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antisociallilbrat · 2 years

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We're The Losers, And We Always Will Be Chp. 10

Read on Ao3

Chp. 9

Chp. 10

Summary: Stan talks to a lost love and Syd sees torment

Warnings: Stan's infamous bath scene is referenced a few times, Bev's dad is mentioned but not in heavy detail, only like a line or two, and there's some major graphic MENTIONED character death. It involves a dr*g overd*se and a s*icide, if need too you can skip Syd's part. If I missed any warnings just let me know

A/N: I WILL FINISH THIS FIC I SWEAR. Anyways I'm back on my bullshit

Since Stan has been in Derry it has felt like there’s this, this voice, screaming at him to leave, and it feels guilty.

He hasn’t wanted to remember anything. Still not convinced this isn’t some sick joke. Or better yet, maybe he took some bad poppers at a party and he’s stuck in a coma. Maybe he saw a rerun of Jacob’s trial, that’s why he’s making a guest appearance. He always thought the guy was cute so he's playing his love interest. Of course, Syd is here, he knows her, and Wendell, Sonny, and Freddy are probably just the faces he’s seen at said party. Mike though, fuck, Mike is the thing that shatters the hopeful fantasy of just being stuck in a coma.

Mike- Richie- the Trashmouth, who is Stan Uris’s best friend. Mike, who is infuriatingly so much like Stanley Uris and like how Stan Barber is like Richie Tozier. That can’t be a coincidence. He would argue his jokes are far better though. Also now that he has started to remember Richie, is he really that annoying? He’ll have to ask Syd.

The few memories that have forced their way in, some good, some bad, are mainly of Mike- Richie. Growing up with him and confiding with him when being gay and the son of the Rabbi became too much. Being Jewish in his past life isn't surprising, since he’s still genetically Jewish. He would like to say he can’t imagine the pressure that went with being the son of the Rabbi but he can remember his Father’s scolding eyes just fine. He always thought Stan was too much of a ‘fairy’ and too soft. His Father would call him a fairy because of how much time he would spend with Bill.

“That Denbrough boy is turning you into a faggot.”

And Bill, the man who's books have always been a sense of escape growing up in this life- the voice inside his head roars with such a ferocity whenever he tries to remember anything about him. It uses the same intensity it has when it’s screaming at him to turn around and leave Derry. He’s only going to get them- no, he’s not going there. He can’t, his heart hurts.

Yet Jacob has been nothing but comfort since they’ve been here but he can’t get too close. Stan doesn’t shrink back at thought of being gay, or of having gay feelings for Jacob. Or Bill? It’s the same person- kinda. What scares him is the feeling of heartbrokenness that surrounds the idea of Bill. Whenever a memory threatens to leak through, the voice just tightens the chains around it. Honestly, he thinks he prefers it that way.

He doesn’t care if they’re supposed to be out remembering, trying to figure out what went wrong during the ritual. He doesn’t want to remember. The longer he’s in Derry, it feels like he’s losing his choice in that.

Especially now as he sits in the synagogue, the place where he properly pissed off his Father at his Bar Mitzvah, sitting by his best friend who is entirely too much like his past self, as he stares up at the face of his wife. Or the wife of Stanley Uris. For a moment, the voice in his head runs quiet. “Patty?”

“Stanley? Is that really you?” She dashes as fast her aged body can carry her over to the stop of the spiral staircase, her slippers shuffling against the carpet, “Oh please, please come where I can see you.”

Apprehension runs down the back of his neck, this could easily be a trick of It’s. Mike squeezes his shoulder, causing him to jump at the sudden contact. Mike doesn’t notice as his eyes are still on Patty, probably thinking the same thing.

“Stanley,” she pleads, descending the stairs, back into the light.

Now that he can see her better, any tension bleeds out of his body. She’s not just one of It's games, she’s just Patty. That’s enough to get him on his feet. Mike stands with him, his hand still steady on his shoulder.

“It’s okay Rich, it’s just Patty,” he says as reassuringly as he can.

Mike gives him a look, his eyes worried behind the magnified lens, “You two know each other?

“Yeah, we’re…,” he searches for the words, this is so overly complicated, “we’re old friends,” he settles on. Not a lie but not nearly enough of the truth, that’ll just have to wait till they’re in the safety of the others.

Mike scoffs, but he must sense Stan’s reluctance to push the issue, letting his hand fall from his shoulder, “Then I’ll give you two some time to catch up,” he spares another glance back at Patty, still untrusting, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” The “So I’ll be close enough to hear you scream if you need help,” goes unsaid but still appreciated nonetheless.

Patty ushers him up the stairs and unsteadily he follows her to an all too familiar office, his Father's old one. She’s tried to make the place homier, with a comfortable couch and pictures of what must be family and friends, and there's a candle lit, its applewood scent trying to override the inherently musty smell of the room. It’s not working.

The ugly green carpet has at least been ripped out and replaced with hardwood but the wallpaper is still that piss yellow. There’s a stain on the wall where a large painting was replaced. The flute lady and her crooked face, he can still hear her wretched music and feel the rows of her teeth around his face, she’s going to rip his face off- He shakes off the nightmare, rubbing at the sides of his face and expecting to feel the silvery skin of scars. There’s none, for now.

The flute lady’s painting has been replaced with a smaller frame. It’s a photo of a smiling couple. Patty was beautiful in her younger years, she's still pretty now- just in a grandmotherly way, and it’s easy to see why he married her. Beside her, the face of Stanley Uris stares back at him.

His hair is even darker than it is now, curls immaculate, a kippah resting on the top of his head. Stanley Barber has never worn a kippah a day in his life. He’s clean-shaven with thin framed reading glasses perched on his nose. He's dressed in fancily crisp khaki pants and a baby blue button-down tucked into his pants. If he wore something like that, Syd would look at him like he’s grown a second head. He has the same sentiment, he would never dress like that. He's wearing sandals right now for fuck's sake, Stanley Uris wouldn't do that. And it may just be his imagination but Uris's eyes look haunted, and the eye bags tell him that Stanley Uris never got a lot of sleep. In the days leading up to Wendell’s summoning, he barely slept too. Too busy being plagued with nightmares of bathtubs filled with blood, blood that was coming from him.

“You grow up to be very handsome.” Patty breaks him out of his scrutiny of Uris, standing beside him.

“Huh, if you say so."

“I do say so.” She tells him, turning to pull out the chair across from her desk, “Come on then, I’m sure you have questions.” She wraps the blanket that was on the back of her chair around herself, even though she's in a pink sweater. He remembers her being perpetually cold.

But she is right, he does have one particular question gnawing at him. He takes his seat as Patty sits across from him in her desk chair, vaguely reminding him of a principal's office. Like when he would get busted for smoking pot in the bathrooms, simpler times.

Stan swallows the lump in his throat and asks the question he’s not entirely sure he wants the answer to, “How did you know? How did you know I was Stanley?” How much does she know is what he needs to know. Does she know about It? And how did she end up in Derry? How badly did he break her heart?

“After being married for nearly twenty years, a wife knows her husband, although I suppose my husband died in 1994 as I’ve always thought.” She says this matter of fact, despite the small smile.

“...And what do you make of me?”

She studies him for a moment, “I don’t know. I know you’re Stanley, but I don’t think you’re quite my Stanley,” she leans over her desk and whispers, “But there are some things that we’re not supposed to understand and I’m okay with that. After the life I’ve lived, I take comfort in my blissful ignorance and the knowledge that there are bigger forces that are just outside my understanding. That used to annoy my Stanley, such a factual man he was.” She falls back in her seat.

He snorts, “Yeah, I think me and him had different views on things. Sometimes I can’t believe we’re the same person.”

“No, I see him in you. You’re more like him than you think, I can just sense it.”

That stops him short. Patty had just given him reassurance for an insecurity he didn’t even know he had. This whole time he’s looked at Stanley Uris as this unattainable idea, there was no way he could live up to who he was, he was just so different. But hearing Patty, the woman he loved and was married to in his past life say that they’re alike, helps.

“So do I have to worry about suddenly having the urge to dress like a mini lawyer?”

“Accountant actually,” she corrects with a giggle.

He smiles at her, proud of himself for making her laugh. He’s missed it. Being here with Patty, it’s the lightest he’s felt since he’s gotten here, or in weeks. Besides last night when he was with Jacob, but that was more feeling safe than light. He wishes he could just stay with her, or at least at this moment, but it can’t last. Not when Patty’s eyes get a faraway look in them, remembering something.

“Do you remember the night Mike Hanlon called our home?” she asks him.

No. Yes. Kinda. He doesn’t remember the details, doesn’t want to, but he remembers how he felt. Being so terrified he didn’t know if he was even going to come back. That maybe he’d be better off dead. If it wasn't for the urgency he had felt to get back to the losers, to get back to Bill, he doesn’t know what he would’ve done that night. What he should’ve done.

Patty, thankfully, doesn’t wait for him to answer, “I do. I relive it every day. After that phone call, my husband throwing clothes into a suitcase, not even bothering to fold them,” she laughs but it’s not that funny, “I tried to talk to him, to find out what was going on, to help even, if he’d just talk to me, but it was like talking to a ghost. He left his sparrow puzzle half done on the coffee table, I had gotten it for him for his birthday,” her voice breaks as she sniffles, “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” he chokes out. He’s so mad at Stanley Uris for putting Patty through that, but it’s just guilt. He did that, wasn’t even aware he did that, but now he can pay for his past life’s mistakes, at least the best he can. “I never wanted to leave you like that, I just- I had to come back to Derry.”

Patty wipes a few stray tears away, “I know. I know that now. I don’t understand why, but that’s okay. After you had left, I never heard from you again. I filed a missing person report, I wasn’t sure what else to do, but the police weren’t much help. They never are. It didn’t help when my parents found out about your disappearance. For a while my father had me convinced you had left me for a man, he always thought you were a little queer,” Stan swallows down more guilt as Bill pops into his head, “But I was just angry and scared. It was easier to think you had left me for someone else, but you wouldn’t have done it like that. So I went searching for answers. Even called up your parents in New York. I had forgotten how dreadful your father was.”

There’s a vague sense he lived in New York during his college years, but that time wasn’t important. Not important enough to remember, but…that’s where he met Patty. At some stupid college party and he had thought she was the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. The smell of her perfume and her soft hands cradling his face. He was in love the moment he saw her. She’s much more pleasant to remember than the harshness of his father who also lived in New York. Compared to remembering Derry and It, remembering Patty is safe. The voice in his head doesn’t scream at her memories.

She continues her story, “Your parents were absolutely no help, and your father made the same jab about you probably leaving me for a man,” of course he did, “But your mother mentioned your childhood home, Derry. Which was funny because you never spoke about your childhood,” because Stanley Uris didn’t remember it, didn’t want to either, “And on a whim, I decided to travel up here. It was Mike Hanlon from Derry that called, so it made sense.”

“And you never left?” The idea of Patty being in Derry all these years, it’s a little scary. She’s not safe as long as she’s here.

“Well, that wasn’t the plan. When I first came here, no one would talk to me. I learned quickly that Derry didn’t like outsiders. Even filed another missing person report with the Derry police, but they were too fixated solving the escape and the murders at the Mental Institution. They never did. Then I discovered the Neilbolt house.”

A chill runs down his spine. “Please tell me you didn’t go in there.”

“No I didn’t, but it answered my questions because I felt It. ”

“It?!” he squeaks.

“Yes Stanley, it. The presence of an otherworldly being. A thing outside of my understanding, a thing that didn’t concern me but entirely concerned my husband. The reason you went away.” Patty is talking about IT, but she doesn’t know what IT is, not like how he does. And all he knows about It is terror.

“But then why did you stay here? Knowing that there was this thing here that kil- caused me to go missing?” More importantly, is there any way he can convince her to leave now? It’s woken it up, who knows what It’ll do.

As she tells her story, she starts to visibly relax and her silent tears start to dry up. As if just telling him her story is making her feel better. She's had a lot of time to keep it bottled up. So Patty hums, amused, “I’m not sure. I just kinda stuck around. Being here helped me feel close to you, and before I knew it I had rented an apartment and was teaching at the elementary school. Then not long after that, I got involved with the synagogue and now I’m one of the leaders here. Ironically I built my life in the same place my husband lost his.”

Stan flinches. He hates thinking about the fact that he’s technically died before, and it has him jonesing for a blunt. Or at least a cigarette.

He reaches across and grabs her hand- she still wears her wedding ring- resting on the desk, it’s wrinkled with age but he grasps it tightly, “And you’ve had a good life? After me?” She deserves that but also, maybe selfishly he’s looking for a way to aleave some of the guilt.

“I’ve done all right for myself, you don’t have to worry about ole’ Patty, Stanley,” she pats his hand with her free one, “I’ve missed you my whole life, and I’ve always hoped to see you again but I gotta say, this isn’t what I expected. You’re back, but it’s for a reason isn’t it?”

Stan leans back in his chair, letting his hand slip from hers and ignoring the dejected look on her face. He could lie, it’s not like he can tell the whole truth, but he’s tired. “It’s for the same reason I left you. We, my friends and I, have to try again.”

“I can help this time,” the look of incredulous he gives her makes her laugh, “I’m serious Stanley, I can help. You just have to let me.”

“But you’re old.”

He’s an idiot. He said that out loud. He’s such a bad husband, he’s never getting married again.

Patty bursts into a peal of laughter, “You’re still blunt! And I suppose I am, but with age comes wisdom. Let me help you.”

That’s true, but he’s not having her risk her life. There’s no point in trying to convince her to leave Derry, her life is here and she’s always been stubborn as a bull, but he can try to keep her safe. “No, one of the others has a plan, we’re seeing it through. The best help you can do for me is to promise me to stay safe. Avoid the house on Neilbolt and any other unsettling places and just- stay safe okay?”

“This is Derry Stanley, every place is unsettling.”

“Patty please.”

She relents, for his sake, “Okay Stanley, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Then the guilt finally breaks him and the tears start. Not the quiet ones like Patty had earlier, no- ugly gut-wrenching sobs. The kind that makes you ache down in your bones. He doubles over, clutching his sides and trying to hide his face. He hasn’t cried this hard since his mom left when he was nine and he realized she wasn’t coming back that time.

A pair of arms scoop him up and his face is pressed into the softness of Patty’s fuzzy sweater, she still wears the same perfume. She coos at him, running a hand through his curls, “Sssshhh it’s okay, you’re okay, we’re okay,” she repeats this mantra softly. He clings tighter to her. The comfort she’s giving him is like the kind his mom used to give him, this just makes him cry harder.

“I-I-I I’m so s-sorry! I’m sorry Puh-Patty!” he sobs out, “I left you and I h-had to! But I should’ve said guh-goodbye!”

“Ssshhh, don’t you worry about that!” She sounds almost as hysterical as he does, trying to reassure him, “Neither of us had a say in any of this, and I know you wouldn’t have left me if you had a choice!”

He did have a choice, he could’ve slit his wrists.

Her words do little to calm him, he still thinks he could’ve done things differently. He should’ve done things differently. He just keeps apologizing to her till eventually, he runs out of steam and he’s reduced to mumbles. She doesn’t let go of him, still telling him it’s okay, and still trying to soothe him by running her hand through his curls.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been there by the time his tears finally dry up. Surprisingly, Mike hasn’t come hunting for him, but it’s probably time for him to get going. Even if he’d rather just stay here with Patty, the others are counting on him. Plus the sun is starting to go down outside the window. Reluctantly, he pulls back, “Thank you. I think I’ve cried enough for two lifetimes.”

“Of course Stanley, I’m just happy I got to hold you again.” Her cheeks are wet but she smiles at him.

He’s just happy he got to see her again, he’s missed her. When he stands, he towers over her, “You’ll stay safe? You promised me.”

“I’ll do my best. As I said, don’t worry about me. I’m a tuff old gal,” Stan grimaces, “But you have to make the same promise. And don’t hesitate to come to me for help, I’m always going to be here for you.”

Stan pulls her into another quick hug, “You don’t worry about me.” He can’t make a promise he doesn’t think he can keep. She doesn’t ask him again.

They say their goodbyes. He almost doesn’t want to out of fear it may be a permanent goodbye, but at least this time Patty got to hear him say it. When this is all said and done and if by some miracle he’s still alive, he has to find a way to make it up to her. She deserves it.

When he exits her office, Mike is back inside, sitting at the pew where they were previously. He’s trying to clean the glasses lens with his shirt, looking frustrated too, but when he hears Stan coming down the stairs he plops them back onto his face and sighs with relief, “There you are! I was starting to worry I was going to have to bust in there.” He’s trying to sound funny but there’s a twinge of anxiety in his voice still.

Stan just rolls his eyes, “Yeah, captain Trashmouth to the rescue.”

“Hey! I was worried about you and you just call me names!”

“I call you names out of love,” Mike scoffs at him, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He starts to head out of the synagogue. No dramatic exit this time.

Mike scrambles after him as he pushes his way outside. The sun is setting, casting an orange haze on the city, and the evening chill has picked up. Time moves too fast here. He’s not ready to go back to the library, not yet. Wendell will only ask if he remembered anything about the ritual, which he didn’t and he still doesn’t want to but he wouldn’t say today was wasted. He got to see Patty again.

“Sooo how did that go?”

He hasn’t stopped to think how strange that may have been to Mike. It makes sense Mike is curious, he hasn’t explained anything. He didn’t even remember Patty until a few hours ago. May as well fuck with him.

“That was my wife. I guess my ex-wife now,” he keeps a straight face as Mike comes to stop, spluttering like a fish out of water. He spots a pharmacy on the corner of the street and chooses to not elaborate any further, “C’mon I wanna get some cigarettes before we head back.” He leaves without checking to see if Mike is following him.

Mike hurries after him, “Hey! Wait a fucking minute! You can’t just say that shit and then walk off! Also, those are just going to kill you you know!”

Wow, Mike sounds a lot like Eddie. Stan laughs to himself.

Syd couldn’t get away from everyone fast enough. Every time she looked at one of them…she was plagued with what she saw in the deadlights. What she remembered.

When she was in the attic, she felt It before It even appeared. The attic became freezing all of a sudden, she could see her own breath, and then she was ambushed before she could question the change of temperature. She still feels cold. If the others hadn’t shown up when they did, she’s not confident she’d still be here right now.

The face It took, the face of Bev’s father, his face still terrifies her. Honestly, she hadn’t remembered much, just a few details here and there, but seeing It brought it all back. She can remember the foul hands of Bev’s father on her. Syd clings to her dad’s dog tags as she stumbles down the street, not paying attention to where she’s heading. Her dad was kind, he was her hero, she has to remember him when the memories of Bev’s father threaten to overcome her.

Remembering Bev’s father wasn’t even the worst of it. She saw what Bev saw in the deadlights, how they would have originally died the first time if they hadn’t come back as adults. If that was bad enough, she saw what would happen to them if any of them left, if any of them decided to run away from their promise. She wasn’t lying, none of them made it out of their twenties if they fled. They don’t have a choice, they have to face It. But if they don’t figure out what went wrong during the ritual, they'll just die anyway.

Her first instinct was to call Dina. Dina offers comfort and an escape but if she heard Syd right now, she’d be on the first flight here to help her and figure out what was going on. She wouldn’t understand what Syd was talking about, but she’d still be here. God, Syd loves her. That’s exactly why she can’t call her, she can’t drag her into this.

Sonny has been a help, especially right after the attack. He had grounded her and given her something to hold on to. It was obvious he wanted to go with her after their conversation with Wendell, but she needed space, even if she was thankful to him. She can’t fall into old feelings, not with Dina around now. She needs time to try to process what she saw in the deadlights or whatever. What would her high school guidance counselor say now she wonders? Suggest for her to start journaling again? Bullshit, the last time she journaled she got outed to the whole school by fucking Brad.

Gradually as she walks she starts to spot more broken down buildings and the streets get dirtier. A homeless man is laying on the sidewalk, a blanket pulled tight under his chin. She knows exactly where she’s heading now, home.

The apartment building where she grew up, or where Bev grew up, is abandoned. The paint has withered away and the windows are pretty much nonexistent at this point, leaving the insides at the mercy of the weather. The only color on the gray building is faded spray paint from vandals. The doors are open, barely still on their hinges, and they call to her. Inviting her to come explore what is left of her home once upon a time ago. She b-lines for the back of the building instead.

Behind the building, the huge dumpster sits, right next to the stone fence and the back of the apartment. It creates a small sliver of space that if you’re small enough, you can crawl through the small opening to where the dumpster doesn’t sit completely against the wall. It’s a great hiding spot. She has to wiggle but she manages. The space is smaller than she remembers, but it makes her feel secure. She pulls her sweater over her knees and hugs them.

A sob tries to wrench its way through her chest but she holds strong, distracting herself by staring at a line of ants carrying grains of dirt back into a hole in the apartment’s wall. They create a red line, like the red lines that ran from Stanley Uris’s wrists in the bathtub. If he hadn’t come back as an adult the first time he would end up killing himself. Bev knew this and maybe Syd remembered that, is that why she’s always been protective of Stan? Why she clung to their friendship and at one point tried to convince herself she liked him romantically?

Bev also knew how the others died. Richie’s drug overdose, Bill’s aneurysm, Eddie’s car crash, Ben’s heart attack, and Mike- being devoured by It because he was forced to face It alone. Her throat tightens at Bev’s death. Years of being tormented by her father, only to marry an abusive man who inevitably beat her to death.

Yes, Syd remembers Tom. Mainly the beatings that were always paired with harsh words. She doesn’t know whatever became of that bastard, she was too busy dying and being reincarnated, but she hopes he’s cold in the ground and rotting in hell.

Their new reincarnated lives brought about all-new ways for them to die if they break their promise. Those she can remember in detail, too much detail. The way they had appeared in her mind was a shock to the system.

Wendell’s was the same as his past life’s death. Abandoned to face It by himself, again. “All by yourself Wendy boy? I guess your little friends never cared about you.” Wendell doesn’t make it to the end of the year if they leave him. Driven mad with despair, Wendell would charge into It’s den, where Pennywise is waiting. It barely swallows when It eats him. It’s not quick.

Neither is Freddy’s death. Freddy would go back to Philadelphia, this trip and meeting everyone being nothing but a hazy memory. If they left, they all would forget, reducing It to just nightmares. Freddy would probably live on the streets, bouncing shelter to shelter until one day he got robbed in an alley. That part she saw. He didn’t own much but the gang of men took everything he had, even his crutches. Which they would beat him half to death with. Between the freezing temperatures of a Pennsylvania winter and the blood loss, a couple of hours later he would just be a frozen body on the sidewalk. He never made it to his twenties.

Mike would never know how Freddy died. In the deadlights, she saw Mike hiking in the woods alone. He looked sad and she could tell he became a recluse after returning home. His hiking gear is heavy on his shoulders and she wanted to yell at him to drop it and run! That’s because she could hear the growling of the pack of wild dogs that were circling him. With his earbuds in, Mike was oblivious. The first dog lunges and takes out his ankle. Mike scrambles to get out of its hold, “Let me go! Let me go!” but it’s no use. Once he’s on the forest floor it’s all over. They shred him alive.

Jacob’s death is at least quick since he does it himself. Maybe he got tired of always being an outcast, or maybe he’s tired of constantly being villainized. That’s an ironic thought, their brave leader was villainized to the point he was deduced to take his own life. Jacob’s dad is pounding on the bathroom door, begging him to open it. “Jake please, don’t do this! There’s another way! Don’t leave me!” He tries to kick the door down, but It was there keeping it sealed shut. It is always there when they die, it doesn't matter that they don't remember It. Jacob sits in the bathtub, twirling the gun around in his hands, ignoring his dad’s hysterical pleas. His scars look rubbed raw like he tried to claw them off of him but besides that, his face looks passive. He doesn’t stutter when he puts the gun in his mouth and eats a bullet.

Would she have remembered Stan if they had left? She’s never thought about it, but if they went home, would she forget about him after she went off to college? Or would his death be nothing but another junkie oding report in the newspaper to her? If they left, Stan wouldn’t be able to cut it. One of the main reasons she stays is to make sure they keep their promise this time. She saw what he looks like in five years, strung out on drugs. Too skinny and never sleeping. One day he pushes his body too far. She sees him laid out on his basement couch, eyes wide open with a needle in his arm, foaming at the mouth. Blood Witch plays in the background.

Sonny is the oldest when he dies, twenty-six. Holed up in his home, working on his next innovation in electricity. The bags under his eyes are dark and he studies his notes, tweaking his invention without paying attention. His hair is greasy and he’s in dirty sleep clothes, and she knows that’s because he doesn’t have a reason to go out. His only friends are his inventions. His death happens in a second. He’s not paying attention and his hand brushes against a bare wire, electrocuting him on the spot. His body is charred and his eyeballs burst. It makes her want to scream.

Knowing her own death is just as bad as knowing how the others die. She’s with Dina and they’re studying together in the library. She doesn’t know what exactly happens, except her vision gets hazy and she falls out of her seat, blood pouring out of her nose and ears. “Oh my God, Syd?! Syd, stay with me! Somebody! Please! Somebody help us!” Her vision goes white but she can feel Dina clinging to her as someone else tries to perform CPR on her. Maybe a blood vessel in her head popped? She doesn’t know. Whatever it is, it was caused by It. Her death would be no freak accident.

But none of this is going to happen. It can’t. They’re all staying and they’re going to figure out what went wrong. And honestly, she doesn’t want to forget everybody. They were there for her, they’ve always been there for her. Especially for Bev.

Syd curls tighter in on herself, refusing to let the tears fall. Emotionally constipated is what her mom calls her. She misses her mom and Goob. She will make it back home to them and Dina. She rests her head against the brick, she should head back soon but she’s not ready to leave her safe space, not yet. Her eyes start to feel heavy and she lets them fall close. She can head back after a nap, she's owed one.

A/N:

I'll see ya'll next month

A heads up, Patty won't be the only familiar face we'll see pop up. Sorry in advance...

Yessss Ik Ik Stan and Syd's part were different lengths, its what the story called for I swear

Also I tried to reference the demadogs with Mike and Brad's death with Syd

Next chapter will be set this same day except with some ooey gooey kaspbrough friendship with a side of Eddie Angst

Also also thank you so much to everyone who reads and comments on this fic, it means so much to me, our fandom is small but it is great

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antisociallilbrat · 2 years

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We're The Losers, And We Always Will Be Chp. 9

Read on Ao3

Chp. 8

Summary: Sonny find a testament to the past and Mike helps a friend while an old face makes an appearance

Warnings: mentioned bullying, F-slur, and implied internalized homophobia

A/N: I was across the country visiting Pj (@s-oulpunk) so I blame her for this chapter getting out late :)

Also I'm back on my monthly bullshit

Also Also, keep in mind the timeline is different in this verse. When 'original losers' are kids, they fight pennywise the first time in 1967. The second time they fight him and die is in 1994. Meaning this story is set in modern day. The losers are all about 18.

The sun is out, shining and full of warmth. Not a cloud in the sky, but the wind provides a gentle breeze, making it a perfect day weather-wise. The weather is not aware of the travesties that took place this morning, the depressing truths that were revealed, the sun has no reason to not shine.

Sonny lets it warm him as he walks the streets of Derry. Everything is entirely familiar but at the same time, completely new. The city is bustling at this time, with older ladies meeting for brunch and moms pushing their babies in their cradles down the sidewalks. He’s seen posted signs for the annual carnival that’s coming up. All that does is twist up a sense of dread in his gut.

The others are off, searching for the missing puzzle piece, the missing memory. No one had a plan other than to ‘wander around’ since that’s what Wendell said to do. Well, not in those words, he actually said “Let your memory and souls guide you”, but he might as well just tell them to wander about until they somehow stumbled across the memory that answers the question why they all died in The Before. Great.

Mike had stormed out of the building first, and Freddy had just shaken his head and then started walking in the other direction. Jacob wordlessly left then, and shortly Stan did too. Sonny had hoped that maybe he and Syd could go together. As adults, the two of them were quite close, he remembers with a blush. Syd left before he had the chance to suggest it. He called after her, but she either didn’t hear him or ignored him, and fearing the latter he started on his own.

Derry is almost like he remembers it, or as Ben remembers it. The only difference now is a few newer buildings are intertwined with the older ones. Their shiny new bricks are a stark contrast to the crumbling, moss-covered ones. Makes sense. The first time he lived in Derry was, what? It had to have been at least the 60’s when they were kids in the Before.

One of the newer constructions catches his eye. It’s a cute little building with a clock tower nestled between a shut-down storefront and a coffee shop. It can’t be any more than two stories high, and it’s rather small, but it has a cozy feel to it. He can see what the plans for it would’ve been, it was designed to be inviting yet unassuming. A stone porch spills out from the heavy mahogany doors and onto the street, a wooden placard stands where the stone and concrete meet.

“Derry’s New Public Library, Est in 1996”

“Designed By And Dedicated To Derry’s Own Benjamin Hanscom”

He sucks a deep breath in through his teeth. This is why it’s familiar to him, he designed this building. The city must’ve built it as some sort of memorial a few years after he went missing. His feet propel him in without a second thought.

The inside is an open floor plan, but there is an upper-level balcony with a winding staircase up to it. The clock tower is hollow and the face of the clock lets streams of light in through it, the sunbeams chase each other down the brick and into the library. Big multi-paned windows take up most of the back wall, adding to the natural light. The place is beautiful. Did he really design this? What Wendell said earlier, was he a world-famous architect? Wendell hasn't lied about any of the more outrageous things he’s said, but Sonny still had this trickle of doubt that what Wendell said about Ben, about him, was true.

On the first floor are a couple of rows of tables, and then an area where a cluster of armchairs sit. Behind that is the staircase leading upstairs, which is also next to the library’s information desk. An old woman sits behind, her head resting on her shoulder, asleep. She’s the only person that appears to be in here, as the upper balcony is completely silent.

How many summer days did he hide in the library? Not this one, of course, the one they’re using as a makeshift hotel now. Before he met the Losers, it was among the books that he felt safe and not so alone. And after, after he met them and after that summer, it was in the library he would spend some of his time with them.

Richie and Eddie would bicker because Richie was trying to 'tutor' Eddie, and Eddie was easily annoyed. He’d always have to shush them and they'd look at him, apologetic. He was never annoyed at them for long. He can recall how excited Stanley would get when the library got in a new world bird encyclopedia or the odd book about plants. He can also remember how Bill would moan and groan about his poetry assignments. Ben singlehandedly got him through those sitting at those tables. The same table he’d spend hours at, pouring over history books with Mike, just for fun.

The only memory he has with Beverly concerning the library, she’s not even in it. She moved away too soon. It’s a memory that warms his heart nonetheless. It was the day school had let out for the summer, the first day she ever noticed him. She had signed his yearbook and after he was high on young love. Nothing could’ve dampened his step, not even the looming threat of Bowers. God, he does remember him. Subconsciously he rubs at the side of his stomach, shuddering. He thought he could escape to the library, he thought he was safe there.

The boy missing his head, EGGBOY, I’m going to carve my whole name into his-

He shakes his head and tries to steady his breathing, not even aware that he had started shaking. That day was the first day he encountered It and the day Bowers had carved the 'H' into his skin. That day though- it wasn’t all bad.

When he was running from Bowers he stumbled into the Losers. Eddie had patched him up while Richie did that awful British accent. And then before Bowers, before he left the library, he wrote Beverly her poem.

Your hair is Winter fire,

January embers.

My heart burns there, too.

He meant every word of that poem too. Clumsily written on the postcard for that summer pen pal program. That postcard meant something to him and to her too. A delicate brush of lips against his.

Out of the corner of his eye on the service desk, he sees the same little box, wooden and worn, with a chalkboard scrawled out in chalk, proudly displaying this years summer's pen pal program. That can’t be a coincidence, right? Nothing in Derry is a coincidence. Slowly he approaches, cautious to not wake the sleeping librarian. Something in his gut tells him that would be a bad idea.

He grabs one of the postcards on display and shuffles to the safety of the nearby towering bookshelves. When he looks down, a shining sun with sunglasses smiles up at him. Under it is kids with baskets that are running around gathering Easter eggs as the card proudly exclaims, “Happy Easter, From Derry!”. It’s a leftover postcard from Easter and he can smell soot and burning flesh. The Ironworks.

Quickly he crumples up the card and shoves it down into his back pocket. He wants to write another poem for Bev- Syd, but he’ll have to find another way.

The sun is glaring in Mike’s eyes as he scowls up at the sky. Doesn’t the sun know it’s going to be a shit day? If not, then it should. A headache is already starting to throb in his temples, the street and shop signs becoming blurry as he walks past them. He could just put on those glasses he nicked up when no one was noticing, but they’re awful.

They’re so thick that they’d magnify his face disproportionately. He’d look like some poorly done CGI or just a dork. He can still hear fucking Bowers calling him four-eyes and bucktooth beaver. Although Bowers sounds a lot like Troy calling him frog face. Can he please go one lifetime without being bullied? The odds don’t feel in his favor.

Wendell wants them to remember? Yeah, well he’s remembering all right he thinks as he passes the alley Patrick Hocksteter cornered him in one time. His arm was rubbed raw as Patrick wanted to play a ‘game’ with him. Good ole classic Indian burn.

He remembers the bullying, the fucking clown, and he remembers being terrified. But no, of course, none of this is relevant. One of them needs to remember why they all died in the first place. Great.

He remembers Eddie and he knows what that means. Richie Tozier was gay, but Mike Wheeler is not… he thinks. Society may be different than when he was growing up as Richie, but he lived in a small town this life. There’s a reason Will never came out publicly. Being gay in Hawkins is as good a death sentence, the same as Derry. There’s no coincidence that’s why Mike grew up there.

When they were finally cleared to leave this morning, he had to get away from Freddy. The logical part of his mind is telling him that he’s just met Freddy, he shouldn’t have all these swirling emotions about him, but that would be untruthful. He’s known Freddy, and all the Losers, a whole life already. Back in the Before.

Just because Richie and Eddie fell in love in their past life doesn’t mean shit for Mike and Freddy. But then why does the thought of Freddy cause him to feel an ache in his soul? More intense than the one he felt around Will growing up. It's like he’s always been missing a piece and now that he's found it he just needs to reach out and grab it. But that would mean he really is a faggot. That’s not an option, not after what he put Will through.

He accidentally hits his leg against a fire hydrant while wandering the streets and in his mind. “Shit.” He rubs at his ankle that’s sure to bruise and glares at the offending fire hydrant. The coke bottle thick glasses feel heavier in his pocket. Maybe he wouldn’t have hit his ankle if he could actually fucking see.

Mike relents, begrudgingly, and takes glasses and plops them onto his face. The weight is heavy on the bridge of his nose and he has to blink a couple of times to adjust his eyes but the hazily outlines of everything start to come into focus. There’s a boarded-up glass door of the building next to him and he looks into it to see what he looks like with the glasses and it’s just as he fears. He looks like a dork.

The sign on the door peaks his notice after he’s done gawking at himself and furiously trying to fix his banes so he looks a little cooler. The Palace is printed across the door in peeling paint. Hawkins has an old but functional arcade named The Palace. The Party used to go there all the time, and he shudders at all the hours he spent playing Princess Quest. Stupid game, it constantly glitched. It is a little jarring to see a deteriorated version of the same place in Derry.

“Is that really how you want to spend your summer? Inside of an arcade?”

“Beats spending it inside of your mom.”

Yeah, he’s always wasted the days away inside the arcade, no matter the life. He’s not thinking when he pushes on the door and he’s definitely not thinking when that door miraculously opens and he steps inside.

The door swings shut behind, stirring up layers of dust and dirt causing him to cough so hard he feels like he’s about to hack up a lung. With his jacket sleeve, he wipes his watering eyes (much help those glasses are) and his mouth. With a grimace, he studies the long-forgotten arcade machines covered in dust and cobwebs that line the entryway.

“You see that guy? I’m pretending he’s you.”

“It Richie, It got Bev.”

He runs his finger over the Street Fighter game, grasping the noble and jiggling it. All of the designs on the machines are faded to the point of barely being recognizable but in the sunlight stubbornly streaming in through the window, he can make out most of what they are.

Richie was so mad at Bill for putting them in danger. It felt like…it felt like Bill didn’t care enough about them, about him. He was hurt. God, but Bill had lost Georgie and Mike can confidently say if anything ever happened to his little sister Holly he’d be just as insistent. The Party would follow him too in his search for Holly, just like they all followed Bill. It’s only now that Mike can understand that it wasn’t that Bill didn’t care about them, he was grieving Georgie and he just wanted his little brother back. Funny how things work that way.

Further into the arcade is a smaller movie theater. Not quite as big as The Aladdin, although that one isn’t that big either. This one mainly played trashy horror movies, but the Losers frequented it a lot. They didn’t I.D. for R-rated movies and they would hope to get a tiddie or a butt shot. Well mainly Bill, Ben, and Mike, but Richie acted as if he liked them too.

There’s a photo booth with its moth-eaten curtain on the ground and he remembers all seven of them cramming their way in to take a photo strip. Whatever happened to those? Does Wendell have any of them? It’d be worth asking.

There’s a clatter from down the hall where Mike came in and his blood runs cold. It’s silent but he can’t bring himself to turn around. How could he easily forget what happened this morning? That, that- monster looming over them all. He was scared and it felt like there was nothing he could do. He was just stuck there, waiting for the inevitable.

Get the fuck out out of here faggot! I know your secret, your dirty little secret!

Even now his feet stay cemented to the floor, his fear rooting him to the spot. He could hide in the booth but It would still find him. The silence is suffocating him as he stares at the wall in front of him, anticipating when It’s going to creep up behind him. Dear God, he knew splitting up was a bad idea! He should’ve swallowed his pride and gone with Freddy! Now he’s never going to get to see-

“Whatcha doing?”

Mike jumps what he swears is a full foot off the ground and with a yelp he’ll deny later. Fear is replaced with embarrassment and anger in a flash as he spins around to look at the perpetrator. “What the fuck dude! Did you really have to sneak up on me?! This is not the town to be doing that shit!”

Stan looks back at him with an easy smile, “Yeah because going into abandoned arcades is totally safe and not asking for something to spook them- and what's up with the glasses?”

“I’m not the one sneaking up on people in said abandoned arcades! And- and- I don't want to talks about them!” he takes a deep breath to compose himself, “What are you doing in here anyway?”

“I should be asking you that, you were here first,” Stan continues when Mike just rolls his eyes, “I don’t know dude, I saw you come in here and my curiosity got the best of me,” he shrugs. He then glances around the dusty building, his eyes momentarily clouded in memory. As fast it came it was gone as he shakes his head as if trying to physically rid the memory, “Did you remember anything?”

Mike huffs, “Yeah I remembered being mad at Bill that one summer, which was not a great one.”

Stan nods in his head in understanding, eyes lingering on the ground, “Yeah, that was really tough for me,” he says under his breath. Before Mike can question him on that because what does that even mean, he continues, “Let’s get out of this death trap, I doubt this place meets the safety standards anymore,” his eyes shoot anxiously around the decaying building.

Stan’s mature concern causes for a brief moment Mike to feel a pain in his chest, the same type of pain he felt when his Nana died, the mourning type. He ignores it, “Yeah let’s get out here Staniel.”

“Don’t call me that, dumbass.”

“Stanerina?”

“No.”

“Oh, I got it, Stanthony!”

Stan rolls his eyes and starts to leave the building without him, but Mike’s right on his heels, “What about Stanrella!” Stan ignores him once again he opens the door to the street and Mike wonders when he, himself got this annoying. Something about Stan just pulls this side out of him, “Okay how about Stanny, that’s not so bad-” Stan stops right in front of him on the sidewalk, causing him to almost run into him.

“Hey what’s the deal?” he grumbles, but Stan doesn’t answer him. “Stan?” When Mike rounds on him, Stan’s eyes are far away. He knows that look, he’s deep in a memory. He’s seen the same look on the others. Mike waves his hand in front of his face, getting no reaction at first. Eventually, Stan blinks rapidly and glares at him. “Where’d ya go, man?”

“To your mom’s house,” Stan huffs as he brushes past him, leading the way. Does he even know where he’s going?

“That’s a lame joke you know!” Mike calls after him as he starts to follow. Wherever Stan is going has to be better than wondering around the street.

He tries his best to pester Stan as they walk, mainly out of boredom, “Stan the man! I have the grave suspicion you were a Boy Scout in the Before!”, that he doesn’t notice they’ve left downtown and have made their way closer to the suburbs. The sidewalk leads past corner stores, the occasional house, but mainly churches. Not that Mike is paying attention till Stan comes to a stop in front of one of them.

Mike frowns at the back of Stan’s head because this is the second time he’s come to a sudden stop in front of him before he directs his attention to the building in front of them. It’s an older church, and compared to the others he’s glimpsed at here, it’s a little run down in comparison. It has stained glass windows, some of them have been bordered up, and the bricks have weathered down over time. He honestly doesn’t get why Stan is staring so intently at the building until he notices a star on one of the stained glass windows. It’s not just any old church, it's a Synago-

Without saying a word, Stan starts to walk towards the front doors, a hectic mannerism in his step. “Hey! Wait up man!” Mike catches up with him before he shoves his way inside.

The Synagogue is almost as dusty inside as the arcade was. The front doors open into a hallway that Mike continues to follow Stan down. They pass an office and a prayer room. The hallway ends with double doors like the front, but they open up into an open room. There’s a tall ceiling and a second story with a balcony. More office doors line the wall and Mike spots the spiraling staircase in the corner that leads up to them. There are rows of pews that circle the room, the center of it where the Rabbi would preach. The Rabbi who was Stan’s Father in the Before.

“I know I’m a loser. And no matter what, I always fucking will be.”

Stan’s legs give out as he ungracefully crumbles into one of the pews. Nervously, Mike’s eyes dart around the room, he sees no one so he crawls in to sit next to Stan. This place puts him on edge. The two sit in a pregnant silence.

Last night, before being awoken by Syd’s scream, Mike was having what felt like fever dreams. He called a woman ‘mom’ who wasn’t his mom, and she giggled as she told him to go play. He did go play, running up the stairs and bursting into a room that was too clean, too crisp. A young boy with a head full of blonde curls smiling at him from where he sat, coloring in his coloring book at his desk. That was Stan. Stan was his oldest friend in the Before. He doesn’t remember meeting Stan in the Before because Stan was always a part of his life since they were in diapers. It feels like he’s known this information the whole time, it’s just an old book that he’s finally deciding to blow the dust off of.

“I remember them,” Stan abruptly breaks the silence, “I remember my parents. I can smell my mom’s weekend baking and I can see my dad’s hard-set brow. I was the son of the Rabbi, because evidently I was Jewish. Being the Rabbi's son put the pressure on me of an immense responsibility to be proper and perfect, that pressure coming from my dad,” he barks out a laugh, “No matter what life, my dad is always a dick! I traded a pretentious asshole of a dad in for a drunk asshole of a dad.”

Mike says nothing because he has nothing to say. He remembers Stan’s dad, not as well as Stan does obviously, but from what he can recall, Stan is right. His dad was always hard on him. Mike places a hand on Stan’s shoulder in place of words of comfort.

Stan pats Mike’s hand absentmindedly, “It wasn’t all bad though. Me and you were always friends. and while my dad wasn’t the best but my mom was sweet. Plus I pretty much had the Trashmouth as a brother. When you called me ‘Stanny’ earlier that all came rushing back,” Stan faces him suddenly, his gaze earnest, “You remember me right?”

“Of course, I fucking remember you! You were my best friend!” he reassures without a doubt, “Honestly my brain is like soup, right now. There are memories I haven’t even begun to decipher and sometimes I just know things? Like how Freddy really liked Skittles in the Before,” Stan gets a humorous glint in his eye at that that Mike chooses to ignore, “But some things are crystal clear, and us being best friends is one of those.”

“You were the only Loser to go to my Bar Mitzvah.”

“That I wouldn’t have missed for the world. You also put on quite the show, and I thought Richie was supposed to be the dramatic Loser.”

Stan grins as he elbows Mike’s side, “Beep beep asshole.”

Mike chuckles at the memory of Stan’s Bar Mitzvah, the way Stan had stormed out after. Metaphorically ‘dropping the mic’. His mom hadn’t let him follow after. He wanted to congratulate Stan on finally growing some balls. The idea of wanting to say that to someone feels so foreign in his mind, the personality of he is as Mike and who he was as Richie are two tides, constantly crashing against each other. Do the others feel this way? Doesn’t matter, he’ll freak out about who he’s becoming when he’s in the safety of the night, curled up in bed.

He did give Stan that lewd congratulation later that day when Stan had shown up on his doorstep. They didn’t just talk about Stan’s amazing speech, what else did they talk about? Something about…Eddie? Wait a second-

“You know I was talking about you too earlier.”

“Whatchu talkin about Staniel?”

Stan gently pushes himself back and forth on the rope swing in Richie’s backyard. His fancy suit from earlier has since come off, and he’s now back in his miniature banker outfit. Richie’s dressed in his baby blue suit still, but the jacket is now unbuttoned and half off. He’s mainly too lazy to change and his mom hasn’t come out into the backyard to nag at him yet. She’d have a cow if she saw him lying in the grass in his suit.

“When I said I’m always going to be Loser, you’re always going to be one too.”

Richie pushes himself onto his elbows and squints at Stan from under his glasses, “Who said I was always going to be Loser? Stanny boy, you are in the presence of the world's future biggest comedian.”

Stan glowers at him, “You have to be funny first to do that, and that's not what I meant and you know it.”

“Actually I’m not sure I do.”

He stares at Richie, calculating. Stan has this way of making it feel like he can see every aspect of you, even the parts you try to stash away. He may have just turned thirteen, but he has the essence of an old soul. Richie fights the urge to cower in on himself, to physically try to shield the things he won’t allow himself to think about. “It’s okay to be a Loser Richie,” Stan says with finality, “I’m a Loser.”

“Yeah, we know-”

“Let me finish,” he reprimands. Stan sighs as if gathering his thoughts. In Richie’s mind, he’s wondering if this is it if this is when his world comes crashing down all around him, all over an asthmatic. “I know, I know you miss Eddie since his mom has put him on lockdown,” Richie’s about to refute, make a joke, or something to stop where this disaster of a conversation is going, but Stan is talking too fast, “I know you miss him, and that’s okay because, well because, it’s the same way I miss Bill.”

He doesn’t understand. Eddie is different from Bill. A lot different. But Stan is looking at him, his whole aura pleading with Richie to understand what he’s talking about and it clicks. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

This feels like it’s too much. This is too much for kids barely turned teenagers to have to deal with. In Richie’s hormone-run brain, he compares this to the clown currently slinking in the sewers. But it’s…nice to know that someone else is going through the same thing he is. He’s not completely alone. Not that they’ll ever talk about this again, some things in Derry are safer being kept hidden in closets. In silence, they can suffer, together. Stan probably has it a little worse, Richie at least doesn’t have to watch Eddie make goo-goo eyes at a knock-off Molly Ringwald.

“Well Staniel, we may just be the saddest pair of Losers to exist, but we’ll always have each other,” and with that Richie is on his feet, charging at his friend, making kissing noises.

“Beep beep Richie!” Stan unsuccessfully fights him off, but he’s giggling, “Get off of me!”

“Not until you give momma some sugar!”

The bright sunny day and Stan’s laughter start to bleed away, leaving Mike feeling a little cold inside. He shivers, a little disoriented as his mind starts to clear.

“You back?”

Mike jumps, having forgotten he was sitting next to Stan. Stanley Barber, who was Stanley Uris. Why did Stan get to keep his same name?

“Are you back?” Stan asks him again.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m back,” he shrugs away Stan’s concern.

“Some of those memories can disconnect you from your surroundings for a moment. It's like getting too high off some really loud weed.”

He frowns, “I’ve never smoked weed so I wouldn’t know.” He’s grateful that Stan’s not pressing to know what he remembered, a discussion like that can stay in one lifetime. Neither of them notices one of the office doors opening on the balcony.

Stan shrugs his shoulders and pauses for a moment, “It’s so strange to remember our friendship because you were like how I am now, I was like how you are now,” a smile breaks out across his face, “So now I get to be the funny one.”

“So you admit Richie was funny?”

Stan’s smile drops, “The Trashmouth was never funny, I take back what I said.”

Mike rolls his eyes, “Yeah yeah, trash the Trashmouth. You know-”

A woman’s voice interrupts him, “Stanley? Stanley is that you?!”

They both look up at the balcony, Mike feels ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, as an older woman stares down at them. Her blonde hair is grayer than it is blonde, and her face has crow's feet at the corner of her eyes, her expression pinched up, bewildered.

Mike has no idea who this woman is but apparently, Stan does.

“Patty?”

A/N: :))))

I reread the earlier chapters of this fic and oh boy, my writing style has came a long way in a short period time But also I pulled Sonny's part of the chapter out by the skin of my teeth Hope you're prepared for his inevitable heartbreak from Syd If you caught the vague ass FNAF reference congrats and ily

I went back and forth on weather or not to add a full Stozier memory scene instead of tidbits, but decided literally last min to add one

Tags: @elliee-doodles @alex-whitley-187 (Also if you don't want to be tagged anymore just lemme know, no hard feelings)

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