Notes: Now, here's the thing. I know there are a whole slew of AU stories in which Georgie lives, where he returns home to an otherwise-indifferent family. I'm sure I have read them. I know I'm not the first person to write such a scenario. Whatever resemblence this bears to anyone else's work, I can only say it is entirely coincidental. And from this point onward, I intend for "Otherwise" to follow the plot I have in mind. No one else's.

So, to anyone thinking to cry "plagarism" - spare me. I've thought this through.

It's fanfiction. It's all supposed to be for fun anyway. It's not like we're making any monies.

"It's so messed up, to be yourself when you're never, never enough..."

Pop Evil - Onyx, "Flawed"

"George Elmer Denbrough! There you are! Where on Earth have you been? You're drenched! You're a mess! Run upstairs, I'll draw you a bath. What happened? You poor thing. Don't you ever scare us like that again! We love you so!"

Those were among the words Georgie would have liked to have heard.

He was soaking wet. He was half-covered in caked-up muck and dried blood. He had lost the boat he and Bill had worked on together. He had bumped his head.

He almost died.

No.

Instead, he opened the front door, wandered back in (momentarily rejoicing to have returned to the home he thought he would never see again), and wondered why he had expected anything different than when he had left two hours prior.

He came home to silence.

Mom hardly glanced up from the piano.

He stood there a moment, boots muddy, dripping on the carpet, trapped in an awful moment of cold, sheer disbelief. He scarcely dared to blink, yet he miss a change in her attention, her expression. Maybe if he waited a few minutes, she would look up and take notice.

Five minutes later, he was still waiting.

Soft piano notes continued to fill the air. They were surprisingly... emotionless. Where once he was almost comforted by them, it just sounded like they came from an impartial place now, like a television or a radio. Now, they were so terribly droll. They were like a running lawnmower, or a car driving by.

Background noise.

Like that's all he was.

Head hanging low, Georgie plodded his way toward the stairs. He didn't even care enough to take his scuffed boots off at the door.

Then, hearing the creak of a bed, realizing Bill was still there, waiting, he lept up the stairway, two at a time. That simple sound had instantly rekindled his hope for a warm "welcome back".

His brother would be happy to see him, at least.

Parenting.

What a joke.

The actually-funny part of it all was that the person to show the most concern for him that day was someone he had just met.

Misguided concern, as it turned out. But concern nonetheless.

He faced a waterfall.

But it was okay.

They had talked. They had a plan.

"Up you gEt."

Reaching up, Georgie felt a set of hands grab him from both sides, just above his hips, and lift. He inhaled deep, then held his breath. Closing his eyes against the rush of cold water that came surging back into his face, over his arms, he felt blindly for the drain's edge. Finding it, he pushed his hands past it, ignoring the rapid, shuddering channel of water washing through his slicker's sleeves, soaking him all over again.

His wrists followed, then his elbows.

He forgot to duck.

"Ow!"

The hands holding him tightened briefly.

"Oh! SorRy."

He spluttered. Swimming upriver robbed him of any chance to speak back.

He kept struggling, worming his way forward. Ignoring the new pain in his head, Georgie turned his face sideways, tried to shuffle forward. Now the water flowed past his nose, not into it. Pawing blindly, his numb fingers gripped at the flooded asphalt ahead of him, sliding uselessly at first. Finally, the tips managed to get a grip on the tough, grainy surface.

Then, with a strong push from behind, the rest of him followed.

Up and out. Back onto the street.

"TheRe you go. SucCess!"

Hallelujah!

Despite how tremendously sore and cold his body was, Georgie laughed, hitchingly at first, then steadier and steadier. No more despairing. Celebration was in order! He rolled over on his back, arms splayed out to his sides. He kicked his legs, hugged himself, rocked back and forth, feeling more than ecstatic.

Droplets pelted his face. He kept on cackling. So what if the rain got to him there? If it got anywhere?

After today, he was convinced - somehow - he would never see another day dry again.

What did it matter? He would be alive to enjoy every blasted second of it.

Eventually, the voice emanating from under the road - almost forgotten in his state of newfound glee - got his attention.

"Okay, okaY. YeS. You'rE free. Hey! Did yoU fOrget sometHing?"

Manners, Georgie. Where are your manners? Not even a "thank you"?

How uncouth of him to forget.

Breathing heavily, gradually regaining his threadbare composure, Georgie sat up. Half-heartedly, he brushed the lingering mess off the front of his yellow slicker. He wiped rain from his eyes, picking sticky, stray hairs out of his vision, then turned to face the drain he had just emerged from.

His heart sunk at what he saw there.

Framed in an oval of gray, Pennywise's eager, expressive eyes and red nose peered back at him. He held something in his hand.

Squinting, Georgie looked closer.

It wasn't the S.S. Georgie.

It was the boy's radio.

There was a pause. Taking in the dawning look of disappointment that crossed Georgie's face, the clown made a pointed glance at the device in his hand. He raised a brow. "ThiS isn't it?"

"W... what do you mean?"

"Your boAt," Pennywise clarified, blue eyes looking up (when had they gone from mostly-yellow to mostly-blue?). He sounded genuinely puzzled. "This iSn't it- I mEan, her?"

Georgie blinked, lips parting.

Are you kidding? He doesn't know the difference between a radio and a boat?

Maybe it was part of the clown's act. They played themselves up as stupid sometimes.

But... this stupid?

"That's mine, but it's not my b-boat," Georgie explained, just managing to steady his trembling chin. He folded his arms around himself with a squelch. Goodness, it was actually freezing out here. Somehow, under the street in the dank, disgusting void had felt warmer. "You can keep it. It's useless if it gets wet."

"Ohh." Pennywise's expression stilled, almost too unnaturally long for a considering pause, before he seemingly blinked his way back to awareness. The radio disappeared back into the dark. It was destined for the garbage even if Georgie brought it home, anyway. "WeLl, you're ouT. You should huRry back noW, before it gEts any darKer."

The boy frowned.

Well, that was brief. How long since he had escaped? Two minutes, tops?

And his savior already sounded like he was ready to say goodbye as quickly as he had said hello.

Realizing this, Georgie scrambled up, tripping over his own feet. On his hands and knees, he crawled back up to the drain.

He was worried he might not get another chance to ask.

"Wait!"

To his elation, Pennywise did.

Eyes wide, peering out over the lip of the drain, he seemed to freeze again.

Not pause. Not linger uncertainly. Not stop himself after taking half a step.

Freeze.

Like when you hit pause on the TV remote.

"...Who are you?"

Georgie didn't need to see the rest of Pennywise's face. The clown's black-rimmed eyes held steady for a moment, then they darted back and forth. Once, twice. Again. Frantically, even. They showed a sudden doubt and confusion, like it was the boy who was being odd for inquiring.

"I... t-thouGht we went oVer thaT?"

Did he should nervous?

"I mean, where are you going? What are you doing down there? How'd you know I needed help? Are you staying?"

And that was classic Georgie Denbrough for you. Once he got going, the questions never tended to end.

Pennywise waited until the boy took a moment to breathe before saying anything.

Or he tried to. Rudely (he would later note), Georgie found his penultimate query:

"I mean, who are you, really?" he rephrased. "Clowns- people don't l-live in sewers."

Pennywise seemed to think it over. Really think it over. He froze again. He slowly opened his mouth as if to speak, before closing it with an audible click.

Then, tensing up, he stepped back.

Those eyes strayed apart once more. Way too far apart. As the gaping boy watched, they brightened from midnight blue to yellow. A bright, canary yellow. The pupils thinned out to bare slits.

Now Denbrough was sure. It definately wasn't a trick of the light, making him just think those pupils weren't human.

Whoever this was... there was something very not-right about them.

Then, like a shark's, the glowing eyeballs rolled up and back into the clown's head. The yellow disappeared, radiant white blankness taking its place.

He grimaced, showing sharp teeth. Spit welled up and spilled from the corners of his mouth.

"Go homE, GeorgIe. You're shiverinG."

He stepped back again.

Georgie reached out, impulsively. The rain continued to pummel his back, the sidewalk, the street around him.

"Wait! I'm sorry, I forgot to say, thank - "

Even more impossible, the painted visage faded backwards into the dark.

Straight through the wall Georgie knew stood behind it.

"...you."

"Georgie!"

Despite still being in the grips of his waning illness, Bill Denbrough vaulted off the unmade bed with surprising speed. He crossed the room in three strides and practically threw his arms around his younger sibling, never minding the shock of cold that bit into him as their bodies connected.

Georgie nearly stumbled under the overwhelming force of the hug, one that he belatedly returned, with clumsy, fumbling hands.

That was okay. Being so cold, his fingers were probably still numb.

"Thank God."

After a brief squeeze, Bill felt for the radio, presumably still in Georgie's pocket. He had wholly expected to have to deliver a reminder about the importance of "keeping it on at all times", or to hear an excuse about a dead battery.

Finding no match to his own walkie-talkie there, he paused, took a step back and knelt down.

"Really, I was wondering why you weren't a... ans-swering."

He stammered to a stop.

Georgie's dirty face was blank, smeared with gunk as if he had just stepped out of Apocalypse Now. His brown eyes were hooded, devoid of life, blanker that Bill could remember ever seeing. His yellow rain slicker bore an ugly, noticable grease-stain all down its front (some of which had transferred itself to Bill's gray PJs), from neckline to waist.

But on a second sniff, it didn't smell like grease.

"Ugh." Recoiling, Bill held his nose a moment, willing the nausea away before arching an eyebrow at his silent sibling. "What h-happened?"

Georgie just looked up at him, as expressionless as before. His arms hung at his sides, limp as cooked noodles.

"Georgie." Bill repeated, firmer, taking him gently by the shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Nothing.

All right, then.

First, a change of clothes was in order.

Bill discarded the ruined slicker, then found a plastic bag to stow Georgie's wet outfit. Wash that later. Leading him to the bathroom, he wetted a washcloth to better clean his brother's face. He made a cursory attempt at combing out his messy wet hair before thinking better of it. Let the kid have a chance to dry off.

In Georgie's bedroom he retrieved a fresh set of cream-colored long-johns, soft and without that itchy tag in the back of the neck. He helped the younger boy dress, ignoring the fact he had not had cause to do so for at least three years, since clever Georgie had learned for himself. He found a spare space blanket in the closest, wrapped it around the small set of shoulders.

It was another ten minutes before his little brother bothered to say anything.

"I lost it, Bill."

"Huh?"

At the end of it all, they were seated on Georgie's bed. Distracted, Bill tugged the last remainder of the sleeve past Georgie's wrist, smoothed his hair back. He was fussing a bit much, one might say, but hey, someone had to.

His brother deserved no less.

"Lost what?"

"The boat. I lost it- her. Her." Blinking as if the fog had just lifted from his brain, Georgie latched onto him in a sideways hug, unexpectedly. All at once, he seemed like he was back. Really back.

But he was also shaking underneath the blanket. "I'm sorry. She got swept into a drain."

Arms weaving around him, Bill patted his back, smiling a nervous smile behind his head. He was simply glad to see that, whatever had transpired, it wouldn't leave Georgie a stoic, drooling mute for the rest of his days.

"T-That's okay, Georgie. We'll make another if you want. I'm j-just glad you're okay."

Georgie's grip sagged suddenly. "I went after her."

That, Bill hadn't expected. He reared back, holding his brother at arm's length, face to face. "What?"

Georgie was clumsy, sometimes, yes, but that? Bill had thought all the damage to his clothes was the fault of an especially deep, muddy puddle.

"I went after her," Georgie repeated, eyes big and earnest. He gripped Bill's arms with his own, almost insisting. "I tried, but I slipped. I slipped into the drain."

"Y-you s-sli- you slipped in?" Bill stammered, disbelieving. A hundred questions assailed him at once, like hungry customers swarming at a deli counter. Who needed to take numbers to be served in sequence. "How did- you d-d-don't just slip into a drain, Georgie."

His brother had more sense than that.

"I slid," Georgie corrected, looking as sheepish as he sounded. To his credit, he kept his eye contact. "I slid in, like I was going after a home run."

In a game where the difference between winning and losing was the same as life and death.

Not knowing whether to feel horrified, sick, or relieved, Bill pulled him in for another hug, fiercer this time. The blanket bunched up around them. He felt air puff against his chest. He closed his eyes tight, feeling the sting of oncoming tears, determined not to shed them.

"Jesus H, Georgie."

So that's why he tottered in here, looking like a living skidmark.

Struggling gently, Georgie's face worked out from under the blanket's edge. "I'm sorry, Billy."

"Don't be. God. You- it's okay. You're okay. It was an accident, I'm sure."

They held each other for a while after that.

Then the next most prudent question took a number, and harped at Bill's brain, demanding his attention.

"Wait."

Brow furrowed, Bill opened his eyes, leaning back again. Georgie blinked up at him, radiating nothing but utter innocence. "H-How did you get out?"

"Someone saved me."

No. In this weather? It couldn't be that simple.

...Could it?

"Who?"

Georgie blinked again, finally glancing away. He bit his lip.

Bill frowned. Looking closer, he finally saw the scratches, little pink patches of skin rubbed raw. They ran along the edge of his brother's jaw and chin, like he had scraped the concrete.

Now wasn't the time to play coy.

"Who saved you, Georgie?"

"Doesn't matter. You won't believe me."

You don't know that.

"Georgie, it matters. You're here in front of me after falling into a gutter I know you couldn't have climbed out of by yourself."

For emphasis, Bill took him by the chin. They gazed into each other's eyes, so smiliar in shape and shade.

"If you said dirt tasted like chocolate, I'd believe you."

The joke broke the tension. Georgie sniffled, then snickered, his face finally lighting up with that smile he was so good at wearing.

A part of Bill's heart quailed at the notion of never seeing it again.

"Well, if you mean that - "

Bill smirked, gently flicking a finger against his nose in warning. "Hey. Don't g-get any ideas."

"Okay." Appeased, Georgie sat back, hugging himself like the warmth had finally seeped back into him. "You're still going to think I'm making it up, but... a clown saved me."

. . .

He blinked. For a fleeting second, Bill did think to accuse his wayward sibling of making a fib.

And a painfully obvious, uninspired one at that.

Instead, he stuttered, wishing for the umpteenth time his mouth just wouldn't.

"A-a-a... a clown saved you?"

Georgie nodded. A single, confident nod.

"A clown, like, a f-f-funny guy? A comedian?"

"No, a clown. Like at the circus."

"Oookay..." Sensing he wasn't going to get anymore out of shaking that barren tree, Bill went on with the next logical question. He couldn't reason this out for himself any other way. He scratched absently at his ear, unsure. "What... did this clown look like?"

"He was... he was tall. He had the collar, the paint on his face. Orange hair. There were bells on his suit."

Struggling to recall a memory, or making it up as he went along, Georgie trailed off.

With arms folded, Bill waited. Patiently. He kept still, silent, unemotive, lest he affect the outcome of this tall-tale being spun in front of him.

"And, he had eyes... like a cat. That changed colors."

And there it was. The one fact that made the rest really fall apart.

"He was nice. He even wiped my face off." Grabbing a fistful of blanket, Georgie demonstrated, against Bill's unmoving cheek. "Like this."

Aw. What a cute addition.

"Did he... give you his name?"

Probably a stage name.

"Pennywise," Georgie chirped. "Pennywise, the Dancing Clown."

Definitely a stage name.

"Hm..."

Without waiting for an invitation, Bill swept the younger boy's bangs aside. He had noticed in the bathroom. There it was, a shallow scape just at the hairline. "You bumped your head?"

"Not that hard."

"You bumped your head, Georgie."

Growing visibly agitated, Georgie batted his hand away. He knew it wasn't a good sign when Bill repeated himself. "I did, but that doesn't change what happened. I fell in a storm drain, and a clown named Pennywise saved me."

Bill ran a hand over his face.

This was too much, too much to accept as true. Not all at once.

He shook his head and stood up.

"Billy!"

He made to leave. The bed creaked in protest as Georgie crawled after him.

Like he wouldn't get another chance to rehash the story again.

"Bill, come on. What do you want me to say?"

He paused in the doorway, flexing his hands, then placed one on the doorknob. He breathed deep, but resisted the impulse to sigh, staring straight ahead.

Five minutes ago, Bill was practically euphoric to discover his little brother was okay.

Now he would like nothing better than to get some distance from him.

"What really happened would be nice."

He looked back.

Half under the blanket, Georgie bristled. A timely rumble of thunder outside cheered him on. He sat up on his knees, hands fisted. "That is what really happened!"

Bill stepped out of the room.

"Get s-some sleep, Georgie. I'll tell Mom you're home."

Carefully, as if he were closing out a bad dream, he pulled the door shut behind him.

Oh, Georgie. Worrying him half to death, only to drop an anvil like that on an otherwise-perfect reunion.

Some story.