A/N: Hello, there. This is my second IT fanfiction. I really loved the movie and the book (although I'm still reading it). And one of the things that really caught my attention wat the fact that, after 27 years none of the Losers thad kids. Being 38, the most commom thing would be for them to have young kids or toddlers (my parents had me at the age of 35) but they don't, not even a single one of them. And I have stated, most of them are married and trying. In the book they dicuss that, they can't figure out exactly why, they just know it has something to do with the fact they were kinda the "chosen ones". But I simply love when young heroes grow up to make their own families... So, I wondered, what if they had kids and the fate of Derry was passed out to their young hands? Adults never understand anything anyway...

So, this fic will have a little of everything, romance, adventure, family and internal issues. And will be narrated by the kids.

I hope you like it and review! Please tell me what are your opinions about the characters.

PS: This is based in both, the book and the movie facts.

In the book, when The Losers reunite after being separated for 27 years, despite being wealthy, they all realized they had one thing in commom: None of them had children, even if they were all fertile, and some, married and trying.

What if the exact opposite had happened? What if instead of being childless all the Losers had a heir and they all had the same age? What if the reason they came together wasn't to finish IT once and for all? What if their memories about the mysterious monster had complety disappeard together with the rest of Derry when they grew up - and apart.

Moving back to Maine for all different reasons, the next generation of Losers seem to attrack trouble. Will they succed in finishing what their parents started so many years ago?

Cahpter 01 - Maximilian Denbrough's parents remember the place they met.

Max really loved his parents.
He truly did. Like most of the kids his age, but unlike them, he had no problem in admiting it. He only had his parents after all...

Friends were not exactly an option. Having famous parents, a lot of people pretended to be interested in Max, pretended to like him even, just to get closer to the glamurous life they imagined he had. As he grew up, he came to the conclusion he couldn't trust anyone. School was terrible. The harrassment was strong. And it seemed no matter what he did, he was never good enough for them. If he didn't talk, they would say Max was snob. If he did talk, his true opinion about things, at least, there was always some one to change the meaning of his words in an attempt to shame him and his parents. And, how could he forget, there were all the accusations and rumors about how he had a false modesty complex.

After sometime, he just stopped trying. He became what they wanted him to be. Arrogant and the typical teacher's pet. Nice to everyone, never talking bad about anything. Listening to everyone's problems and worries, and accepting that no one would do it for him when he needed to.

So, hell yeah. Max Denbrough loved his parents. The ones who genuinely loved him back. He loved their home - it was a big fancy house, but there was nothing ostensive about it-, where he could have peace and just be his true self. He couldn't say, though, he loved his parents jobs.

But he loved them so much he pretended he didn't mind, with a sweet smile and unbreakable confidence, pretend that their careers hadn't affected him at all while growing up.

He had always been a good actor. Always loved once upon a time tales. To pretend it was an easy thing. He did it like he breathed, naturally and non-stop.

Of course that also made him a liar. But it was for the greater good. Or that was what he kept telling himself.

Max couldn't escape. No matter where, he always had a reason to lie. If it was on the outside world, it was about his personality, his opinions and his true self, if it was at home, it was about his feelings. And when he was out with his parents, he did both. His mother always said he had a natural talent to the whole acting stuff. But both his parents had an artistc vein, so, Max wasn't surprised to figure out she was right.

William Denbrough was a venerated best-seller writer who had recently moved to directing movies. One of the first people to get rich writting. Max knew his dad could tell stories better than anyone. But telling was only a part of his success. Bill could see things better than most of people too. And Max knew his dad had conscience about his non-stop lying. Bill knew something was up. But being the ever pacient and condescent father he was, he would not force the truth out his son unless things got really bad. Which hadn't happened. Yet. But Max could tell his father hoped.

Hoped he would tell the truth one day.

Beverly Marsh-Denbrough was a gifted designer. Her pieces were worth gold and some people would die to own even a glove made by her hands. Although drawing was really her call, Max could easily see his mom being a model too. Calling her beautiful simply didn't made justice to her looks. The bright dark red hair was long and well maintained. She was usually seen with a pony-tail. The fair skin seemed not to have aged a day after 28 and her piercing greyish green eyes were vivid and loving.

His father wasn't much behind. His was strong, tall and handsome. His auburn hair was short, but still there and he had a strong jaw with a dimple chin. He was meticulous with his appearence, a trait Max had inherited. The beard was always cut properly and his glasses - he began wearing them somewhere in his late tweeties -, holding back the wise crystal blue eyes, impeccable.

The good looks were a heritage from both his parents. It would be silly to try to deny it. It was there, all over his face. The tanned skin was a result of his last vacation, at the beach. But as a baby, he had been as white as the rest of his classmates. His hair had a strawberry blonde tone, sometimes, he seemed as ginger as his mother and father, sometimes, blonde like Taylor Swift, but mostly it was that confusing yet pretty between. Eyes gray-green eyes, though, like his mom. Max was slim, but not skinny exactly. Tall, but not too much tall. Some soft freckles painted his face and the beggining of a dimple he imagined would be as strong as his dad's someday.

He was the whole package, money, fame and looks. Many girls at his class attempted to become Mrs. Maximilian Denbrough, some for one of the three reasons above, some for the three of them. Not osf them ever succed. None of them had even got close of what he looked for in a girlfriend, or even a friend.

But what he looked, exactly? Max himself couldn't explain. "When you see her, you will know" said his dad after telling him the kinda-story about how him and his mom met, 27 years ago. The year was 1988, they were eleven about to turn twelve - just about Max's age now- and they met...

That's was the weird part. Bill could never bring hiumself to remember the place where him and Beverly had met. He could tell that he saw something special about her at the moment their eyes crossed. He could tell she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He could tell it was afternoon and it was hot. But nothing further than that. The real story seemed lost in time. They were separated when Bev moved to Portland. Reunited at College. And to this point foward, Bill seemed to have a wonderfull memory. It was the weirded case of amnesia Max had ever heard about. But Bill wasn't really bothered by it. He started his tale saying "Beverly was there when I got to College." But he never mentioned he had met her there. And if Max hadn't found a picture of them around his age, he would really doubt the veracity behind the first part of hid dad story.

It bothered him. Like a small piece missing in a puzzle. But not enough for him to investigate the whole thing. To ask his grandparents about it. With the questions ready to drop off his tongue, there was always something that stopped him. His own insecurities about finding family secrets he couldn't handle mainly.

This would always be a unsolved mystery inside his head.

If his dad hadn't woke up that morning speaking about town called Derry. .

.
It was the breakfast table. A place where Bill and Max, too sleepy for much talk, would peacefully eat and slowly give their opinions about whatever topic Beverly wanted to talk about. They had two maids. One for the everyday duties, as washing the dishes, answearing the phone, make the beds, and getting the mail. The other came twice a week, to clean the whole place. There was also the guy who cleaned the pool fromt times to times, but Max rarely saw him.

In that morning, Bill wasn't sleepy at all. He and Beverly seemed more awake than ever. Talking with sentiment about a little town called Derry, in Maine.

"We were born there." Said Bill almost with wide eyes. Max had never seen someone so excited about a birth place before. "We grew up there didn't we, Bev?"

"Yeah... " Agreed his mother while clapping her nails on the table. Her eyes swifting between Bill, the window and her own plate. She looked slightly disturbed. "We met there..." She continued.

"T-that's t-the m-myst-t-tical p-place you met?" Max asked, all the sleepness waving away.

"Why mystical?" Bill looked at his son with interest in his eyes. "Y-you c-could n-n-never re-remem-be-ber w-where y-you m-met." Explained him. And then turned his head towards Beverly. "D-dad always s-said y-you we-were t-t-there when he-e go-got t-to College. N-not that y-you m-met t-t-there."

Bill and Beverly exchanged glances. "He is right. I couldn't remember." He admitted. "Not until this morning."
"Why now?" Beverly definitely seemed disturbed now. Max couldn't quite understand their histeria. His dad seemed to have solved a weird case of amnesia. Nice. But was that a reason for such haunt looks? It didn't have any supernatural force behind it. Did it?

Suddently Max himself couldn't be sure.

"What else could he have forgot?" That quetion was left in the table by Beverly with no signals of being ever replied.

"M-maybe we d-don't want t-to remember." Bill spoke naturally, his voice distant. Then suddently seemed to realize the way the words had came out of his mouth and jerked his body behind, his jaw sligthly open.

"Did you just... Stutter?" Beverly looked at her husband with horror in her eyes. With the same amount of horror exposed in his eyes, Bill agreed. He could already feel the words getting messier and messier inside his head. "You haven't done that in ten... Twenty years..."

Maybe scared to speak and repeat the stuttering words, Bill just noded.

"Maybe it's time to pay a visit to Derry."