IT
You Were Great
Stanley Uris had never been alone with Bill, and never had he wanted to. He felt that it was a sin, in a way, for him to even stand next to his red-haired friend. After all, Bill was their leader. To the Losers, he was no longer Stuttering Bill (although Richie Tozier still joked about it in a numerous array of Voices), but rather Big Bill. Their leader. Stan was just Stan; a small Jewish boy who held a peculiar love for birds, who hated to get dirty, whose mind was sharp and logical and shut out the dark places on its own so he wouldn't have to think about them.
Yet, on this hot July morning, Stan found himself in the Barrens. Alone with Bill.
That morning, after he cleaned his plate of eggs, he was going to go bird watching in the park. So he grabbed his bird book and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans, and hung his binoculars around his neck. They felt heavy that morning, and he realized that he hadn't been bird watching since the incident in the Standpipe. But he would stay away from there, convinced if he ever went back that the two dead boys would eat him alive for sure; convinced that It would get him.
So Stan headed outside, where it was already hot. The sun wasn't even at full height over Derry, and Stan already felt sweat dripping down his forehead, into his ears, into his eyes. He walked quickly, eager to find shade under a tree. But the longer he walked, the more it was evident that he wasn't going to the park that day. Instead, his feet carried him to the Barrens, as if some force (the word Turtle popped into his head, then disappeared, and he dismissed the thought) was pulling him there, as if he had to be there. Stan climbed down the embankment and into the lush territory which Bill had proclaimed to be theirs: not Henry's, not Mr. Nell's, not Its. He held onto his binoculars for dear life as he stepped into the clearing where they had built the dam earlier that summer, expecting to see two drowned boys rise out of the Kenduskeag. They would stand up, soaking, mouths turned in evil half-smiles, and they would grab Stan and drown him, too. He would float in Its lair for eternity.
This thought made Stan scream when he did see a boy standing there. He was tall, and his red hair blazed in the sun. Stan gripped his binoculars tighter and froze, until he recognized that it was Bill. A sheepish smile crept across his face.
"Stuh-Stuh-Stan, a-are y-y-you o-o-o-okay?"
Stan licked his lips, noticing how dry his mouth was, and nodded. It was just Bill. Just Bill. Still, Stan snuck in glances at the river, just to make sure. Bill looked concerned.
"W-what are y-y-you d-doing huh-here?" Bill asked.
He saw Stan's binoculars.
"Y-y-you're nuh-not g-g-going to s-see a-any buh-buh-birds huh-huh-huh-here. Too m-many tr-tr-trees."
"I was going to go to the park. But I came here instead. I don't know why."
A silence fell between them, and the truth that they were supposed to be here for something hit them like it had all summer. Bill had just come down to the Barrens to clear his head, think a little, and get away from his parents, who were acting more and more like robots each day. He came to be alone, but now that Stan was here, he knew something was going to happen. Stan knew it, too; just looking at the kid's face helped Bill realize that. Stan was scared again, shrinking against the trees, small as ever. Bill supposed it was Stan's time. Time for what, he didn't know. But he supposed he would find out. Any minute now, they would find out.
"Kn-kn-know how t-to sk-sk-skip ruh-ruh-rocks?" Bill asked, bending over grab a few pebbles that lay on the bank of the river.
It was at that moment that Stanley froze again, unable to move at all. An overwhelming sense of fear overcame him, so much that tears popped out of his sockets. He saw It as soon as Bill reached down. He realized that It had been there the entire time, but Bill's body blocked It from Stan's sight, and now there It was, standing in the mud that the waters of the Kenduskeag made when it mixed with the soil, with big clown shoes, tufts of red hair, and orange pom-poms. It held a balloon in Its hand, and It let it go. The balloon - red as blood - drifted up over the clown's head when it popped. Bill dropped the rocks he collected in surprise, and whipped around. Stan still couldn't move. The clown must not have seen Stan at first, because when It spotted the smaller boy, Its grin faltered for just a second.
"Y-y-y-you kuh-kuh-killed Juh-George!"
Then Its eyes locked with Bill's. Bill didn't hesitate a second longer; he grabbed a fistful of rocks and threw them at It. They bounced off the clown the way a small child could bounce off the walls of a moon bounce at the carnivals and fairs. Bill threw them, one after another. The small weapons hit It in the face and chest, but did nothing.
"S-S-Stuh-Stuh-Stan, d-do suh-suh-something!"
Stan couldn't. His feet were glued to the ground, and he stared at It from across the bank. He clutched his binoculars with both hands. Oh, God, Stan thought, I'm such a sissy, a good-for-nothing coward, and It's looking at Bill, Big Bill, because It knows he's our leader and It knows that I can't move, that I'm so scared that I can't move, that the only thing I can do is wet my pants, and It's going to ignore me and hurt Bill, maybe kill him, and oh, God, I can't do anything about it.
Bill reached down for another handful of rocks, and It charged, Its painted smile and white makeup dripping down Its face. It stomped across the river, almost seemed to fly over the water. Just as Bill was standing back up, It swooped down and grabbed Bill by the waist with Its strong arm. The Loser dropped the rocks, and It squeezed him tighter as It lifted him off the ground. Bill thrashed and kicked and hit It in the face. With Its free hand, It grabbed both of Bill's wrists and pinned them together. As Stan watched, Its eyes got blacker, and Its razor teeth got longer, and It lowered Its head and bit Bill on the shoulder.
Bill shrieked as pain exploded in his arm and as blood soaked through his tee-shirt. He kicked at the air as Its teeth sunk into his flesh further and further, until he felt the tips touch bone. Any minute now, It would thrust Its head and pull a great deal of flesh off of his arm. It's going to rip my arm off, like It did to Georgie. They will never find my body, and I'll be dead. I failed, I can't lead them anywhere now, It's going to kill me and I'll be dead like Georgie. It's going to pick them off, one by one, and we're not going to be able to finish what we started, what we're here for. I'll float like Georgie, Georgie, my brother. Help, please, help-
"H-h-h-h-h-h-he thru-thru-thru-thrus-ts h-h-h-his fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-"
Bill's stutter was bad now, and the pain was great. Panic took over when he realized that he could barely talk. Stan noticed. He couldn't let Bill down like this. Bill never panics, never, he's Big Bill, and Big Bill is never scared. Big Bill is the one who keeps everyone together, the one who comes up with the plans, the one who always knows what to do. What would they do if It killed him? The clown turned to carry Bill off, Its jaw still clamped down on his shoulder, blood still running down his arm, when Stan found his voice.
"No!" Stan screamed.
The clown's teeth ripped out of Bill as It looked up at Stan. Its face was covered in Bill's blood, and Bill was struggling to keep calm, to focus on anything but the pain. It grinned at Stan, showing Its red-stained mouth with black gums and decayed tongue. It spoke, but not out loud, in Stan's head, and Stan was sure Bill could hear It, too. Stan fingered the bird book that was wedged in his back pocket. It saw.
Whatcha gonna do, Stanny-boy? Name some birds again? It won't help! You know why, Stan? Do you? Because you can't stop me. You're weak, the weakest, the one I would kill last. I'll send the dead boys after you, Stan. Yes! They will come to you room and you'll hear the sloshing of their shoes, just like in the Standpipe. Only this time, you won't get away, because you'll be scared stiff, like you are now. Such a baby! You can't even save your friend, your precious Big Bill, because you're too afraid for your own pathetic life! Do you know what you are? Huh? You're the stuff birds crap out. You're bird shit! Nobody cares about you, Stanny. Not even the Losers. You think you belong in their club? They just took pity on you. You're too scared and wimpy to do anything. They don't care about you. Bill has George, Ben has that slut Beverly, Eddie and Richie and Mike all have each other and they left you out! They hate you, Stanny, they hate you, they hate you, they hate you, they hate you!
"Stuh-Stuh-Stuh-Stuh-Stuh-Stan, d-d-d-d-d-d-don't luh-luh-luh-luh-luh-luh-listen-"
Bill's pleas became muffled, and Stan saw that an orange pom-pom was growing in his mouth. The more Bill tried to speak, the larger it got, to the point where Bill was afraid that it would grow so big that it would start to move down his throat and choke him. It was too large to spit out, and his cries became so stifled that Stan, five feet away, could barely hear them at all. The clown's words continued to ring through his head, and Stan was crying now, believing It, hearing It but not Bill. A balloon floated out from behind It, another that was blood-red. It bounced over to Stan, as if it were weighed down by something. It hobbled over the grass and dirt and pebbles, and touched the toe of Stan's shoe, where it circled around him, its string like a snake.
They'll hate you more when they find out that I killed Bill and you could've done something about it, but you just stood there like a pussy! Bill's blood will be on you-
At that moment, the balloon popped, and blood exploded from it. Bill's blood, he thought. It covered him head to foot, it matted his hair, sprayed his face, soiled his hands. Stan screamed as he looked down at himself. He screamed and screamed and It danced, Bill still in Its arms, his hands pinned between Its fingers (claws). It spun around, grinning, eyes black as ever, teeth even longer now. Tears streamed down Stan's face. He couldn't do anything, not really, he wasn't brave like the others were.
-yes, Bill's blood is on your hands because you couldn't do anything! You're worthless, you should just kill yourself and do them all a favor! I might even tell them that you tried to save your friend, but I got to you first, that way they will hate you less than they do now. Just smash a bottle, Stanny, and take the glass and cut crosses into your arms! Do it, do it, do it, do it, kill yourself, do it, do it, DO IT!
"No!"
The was such defiance in his voice that It stopped dancing and took a step back. Stan took a step forward, his legs shaking, about to give out from underneath him. He felt as if a force - the one from earlier, the one that led him here (he now understood it was to save Bill, because It knew somehow that Bill would be here, and It expected Bill to be alone) - guided him, and helped him not to run in terror, as he had wanted to do. But the force was only making him step forward. Stan did the talking by himself, shouting, knowing it would work. It had to, otherwise Bill was going to get killed, and he would have blood on his hands. Real blood. Not fake blood that no one else can see.
"Cardinals!" he started, and It hissed. "Blue jays! Sparrows! Mockingbirds! Swans! They're all real, and you're not! Robins! Egrets, mallards, doves, owls, hawks, eagles, petrels, herrings, gulls, pigeons, ravens, crows, finches-"
Names rolled off his tongue: birds he has collected, birds he hasn't, birds he has seen, birds that he has only read about in books. Stan held the bird book out in front of him like he had in the Standpipe, moving forward, forcing the clown backward. It now stood in the Kenduskeag, Its face contorted in pain. How am I hurting it? I'm not even touching it. But he didn't stop. He kept going, naming birds that he never even knew existed. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan swore (but never out right admitted) that he saw a Turtle creeping up out of the water, looking at him, its eyes somehow kind.
"-flamingos, albatrosses, wrens, cranes, puffins, ducks!"
Stan drew back his hand and pitched his bird book at It. The book flew threw the air, almost like a jackknife, and the corner of its spine hit the clown between the eyes. It dropped Bill into the river as Its hands went to Its face. Its blood streamed down Its nose, and It glared at Stan, Its black sockets oozing yellow goo.
I'll kill you! You fucking pussy, I'll-
"Falcons, swallows, storks, toucans, vultures, condors, thrushes, quetzals-"
No! No, no, no! Stop it!
Stan named them off more rapidly, moving ever closer to It. The names of the birds flew off his tongue. It was on the other side of the river now. Bill had yanked the pom-pom out of his mouth, which was now small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He crawled out of the Kenduskeag, his arm throbbing, crying, too weak and scared to get up.
"-macaws,peacocks,pheasants,goldcrests,orioles,shrikes,kiwis,partridges!"
Stan rescued his book from the water. His tears of fright now became tears of anger. The Losers didn't hate him. Beverly wasn't a slut, whatever that meant. Mike, Eddie, and Richie liked him just fine. In fact, they loved him, and he loved them. He could feel the love gushing from their circle every time they were together. The seven of them had power, It did not. And he wasn't going to let Bill die. This was what they were supposed to do, all of them. When the time came, they would be the ones creeping up on It, they would be the ones to scare It stiff, they would be the ones to kill It.
"I don't believe you!" Stan's voice became a shrill cry, rising with each word that escaped his mouth. "I believe in them! I believe you're scared of us! That's why you came here, because you thought Bill was alone! Who's the baby now? I believe-" Stan threw the book at It again. It punched through the air, sailing. "-in my friends!"
Just before the book hit It, It disappeared with a pop. Stan's legs gave out from under him and his knees hit the water's edge. He did it; he chased It away (not bad, son).
Stan turned to Bill, Big Bill, who didn't look so big now. He was crumpled in a heap, sobbing so hard his entire being shook. Half his face was in the mud, and he laid on the side of his good arm, holding his bloody shoulder. His eyes were so red; red with terror, with tears, with rage. Spit flew from his mouth as he sobbed. Stan crawled over to him, helped him sit up. Stan was still on his knees, Big Bill sat on his butt, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He couldn't look Stan in the eye, so he closed his eyes and cried as hard as he had the day Georgie died. If Stan hadn't been there...
"Hey, Bill, you're okay, you're safe. It's gone. It ran away. We did it. We chased it off. You're safe. Don't cry."
Bill shook his head back and forth.
"Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-"
Bill slammed his fist into the mud, realizing he couldn't finish a sentence; couldn't finish a word. Stan knew what he meant.
"You did good too, Bill. I froze. I almost let it kill you."
Bill looked at Stan and shook his head again. He grabbed the back of Stan's head, pulling him in, so that their foreheads touched.
"Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-you w-w-w-w-w-w-were gruh-gruh-gruh-gruh-gruh-gruh-"
Bill stopped and let his face fall into Stan's shoulder, still crying. Stan hugged Bill, careful to avoid his shoulder.
"You're okay. Please don't cry."
But Stan was crying now, too, and they stayed that way for the next half hour. After Bill calmed down, he grabbed the bird book for Stan, and they headed back to find the other Losers. They retrieved Silver from his hiding spot and climbed out of the Barrens. Bill stayed with Stan for the rest of the day, still trembling a bit. Around noon, they met with the other Losers, and their circle was complete again. Stan knew that, deep down, he belonged with them. Without him, they would be only six, and something was wrong with that. But Pennywise's words still rung in his ears, and he knew they held some truth.
You're worthless, you should just kill yourself and do them all a favor!
But then, even as he recalled those exact words, it was as if the Losers' magic picked up on it right away, because Richie slung an arm around him and sang one of his voices, and all seven of them busted out laughing. Together.