Victor Criss lays in his small single bed with his hands crossed behind his head and a thin sheet tucked around him.

The smell of cigarettes slowly fades from his bedroom due to his window being open.

It's midnight and he's wide awake with only one qualm in his mind.

Where the fuck did that little shit Richie go?

It sounds ridiculus to say that he dissapeared into thin air... but he fucking dissappeared into thin air.

Vic rolls over and grabs another cigarette, sighing heavily.

Hello to another long ass night.

Where did he go?

✨

Ben Hanscom stands in front of his mirror, holding a tube of toothpaste in his palm held out in front of him. His eyes jutted to the doorknob in the mirror's reflection, double checking that it is locked so that he isn't interrupted. It is.

He doesn't want to lose control like Bev, and Rich, and Stan. Not him. Not Benny boy.

He takes one deep breath and focuses his energy like he has done so many times before. An icy, tingly sensation creeps from his core and outwards, like ice shards, wrapping tightly around his rib cage and spreading outwards.

The tips of his fingers fade into a blazing blue color, then into pure invisibility.

Next, the wrist. Then, the whole arm was gone.

When Ben was first learning how to control his abilities when they were all young and new, he would break everything down into parts, kind of like spelling out words. In his opinion, it is one of the best ways to practice. He used to lay in bed and hold his hand up in front of his face, making one finger vanish at a time. He did it so often that it became a habit of his, where he often puts his hands in his pockets and does it at a tick of his.

Ben looked up at the mirror and nothing stared back at him. He had vanished. All that remained was the single tube of toothpaste in his hand, but seemed to hover in the air of his bathroom. He smiled to himself.

You have control. Now, don't lose it.

He allowed himself to fade back into vision, his body emitting a blue light before it appears completely again. He sets his toothpaste tube back onto the counter and unlocks the door. He walks down the hallway with light feet, careful not to wake his mother who is asleep in the living room. Family Feud plays on the TV.

Ben makes it back to his room and shuts the door behind him. He slips his track sweatshirt over his head and peels his socks from his feet, kicking them to his pile of laundry.

In the past few months, the track team has really been the biggest part in allowing him to hone in on his sense of control. Breath control, thought control, and pacing. It had also helped majorly with his self image. Being heavier didn't really bother him. What did bother him though, was those who treated him differently because of it. He felt as though he had something to prove. So Ben does what Ben can do best, he takes control of the situation.

He happily jumps into bed and finds himself dozing off with the color of Beverly's hair in his mind.

✨

Mister Chesterson loved to torture his students. The day after a big test, he would walk about the room, a smug grin painted on his face, holding the thick stack of tests that would break your finger if it were to come crashing down on your hand. It honestly felt as though he got off on it.

Mike Hanlon was anxiously watching him.

The way Mister Chesterson would do this was agonizing as well. He would put your test down on your desk face down and when you flipped it over, you looked for the big red number with a circle around it in the upper right hand corner. Big, red, and mostly life-crushing.

"Mister Hanlon..." Mister Chesterson mutters as he sets Mike's test down.

Mike immediately flips it over.

73.

An earth shattering crack of thunder ripped through the air and lighting poured out from the heavens above. Heavy rain followed.

Everyone in the classroom practically jumped,

Across the school, Richie Tozier jolted awake from the back of his Theory of Music class.

Bill Denbrough almost fell over in the middle of a piss.

Beverly Marsh dropped her cigarette and ran for cover from behind the school during her free period.

Eddie Kaspbrak didn't budge, he just knew.

Stanley Uris stopped dead in the middle of his sentence after he was called on in his English class.

Ben Hanscom watched his hand begin to fade out of visual existence and became scared.

Mike Hanlon sat in his seat, suddenly having forgotten his grade. The crack of thunder and the threatening lightning shocked him.

Damn it.

✨

The seven Losers flocked to their parking spots as soon as the bell rang. Mike was ready to get out and the remaining six were anxious to see what was wrong with Mike.

Mike doesn't get like this often, Bill thinks, In fact, he never does.

Stan was the first to reach Mike. He was surprised to see his face twisted up in fear than in anger. Both of them were drenched by the storm that was tumultuous and inconsistent.

"What's the matter, Mike?" Stan pleads, clasping a wet hand onto his shoulder. Richie and Eddie are jogging and they catch us as well. Bill, Ben, and Bev are quick to follow. All of them drenched with their clothes soaked through.

"Get in my car!" Eddie cries, holding a windbreaker two times his size over his head.

The gang piles into the car and the rain just seems to come down harder, pelting the roof of the car with great force.

The safety of the car provides everyone with a sigh of relief, except for Mike. All eyes are on him.

"W-What happ-pened?" Bill asks, breathless, his shoulders heaving.

Ben slops his hair over to the side to keep it from dripping into his eyes.

"I don't know," Mike says plainly. He doesn't know what more to say. He looks more disappointed in himself than anything.

"I mean- I wasn't feeling angry, I was just-" he wipes his forehead with his shirt sleeve, "-a bit upset, it wasn't even that bad."

Richie scoffs, "More than upset! Do you see the fucking RAIN, Mike?!"

"Beep-Beep, Richie!" Bill barks without hesitation.

A wide-eyed silence falls over the seven people in Eddie's van.

Beverly takes a breath and thinks to herself that she is somewhat thankful for the rain, as it feels good against her naturally warm skin. She'll never complain.

Heavy breathing from the seven losers fills the air in the car.

"This is going to happen to all of us, isn't it?" Eddie says blandly. It doesn't even come out as a question really, more of a statement that he knew the obvious answer to.

"Yeah," Stan says. Nodding. His wet curls flop. He too is somewhat thankful for the rain. Feels good on his ever-burning back. He tries to position his hair in a way where the water droplets will roll down his back.

"Are you okay, MIke?" Beverly asks, extending a hand out to rest on his knee.

"Just shook up," he replies, eyes bland.

"When do you th-th-think the ruh-rain will qu-qu-quit?" Bill asks. He shivers, now cold from the wet clothes sticking to his skin. Eddie notices this and tosses over the windbreaker he had. Stanley finds himself flustered at not having his own windbreaker at the ready for Bill.

Bill holds it up and sees the immaculate length of it.

"Y-Yours?" Bill asks, a surprised look on his face.

"Mine," Richie pipes up.

"Thanks, R-Rich," Bill says, sliding it on. 

Stan frowns.

There is a slow lull as everyone looks around at one another.

"Well, what now?" Stan asks, looking around. His eyes dart and his arms cross.

"I'm fucking cold," Richie gripes, "So lets go to someone's house."

Ben perks up at this, "We could go to mine. My mom isn't home and won't be til tomorrow, she's staying with her sister. You guys can stay the night too if you want."

Everyone nods at varying levels of normalcy. Everyone is still a bit confused and the ever present pounding of the rain on the roof of Eddie's van serves as a constant reminder.

"Bev, can you get us some heat going in here?"

✨

Ben Hanscom's home was always warm and smelled of something sweet that no one could ever seem to rightfully name. Beverly always like to think that is simply "smells like what warm feels like." She would know.

Out of respect, the seven losers kick their sopping shoes off at the door and then enter Ben's home and make a bee-line for the kitchen, which connects to the living room in a very sound way.

Richie paws through the cabinets, searching for something to munch on. He eats the most out of all of them, yet somehow he remains as thin as a pole.

Ben shrugs his track sweatshirt off, the thick, gray material falling away from him like a second skin.

Stan takes note of this and inquires, "How's track going for you, Ben?"

Ben shrugs, "Pretty alright."

Everyone was a little bit surprised when Ben said that he wanted to go out for the track team. They were even more surprised when he got on the team.

"Yeah, Ben," Richie chimes in, "How's that gonna work?" He shoves a saltine cracker in his mouth.

Ben rolls his eyes.

"I dunno. Just gonna run I guess."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello everyone. I have a lot of time on my hands due to school being out, and I really want to reboot this shit for holiday. Writing used to be something I enjoyed very much and it has really just gotten away from me. I can't wait to keep writing and posting for you all, I have missed you dearly. XO

please excuse any mistakes, I'm quite rusty!