Chapter Text
Bill felt as if a part of him was dying right there, clutching Georgie’s raincoat tightly in his hands. He could feel his friends’ arms around him, offering their support.
That was exactly what he had needed for so long. Comfort for the loss of his little brother—something his parents had denied him, leaving him feeling miserable. Now he had six people who had followed him into a death trap and had just beaten the hell out of a soul-devouring monster.
Those kids were his best friends—his strength, his armor, his lifeline, keeping him afloat right now.
“We need to go,” Eddie’s voice reached his ear softly.
Bill knew they had to. They couldn’t stay there any longer. He didn’t even know how much time they had spent down there. At the very least, six of them were probably being searched for by their families by now.
“What are we going to do about all the bodies? We can’t just leave them drifting here,” Ben said, looking at the floating children.
“We should get out of here and call the police,” Mike agreed.
“J-Just one more moment,” Bill asked, tightening his grip on Georgie’s raincoat.
None of his friends objected, but a few seconds later, Stanley spoke up.
“Guys… you should see this,” said the curly-haired boy, his eyes fixed on the direction where the children were still descending. Some of them were already falling straight to the sewer floor, landing in the stagnant wastewater below. But that wasn’t what had caught Stanley’s attention.
One area of the water had begun to bubble unnaturally, like a hot tub about to boil over.
“It’s not that again… right?” Richie asked as they all straightened up and stared cautiously at the bubbling water.
The water continued to churn until a sudden movement made them all jump. Someone burst out of the water, clearly terrified. It was a boy, coughing violently and moving erratically, as if he had just woken up from a terrible dream.
The Losers took a step back in fear. Eddie even tried to hide behind Richie, only to realize Richie was already hiding behind him, just as scared.
The boy who had surfaced finally stopped coughing and began to look around, taking in his surroundings—until he saw the seven teenagers standing there.
At that moment, anyone still holding a weapon raised it, ready to use it if necessary.
“Where am I?” the boy asked.
“W-Who are y-you?” Bill asked cautiously.
The boy—dark-haired and dressed in winter clothes—was about to answer when a new cluster of bubbles appeared near him. The same thing happened again: bubbling water, a sudden movement, and another boy surfaced, far more frightened, screaming as if he had just lived through an enormous nightmare.
The Losers stared at the new boy, who was trembling—whether from the cold or fear, they couldn’t tell.
“What’s happening?” the boy asked, taking a deep breath as he looked around at everything.
None of the Losers knew what to say, but the first boy was staring intently at the second.
“Teddy?” the first boy asked, and the second turned to look at him.
“Matty? Oh dear, Matty, is that you?” said the boy they now assumed was Teddy, running his hands through his hair, brushing his light bangs out of his eyes. “Matty…”
“Did we already hit them?” Richie whispered, lifting his bat.
“Who are you people?” the first boy—or rather, Matty—asked as he looked at the Losers.
The Losers glanced at their leader. Bill took a deep breath.
“I-I’m Bill Denbrough,” the stuttering boy said.
“Denbrough? Like Zackary Denbrough?” Teddy asked, and Bill looked at him suspiciously.
That boy knew his father—and that immediately put him on edge. Bill tightened his grip on the pipe he was holding.
But again, before anyone else could say a word, another burst of bubbles erupted from the water, and a new kid surfaced—another boy, his hair shorter than the others’.
“NO!” he screamed, snapping his head from side to side as he coughed up sewer water.
“Phil!” Teddy shouted when he recognized him, and the boy called Phil looked over.
“Teddy! You’re alive!” Phil yelled, rushing forward to hug him. “Jesus! I thought that thing had killed you and—where’s Susie?! Where’s Lily?! We’re not at the movies! …Matty?”
Phil looked at Matty, who was still sitting there, barely reacting.
“Son of a bitch, all this shit just to look for you!” Phil shouted, pointing at him—but he stopped short, still not looking at the Losers. “My sister—where’s Susie?! Susie! Susie!”
It didn’t take long for another round of bubbles to rise. A small hand broke the surface, followed by a younger girl who came up screaming. Phil immediately ran to her as she cried.
“Susie! Susie! It’s me, Phil,” he said, and the girl clung to him, sobbing against his chest. It was only then that Phil noticed the Losers’ Club. “Who the fuck are you people?”
“Hey, watch your fucking mouth!” Richie shouted, pointing his bat at him. “Who the fuck are you? And why the fuck did you crawl outta the water after the clown went down the fucking abyss?”
"God, Richie. The are more swear words in english that just ´fuck´, you know?" Beverly said.
“Clown? What are you talking about?” Matty asked.
“Okay, we hit first and ask questions later,” Richie said, raising his bat and stepping forward, but Beverly grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back.
“Pump the brakes, Richie,” Beverly warned him as she stepped forward. “I’m Beverly Marsh. Bill already introduced himself. Glasses over there is Richie Tozier. That’s Eddie Kaspbrak, he’s Mike Hanlon, the one on the far right is Ben Hanscom, and that’s Stanley Uris.”
“Uris?” Teddy asked, slowly pushing himself to his feet, his legs clearly sore. “Are you related to Stanislaw Uris?”
Stanley froze, moving a little closer to Mike at the sudden mention of that name.
“He’s my grandfather,” Stanley answered, staring at the boy.
“Your grandfather?” Teddy asked, confused.
“Isn’t that your dad’s name, Teddy?” Phil asked him.
Stanley’s mind kicked into overdrive, the gears in his head turning smoothly, lining things up, adding two plus two.
“Teddy short for Theodore?” Stanley asked, stepping forward. “As in Theodore Uris?”
“Y-Yeah…” Teddy replied, and Stanley fell silent.
“Stan?” Ben asked. Stan looked at Bill, who was staring back at him. Then the stuttering boy turned to face the new group.
“W-What are y-your n-n-names?” Bill asked.
“I’m not telling you shit, stutter-boy,” Phil shot back.
“Hey!” Richie protested. “Only I get to call him that.”
“My name’s Matty Clements,” Matty said, fed up with the back-and-forth. Ben’s eyes went wide.
“That name…” Ben said quietly. “He was one of the first kids who went missing in ’62.”
“’62?” Phil asked. “Then what year is it?”
The Losers fell silent for a moment, exchanging glances among themselves before Bill stepped forward again.
“It’s 1989,” he said.
The three boys went quiet, while the little girl continued clinging to Phil.
“Why are kids falling from the ceiling?” Phil asked, looking up.
“How did you know my name?” Teddy demanded, pointing at Stanley. “And how is it that your grandfather has the same name as my dad?”
“I… I think you’re my uncle,” Stanley said. “The one who died twenty-seven years ago.”
“…What?” Teddy asked.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” Matty said.
“Can we hit them now?” Richie asked again, but Beverly smacked him.
“I think we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Mike said.