~~~Consequences. Stan goes through leftovers of trauma. Trust issues AU~~~

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What was meant to be a scream came out as a distorted wail as a jolt catapulted Stan into a sitting position. His fingers gripped the thin sheets with such firmness that they'd be strangled instantly had they been a living thing. A retch escaped him and he leaned over the bed's edge in time for his stomach to eject what was left of the disgusting hospital food he was forced to eat that evening. His abdominal muscles protested painfully, and he barely managed a wheeze before another wave, milder this time, made it out of his system followed by torturous coughs. Stan gripped the bed's edge, feeling hot tears creep down his cheeks that mingled with strings of burning stomach acid hanging off his lips. The boy engaged into series of frantic wheezes, pushing away the bitter remnants of the dream, practically feeling edges of his mouth burn from pressure and pain of being forced apart, and he took a moment to observe the surroundings.

It was dark and it hit Stan just how much it stank in the room, not including the vomit, so he had to give his ultimate best to prevent another contraction of his traitorous stomach. The hospital was cold, and provided no safety or comfort at all in the hideout of its thin blankets, hard mattress and a too small pillow. Stan eyed his foot which screamed in pain at his abrupt awakening, and saw it wrapped in the cast white as snow. The sight made him whine in between the wheezes, sounding more like a dying animal than a distressed boy.

The room seemed too big for only one bed, the one Stan was occupying, and such amount of privacy wouldn't usually bother him, but the fact that the nurses were cold, stern and impatient, talking down to him only to bark orders as if Stan was a dog, and that his parents had left as soon as the doctor had told them everything was fine, without even greeting or taking a look at their injured son, made Stanley start crying for real. He was so, so alone and so cold and terrified, and couldn't find comfort in anything at all.

„Help", he moaned, dragging the balls of his hands over his eyes and the sound barely resonated in empty space. „He-help me... please..." Stan couldn't believe it was his voice; weak and torn, childish, completely pathetic like his current state of mind and body. The nightmare still had him in its grip like an imp that wouldn't release its victim once it was latched on, but it felt too real in every sense. It ramified like river's delta into grief, fear and despair, making Stan believe he had never felt worse in his life, and that he'd never be happy again.

A sound and a slight movement in darkness made him look up with a startled gasp. His heart skipped a beat when the shadows of the nearest corner moved, and then parted to reveal a figure clad in silver, a pale oversized head burning orange and kind blue eyes observing him from above. Stan's face smoothed out, eyes glistening with recognition and the room was suddenly much less cold. Pennywise didn't need a verbal invitation. Within moments, he was already kneeling at the bed's side with the child's arms wrapped around his neck, face hidden in the safety of the familiar ruffles.

The clown waited patiently, flicking a finger effortlessly along the way to perish the vomit, letting Stan's sobs thin out before asking in a hushed voice: „What's the matter?"

Stan sniffed, trying to catch a breath and lifting his head to dig his chin into the broad shoulder, fresh tears spilling over. Deep inside, however, there was no telling how grateful he was hearing somebody else's voice, much less directed at his own well being.

„They... they got me", he managed between the hiccups. „He- he made me... he put his... he shoved it down my throat... he... I don't..." Whether his mouth wouldn't form words, his brain surely rewound the horrid images of two crackheads that wouldn't let him sleep for days now. „And you... y-you weren't th-there. You left me. You left... Pennywise...", the name was squeezed out through clenched teeth as fresh tears descended from Stan's fatigued eyes, desperately begging for help.

How angry the clown was in that moment was unfathomable to human knowledge, and he would be gladly obliged to vomit the subjects out and finish them off again in ways so dire their own souls would never find peace, but he kept his face and eyes comfortably consoling as he pried Stanley's grip off him as gently as possible so that he could see his exhausted face.

„I never left", the clown chittered sadly, buckteeth hooked below his lower lip in woebegone expression, Stan's radiating agony jabbing at his senses. „I-I would never leave you... I p-promised, I did. Please, don't cry. You're m-making me sad, too."

Stan observed Penny's face, crestfallen as his own, wearing a pained countenance, like the clown was the subject of dire molesting, and not him. Still, it didn't help ease the burning toxic ache that took refuge in both his mind and body. „But it hurts..." he whispered, more tears spilling over. „It hurts so much... I can't- t-take it anymore. I want it to stop. Please..." he gripped the huge gloved hands that came to hold the sides of his face with all quavering strength he had left. „Please... make it stop."

Pennywise gave a soft chirrup when Stanley dove back against his shoulder, a noise gladly welcome in the boy's ears, counterpointing from the chaos in his head which indeed hurt even more than his injured leg. Pennywise felt nauseating constriction in his throat that descended down to his stomach and clenched him like a death grip. It was unnerving how the air of the other Losers could so easily affect him, but if it wasn't the part of the creature's nature, then nothing was.

Stan felt like he was stuck walking through a heavy swamp, unable to persist against the stuffy air any further and feeling life drench out of his person like water from an old rug. The stench and vacancy of the room didn't contribute in the least, and he couldn't have been more convinced in that moment that the whole world went against him. He could vaguely register one of the clown's enormous hands laying against the back of his curls, barely paying it any mind and simply settling down with the fact that he was no longer alone. For now, that would do.

Until pure relief followed the sensation of the boy's muscles relaxing and the spiny air of angst diluting like spring water, all of a sudden, though gradually, it could be felt shifting, and heaviness was gone just like that. The nightmare remnants that had to have been forcefully kept at bay until now were gone in a two-seconds-long instant, whirling in a vortex of defeat whose source Stan faintly determined coming from the palm against his head. It was almost impossible to his rational brain, hitting him in common sense like... well, magic.

Breathing now harmonized with Penny's own, Stan leaned back, exhaustion still coating his dark eyes, but with no trace of previous pain. If there was a slight sprinkle of confusion in them, the clown-looking entity was proud to notice it. „Wha..." the words were a breath. „What did you do?"

Pennywise smiled sweetly, front teeth showing. „I fixed it", he repeated what he had once said, and it seemed like ages have rolled by since. „I made it better. So you don't have to worry anymore."

Stan looked like he was going to say something, but lacked energy to do so, and Penny's spark did its part. The boy blinked slowly, completely serene, unflustered and relieved, making a soft smile of his own slowly blossom on his face; it was small and tired, but spoke volumes of gratitude. His mind felt light, somnolent, but at long last, finally undisturbed, and a silent laugh escaped him before he could put his emotions in a somewhat conceivable order.

It took him another second to realize that. However, the clown was instantly hit by the change in his behavior, unhesitatingly leaning in to nuzzle Stan in the face, satisfied to no ends when he emitted a heartfelt giggle from the child, and it made the creature purr candidly even more so when he reached out to pet his fiery hair back. Stanley knew the clown had no sense of personal space, but he was long past the point of caring by now, and was instantly greeted with brilliant blue eyes mere inches from his own, which he just now realized were impossible to express nothing but inquisitive and lively; somewhere in there burying an insatiable care for the lot of Losers. Stan's chest constricted again, but for a different reason entirely.

„Thanks, Cheetah."

Penny backed away, feeling Stan's words reach far deeper than what he had just done. A single look into his chocolate brown eyes filled with warmth was enough to confirm it, and Pennywise returned the dimpled smile he was given, flexing the lines along his cheeks he was just newly proclaimed by. Even though the word by itself made no sense to the clown, he would now forever link it to Stan, as another one on the long list of Losers' nicknames.

The rest of the night saw Stan peacefully asleep, no longer wary of the shadows of the sleep, breathing rhythmical and slow in the solitary room. Only, he was no longer alone. There was a monster under his bed, but with a sole purpose of protecting the boy from the real monsters of the outside world.