Chapter Text
Before October had arrived, a lot of things had happened. And not just of our doing by stopping It, but also the consequences it had on the town.
Henry Bowers had been arrested a week after our mishaps in the sewers, and the fact that he was alive was surprising enough. We gathered as much intel as we can based on the conflicting rumors to make a cohesive story; that he had killed his father, and was charged with the missing kids' murders because they found him with all of their bodies by the Barrens.
After that, we didn't heard much about what happened to Bowers. But hopefully, he was somewhere far, far away from us.
We spent most of the months leading up to October free, and even if the world still had other bullies, at least Henry Bowers wasn't with them. Soon enough, him and his little gang had disappeared from all of our minds. For now, we were free.
One day, at the clubhouse, Beverly had broke the news to all of us that she was moving away from Derry.
"I have an aunt in Chicago," she said, and her hands fiddled with each other, giving away her emotions, "She heard what happened to my dad ..."
We all exchanged nervous glances; we had never talked about Mr. Marsh in front of Beverly, but we did knew what had happened to him. He was, obviously, dead before me and Bill had arrived to the apartment, and the police had deemed the situation as a burglary-gone-wrong.
We didn't try to dissuade this notion. As long as it gets Beverly innocent and away from being indicted by the law, all was good.
"Make sure to send us postcards," said Stanley with a smile, "I want to see the city."
"Or you could just fit yourself in the back of her aunt's car," I grinned, "You can fit in, Stan, you're skinny."
"Eddie, you can go, too!" Richie quipped in, and the latter rolled his eyes again.
"I'm not that fucking small, dickhead."
Beverly giggled, "Yeah, Rich. He's got three pounds of whoop-ass in him."
For some reason, Eddie looked proud at her odd compliment.
After awhile, Bill quietly spoke, "We'll miss you, B-B-Beverly."
"Yeah," Ben added, looking slightly flustered, "It won't be the same without you."
Beverly playfully rolled her eyes, "You guys act like I'm going to war."
"Ah," I wistfully sighed, and channeled all my might to sound like a war-torn soldier, "When I lay awake at night, all I could dream about is my fellow soldier, Beverly ... She says to me ..."
The others leaned in close to me, their eyes alight with humor as I dropped my voice to a low whisper.
"Cigarettes are fifty-percent off, better loot it while you can."
Not long, the sound of withheld chortles and low chuckles were heard, before all of us broke into a galley of giggles and laughter.
"I don't smoke all the time," Beverly rebutted, but she couldn't hide her grin at all.
"You sure do when you're with us, Bev," Richie replied quickly, and the girl merely gave him a rough shove in the shoulder.
Nothing could break this moment. Nothing could stop this moment. Nothing could steal this away from us. A semblance of what I was had finally returned, and I couldn't be more glad.
But Mike was the one to break the air.
"I don't want to bring the mood down, but Beverly, (Name) ... Can you two tell us what you saw in the sewers?"
His inquiry had been timid, as if he had been battling inside himself to do so. Slowly, all of our smiles fade, and we looked at each other with conflicted stares.
We had never discussed what had happened. It was shrugged off like a terrible event that we all had faced together, and it certainly hadn't felt real in the past few months. But as I looked at Mike, I had silently remembered: I can't pretend like nothing had happened. It surely had been easy as if it hadn't, but it did.
It'll be like I'm running away again.
"He's asking a fair question," I said, before I turned to Beverly, "What do you think?"
She chewed her lips, her eyes dead on the ground. Beverly didn't answer for awhile, her hands playing with each other again, before she sighed.
"Yeah, okay ... I'll tell you guys what I saw," Beverly sighed again, "But ... Let's do it next week — but not at the clubhouse."
"W-w-where do you wanna go?" Bill inquired to her.
"How about that place where we had a rockfight with Bowers?" Beverly recommended. I couldn't help but smile.
"That's a good place to pick. It is the place where we all became the Losers."
Beverly smiled back at me, soft and wistful, "I was thinking the same thing."
As we all resumed back into our normal activities (Richie and Eddie were both reading a comic book, and once in awhile made comments about certain panels), I caught Mike who had a contemplative look.
His eyes, dark with a stormy look, easily told me that there were a lot on his mind.
I sat next to him, on the covered ground where our backs were facing the clubhouse's covered walls, "What're you thinking about?"
He didn't looked surprised by my question. He shrugged, "A lot of stuff ..."
"Mind telling me?"
"It's just ..." Mike trailed off, before he sighed softly. His face was gentle with trouble, "I'm scared ... About the future."
I didn't say anything. I merely let Mike continue until he got everything off of his chest.
"It just feels like everything is going by so fast," he mumbled, and Mike brought his knees close to his chest, "I like you guys though, but ... I don't know what I'll do when I grow up. And, y'know," he mindlessly shrugged again, "It feels like we won't come back here, 'cuz anywhere is better than Derry."
Anywhere is better than Derry.
As I looked around me, a strange wave of emotions hit me. Ben and Beverly were next to each other, talking about something unintelligible. Bill and Stanley were also talking, but Bill's occasional pointing at the posters before us gave away that they were talking about their favourite bands. Richie and Eddie were, as usual, squabbling about something again. After a moment, Richie had merely laughed before he ruffled Eddie's hair. The latter didn't take too kindly to that, and glared at him before he began shaking Richie in the shoulder like a ragdoll.
"We'll be fine," I finally replied, and I turned to Mike, "You'll be fine. You still got us ..." I grinned, "And we'll grow up together, and we'll always be back at Derry."
I gestured my head to the others, "To here. Nowhere else, Mike."
His eyes, wide as he stared at me, had finally disappeared as a bittersweet smile took on his expression.
"Okay. I trust you, (Name)."
I grinned wider.
"I trust you too, Mike."
Approximately a week had passed. As I stared onto the field before me, nostalgia began to consume me.
"Look, it's that spot where Beverly kicked Bowers' ass!"
Richie pointed, and sure enough, he was right; the point where we had stumbled upon Bowers and his gang had targeted Mike. But all that I could remember was the very satisfaction of seeing Bowers realized how powerless he was in that moment.
Eddie had whipped his head so fast to follow Richie's line of sight that I expected him to scream out from the pain of whiplash.
"You got him good," he told Beverly, "Where'd you learn how to do that?"
"What, throw rocks?" Beverly teased, and I had a feeling that Eddie took that as a serious question until he looked at the amused grin on her face.
We eventually found a spot with a clearing big enough for all of us to sit. Bill sat to Beverly's left, while I sat next to her. Richie and Eddie sat next to each other, unintentional in their own coordination. Mike sat next to me, while Stanley sat opposite of Richie. Ben sat inbetween Eddie and Stanley, and we settled ourselves in the small circle until we were all comfortable. Once the other boys settled their sights onto us, only then did Beverly spoke.
"I can only remember parts," she said, her hands clasped together, "I ... I thought I was dead. That's what it felt like ..."
Beverly lifted her head up as she turned to examine each of us, her eyes flashing with premonition, "And I saw us — all of us together, back in the cistern. But we were older ... Like, our parents' ages."
When she had spoke that, Beverly had looked as if she could barely believe herself. But I trust her, long ago, before this moment had arrived.
She gently nudged me with her foot, "What about you? Did you see the same thing?"
Beverly's eyes were silently begging me: Please, tell me I'm not crazy.
"I did," my eyes fall to the ground, "I saw you guys, too."
Unfortunately, I didn't trust myself with being truthful. So I held back, this time promising that it was for the better good.
This one lie shouldn't hurt.
"W-w-w-what were we all doing there?" Bill inquired to us.
"I just remember how we felt," Beverly muttered, "How scared we were ... I don't think I can forget that."
I somberly nodded, "I don't think anyone could, Bev."
The heavy air that was not quite tense fell onto us. For a moment, no one spoke as the boys processed our words.
Then, Richie said, "Am I still handsome as an adult?"
Oh Richie.
He did the mock imitation of a baby, but it had only accentuated how square his face was shaped. Most of us chuckled, while an amused smile only passed Beverly's lips.
"You grow into your looks."
You're still a smartass, I thought to myself, grinning as I looked at Richie.
Richie frowned, but there was still that humored frown on his face when he looked around at us.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"What about me?" Stanley inquired, his eyes switching between me and Beverly. He looked hopeful, as if waiting for us to say that he was the most gorgeous human being we had seen.
I decided to humor him, clutching my chest as if I had been stricken, "You're the fairest out of all of us, Stan — the most gorgeous and drop-dead beautiful!"
Stanley gave me his usual response; an unimpressed look, like someone had done something stupid in front of him.
"Oh, shut up."
Beverly gave a particularly loud laugh, before she quickly covered her mouth. The others didn't fare any better, and Stanley, out of any comeback I had expected, chose to pout at us.
I answered his question honestly after the laughter had dissipated, "You still have your curly hair, and you got taller. You're kind of like your mom."
Richie snorted again, and I gave him a hard nudge on his ankle before he could start anything.
Seemingly satisfied with my words, Stanley settled back onto his imagined seat.
Before the silence could stretch into eternity, Bill had picked something up from the ground beside him — and in the blink of an eye, he stood over us. His shadow casted small, but his figure remained impressive even for a boy that was supposed to be a child.
"S-swear it," he said, and he brandished the item he had picked up — a glass shard, sharp at the edge, "S-swear that if It isn't dead, if It ever comes back ... We'll come back, too."
As expected of Bill. He's smart.
Seeing the future doesn't mean that we'll just be stuck in one present, it meant that we'll be going back to our trauma. The collective look on the boys' faces were nervous, and uneasy at Bill's request. It's almost as if they've realized the same thing that Bill, Beverly and me had. Or maybe they've simply wanted to ignore it. I can't blame them for that.
But I do know that this is our responsibility now. It's terrible, to be entrusted with something like this. But who else could we turn to, if not each other?
I stood up, and my legs felt as if they had turned into sponge when I looked at Bill. And faithfully, the others followed my lead into standing up.
Bill was the first to go: he slid the sharp point of the glass between his palm, his face wincing from the pain. Blood pooled in the cut before it began leaking like a faucet, but none of us flinched from the sight.
Bill began going from his left; Richie had the same reaction just from him, but he stayed still, and after it was over, he oddly began shaking his hand. While Eddie was next, Richie held onto his shoulders to distract him, and Mike was next.
I watched them all closely, drawing back their breath and their faces screwed with pain. But when it was Beverly's turn, her reaction was merely a twitch in the eye. Then, it was my turn.
Bill softly grasped my hands, and his eyes caught me. As if he had made sure that I was ready, he did his duty — the pain was immeasurable, like fire that was slowly searing my skin. To distract myself, I tried rationalising it, that it was because the palm in humans had the most nerves out of any body parts. The blood began escaping from the minor incision, and when Bill had let go of my hand, I stared into my bleeding palm.
He had cut precisely where the wrinkles had been, and it would surely leave a mark. The amount of blood were enough to made one nauseous, but it only served as a reminder for me.
I promise, Bill.
I nearly jumped when someone had grabbed onto my hands, and the pain slightly flared — before I relaxed when I realized it was Beverly.
As if following us, the others began to held onto the next person's hand. It almost felt ritualistic, and it might have been. But for now, all I could feel was Beverly's and Mike's warm hands, with their blood pooling into my palms and mixing into each other's beings.
I nearly gasped when I had realized what this was.
We're finally together. Our hearts are one.
That vision I saw was true: we're connected now. But I wondered, for how long will this be? Or will it end, just like everything does?
I still don't know the answer to that.
When I had realized Beverly and Mike had let go of my hands, silence were back again.
"I gotta go," Stanley muttered. He looked at Bill with a half-powered withering gaze, "I hate you."
Of course, his words had more bark than bite.
Bill looked lost for a reply, before a chortle from Richie and a grin from Eddie broke the silence again.
"Let's go," I said, trying to also not laugh, "We're gonna be sucked dry by mosquitoes if we stay here."
I lifted my palms (caked with dried blood) that faced each of my friends to deliver my point. Ben gave an appreciative chuckle at my joke. Soon enough, as we all made our way back home, I looked back at the field behind me.
Maybe we'll be back here, reunited and reminiscing about the time Beverly and I had foreseen the future. Maybe they'll mourn — mourn after what had been foreseen, because it was a warning. Or maybe it won't even happen, and we'll simply live on our lives as normal humans.
But I knew. I knew what to do. But not now. Maybe when I'm desperate enough, which will happen. Time doesn't stop for anyone, and neither does inevitability.
I'll do whatever it takes.
Deep in the crevices of my pocket, a sinister hum was all I needed for an answer.