EYE OF THE STORM.

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DEAD BOY (book one).
°•        CHAPTER TWENTY        •°

"        I HATE YOU!
YOU RUINED MY
FUCKING LIFE!       "

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IT'S BEEN WAY TOO LONG SINCE DAXTON SHIELDS LAST HAD A SIP OF ALCOHOL. His alcoholism used to be his coping mechanism. It was the only filling that eased the darkness inside of him that slowly grew after his tour. He always knew there was something more, something he hadn't discovered yet because he simply couldn't remember. Until now, that he was in Derry, Daxton finally realized what it was, what he was trying to hide. Fear. It's what held him back. And he thought recovery was hard in the beginning, but nothing compared to the pain of staring dead straight into an amber bottle with a dry mouth, his heartstrings tugging towards it.

Daxton had been eyeing the bottle of whiskey for too long because it's suddenly whisked out of his view. He scowled at the thief with a strangled, "Hey!"

"Tough shit," Charlie deadpanned. He slammed the bottle back in place so hard it should have shattered instead of shook before giving the only warning Daxton was going to get. "Take a single sip, and we'll have to take you to the hospital to have it removed from your - "

"If that shit touches me you'll have to have it removed from your - "

Daxton shook his head in a rapid motion as if to rid the memory as it starts to pop up. It'd only make his urge stronger. He's fought with Charlie before over quitting booze. He won't do it again. Besides, he didn't want the other Losers to see him like that, the ones who were here, anyway. They were scattered around the hotel in preparation to book it, rummaging for their bags, taking shots, or missing, like Bill and Mike. Daxton didn't bother to move from the barstool. He's afraid one step he took would be towards the wrong direction.

"He's right," Beverly mumbles. "It doesn't help." She tips her head back and swallows another shot, letting the burning liquid take away the feelings. Daxton can't help the jealousy that forms in his gut. He just had to be an alcoholic in the past which meant he couldn't drink the pain away now, huh?

The stool next to Daxton suddenly shifts with Ben's weight. He's uninterested in the brothers who don't exist to him at that moment. His gaze is locked on Beverly. "Tell me," is all he says.

"Tell you what?" Beverly asks. Anyone can see she's playing clueless.

"Whatever it is you're afraid to tell me right now."

Beverly almost immediately spun on her heel and slams the bottle of alcohol on the shelf again. Ben's eyes trail after her as she storms off. "Bev, when you called Stanley's wife - " He jumps out of his chair again to stop her with his hands up. Daxton's eyebrows furrow when he sees her flinch. He faintly remembers how easily he noticed that look, that reaction, in others who jump when someone moves too quickly. Others who have been beaten, degraded.

This time, Ben is gentler. He isn't forcing Beverly to stay in the bar room, but his stand is solid. He needs information. They all do. Ben takes a deep breath. "She told you that she found him in the bathtub, but... But, I saw you. I heard you say it first."

Richie whips around the corner before Daxton and Charlie have a second to process that. His eyes are wide behind the crystal frame of his glasses and he's not trying to hide the panic at all. "Whatever you guys are talking about, let's make it happen fast, alright? We gotta go." He turns back to the staircase and hollers, "Hey, Eduardo, andalé! Let's go!"

The shout makes Charlie rub his temples. "Richie, for the hundredth time, shut up."

"I'll shut up when everyone's packed and we're out of fucking Derry," Richie counters without even glancing Charlie's way. "Come on, go get your shit!" And maybe Daxton's bitter, stubborn, but because it's Richie who tells him to get moving, he stays put, killer clown damned.

But it's easy to block out Richie. "There's something you're not telling us," Ben pushes. "You knew where Stanley was. You knew how Stanley died. You knew."

So Daxton waits. He waits for Beverly to defend herself and have some explanation. Maybe something like it was a stupid, lucky guess. But she doesn't. She blankly stares back at Ben, lips parted, but no words coming out.

"Wait, what?" Richie blurts.

Daxton pushes himself out of his chair and glares straight at her. "Bev," he demands. "Tell us that's not true."

The hard stares being delivered Beverly's way must make her lungs collapse as Daxton hears her struggle to breathe for a moment. "I can't do this," she decides in a whisper and runs.

He's never known Beverly to run away from problems.

"I want to run towards something, not away!"

The loud ringing of the desk bell snaps Daxton out of the memory before it can escalate more. Ben had trailed after Beverly's fast steps, begging her to talk to him. Beverly ignores him and decides she doesn't want to wait for an employee, grabbing her own room key. "Tell me. Talk to me like we used to!" Ben's voice starts to rise in a way Daxton doesn't remember. "Come on! How did you know?!"

The girl who doesn't run away from her problems finally faced it. Beverly stares straight at Ben and only Ben as she declares, "Because I saw it. I've seen all of us die."

Daxton's heart starts to sink. He casts a look to his brother who shares the same expression, his features twisting. He thinks the sound that follows the silence is only his heart starting to thunder from where it fell, but it turns out to be Eddie who's stampeding down the steps. Two overly-sized suitcases, stuffed, are in each of his hands.

"Okay, I just got to grab my toiletry bag and then we can go," he announces. Daxton rolls his eyes. This wasn't the time, now was it? Besides, he brought a single duffle. Eddie notices and freezes, confused. "What'd I miss?"

It feels like the temperature of the room dropped an octave lower. Daxton doesn't know why he's still trembling after the chill crawling up his spine. Beverly allows them to bask in it, slowly sinking into the sofa in the waiting area as Richie takes her old place behind the bar. Daxton was seconds away from strangling him because the stench of alcohol was beginning to itch at his bones, spiking his veins, pleading with him to break. Charlie didn't leave his side, though, and he believes that's what kept him grounded there.

Eddie was pacing the rug. His hands were resting on his hips, his face flushing red. Daxton remembered he'd do so as a teen when he was frustrated, trying to understand something, and preparing to deliver a speech. "Okay, so, what... What do you mean you've seen us all die?" Eddie questions Beverly.

"Yeah, 'cause I gotta be honest, that's a fucked up thing to just drop on somebody," Richie adds. There's a hint of anger and tiredness behind his words. Daxton doesn't blame him. This shit was becoming too much.

Beverly bows her head with either shame or terror. "Every night since Derry, I've..." She chokes on her words. "... I've been having these nightmares. People in pain... People dying..."

"So, you have nightmares! I have nightmares! People - they have nightmares!" Eddie desperately tries to convince everyone. "That - that doesn't mean that your visions are true!"

That doesn't make Beverly's features falter. Daxton starts to ache for her as if he could possibly understand what she was going through. She can't even form the right words. "I've seen every single one of us..." It's too much for Beverly Marsh who shakes her head, trembling.

The floor of the lobby creaks with newfound weight. Daxton lifts his head with his guard built in the case it was Pennywise, only to see Bill Denbrough with Mike Hanlon following him, returning to the Losers from wherever they disappeared from. They stare at Beverly with concern as Bill inserts himself into their situation and asks, "You've seen every single one of us what?"

It takes Beverly another moment to calm herself enough to speak before she can finally spill the secrets she's been holding onto for years, longer than anyone should. "The place where Stanley ended up... That's how we end."

And Daxton would be a liar if he said he's never been there because it wasn't just his childhood that was traumatic. His life had been one traumatic step after another and that causes someone to break. Daxton Shields never tried to kill himself, per se, not like Stan, but he used to drink whiskey until he blacked out and was inches away from alcohol poisoning.

The truth was, Daxton knew he was the definition of self-destruction. He caused more destruction than a hurricane. And maybe he should have taken the awful path Stan did at one point in his life because then he wouldn't be here and the Losers would have more of a chance against It.

"Yeah, how come the rest of us aren't seeing that shit?" Richie demands. "I mean, what makes her so different?"

The Losers share a look. Then Mike glances up and states, "The deadlights."

"Beverly, please, come on!"

Memories of Beverly, her frozen face being cradled by Ben, eyes a pearly white from rolling to the back of her skull, and her cherry hair sticking in every possible direction wash through Daxton. He tries to blink them away, but it's there, permanent. It was horrifying to see a childhood friend in a paralyzed state. Pennywise did something to her when they were alone and she Beverly had seen something they hadn't. Daxton spent years wondering why she held an uncertain stare when they interrogated her after they thought they defeated It. He knows now what it meant, what she saw.

"She was the only one of us that got c-c-caught in the deadlights that day," Bill remembers.

She must remember it too, as Daxton soon smells cigarette smoke fill the air. He wrinkles his nose and turns away from the stick Beverly had lit while Charlie, who could stand it better than his brother, crosses the rug. "That's what you meant when you said you saw all of us older. You saw us dying," he tells her. Beverly confirms his thoughts by nodding and he sucks in a deep breath. Daxton misses the way Charlie cast a glance his way before he questions, "How does it happen?"

"Charlie, wait," Daxton stops him before Beverly can answer. He puts his hand on his shoulder to gently push him back. "It won't change anything." He believed fate was fate, destiny was destiny, and there was no stopping it. However, Daxton also believed Pennywise took one Loser too many from him. He will never let It take another.

The brothers lock eyes. They've been able to read one another for many, many years. The Losers can see them do this in the rising, heavy silence, but they miss how Beverly turns away. She's visibly shaking as she takes another long drag of her cigarette and lets the gray smoke slowly blow out.

"It's okay," Mike steps in. His calmness eases Daxton and Charlie. "We were all touched by It. Changed, deep down like an infection or a virus." The v word causes Eddie to tense and cover his ears, prepared to storm off like the word alone was enough to make him sick where he stood. Daxton wouldn't be surprised if he was going to drown himself in hand sanitizer. But Mike follows him, repeating himself, "Virus! Do you understand?! That virus, it's been growing for twenty-seven years this whole time - metastasizing!" Mike pauses and takes a deep breath. His next words are like a blow instead of a disease. "It just got to Stan first because - "

"He was the weakest."

Daxton's head snaps towards Richie as his jaw drops in shock. Stan was one of Richie's best friends twenty-seven years ago. Could he have at least looked a little sympathetic for their deceased? How could he mean something like that?

While Daxton's too startled to speak, Charlie isn't. He snaps again coldly, "Shut the fuck up," catching everyone in the room by surprise. "You have a lot of room to talk, Richie."

No one questions what Charlie meant, but Bill shakes his head, mumbling, "Jesus Christ, guys."

"I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking, man," Richie defends.

The heat radiating off of Charlie doesn't even simmer. Daxton's hardly seen him angry like this. Charlie was brave, holding a lionheart that he strongly admires, but rage? He's never expressed it in a hateful way towards anyone. He loves more than that. Anger was often left for Daxton. It was one of the only things he was good at, so that was possibly why Charlie couldn't control it as well.

"Charlie, come on," Mike stops him before a heated word can leave his mouth. He silently tells the other how this is not the time to pick up brawls. "What Beverly saw, it'll all come to pass. It will happen to all of us, eventually, unless we stop it."

"How the hell are we supposed to do that?!" Eddie exclaimed.

"The Ritual of Chüd."

Daxton noticed Richie glares at Mike as if he was insane and considered for a moment maybe he was. But Mike who either doesn't notice or care continues, "The Shokopiwah, the first ones who fought it, they have a saying - all living things must abide by the shape they inhabit."

"A tribal ritual?!" Richie finally breaks with a shout. "Are you fucking kidding me, man?!" Daxton winches at the sound and ignores the thunder in his veins that become bolts, desperate to break free, slice through him until he caves and has another drink.

"Alright, there's gotta be another way, okay?" Richie continued anxiously. His voice visibly dropped, he's panicking more than anything. "This thing comes back, what, every twenty-seven years? Let's kick the can down the road and do it then," he suggests.

That almost makes Daxton laugh. Richie really is the biggest dumbass of them all, isn't he?

Even Eddie scowls at Richie like he's thinking the same, that Richie is a god damn idiot, as he dismisses, "We'll be seventy years old, asshole!" With his hand chopping through the air.

Beverly speaks up for the first time in a while. "It doesn't work that way." She lowers her cigarette which is barely an inch now. "None of us make it another twenty years... And the way it happens..." She shivers in horror. A shot glass slams on the counter from Richie as he downs the drink at the new fact.

"If we don't beat It's cycle then..." Ben trails off.

Bill finishes for him with, "We die."

"Horribly," Eddie mutters as he paces back and forth.

"Yeah, I didn't need the horribly part," Richie states.

"I didn't say it, she said it, not me!"

"This isn't helping anything," Charlie cuts in after Eddie's attempt to defend himself. His shoulders hunch in exhaustion. "It's the middle of the night. There's nothing we can do now with no memories."

It doesn't take long for Bill to step up and take his leadership position once more. He places his hands on his hips and declares in agreement, "Charlie's right. I've seen what he's talking about and it's - it's all true. It's the only way. If we want this ritual to work..."

The support the Losers finally have given him, what Mike has been waiting for since they all stepped foot in Derry again, makes him relieved enough to conclude the meeting of the Losers Club.

"We have to remember."

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The worst thoughts occur when Daxton Shields was alone. It's why it was easier to share a house with Charlie after their tours finally came to an end. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is what the doctors diagnosed them with, but it was Charlie that seeked help. It was Daxton that turned into an alcoholic. These were haunting memories, the ones he at least could remember, that kept him awake even when everyone else went to bed. And the only spot Daxton could sit while breaking his own heart was sitting at the bar with his blue eyes glued on a bottle of whiskey the color of amber that he longed to allow burn his throat.

"I hate you," Daxton whispers. He doesn't expect an answer, but it still hurts like a bitch when he receives nothing. He's never been more tempted than he was now and it felt like the road to recovery had turned into a hill, and he was driving down the slope, bound to crash and burn.

Two hands fist in Daxton's hair as he ducks his head. "You ruined my fucking life," he spits darkly, "And I'll - I'll disappoint everyone all over again if I touch you!" He desperately wants to let loose a scream instead of raising his voice, but nothing comes out. Daxton can only release a choked, dry sob with a few, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you - "

Daxton has no clue if he's talking to the whiskey or himself anymore.

However, he stops when the stairs behind him creak. Daxton releases the grip on his hair and sits straighter. He half-expects to see that ugly fucking clown now haunting the hotel, but it's not. Richie is stumbling down the steps with his oddly long legs, a shot glass flipped upside down between his fingers. This somehow felt even worse than facing Pennywise.

"So, we're just sitting in the dark? Not talking?" Richie challenges, daring to poke the bear. Daxton doesn't answer. He sets his focus on the bottle again like it'll sprout a cape and save him from this situation. Richie realizes his mistake when he rounds the bar table slowly and sees exactly what's wrong. "Oh. Oh, shit. Sorry."

Daxton's hands drag down his face as he tries to cover his damp eyes. He doesn't want anyone, especially Richie of all people, seeing him cry. "God, do you ever shut up?" He snaps.

Richie shrugs, unbothered. He slams the shot glass he had on the bar's top as if he was pretending to be a bartender. "I don't know. That's probably why my parents had to use a kid's leash on me."

The idea of a kid-version of Richie having a leash attached to him almost makes Daxton laugh. He would have, had they've been in a different situation. He can't say he isn't curious, though, and asks, "You remember things like that?"

He notices Richie's eyes glaze over every feature of his face, from Daxton's strands of dirty blond hair, glossy blue eyes, dimples faint but crated above a thick jawline covered in a light stubble. But Daxton does miss the look Richie holds as if he was merely a figment of a dream, something this world didn't deserve while he deserved the world at the same time. And because Daxton didn't believe this himself, that he was worth anything in this world, he couldn't see it.

"Yeah," Richie says slowly, "I remember a lot of things - like sitting on roofs, chocolate chip cookies, park swings..."

Richie doesn't have to say much after that because suddenly, Daxton remembers a lot of things too. It's the little kick that jogs his memory and pushes it's limits. These were things that Pennywise intitally stole from him, but it was him who also shoved them aside.

They come too fast for Daxton to decipher. They're still a bit spotty, blurred images he can't quite make out, but he's able to do so just enough. There's a young teenager clutching a container of cookies in his hands and it felt so real he swore his hands were warm through the plastic. It still feels real when Daxton pictures another boy so afraid of how he felt that he accidentally headbutts the other when he drives forward for a kiss, causing mild blood to dribble down to his lower lip. It tastes metallic when his tongue swipes to clean it up.

It's suddenly as if the bottle was taunting Daxton further because one drink would make all the memories go away. "I don't know what you're talking about," he denies instead. But it's weak, unstable, a clear lie, and they both know it.

Richie's caught off-guard, but Daxton hears him let out a bitter laugh. It's short and is like a blow to the chest. "Oh, so we're lying now?" He questions. His deep voice almost makes Daxton shiver. "I know everything I say is a fucking joke, but this isn't - "

"You're drunk," Daxton dismisses him mid-sentence because he's jealous that he can't allow himself to be. "You don't have to make pathetic little gay jokes all the time. Seriously, you're pissing me off, Rich," he declares even though it's not Richie angering him. It's the little secrets that have nagged Daxton Shields for years coming back to bite him in the ass. That only meant he was stuck in the eye of them storm of his own fury that didn't care who it took with it.

But Richie takes it as one huge joke. Daxton can see it because he's hiding his pain by cracking even more jokes like the comedian he is, carrying the sucky jokes. He uses them as a shield the same way Daxton uses rage as armor.

"So we're not lying? We're both just not gay?" Richie presses. He sees the way Daxton's fists start to clench when they shake. His following laugh is equally bitter and hurt. "Yeah, I should have seen that shit coming. Maybe I should just shut my trash mouth, right? You'll remember it on your own too. Whatever fag shit it was, you'll remember."

Daxton is a second away from ripping his hair out and shouting his frustrations that were beginning to build up inside him. The storm was about to cause causalities, one of them being Richie Tozier.

His cheeks flare with anger and embarrassment. "Just because you had a weird fucking crush on me when we were kids doesn't mean we had something," Daxton spat.

The second the words fly from his mouth, Daxton longs to take them back. He aches to rip them from his throat, beat them so they fade into dust, just so Richie would never have to hear them again to spare him an ounce of pain.

He remembered he had the same thought when they were kids.

The quickest way to shut Richie up was to hurt him.

"Wow." Richie's response is dry, his tone flat, full of hurt. Daxton's eyes follow his boney hand as he twists the cap of whiskey and pours it into his shot glass. He tips his head back, showcasing his long jawline, adam's apple bobbing as the murky liquid is downed in one go. "Yeah, fuck you too, Shields. It's great to be back in Derry, I guess."

He's gone, then. Daxton doesn't have time to respond or apologize. He watches Richie's back as he just about bulldozers down the hall and listens to his echoing footsteps holding regret for ever coming down until it disappears into silence in his hotel room. Daxton slaps his palms over his face and buries his head into them just so he doesn't have to look at the alcohol to be tempted further.

There's a small thing about Daxton that Charlie doesn't know, as close as they were. He picked up smoking as a stress habit when he quit drinking. He didn't grow out of the disgust he had towards the scent of cigarette smoke but the feeling of it swirling in his lungs brought a calm feeling, the same way having a drink did. It's just like he traded one awful habit for another.

Daxton spun off the chair before he changes his mind and finishes the bottle in one night. He whips his jacket off the back of it and shoves his arms through the sleeves, fighting back the tears that grew every second. His shaking hands shuffle through the pocket as he stumbles out of the door in search for the small box and a lighter.

The stick dangles from Daxton's lip as he brings the flame to the end, cupping his hand around it to protect it from the night's chill. He pretends Derry is the safest place on Earth as he storms down the sidewalk. Every deep inhale makes him choke down another sob.

Daxton hated cigarettes. But he hated this feeling so much more, and if this was the only way to smother them, then so be it.

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author's note:

this is so far probably my favorite chapter of act two cause of the pain 😌 i've had it planned for quite awhile. daxton & richie are just two closet cases and i promise it'll get better. this is probably the only shitty scene between them i had planned this act. the rest is all heart eyes and happy days!

thank you so much for your patience as i wrote this cause i know it's been awhile. you guys are da best and i appreciate the support! i hope you guys liked it, and thank you again!

- koda

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