This is where the gore warning kicks into effect! (Sorry, Bill...) Thank you all so much for your continued support of this story, as well as for all of your questions! For those of you wondering how closely this is going to follow the comic, it's going to be close. It will include most, if not all details and story arcs of the comic, plus some extra ideas that I'm going to implement, starting in this chapter! I'm so excited to bring this story to you, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
It hated the way the floorboards creaked. In fact, It hated everything about the house. The way the ceiling seemed to leer down at It, how Penny had to duck under door frames and make a conscious effort to keep from knocking things off where they rested on their stupid shelves. It could hardly hold back a growl of agitation, nearly crushing the two packets resting in Its hand out of sheer rage. It was stupid. It wanted, oh, It wanted to ransack the whole household right then and there. Penny knew that the Problem had an older brother, and why only attack one? The fear of adults could work, in a pinch.
But no. Something inside told Penny to wait, to let this- this pest stay alive for just a few moments longer. Penny grit Its teeth and hissed a breath through them, eyes narrowing into yellow slits as It surveyed the Denbrough's kitchen.
The sink gleamed in the moonlight that crested through the window. The still water beneath the curved spout looked like a grinning mouth, mocking It and Its feeble attempts to rid Itself of the child. Penny lumbered forward, hunching Its back unnaturally to finally take a look at the offerings left by the boy. It didn't want to admit having already eaten most of the popcorn after giving it a very careful once-over.
And Penny certainly would never admit that It really hadn't really minded the taste.
Penny's gaze flicked distastefully to the packages of cocoa in Its claw-like fingers before gingerly lifted one up to Its face in order to get a better look. The small words seemed to mash together in a sort of lump, which caused It to hurl the small packets at the counter, relishing in the sound of them hitting the back wall with two dull thuds. Penny's ruffled collar fell in time with Its ragged and unsteady breathing, self-disgust welling in Its chest because, It was worked up over hot cocoa packets. It; a being of immense power, angry, at what exactly? Oh yeah, cocoa packets.
Pathetic.
It snatched one of them off of the countertop and ripped the packaging slightly. A dark sort of grit flew through the air, sticking to Its pristine white ruffles with a smell that made it wrinkle Its nose in confusion. It raised the torn packet above Its face and experimentally stuck out Its tongue, dumping a small amount of the powder in Its mouth.
At first, It tasted nothing. But then, this hideous, vaguely sweet flavor began to blossom on Its tongue. Penny's face contorted into a scowl and It spat the mouthful of the stuff onto the counter. Such a foreign taste, an artificial flavor, the likes of which It had never tasted before. It didn't like it and assumed the kid was trying to poison It. How else would you explain the horrific brown powder?
Penny stumbled back, but not before dropping the two packages on the counter in disgust. It turned on a clawed heel and began to stalk in the direction of the boy's room, rage boiling through It, when-
I brought you some popcorn since yours blew away in that storm! And some hot cocoa packets 'cause I bet it gets cold down there.
The kid hadn't sounded like he was trying to poison It. It was that genuine sort of concern and caring It had only heard before when It had been called lonely. Just the thought made Penny shudder in disgust. It had to take a few calming breaths before snatching one of the packets again. Penny squinted at it closely, the text scrawled on the package dancing before its eyes before suddenly- it all clicked.
ADD HOT WATER
"Kettle." Penny's voice pitched oddly as It spoke the word with a sort of acidic tone, the syllables oozing out from between Its fangs like sludge.
Penny could still feel the dry mix coating Its tongue as It began to rummage through the Denbrough's shelves, looking agitatedly for a kettle of some sort. The darkness of the kitchen wasn't a bother anymore. The real bother, was how many useless items were littered about the countertops and in the drawers, practically begging for It to break them. Penny grudgingly retracts Its claws and predatory teeth in favor of staying mobile, swinging Its head until finally, Its burning yellow eyes fixated on the cold metal kettle on the stovetop. After fiddling with the sink and popping the lid, Penny squinted at the array of dials the stove had to offer for a moment before reaching to turn one on to its highest setting. That done, It began to wait for the water to boil, leaning idly on the countertop.
Tonight.
It thought to itself, tipping backward with a smug grin.
Tonight, the Problem would be no more.
The kid clearly trusted It, and with trust, comes betrayal.
Penny had to refrain from digging Its claws into the wall when the kettle began to let out an ear-piercing shriek. Instincts kicked in, and the creature in the kitchen staggered backward at the shrill noise before It lunged forwards and pulled the kettle from the burner with a sharp burst of force.
The screaming stopped.
Its knees buckled and Penny fell forward, whatever It had that passed for a heart, beat crazily against Its ribs. Every little noise made It flinch and whirl around defensively, claws outstretched and ready to strike. Every one of Its muscles screamed at It to just lunge out and attack anything that even dared to get close, but of course, nothing did. Not one thing crept towards It in the silent house, not one human awakening from peaceful slumber to see the monstrosity standing in their home. It gurgled low in Its throat, forcing Itself to take a few deep breaths. So far out of Its element, It was feeling strange over the most nonsensical things. It could listen to the screams of a thousand children, but somehow, the kettle was the thing that made it want to cry out in rage. The kettle wasn't right. It didn't use kettles, nor stoves, or anything that It could find in a kitchen for that matter.
Tonight.
Penny reminded Itself, trying Its best to stay calm.
This whole thing ends tonight.
Penny's clawed hands began to rifle through the surrounding cabinets in search of mugs, the rough scraping noises It created made It want to growl. The cupboards were too noisy, too creaky and rough on their hinges. Once Its yellow eyes settled on the mugs, Penny used a little more force than was strictly necessary to slam them to the counter before upending the packages into them, coating the counter in sticky dust in the process. Finally, It dumped a hearty amount of the steaming hot water into the mugs and gave each a quick stir. Mixing the drinks was a chore, the noise the spoon made when it hit the bottom of the cup had It wanting to cry out in rage. With both the noisy actions, coupled with Its long limbs, Penny cursed the placement of, well- everything in the damned kitchen.
Stirring done, Penny balanced the mugs carefully, cupping them with clawed fingers that clacked and clattered against the ceramic surface. It watched the bubbling liquid with a sort of bored fascination, the clumps of powder sinking to the bottom, coloring the mixture with an odd looking brown, almost like sewer water. The sweet smell was the only thing distinguishing it from the soapy waste that flowed beneath Derry.
Penny managed to contain the primal hunger inside as It crept toward the bedroom of the Problem. It remained hyper-aware of every creak of the loose floorboards, every whisper of the wind on the house windows, the snore of the parents that rested, ignorant of the beast in their home, and the rustling bed sheets of the two children that tossed and turned in their rooms.
Penny wrinkled Its nose in distaste when the older sibling came to mind -the stuttering pain. Penny knew the kid was onto It from what It had seen of the boy, hidden in the blanket of reality, simply judging the way he had looked at the bicycle and red balloon after the Problem had scampered off. Even as the pair had wheeled the contraption out of the house, Penny could smell the unease seeping off of him. It had seen the taller boy- Bill, that's his name- before, with his group of freaks. It had seen them sticking their noses in where they didn't belong. Oh, how It loathed the way they poked around. Everything about the boy's little gang of friends angered It with such a petty sort of rage, it only served to make It angrier. The fact that the kids existed was driving It up the wall. The fact that they were friends with the Problem didn't help things either.
Penny thought those hateful thoughts as It crept down the hall to the child's door, grimacing when It saw the choice of decor. The turtles-painted on the woodwork-It decided, were hideous. Their green emerald shells seemed to torment Penny as It pressed hesitantly on the door, merging the claws and yellow eyes of Its current appearance into something less intimidating.
It didn't knock, It simply pushed the door open and strode in on careful feet, sidestepping a few mismatched t-shirts and socks before Its glossy blue eyes settled on the mess of blankets where Its victim slept. The forest green covers rose and fell with each breath the small boy took, shuffling every now and again in fitful sleep before settling once more.
Penny set his stage with the desk chair in the corner, quietly dragging it to sit opposite of the bed, and positioned himself perched on the backrest of the seat. With everything in order, It began to wait, trying to ignore the growing feeling of hunger that built inside of It. In the free time It had before the boy awoke to terror, Penny took in Its surroundings with a growing disdain. The child's scent clung to the floor as well as everything else inside of the room, practically reeking of happiness and comfort. Everything was warm and fuzzy, what one would expect a child to feel when safely tucked in their bed. It made Its shoulders raise in defense to the off-putting feeling of Its setting.
In short; the room was disgusting and It would rather hurry up and eat the child than have to spend another minute in the confines of the young boy's nest.
Soon
For now, It just watched, relishing in the fact that the boy was completely unaware of the danger in his room. A single strip of light from the bright moon filtered through the window sheets and landed on the Problem's face, illuminating his peaceful expression for a few fleeting moments, before fading away from the still house breeze as it shifted the cotton curtains.
Penny tilted Its head as It noticed the growing heat that seeped from the mugs of cocoa, through Its cotton gloves. It glared down at the murky liquid skeptically before raising one cup to Its lips and took a long sip.
The drink was warm, but not scalding on Its tongue, an oddly sweet flavor clung to the insides of Its cheeks as Penny swished the liquid around before swallowing. While the drink wasn't exactly perfect, it would do. It took another loud slurp and watched the boy with still growing anticipation.
His breathing was less even now, and a soft groan escaped his lips, shoulders stiffening beneath the blankets as Its slurping began to rouse him from sleep. Penny raised the cup again as the boy shifted awake, squinting blearily in the low light and rubbing tiredly at his face. His half-lidded gaze surveyed the relative darkness of the room, sliding past Penny on the first go-around before drifting back up to Its perch on the chair. The once glazed-over eyes of the boy lit up, a wide grin winking into existence on his lips.
"Mr. Penny!" He began to shove the comforter off of his chest, not letting his bright eyes shift from those of the clown. "What are you doing here?"
It barely managed to suppress a snarl upon seeing the blue turtle emblazoned on the boy's yellow nightshirt taking another long pull from Its drink as a distraction. "I…" Penny paused and took a brief moment to think up a half-decent lie. The kid trusted It now, but something told Penny that he wouldn't if It confessed Its true intentions. "I needed to borrow your kettle, so I could enjoy the cocoa you brought me,"-Problem-"Georgie." It corrected out loud.
Georgie watched him intently, shifting a little so he could better see the crouching figure. "All the hot water in the sewer is bubbly and soapy…" Penny trailed off with uncertainty, suddenly uncomfortable on the chair as Georgie continued to watch It with his genuinely curious expression. Too trusting, too wrong. Georgie swung his legs over the edge of his bed to reveal the plaid pyjama bottoms, a possible hand-me-down from his big brother, as they bunched on the floor around his bare feet. At the comparison of 'what could have been' Georgie made a silly face.
"Soapy cocoa? Ew!" Penny felt hot anger beginning to flare in Its chest and stifled a low growl. The child was so innocent, his voice so full of unabashed glee and love. It was enough to make the creature sick.
"Yes… can't have that." It gave up trying to control the hunger in Its gaze, already feeling Its eyes beginning to shift from an inviting blue to a sinister yellow. The laughter of victims past began to echo to those who could hear it, seeping through the cracks of reality as Its hunger grew more and more prominent. Georgie didn't seem to take any notice of the lullaby, which should have been a flag on how little effect the monster had on him.
Penny tried to seem casual as It leaned towards the small boy, gingerly holding the other mug in Its hand, outstretched in invitation "Would you like this one, Georgie?"
Take it.
The boy reached forward a smidgen, perking up slightly.
Kill him, kill him, kill him.
"I made it just for you." Penny continued, hating the difficulty It was finding in keeping Its voice even.
"Oooh! Yes please!" Georgie unclenched his sheets and grinned up at the murderous being in his bedroom. It leaned closer still.
Kill him, KILL HIM, KILL HIM.
The boy cupped his hands and stretched out his arms to receive the offered drink. The mug beginning to shake in Its fingers. Unkempt drool dripped from Its jaws, the hunger inside of It practically screaming. Its face lit up with a yellow gleam.
KILLHIMKILLHIMKILL-
Penny dropped the cup into Georgie's waiting hands, thoughts of the boy's flesh fading as the child took a small sip of the cocoa, seemingly oblivious to the way the creature was clutching the chair in a death grip. Its limbs shook as It replayed the moment in Its head over and over again.
That was Its chance.
That was Its one chance.
Its eyes widened, pupils dilating into thin black slits. Its whole body began to shake and convulse, fingers clenching the chair as though It was going to float away into Its own failure. What had stopped It? Why hadn't It killed him? Why hadn't It struck? The child looked up, seemingly startled, as if finally noticing the monster before him.
"Penny?.." It lifted Its upper lip in a confused sort of snarl, body still quivering. "Are you okay?"
Why? Why? WHY? WHY?!
"Maybe…" Its voice began to shake, becoming a garbled mess of syllables. "Not?" Georgie's eyebrows quirked upward.
"What's wr-" Before the boy could finish speaking, Penny's ears picked up the sound of tumblers unfurling, the bolts of the boys door as it was opened from the outside. It jolted upward, cover nearly blown, and warped from view, disappearing in the fraction of a second.
Georgie, however, didn't notice, because at that moment, the door to his bedroom swung open to reveal a rather disheveled and tired looking Bill. The taller boy's bed hair swung awkwardly over his right eye, his left hand rubbing idly at the other, looking more than a little bit annoyed from his interrupted sleep.
"Juh-Georgie?" He paused for a moment, the hand once at his eye dropping to his mouth to stifle a yawn. "Who are you talking to?" Georgie shot his older brother a grin, making sure not to drop the cup of cocoa.
"Oh!" His grin stretched wider. Finally, a chance to properly introduce his friend to his brother. "Just Mr.-" He turned his head back to his friend, intent on just waving Bill towards the clown's direction, when he stopped short. Seeing that the chair was empty, with not a single scrap of evidence left that Penny had once been there, his heart sank in his chest. "Penny." He finished, his words a miserable mumble. Bill's expression dropped, his eyebrows sinking low.
"Could you wait to t-talk to your imaginary friend t-tomorrow?" He moaned exasperatedly, lips forming a thin line. Georgie tried to ignore the way he said 'imaginary' like it was shameful. "I cuh-can hear you all the way in muh-my room." He could tell Bill was fighting against his temper from the way his voice was heavy with sleep. Georgie turned his attention back to the empty chair, silently willing his friend to return, just so that he could see the look on Bill's face when he realized his imaginary friend wasn't so make believe.
See! I told you! He would proclaim as his brother would stare in shock. He's not imaginary! But alas, such a moment never came as he gazed at the proud green chair, his expression hopeful, betrayal lingering just below the surface.
He looked down at the mug clasped in his fingers and sighed. He could practically feel Bill's gaze sink to the drink in his hand, a small groan escaping his brother's lips "And isn't it k-kinda late for c-cocoa?" Bill continued, an unimpressed tone weaving between his words. As his brother remained silent to his question, Bill shook his head with defeat, deciding on going back to bed. "J-Just don't let M-Mom see you with that." Georgie could hear Bill beginning to shuffle backward on sock-clad feet "N-Night." Bill mumbled as he turned back down the hall, closing the door behind him with a soft 'click.'
Georgie stayed focused on the hot drink, shuffling his legs restlessly.
"He's not imaginary." He mumbled, not willing to admit defeat just yet. The hot cocoa didn't respond to his bickering. Somehow, it felt like it was mocking him.
It had been so close. It had been so close to making mincemeat of the kid. Closer than close, as a matter of fact. It had been right there. It had been inches from snapping the boy up, so why? Why? Why, hadn't It? It kicked at a pile of stray garbage and snarled, revealing every last crooked tooth. Perhaps it was because the child wasn't afraid? Perhaps because the boy thought they were friends? It shook Its head in rebuttal. Penny wasn't the kid's friend. Penny was never going to be his friend. Why was that so hard for the child to understand?
With hands clenched into tight fists, It let out another guttering wail.
This was Bill's fault, the stuttering freak had walked in at precisely the wrong moment. Yes, that was it. He was the flaw in the plan, the kink in the chain, the- the- It shook Its head and growled in exasperation. That wasn't it. As much as It wished that was true, Bill wasn't in the wrong.
Bill hadn't made Georgie hot chocolate. Bill hadn't given it to the boy without consequence. Bill hadn't tried to return a small favor in disguise of trying to eat the Problem. But It had. It had done all of those things and more. It, in fact, had been incredibly close to the boy on more than one occasion, and It had bitten him… how many times?
Oh yeah.
Not. Once. In fact, the more that It thought and paced angrily, the more It was certain of one fact. This couldn't continue. It laughed, twisting in on Itself and falling to the grimy floor of the tunnel. Its eyes were the only thing visible in the inky blackness, and they shone with an anger that was so primal and petty all at once, It caused every living thing in Derry to tremble. It wasn't going to make another mistake. Oh no, not one.
It began to climb upward through the tunnels, fingers scrabbling for a handhold as It skittered upward toward the light filtering through the storm drain, like a spider creeping up its web. Water dribbled past It as It forced itself out of the small opening, the frills of Its costume folding toward It uncomfortably as It clambered out. Its eyes flashed with anger, yellow irises lighting up Its face. It stomped back in the direction of the Denbrough house, not knowing exactly what It would do yet, just knowing that whatever It did, It was going to make somebody's night a living hell. If Penny couldn't get Georgie afraid of It, It could certainly get Bill to scream.
Bill tried his best to keep his head clear as he laid awake in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, breaths uneven and oddly spaced out. The problem, of course, with trying not to think of anything was that he was focused so hard on not thinking of anything, that it was all he could think about or rather, not think about. And so was his plight as he lay in bed, the noises of the house drilling into his skull as he lay with his eyes half-focused, waiting for sleep to pull him under. His last lingering thought before he succumbed to the hazy dreams playing behind his eyes was as follows.
The floorboards sound like somebody's sneaking around.
But Bill was too tired to care. In his half-asleep state, he could have sworn that he saw the outline of a figure at the foot of his bed, a pair of bright yellow eyes gleaming at him from Its misshapen head. Bill's brain tells him to just sleep and instead of panicking at the imaginary figure, he gave one last shuddering yawn and began to drift off into the realm of unconsciousness.
Only, something wasn't right.
The dream felt strange right off the bat. The midnight rain pummeled him and plastered his hair to his head, soaking his pyjamas with their icy torrents, feeling more like frozen needles than drops of water. His bare feet splashed on the cracked concrete, riddled with puddles. His toes going numb and turning a shocking blue color against the cold and raw elements. His legs carried him forward without his consent, a dream action he had no control over. He didn't fight it. Instead, he obliged, striding forward with purpose, letting the scene play out as his imagination intended. What else could one do in a dream?
A distant rumbling began to sound, not from the overhead thunderclouds, but from down the street. Despite the odd happenstance, Bill shoved it into the far corner of his mind along with the prickling unease that sparked in his gut. The rain continued to drench him as he trudged through the downpour, the water falling over his eyes and making it near impossible to see as he blinked back the cold. As the rainwater cascaded in thick rivers down his back, it seeped into his bones and he began to tremble. Not one speck of light fell through the swollen clouds, and the streetlamps were dim, adding to his unease. Bill pulled his gaze away from clouds and looked to the surrounding buildings, trying to take his mind off of just how off everything seemed so completely and utterly wrong.
He crossed his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders, trying to preserve what little heat he had left. He noticed just how empty the houses around him appeared. They seemed relatively normal on the outside, however, not a single light was on inside. Perhaps no one was awake? The cold windows, fogged with perspiration from the chill, glared him down with fractal glass for eyes. Bill shuddered at the haunting expressions but pressed onwards without a choice.
A crash suddenly rang through the streets, too sharp to be thunder but too loud to be nothing. It had caused Bill to jump, his heartbeat; accelerate, and he tried to pinpoint the source of the noise from ahead. However, because of the thick torrent of rain, it was as if he was trying to look through a curtain. Every one of his muscles tensed in preparation to flee but try as he might in vain, he couldn't stop walking. He feet slipped and he stumbled, ankles bending at odd angles and knees throbbing as he tried to force his legs to cooperate. He felt like a puppet on a string as he continued, now against his will, towards what was steadily growing more likely to be his doom.
More bangs and clatters railed on his ears, the faint hum of rain hitting the sidewalk growing into the deafening roar of a wild animal. Bill struggled to keep composure as the once familiar neighborhood houses around him began to melt into something of an abandoned culdesac. Colors started mixing, dripping from porches and facings, flowing into the storm drains like water down a sink. Pristine paint began to peel, doors began to hang loosely off their rusted hinges, and windows began to shatter in their frames. Yard work was uprooted but cold gusts of wind, trees began to sink in the mud. Still, he was forced to walk on, even as the shudders that wracked his body began to be from more than just the cold.
That's when Bill heard something that snatched his heart from his chest, leaving him feeling cold and empty. A scream pierced the air; shrill, young, and scared. He exhaled, feeling another quake shoot through his bones, breath clouding from his chapped lips. Realization dawned; he knew that scream. He had heard it from outside his bedroom window, not to be confused with the screeching of bike tires that followed. He heard it at the Barrens when they went exploring. He heard it in the throes of laughter from a game of pretend that took a turn for the best.
Georgie.
Bill began to run, his legs now under his command again and propelling him forward.
"JUH-JUH-" He took a gulping breath of air. "JUH-" He bit down on his tongue, trying desperately to coax the word out of his throat, tripping over syllables like shoelaces. His fingers formed fists that quivered with anxiety, but still, Bill ran. The cold began to grow hot from the inside out, heat in his throat as painful as burning coal as he gasps for air. The rain poured harder still, at this rate he was going to drown in the downpour. Yet, the scream sounded once more, louder and continued. It was bloody and laced with a kind of desperation that Bill had never once heard before and never wanted to hear again.
"GEORGIE!" He was finally fit to howl, frantically scanning through the rain for any signs of his younger brother.
Bill began to wheeze, lungs and muscles aching from running against the- now knee-deep- current. Bill kept going, sloshing through the ice water, just knowing that something had gotten his little brother. It was something monstrous, something that had climbed straight out of his worst nightmares. A choked sob worked out of his throat as he pressed on, assuming the worst; that he wasn't moving fast enough. The rain grew louder.
"HELP ME!" And louder.
"GEORGIE!" And louder.
Until the only thing Bill could hear was his own heart, jackhammering in his ears. His stomach did flips. His blood tried to flow through his frozen limbs, certainly now frostbitten from the cold.
Bills own screaming pleas were devoured greedily by the storm. "PLEASE, PLEASE PL-" He could no longer hear his brother. He could no longer tell if he was getting closer or farther away. The water began to turn heavy, sticky-like molasses, and nearly impossible to tread. One thought surfaced in Bill's mind. He failed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't save his brother.
Then, it all went quiet. The roar dissipated to a soft murmur, a soft sigh, and then faded altogether. Stuck in the frozen water, kicking and turning in a pathetic attempt to just MOVE, Bill was forced to watch in trepidation as the rain touched the concrete roads without a sound, like the world had been put on mute. Even his own breathing, his own grunts and choked coughs were silent as they left his throat.
Suddenly, a bone-breaking laughter echoed through the silence; an inhuman sound that shuddered though Bill like an earthquake. His stomach churned, nauseated as the off-putting stench of sewage wafted under his nose. The feeling grew worse as an unmanned voice ahead spoke in garbled english.
"Did you think you could save him?" The screaming returned, and with the rain inaudible, it was amplified; raw and painful.
"Did you really think he would be safe?" Bill shook his head, no longer able to do anything, not even feel his legs.
"THIS IS YOUR FAULT, BILL." It's all his fault.
"BILLY!" There was a sickening crack, and with his terror clouding his mind, Bill associated it to the time when he and Georgie had accidentally broken a window, after their mom had told them not to play ball inside. It was the sound of Georgie's neck being broken. Bill closed his eyes and shook his head as a savage tearing noise followed, forcing him to imagine the lions on some nature documentary eating their prey. That's-That's what It was doing, he realized. It was eating Georgie.
No. No. No. NO!
Bill lifted his hands to his ears, trying to block out the disgusting squelches and slurps of his little brother's carcass being devoured by a great monster, but the image stuck; a long-limbed demon crouched above his brother's body with teeth like razor blades and three grinning mouths.
The scent of copper began to mix with sewage, overbearing and forced a gag from his mouth. Bill's eyes stayed shut, his ears remained closed but he could still hear It, unable to tell if It was real or just his imagination.
"YOU LET HIM DIE."
"NO!"
Something like a bear trap snapped over one of Bill's ankles, the pain forcing his eyes open and a shriek from his throat. Through the grey water, he saw glowing yellow eyes, a claw wrapped around his ankle with nails embedding in his skin and an outstretched mouth, full of teeth. It was the monster of his nightmare and It was hungry.
"GEORGIE!" Bill screeched once more as he fought against the force attempting to pull him under. He shook head and tried to push away but it was no use.
Now, he thought in his terror, he was the one calling for help.
"GEORGIE!"
That was the last word that escaped his lips before he was pulled under, mouth filling with both water and air as he jerked between dream and reality, fighting hard to just wake up.
WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKE-
He jolted awake and in his bed, panting in the aftershock of a nightmare too real to just be a dream. Layered in a cold and sticky sweat, he nearly sobbed in relief, sitting up and ignoring the tremble of his hands as he wiped both crust and tears out of his eyes.
A sharp tug over one of his ankles caused his breathing to stall, his heart to skip a beat and his throat to croak in a failed attempt at a scream. He flailed, readying himself to strike as he ripped his foot out of Its hold, too much force causing a cramp seize through the muscles that had him clenching his teeth against the pain. Had not been for the moonlight gazing through his window blinds in those fleeting moments, Bill would have made a mistake.
Georgie stood at the end of his bed, hand taken back from where it had gently pulled at his older brothers foot in an attempt to wake him from his bad dream. Bill looked him over, mouth open and closing, lips forming a stutter that doesn't sound. It was bad, Georgie could tell, by how matted his hair was, how pale he was, how Bill didn't look like he was even really awake.
"Billy?" He asked, his voice hesitant. "Are you o-" A light squeak of sound escaped his lips as his older brother suddenly cradled him into his arms, on his knees at the end of his bed, nearly forcing Georgie into his lap. Bill rests his chin atop his brothers head, keeping him close and nearly sobbing.
"I'm fuh-fuh-fine." He managed to get out.
He wasn't.
Tears stung his eyes even as he tried to force them away. Georgie didn't try to squirm out of his grasp, he just sighed and relaxed into his brother's arms, patting his clammy back with a kind of certainty only an understanding sibling can hold.
"You were shouting." He mumbled into Bill's ear. "I thought you were calling me." Bill felt his breath hitch in his throat.
"Duh-Did I wake yuh-you up?" He asked, swallowing the stone in his throat and shifting a bit as Georgie tried to get comfortable, crawling onto the bed and letting his brother move to better throw an arm over his shoulder.
"Yeah." Georgie admitted. Bill pulled him closer, shivers still running through him. He tried to pretend that Georgie couldn't feel them. "You were shaking an' screamin' in bed. Callin' my name, all scared." Bill bit his lip, shaking his head and clearing his throat once more to explain away his sudden clingy nature.
"I duh-do-don-" He stopped to take a mouthful of air.
Try to calm down, it's just a dream.
The stutter was never this bad when talking to Georgie. Understably, the nightmare had made the stutter worse, but it was more than infuriating to Bill, stalling so bad while talking to the one person he was most relaxed around. His brother seemed to sense his growing agitation at himself and again, patted him on the back. Another breath, in and out.
"I don't ruh-remember. I thu-think I had a buh-buh-buh-" He clenched and unclenched his jaw before trying again. "Bad dream."
There. Done.
"It must have been." Georgie agreed. "You're all sweaty." Bill let out a garbled laugh at the easy and innocent statement, separating himself from his brother and wiping his nose.
"Suh-sorry." Georgie shrugged.
"S'okay." He grumbled. "Just warn me next time." Bill smiled, nudging his brother carefully with a bump, shoulder to shoulder.
"I wuh-will." He agreed. This would be written down as one of their moments that- Had everything happened the way It wanted it to- wouldn't ever have come to be. Their moment of beating the monster in a world full of darkness, letting the light shine through. Bill didn't know how long they stayed like that. He didn't care. Time passed in a blurry haze, and at some point, they fell back asleep, still wrapped in each other's arms.
