Your brain ascends to the higher plane of existence.
No, no, it's too early. Pennywise said nine months. NINE. This is too early.
But the shell continues to crack, flaking all over the treasure chest it resided before your mind returns back and swiftly kicks you into high gear.
You dump the parts of the sewing machine, then dive into your room, dragging out the blankets and wet towels as you had planned. You were suddenly glad that you gone on that shopping binge and start to pace around the treasure chest where Eggy slowly hatches.
Breathe, breathe. Remember your Lamaze classes.
Then you snap back, reminding yourself that your child's an egg and is doing all the pushing. Also, you never went to Lamaze classes.
But still, you pace around, hoping that the early hatching doesn't mean that Eggy's ill or comes out d- NO, don't think about that! Eggy is strong, she'll make it! She has too.
"C'mon baby, you can do it." You whisper, your hands hover over her, not knowing if it's fine to touch or just allow Eggy to do all the work. God, you wish Penny's here…you wish he could see this.
But then you remember his fury, his inability to apologize sincerely and all the threats and blames, and you shove his face out of your head. You don't have time for his bullshit, you need to focus on your child.
Then you hear, it was soft, so very soft, but it was there: a mewling chirp, not unlike a chatter of insects and purrs of a cat, Eggy mewled as one of her limbs, a bony arm shoots out, grasping for air, followed by another, then another and a forest of copper hair, slimed and long juts out. Eggy's flat skull emerged, covered in muck as her mouth, impossibly wide, yawns showing rows and rows of tiny teeth, already sharp and deadly.
Despite being eyeless, Eggy's head turns towards you, sensing your presence and cries out and it takes everything in your heart to not break from just how beautiful she is. Arms stretched out, you grasp your baby, your baby and gently pull her out from the shell.
Eggy – you have to give her a new name now – was small compared to the egg she once stayed in, roughly the size of a newborn human baby. Her limbs, all eight, each with five digits on them curled around you and you hold her like she's the most fragile thing in the world. As she feels cold, you wrap her with one of the blankets you had bought, heedless of the slime that coats her unearthly pale, white skin.
She mewls and hums and you find yourself responding the same.
"Hello, little one, it's me, Mama," you say.
And she purrs, one of her arms stretch out to touch your face and you touch them, marveling at its softness.
She's perfect, your beautiful half-human child.
Your pepper her face with kisses and she mews with delight and you give a quiet laugh then you hear a loud growl coming from your child's stomach.
"Aw, are you hungry?"
With some difficulty, you manage to juggle making formula you have bought. Part of you hopes that it would be enough, and you give a tiny prayer as soon as the bottle touches her lips. To your immense relief, Eggy latches on, hard, eager for the liquid sustenance. And before you could blink, the bottle was empty.
Eggy lets out a tiny, adorable burp, then slowly sinks into your arms. It takes you a while (because having nothing but a mouth on your face makes it hard to determine this) but as soon as you felt her small body purr and vibrate you realized that your child had fallen asleep. Once, she had fallen into deep slumber, you gently wash away the slime and muck.
You decided to clean the egg remnants later and opted instead to call your work again for a day off, then your curl up in bed, tucking Eggy beside you. You gaze upon this life, this little one, and smile until finally slumber takes you too.
He felt it, deep within his lights.
A new life is here.
Oh, how marvelous and wonderful! There's joy and there's pride but also uncertainty.
Too soon. He knows that his offspring should not have been here. Then why?
He couldn't have miscalculated…and yet, his offspring is here. Ignoring the dread building him, he spreads out, seeking her energy source. Derry is but a speck now, lines of life and emotions stretched out before him. He ignores them and seeks what he's looking for. The barrier is still there but it's wavering and amidst the dips he snatch glimpses of your baby's life sign.
It holds yes, but wavers and it's utterly brittle.
His stomach sinks – he is right, it is too soon. Your child is malformed, weak and is clinging to your life line when by right she needn't have too.
He unleashes a howl, angry and deep. It's wrong, it's all wrong – WHY? WHY? Your child had been destined for strength, unheard off from such union and yet, her lights are dim, dimmer than the vision he had seen when he first lay it. Even though the barrier is still strong enough to repel him and protect you, he knows it wouldn't be long before it breaks. Not long from now, a few days more.
You'd be vulnerable and he wants to delight in that, some part still does but not at that cost.
Not his child, no.
Why? WHY? He asks and he turns to dip into his memories and whatever flicker of information that he can grab during the falls. He hears you reminiscing about clothes, such mortal worries and then, of course Billy boy. He allows himself a small smile, ah, that fuck's face when he realized his little message.
Wait…
Earlier that day, you had bumped into Billy boy...later the egg hatches.
It clicks and he slams back into the physical realm, apoplectic with rage.
THOSE FUCKING BRATS.
For a moment he regrets leaving that Hanlon runt at the hospital. He had been banking on using Hanlon to stir fear among his friends but he did not account for Billy boy. The little shit who should have been his last meal before the long sleep. Instead, they rallied around him and had the audacity to nearly end him. He had thought the years had weakened the boy, adulthood should have removed whatever power he had to defeat him.
The clown paces in his lair.
What is he missing? That old, senile, fuck is dead, his meddling no more and yet he could sense that the wretched turtle's hand in the whole situation. Part of him wishes Maturin still lived, if only to for him to tear out that turtle's head, then shit on his remains.
His offspring is vulnerable, somehow coming to life before she is ready.
And it's all Billy boy's fault.
Fuck his plans, he will murder them all now!
So, he went, forgoing his favourite form, he turns back into the Deadlights and rushes through time and space, intent on killing but as soon as he arrived at that hospital room he finds that he could not.
He stares at the building, parts incredulous and parts fury.
Once more, he's force to acknowledge that he had made a mistake. There are no longer a powerful seven, since they dwindled to six but together, they brim not of fear but of anger…righteous, sickening anger.
And it repels him.
It's that awful, awful stench from before and he feels that old fear, alien but familiar and he backs away. It hurts his pride but he knows; he knows that if he attacks them now he will be defeated.
Permanently.
It's inconceivable; him, an Eternal with an End, but he knows deep within his lights that is what will come to be if he dares attack them now.
He needs them separated, divided but it seems his little playtime with Mikey will make it difficult. Billy boy's face is grim and determined, he orders them to stay close, brooking no complaints. He didn't stutter, not even once. The man-boy sees only a vision of his younger brother, crying out in pain and he vows 'never again'. They surround Hanlon, their shield impenetrable.
He backs away, oh, he promises the pain, yes, but first he has someone he needs to visit. He just hopes that you'd be wiser this time…