Notes: After the heartbreak that was part 50, I had to tackle the storm drain scene - through the ITerations' lens. Starting right after the "take iT" line.
Pretty sure the dodge-a-car scenario's been done before, but hey, have you looked at IT's box office records? Not hard to believe two fans out of millions could have the same general idea.
Recommended OST: "Crossing A Line" by Mike Shinoda.
"Crossing A Line"
K+ (for mild peril)
Nothing in Derry, Maine happened by accident.
Except... when it did.
"Kid! Get outta the road!"
Reaching for the paper boat, held just out of his reach, Georgie Denbrough didn't see the sedan turn the corner.
He heard the driver's voice before he saw it.
And, bald tires slipping on the asphalt, the sedan didn't so much turn the corner as hydroplane around it.
Georgie's head jerked sideways, over his extended shoulder, eyes wide. In that instant, the sensation of rain pelting him, of cold water running over his legs, simply vanished. He swore he could feel his pupils shrink in the sudden glare of the high-beam headlights.
Belatedly, his ear caught that strange voice, so oddly pitched before as it had spoken to him from the gutter.
But the warning it cried out with now was clear as a bell.
"Oh! WatCh out!"
Georgie's right hand was still outstretched, elbow-deep in the gutter.
Frozen in that awkward half second before the fear for his life set in, the pain jarred him back to reality.
The sharp pain of - what felt like - a jagged-toothed beartrap closing on the inside of said elbow.
Next was the tremendous pull of weight grabbing on from below, the pressure on his joint doubling in awful, nerve-numbing intensity. It yanked him downward, flush against the curb.
Acting on automatic, Georgie's left hand thought to brace himself on the drain's upper edge.
Before his face could connect with the wet cement.
"Ow!"
From behind, he felt- heard the loud hiss of water kicking up.
The car passed through a recess in the road. Heavy drops from the puddle were flung back into the air by its spinning tires. Mist flying from the wheel wells, the driver had the audacity to honk as the chromed, rusting corner of their bumper just missed their would-be target.
Georgie belatedly thought to yell in fright, to cover the back of his head with his left hand. He turned his head away from the oncoming water.
The spray washed over him like a wave, combing its way up into the air only to crash on the beach.
And just as quickly as it began, the ordeal was over.
Stepping on the gas, the sedan continued its flight down the street.
Around another corner.
Out of sight.
The rain kept on falling as though nothing had happened.
Then, after a few tense breaths, the vicelike pain around his elbow eased.
The boy laid there, facedown and spread-eagled against the curb, with his arm overstretched - down in the dark where he could no longer see it. He thought, blinking in a slow, dumbfounded manner, about how he was hurting, heart hammering, for several more seconds before he finally wrenched back.
To get up on his knees.
To try and stand.
Only to fall down and cry.
Cry as he never had before.
In pain. Alarm.
Fear.
His shoulder ached. And something warm was running down his arm. His elbow, the rain slicker there was torn.
Wisps of red leaked from the myriad of punctures in the yellow rubber, trailing down his forearm. They were whisked away by the raindrops as quickly as they appeared.
He was hurt.
Bleeding.
There were bound to be as many holes in his skin as there were in his slicker's and sweater's sleeves.
Like he had been stabbed by the business-end of an oversized pincushion.
Wincing, he held up his maimed arm.
Turned his hand over, gingerly, palm up. He flexed his fingers.
That had hurt.
But his arm was still there.
Sore, but there.
When it had felt, for just a split second, like it was being scissored off.
By what? What could have done this?
It's as though some... some animal tried to-
Not giving the boy a second longer to process the fact, to wonder just what had caused this injury, Fate hurried onward with its business.
"Hey."
Georgie flinched, looked up.
Scooted backward on his knees, clumsily, as his galoshes slipped uselessly.
Held his bleeding arm to his side.
Pennywise had crawled out of the drain.
Somewhat.
The clown had emerged as far as his belted waist, leaning on his elbows, hands flat on the road.
That ruffled suit, now the trembling boy could see just how colorless it was. He hadn't been able to see much of it in the dark, shadowy drain. The onslaught of rain only painted it a darker shade of gray.
But never mind that.
How the clown had managed to squeeze through such a narrow space, without hurting himself, much less ruining his makeup or costume...
Georgie would think about that later.
As before, he was too transfixed, gazing into those blue irises.
They had seemed to glow from inside the drain.
Out in the meager daylight, they were just as impossibly vibrant.
With locks of wet, stringy hair hanging in said eyes, the clown's expression was almost unreadable.
Almost.
Then Pennywise frowned, brow furrowing with concern.
"You... okAy?"
He spoke softly, almost too soft to be heard against the rain. Like he was apprehensive to even ask. And it was a simple enough question.
Georgie's lip trembled at hearing it. He clutched at his arm, impulsively.
He sobbed again, hot tears sliding down his cold cheeks.
"T-h-they di-didn't see me."
He couldn't say anymore. His shoulders were shaking, too fraught with nerves, too overcome by emotion.
Then, after a spell, when he got ahold of himself.
Something moved out of the corner of his eye.
Through his moist eyelashes, he looked.
Gloved fingers, toying with the loose corner of his hood.
Pennywise was still there.
He no longer looked concerned.
The frown had creased into a scowl.
He was glaring.
With eyes that were once blue - now they were yellow, a turbid amber-yellow, veering closer to orange.
And his voice, whereas before it was soft and comforting...
Now it was half a growl.
"BrighT yellow, and they couldN't see yOu."
Slowly, as if just remembering he wasn't alone on that flooded street, the clown glanced up.
Up and through the sides of those ugly, yellow eyes.
"Go home, GeorgIe. I'Ll take caRe of it."
Take care of...?
The boy's head jerked up again.
Alone.
He's leaving you alone.
No.
There's still-
"Wait."
Impulsively, Denbrough reached out with his left hand, to grab the clown's shoulder.
His fingers closed around a handful of damp satin.
Pennywise stopped short, black-rimmed eyes widening.
"...WhaT?"
They stared at each other for another short while.
Enough time for Georgie to watch - from close up - as those irises slowly darkened from yellow back to cerulean.
From the insides out.
Like two suns being eclipsed in different directions.
The child's chin started to shiver.
From dread, from cold.
Some combination of the two.
Even as he startled to tremble, he couldn't help but wonder at the strange, lilting expression Pennywise was starting to bear.
Why does he suddenly look so... scared?
No.
Maybe not downright scared.
But certainly uneasy.
Just a little.
Fearing for your life always made things, in the moment, seem more exaggerated than they really were.
That one of those things, here and now, was a clown...
Or had the appearance of one...
You get the idea.
Instead of asking about it, Georgie's mouth said something far more innocous.
"My... boat. Do you still have her?"
Pennywise squinted at him, striped cheeks puffing up in newfound thought, red nose wrinkling.
"HeR...?"
Shakily, Georgie smiled.
The last few tears slid from their ducts.
And just as soon as it had started, his chin stopped shivering by the time he spoke again.
"You always call boats she."
All things considered, looking back a year later, a scratched-up arm was the least of the damage he might have suffered that day.
Were it not for It.
And they'll tell you I don't care anymore
And I hope you'll know that's a lie
'Cause I found what I have been waiting for
But to get there means crossing a line
