.

Stan was visibly shaken when Eddie ran into him there.  Eddie needed to pick up some things for his mother, and he had walked down there, grateful for something to do to get him out of the house.  They had taken a day off.  Everyone had been growing tired and weary as they constantly tested their powers, and most of them had grown annoyed with Eddie’s overbearing attitude towards the whole endeavor.

But he couldn’t help himself.  He had so many things in his life that he couldn’t control.  If he could control something, things would feel a little lighter, like he hadn’t been handed something he didn’t think he deserved.

Stan had found his powers, and Eddie took advantage of it, running him through testing of what kind of birds he could turn into, how quickly he could turn, how much control over appearance and size and whatever else he had.

He guessed Stan was of the opinion that Eddie was doing too much because Stan did not want to talk to Eddie when they saw each other.

“Hey, Stan,” Eddie said walking up to Stan who was crouched in front of the cold medicine.

“Oh, Eddie,” Stan stumbled out.  “Hi.”

Stan picked up a bottle of medicine, and looked towards the checkout counter, avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked.

“Just in a hurry,” Stan said, despite not making any move to leave.  “My mom is sick, so I wanted to get her some medicine.”

“Sure,” Eddie said.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Stan jittered, obviously thinking about something that Eddie didn’t know about, but now that he thought about it, Stan had been that jittery for a few days, ever since he discovered his power.  That must have been it, Eddie thought.  He was nervous about it, just like everyone else, not knowing a thing about it, trying to piece together pieces of a puzzle without the full picture.

“Fine,” Stan said.  He bit his lip, mulling something over.  “I just know something I shouldn’t.  Um, it’s fine, though.  Nothing – nothing to worry about.”  He pat Eddie’s shoulder.  “None of us hate you, you know,” he said as an afterthought. “It’s just a lot.”

“What is?”

“The – the training and all,” Stan said like that was a lie that he had just come up with because he wasn’t expecting Eddie to ask questions.  “Since we don’t have answers, it’s a lot, you know.”

And with that, Stan skirted around Eddie and made his way to the checkout.

Eddie was more than confused, wondering what the fuck Stan knew that made him act like that.  It must have been something worth knowing, something worth getting anxious over.  Eddie couldn’t imagine his friends keeping huge secrets from him, but then again, Eddie had his own secret, a secret he only shared with Richie.

He supposed Stan could have his secrets, but Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if Stan’s secret was his own.

Eddie was Richie’s best friend, he knew that, but Eddie also knew that Richie told a lot of things to Stan, sometimes things he didn’t tell Eddie.  Eddie tried not to get jealous, knowing that sometimes he would confide in Bill before Richie, but now they were dating.  It felt strange, wrong even, that Richie would tell Stan something and not him.

Stan had been weird since that day he discovered his power, that same day that Richie skipped training to hang out with Stan.  Something must have been said.

Eddie just hoped it wasn’t what he was terrified of.

Eddie grabbed what he needed and left careful to ignore the burning feeling of exposure when he reran his encounter with Stan.  And then he went home.  He usually took the long way around because Neibolt Street always gave him chills growing up, but today he wasn’t thinking about that, and instead turned down it to head home.

He couldn’t help but stop in front of that old house that he and every other kid at school used to believe was haunted.  They would tell stories of the ghosts and demons that lived in there, and kids would dare each other to go stand on the porch.  But it was just a house, Eddie thought.  He knew that now, and knew it couldn’t hurt him, but still, he couldn’t help but stare at it as though something was waiting for him.

When he turned to leave, he tripped, falling forward on his hands and knees, feeling the sting of pavement on his skin.  He kneeled on the ground for a second, examining his hands and the scrapes that were already healing in front of his eyes.

Eddie had been on everyone’s case about testing and training, deeply adamant that there must be an answer somewhere, that he needed to find something that made sense about all of this.  He had noticed that he was scaring his friends, but he had stopped caring.  He felt so helpless, so powerless without answers.

He finally looked up from his hands when he heard footsteps coming towards him.  He looked up to see Richie.

“Hey,” Eddie said, brushing off his hands on his shorts.

“What are you doing on the ground?” Richie asked holding out a hand for Eddie to help him up.  Eddie took it.  “You drop your birth control or something?”

“I tripped,” Eddie said.

“In front of the old Neibolt house?” Richie asked pointing his thumb towards it.  “Pretty spooky, Eds.  It’s like the ghosts don’t want you to leave.”

Eddie smiled.  “Are you jealous?”

“You ever been inside?” Richie said ignoring the remark, taking a step closer to Eddie.  He was now within close proximity, close enough that if someone saw, they would get suspicious.

“No,” Eddie said quietly.  “Why would I?”

Richie shrugged.  “I hear a lot of kids break in to make out and have sex in there.  Like a rite of passage or some bullshit.”

Eddie heart skipped a beat.  Richie was looking down at him through those long lashes expectantly.  Eddie thought they had this conversation already.  And Eddie also thought that Richie was kind of upset with him right now.  But Richie was too close and too beautiful for him to notice or care.

“Uh…” was all Eddie could say.

Richie stepped away, towards the house.  “I mean, if you want to.”  He raised an eyebrow, looking the way he did when he wanted to make out but wasn’t sure how to ask.

“How – how do you know other kids do that?” Eddie asked, fearing the worst.  Richie wanted more, he knew that, but Richie was also willing to take things slow because Eddie was scared.  He wasn’t sure exactly what he was scared of until now.  He was scared of Richie being better than him, more experienced than him, that Eddie wouldn’t be able to live up to Richie’s picture of him.

“Wanna find out?” Richie said with a cocky grin.

Eddie was terrified, but he wanted to please Richie.  Although, when Eddie got scared, Richie got protective, not more invested in what he was trying to accomplish.  And when did Richie look so gray?

“I should just go home,” Eddie said, but found his feet planted to the ground.

Richie looked back to the house.  “C’mon, Eds.  It’s not that bad.”  Richie turned back around to face Eddie, and Eddie nearly threw up over it.

Where Richie’s nose had been was a hole as his face began drooping, disintegrating before Eddie’s eyes.  His glasses fell off and his skin got grayer and grayer.  But his hair still remained as did his clothes, leaving the image of Richie still burned into Eddie’s mind.

“C’mon, Eds,” the thing said.  “Why don’t you let me blow you in the Neibolt house?”

When it spoke, teeth fell out, and the hair finally began falling out in clumps.  What was once a spitting image of Richie was now a disgusting leper, the diseases his mother had warned him about, leprosy and cancers and every other infection.

Before Eddie let It speak any longer, he went to take off running down the street, or at least, that was the plan.  He didn’t mean to run into someone, nor did he know It was there.

A clown.

He stumbled backwards, catching his feet, and quickly turning to run through the backyard of the Neibolt house where he knew there was a fence with a hole he was still small enough to crawl through.  But there was something about his feet today.  Something about his feet that made him unable to run, unable to walk, unable to stand, and he tripped.

Eddie tried to stand but his foot was caught in the vine that he tripped over.  He turned himself over, hoping that he still had enough time to escape It, or better yet, that It would be gone, that all of this was a horrible hallucination.

Eddie didn’t have time to think when he flipped over to reach his foot and remove the vine because It was there, hovering over him, drool dripping from Its mouth, dripping down and down, so close to Eddie’s face that he started to gag.

“What’s the matter, Eddie?” It said in a voice that sent chills down Eddie’s back.  “Are you scared?”

Eddie couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think.  He was too busy trying to prevent his heart from stopping.

“Your mother was right,” It said, stroking Eddie’s face with his hand.  “There are some nasty, nasty, dirty diseases out there, and that boy has all of them.”

The image of Richie turning into a leper clouded Eddie’s mind.  The vision of his face falling apart was burned into his memory.  He didn’t think he could ever look at Richie the same way, not until they had left this hellhole of a town.

“Shut up!” Eddie screamed.

It clicked Its tongue.  “Naughty, naughty.  You mustn’t raise your voice at those who…”  With Its right arm, It reeled back forming a strange tentacle spear, and before Eddie could process what it was, It heaved the arm forward into Eddie’s gut.  “…are stronger than you.”

Warm, scalding, burning pain was all that Eddie could feel.  His abdomen was on fire, burning as It slowly shoved the arm deeper, the pain spreading to his chest as his heart began beating at a rapid pace trying to keep up with the blood loss.  Eddie tasted something metallic and knew he was bleeding from his mouth, too.

He couldn’t think.  The pain had taken him.  The blood spilled onto the ground, soaking Eddie’s clothes, staining his hands, and for some reason, he thought about how mad his mother would be when she saw how dirty he had gotten.

It slowly opened Its mouth, bearing rows upon rows of shiny teeth, saliva coating them, dripping onto Eddie’s face.  Somehow, Eddie could piece together the scent of the sewers on Its breath, raw and dank and wet.

There had to be something, or else he would die.  It wouldn’t leave him, he wouldn’t heal, and he would bleed out.  There had to be something.

Eddie fumbled in the grass for anything, his fingers grazing the fence that he almost escaped through, wrapping them around the rebar that was holding the barely stable wire in place.  He pulled and pulled, somehow uprooting the dirt and pulling the wires along with it, and rammed the rebar through Its eye.

It stumbled backwards, blood or whatever It had pouring from the wound, and disappeared into the house, leaving Eddie alone with a hole in his stomach.

Blood kept coming.  It wouldn’t stop, and Eddie started getting dizzy.  Spots formed in his vision and he felt more and more inclined to close his eyes and sleep.  But the blood was still coming.

He was healing.  He felt it as he pressed his hands over his wound, trying to keep the pressure on and slow the flow of blood.  But he felt so weak.  He was so tired, and he thought that he definitely swallowed some blood because he had to choke down the need to vomit, something he knew would upset his healing process.

Slowly.  Slowly, it healed.  Eddie almost passed out, but he kept focus.  Pressure.  Keep pressure until it’s healed.  Stay awake.

And when Eddie felt like he couldn’t stay awake any longer, he checked again, finding nothing more than a small cut down his chest, almost done healing, completely finished bleeding, surrounded by a large scar.

He hadn’t scarred from any of the other wounds, but none had been as big as this one.

He dropped his head down on the ground, and closed his eyes, breathing heavily, fumbling around for his inhaler, only to remember he left it at home.

But it was fine.  He would be fine.

It took him twenty minutes to be able to stand up again.  He was so dizzy and famished that he could barely sit up straight without getting vertigo.  He went home, took a long hot shower, and threw away his clothes before his mother could see.

And when Richie came by later, Eddie told him about the clown, filling in details that didn’t actually happen as he decided to keep the scar a secret.