A/n: Not super proud of this chapter tbh. The montage at least, if it feels forced its cause it was. I waited far too long for inspiration but it never came so I had to just make myself do it. Btw, the reason it took so long to write kind of a short chapter [for me] is because I ended up writing over 8k words so I decided to split it and the bigger chunk was bumped to next chapter. Anyways, thank you for waiting and I hope you enjoy!

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𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭
𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭) 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝) 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝?

- Queen, Who Needs You

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     "You!"

     The howl of fury from Sonia Kaspbrak brought a whole new sense of fear to the Losers as they stood on the opposing end of her finger. Having fled the gruesome house on Neibolt, the Losers, in a great panic, had managed to haul their injured friend away from Neibolt and back to his own front lawn. Thanks to Mike, who while thinking quickly, had placed Eddie in his bike's basket, the two were able to escape on their bikes with the rest of their friends. And though the horrid scene was now blocks away, not a single Loser dared lose a notch of speed. Nor did they stop until they had discarded their bikes on Eddie's front lawn, panting heavily.

     "You did this!" She hissed, immediately separating Eddie from his friends.

     The seven Losers parted hesitantly as she forced him by the nape of the neck across the lawn towards her car.

     "You know how delicate he is." She huffed, earning a few heavy eye rolls from a select few.

     Bill stepped forward after them, finding his voice, and powering through his stutter.

     "W-We were attacked, M-Mrs. K,"

     She opened the squeaky passenger door, just about shoving Eddie inside, and turned on the seven friends. She stared each of them down, fiery gaze meeting with each pair of eyes.

     "No! Don't," she ordered, slamming the door shut, caging a still frightened Eddie. "Don't try to blame anyone else."

     Her hands shake with rage, causing her ring of keys to slip from her fingers and land on the pavement. Seeing this, Beverly bends down after them.

     "Let me help-" She offers, only to be cut off and shooed away by the woman.

    "Get back!" She bellows.

     She steps forward, retrieving her keys, and straightens enough to lean in close to intimidate Beverly.

     "Oh, I've heard of you miss Marsh," Mrs. Kaspbrak sneered. "And I don't want a dirty girl like you touching my son."

     "Mrs. Kaspbrak, please, if we could just explain-" Y/n pleas were soon cut short.

     "Enough!" The woman roared, her puffy face turning red.

     She looked Y/n up and down with a snide look in her eye as if the young girl was nothing more than something she had dragged in on her shoe.

     "Don't think I haven't heard of you either, you filthy little thing! Following this harlot around town," she quickly throws Beverly a hostile look. "begging for scraps like some stray. Wouldn't be surprised if you picked up on her dirty little habits and I certainly won't have you lurking around my son any longer!"

     Y/n stood unnaturally still, taking the conjectures she had heard almost her entire life with surprising composure. But that wall she had built up, cracked, just ever so at the mention of Eddie and she glanced past the screaming woman and into the car where Eddie's small stature was barely visible over the windows in the low seat. This was the first time he had allowed himself to look at one of them, and it was at Y/n.

     Their eyes met, her gaze was distant, and she seemed to be disconnecting from reality as if to spare herself from the pain of saying goodbye. As if she knew his mother would finish her lecture, get in the car, and drive away with Eddie and that would be it. She knew that Eddie wouldn't stand up for her. Get angry for her, or even for himself, and finally stand up to his mother. But she didn't blame him, he had barely escaped death, and even still, he had a horribly broken arm.

     But that didn't stop her heart from breaking as she saw his large doe brown eyes staring back at her. They were frightened and docile as his mother continued shouting abuse at her; The girl who was quickly after his heart.

     "You are not to speak to my Eddie, you are not to set foot within five hundred feet, of my Eddie Bear, nor can you even-" she stopped suddenly, roughly turning the girl's head to look at her, and lowered her voice. "You are not to even look at my Eddie."

     She leaned forward into the girl's face and glared spitefully.

     "I don't want my son catching fleas." She spits.

     Everyone had stood silently in shock, not expecting such venomous words from the woman. Nor were they expecting a heated comeback from Richie who stepped forward beside Y/n, fists clenched despite his otherwise cool exterior.

     "With all due respect, Mrs. K, Y/n isn't the problem," Her wild glare shifted to the boy. "If you're worried about fleas, Eddie's more likely to catch 'em from living up your v-"

     Richie was suddenly cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth, it was Y/n. Who albeit, very much appreciated the gesture - and would certainly laugh about it in the future - still wanted at least a sliver of a chance of both her and Richie getting to see Eddie again.

     The woman took a long deep breath and glared daggers at the boy. Anyone there would know a million things were running through her head at that moment; several things she would have liked to have said to the no-good heathen that her son always clung to, but she knew she could waste no more time. Her eyes said enough.

     "Don't start with me young man, this is far from over." She seethed.

     And with that, she whirled around on her heel and wobbled over to the driver's side.

     "Thanks, Richie," Y/n croaked, a silent tear streaking her dirtied cheek.

     "Catching fleas," Richie grumbled. "Honestly! And you guys actually think my mouth's the one that outta be sewn shut."

     The remaining seven Losers watched miserably, and helplessly as the '79 Pacer Wagon containing their friend, disappeared around the block. Y/n felt hopelessly deflated, and her gaze fell to her torn and mucked up shoes. She silently noted they were somehow, even filthier now thanks to her trip to Neibolt. Her slight disappointment with her shoes paled in comparison to what she was really troubled with. It felt as though, even when they had each escaped with their lives, this moment did not feel like a victory.

     Bill turned to face them each, a surprising amount of hope in his eyes and it was enough to pull Y/n from her somber thoughts. That is until she heard what he had to say.

     "I saw the well." He says, drawing several concerned glances his way. "W-w-we know where it is, and-and next time we'll be better prepared."

     "No!" Stan cried incredulously. "No next time, Bill! You're insane!"

     "Why?" Beverly countered. "We all know no one else is going to do anything."

     Y/n looked at her best friend with a pained look, shocked and brokenhearted at where this conversation would head. Biting her lip, she steps forward, anger flaring up.

     "And what about Eddie?" Y/n asked heatedly, gesturing down the street before pointing at her other bleeding friend. "or Ben? Does the fact that they, among all of us, nearly died, mean anything to you guys?"

     Bill does not fight hard to stop the wounded expression molding onto his face, but it quickly dissolves in his growing impatience. "Y-You too?"

     "Bill," Mike eases. "Come on, man, think of what you're asking."

     "N-No," he sputters. "Think of w-what you're asking."

     Richie gapes at his friend, a look of wild bewilderment in his eyes and his arms thrown to the sides. "You shittin' me, Bill? Were you not just in that crack den with us? Did you not see what happened? Fucking Christ, we were this close to being chum!"

     Beverly stepped forward, a hand thrown behind her as she gestured protectively to Bill. "But we're not! We hurt it - Y/n, you hurt it! Don't you guys see? The moment we came together is the moment It got weaker."

     "And look where it got us," Y/n scoffed, looking around at the broken circle of Losers. "Beverly, this isn't some make-believe bullshit quest we're talking about. Hell, I don't know what the fuck that was, but I do know one thing. That we're just kids, and we don't stand a chance against that thing."

     A sour look crosses Beverly's face at her friend's words.

     "Well, we can't pretend It's gonna go away," she argued, suddenly turning to the Hanscom boy. "Ben, you said it yourself, It comes back every twenty-seven years."

     "Fine! I'll be forty and far away from here." He snapped, immediately feeling a small pang of guilt and his demeanor softens just ever so. "I thought you said you wanted to get out of this town, too."

     "Because I wanna run towards something. Not away,"

     Richie's eyes rolled behind his thick lenses, and he threw his arm up at the girl with great annoyance.

     "I'm sorry, who invited Molly Ringwald into the group?"

     Beverly merely glared and held up her middle finger to the trashmouth.

     "Richie-" Stan argued.

     "No!" Richie looks around once more, anger flaring up as he gestures to Y/n. "Y/n's right, we need to face facts. Real world."

     Richie settled his gaze on Bill, a genuine spark of sympathy in his eyes.

     "Georgie is dead." He says, and he feels as if the weight he's carried tiptoeing around his friend has lifted and he begins to walk away. "Stop trying to get us killed, too,"

     Bill jumps in front of Richie, instantly blocking his path, and his face goes beet red in anger.

     "Georgie's not dead!" Bill roars, squaring his shoulders though he did not feel more powerful.

     Richie looks his friend in the eye and notes his hurt, but cannot ignore his own. "You couldn't save him, but you can still save yourself."

     "No!" Bill stops Richie in his tracks once more, his stutter flaring up as every ounce of hurt over his brother resurfaces. "T-ta-t-take it b-back! Y-You're scared,"

     Bill looks around at his circle of friends, all lost and broken.

     "we all are. But take it back!" He shouts, his heartbreak turning to anger in seconds and he shoves Richie back harshly.

     Richie tenses briefly before charging after Bill and shoving him harshly. Bill can no longer hold back. All his anger, hurt, and loss that had been festering over the past several months. It had all boiled to the top and formed a fist that hooked into Richie's left jaw that sent him stumbling into the concrete.

     "Bill!"

     Stan and Mike scramble to pick Richie up off the ground, and Ben lunges after Bill to keep him from another attempted swing at Richie.

     "You're just a bunch of losers!" Richie sputters, fighting against his friends to get a punch in himself.

     "Richie, stop, just take a breath," Y/n eases, placing herself between the boys.

     Blinded by the betrayal, and the painful welt already forming on his jaw, Richie ignores the girls' pleas and continues shouting over to Bill. "Fuck off! You're just a bunch of losers who'll get yourselves killed-"

     Beverly cuts in, her own anger boiling to the top. "Stop!"

     "-trying to kill a fucking clown!"

     "STOP!" Beverly roars, finally gaining everyone's attention.

     A look of clarity passes over her and she looks around at her friends. "This is what It wants. It wants to divide us. We were all together when we hurt It. That's why we're still alive."

     "Yeah?" Richie pipes, adjusting his lenses having finally broken free. "Well, I plan to keep it that way."

     His chest puffed out in his mix of pride and anger, he marches past Bill. Not without a swift but harsh shove of the shoulder, knocking him off balance. One by one the rest of Losers follow his lead, the first being Y/n.

     "Y/n-"

     "No, Beverly," Y/n states, heartbreak evident in her voice. She turns to look at her two friends, her eyes matching her tone. "No way. That's three times now I've barely gotten out alive. I'm not trying for a fourth."

     Her mouth parted to speak the parting words that sat on her tongue, but even goodbye was too painful. In a way, she feared if she were to say it, she'd be sealing their very fates. That she'd never see them again, so instead, she settles for picking up her bike, casting one last pained look their way before disappearing down the road.

     Bill shifts his attention to Mike, who is already picking up his bike.

     "Mike-?" His voice is aching, pleading for his friend to stay.

     Mike only stops briefly, throwing back an equally broken and pleading voice. He shrugs, defeated.

     "Guys... I can't do this," he shakes his head, his grandfather's voice ringing in his ears and tugging at his gut. "My granddad was right... I'm an outsider. Gotta stay that way."

     And just as Y/n had moments earlier, he mounts his bike without another word and starts off down the road. Bill and Bev remain, exchanging sullen looks at a loss for words. And a plan.

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     The town of Derry Maine had never been in more danger with the separation of the Losers Club. And the kids themselves had never felt more broken. In the span of just those few short minutes, their world had shattered. The only Losers to remain in one another's company was Y/n and Richie, who both carried the heavyweight of Eddie's absence on their shoulders the most. But even they found themselves alone in times where it counted the most.

     In the weeks that followed, a dark cloud hung threateningly above their heads, watching their every move. While this was by definition, the very concept of Derry itself, they knew now exactly what it was. And yet, after all they had faced, all the pain and horror that would follow them for the rest of their lives, there still lingered the pain of their separation.

     Beverly sat at her desk, head hung over her keyboard as she plucks away a familiar tune. It brought her back to the many times Y/n had been over, the two of them both attempting to play half of a song, laughing hysterically in the process as they screwed each other up. It would go on like this with no end in sight, that is until Beverly's father came to scold them for being too loud. But when he disappeared they'd just snicker to one another, too amused to care. But all Beverly had now to keep her company was her sullen thoughts and the many photos of herself and her friends - mostly Y/n - scattered across her wall.

     Bill's house was as lonely as ever. Like Beverly - and the rest of their friends - Bill would wander the halls of his house, desperately hoping for a distraction from the loneliness he felt. Not just from the fight with his friends, but the usual lack of Georgie that taunted him. His picture was everywhere which seemed rather odd to Bill given his parents' blatant denial of Georgie's death that went so far as to pretend he had never existed at all. As he sat alone in the dining room now, watching the summer rain patter against the window just has it had that day, he felt the inescapable grip of isolation clutch his heart. He hadn't been greeted by such a silence since before summer break where he'd face the emptiness of his house with not even his mother's piano to coat the silence that Georgie left. And to this day, nothing had touched the piano but the thick layer of dust that coated it now.

     Stan had not been fairing so well either. While he usually found himself facing a great deal of frustrations with the combined chaos of Richie, Y/n, and Eddie, he now found he missed them greatly. He missed sharing jokes with Beverly that nobody else understood, and he missed sharing gentle, quiet moments with Mike who always showed interest in Stan's hobbies like birdwatching. Something the others never really took to. The quick remarks thrown back and forth between Bill and himself from the sidelines when the others got into mischief. And Ben, who often tended to be soft-spoken like himself, was better at creating a space for Stan to talk when he didn't feel quite as heard. Stan missed the Losers deeply, and more than anything, he missed being one.

     Mike went back to work on his grandparents' farm. Not that he hadn't ever stopped, but now he had nothing to look forward to. Normally, his days consisted of farm work until five - sometimes four-thirty if he got his work done early - before he promptly met up with his best friends. Now it was just himself, all alone on the farm again. Aside from Mooriuel, his favorite calf who he had named in secret. She was rather happy to be seeing more of him on the farm. Though like her caretaker, she missed the occasional visits from his friends. But they hardly did, except for Y/n who'd often feed the cows snacks, and even made a daisy chain for Mike that he refused to take off. That had made her smile profusely, and he often thought of that day.

     While Mike had thrown his attention into his work on the farm - including taking up the duty of putting down the sheep, which he greatly despised - Ben spent his time deep within the books at the Derry Public Library. He hadn't learned much, nothing he hadn't already yet again he found himself closing another dusty old book. He sighs, looking up at the first thing his eyes find. Coincidentally, though deep in his heart it does not feel right to call it a coincidence, his gaze lands on an old painting framed on the wall that loomed over the entire library.

     It was a woman and her newborn child standing alone on a prairie, looking deep into an old familiar-looking well. Ben knew very well that it was a historical art piece of Derry, the Well House no less and as he looks at it now he can feel the thick layer of ice encircling his heart and chilling him to the very bone. What horrors this town was capable of, horrors he had seen with his own eyes, and yet no one else in Derry had even the slightest clue what lived under their very noses. He wondered if they ever would.

     Eddie Kaspbrak perhaps fared the worst among his friends, he hadn't realized how suffocating his own home truly was when he didn't have the simple escapes with the Losers. It was a feeling both metaphorical and literal as he struggled to survive under his mother's thumb, not to mention he had gone through twice his supply of inhalers with the crushing weight of anxieties his mother gave him. He thought of Richie and Y/n the most. He missed Richie's teasing and crude humor no matter how crass and disgusting it was. And he longed for the times Y/n would bring out a specific blush in his cheeks when she called him 'shrimp', or the simple sound of her laughter.

     He knew how sappy he sounded, and a part of him hated himself for it, but it was true. He could picture them now, riffing on one another while still managing to rag on him.

     He hoped they were.

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