Here’s something I spent all day working on. Do you guys want a full fic?
Richie stepped closer to the ginormous clown-spider hybrid monstrosity in front of them, feeling braver at that moment than he had felt in the last twenty-seven years of his miserable fucking life. He began shouting, hardly aware that he was even doing it, that he was single-handedly tearing down all the walls he’d spent his life surrounding himself with; finally saying what he kept in his head, to himself, and only truly thought about on intoxicated nights full of drugs, booze, and self-loathing.
“I’m not scared of you - you fuckass clown!!” He screamed a sound ripped from deep within him. All that repression and rage spilling out of his fucked up brain and reverberating against the walls of the cistern.
Eddie tried to pull him back, away from the monster he was staring down. But it wasn’t just Pennywise that he was facing, it was all of his self-hatred, every fucking slur he’d been called, the inherent fear he had of himself and how he loved; who he loved. Eddie was no match for all of that, but he still tried, fruitlessly. “Richie, what the fuck are you doing!?” he called out from behind his best friend.
Richie pressed on, ignoring the cries from the other Losers, warning him, and urging him to stop walking. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. He knew how to defeat It, he’d always known, but he had never had the balls to do it; until now, that is. It thrived on their deepest fears and darkest secrets, It held them over their heads and would always have that advantage if they let It. Well, not anymore.
“You need secrets don’t you, fucker? To make us scared? But you can’t use them against us if everybody already knows!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. There was a knowing glint in It’s unnaturally glowing amber eyes, a glint that said: You won’t do it, you can never bring yourself to say the words. You don’t have the guts, you never did and you never will. Well, what the fuck did the clown know? The mistake It always made was underestimating them. It did it when they were kids and is still doing it now, twenty-seven years later. “So here we go, no more fucking secrets!!!”
Richie, at last, stopped moving, planting his Converse clad feet less than a yard away from the creature of his nightmares. He took the deepest breath of his life and spoke the words that had been weighing on his shoulders all these years.
“Hi, I’m Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier!” He began, willing himself to stay focused on the clown in front of him. He didn’t want to see the looks of his friends' faces when he got this shit off of his chest. Especially not Eddie’s face. “I’m gay, I’m depressed, I’m sui-fucking-cidal, and I’ve been in love with Eddie Kaspbrak for over thirty years!”
“Rich…” he vaguely heard Eddie say, but he wasn’t fucking done yet, so he continued his tirade.
“I use comedy to cover up what I’m actually feeling. I sold my soul to Hollywood and tell shitty sexist jokes that make me die inside every time. I’m addicted to a variety of substances. I have horrible hook-ups that my publicist has to give out NDAs for because they would ruin my career as a B-list asshole comedian. And, get this shit, I’ve lost fucking count of how many times that I’ve tried to kill myself. So, go ahead and try!!” he finished, his chest heaving and eyes teary. He was gripping the baseball bat even harder than he’d been when he was thirteen, facing down the exact same certain death. But he was not scared this time, not again, not anymore.
There was a heavy silence as his friends - no, his family - processed what he said and caught on to what he was getting at. Eddie was the first to step up, grabbing Richie's hand, holding the bat with him.
“I’m Edward Kaspbrak. I’m also gay.” It felt like everything froze for Richie right there. “And a massive hypochondriac. I have lived my entire life afraid. Afraid of being sick, afraid of germs, afraid of my mom, afraid of who I really am. I married my fucking mom and I’m not even attracted to women! I’m still in love with Richie Tozier, even after thirty years.” Holy fucking shit! Rich thought to himself. “I’m probably addicted to prescription medication that I don’t need, I carry a practical pharmacy everywhere I go and I have since I was thirteen. So, fucking try!” He gripped Rich’s hands harder in solidarity, but Richie didn’t have time to fully understand what he had just said because Bev was next.
“I’m Beverly Marsh. I was bullied in school, called a slut for years. My dad physically and sexually assaulted me until I killed him in the summer of 1989. I don’t regret it one bit. I, just like Eddie, married my abusive parent years later. I put my husband in the hospital right before I came back to Derry. I don’t regret that either.” the fire blazing through her eyes proved that to Richie, Beverly Marsh was still so fucking tough. Her gaze softened as she continued. “I think Ben Hanscom is my soulmate.” Ben seemed to do a double-take, but he also didn’t have time to ponder. “I am not scared of you, and I never was. I have dealt with worse monsters than you every single-fucking-day.” she finished her statement with such a fierce finality that they all knew it was true. Ben stood by her, wrapping a strong, comforting arm around her waist. He spoke next, not nearly as sure as Beverly, but just as brave.
“I’m Ben Hanscom. I didn’t have any friends until I was thirteen years old, then I forgot them all. I’ve spent every day since then lonely, successful but lonely.” It hurt to hear the utter pain in Ben’s voice. He deserved that the least of them. “That’s always been my worst fear, and I live it. I kept a yearbook page - the only one that had ever been signed - which was signed by a girl that I didn’t remember, in my wallet for twenty-seven years. I’ve been in love with Beverly Marsh since I saw her in middle school. I wrote her a poem, she didn’t know it was me, and that’s okay. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy and know how much she is loved.” He paused for a minute, gazing down lovingly at Bev wrapped in his arms. “I did all those sit-ups, I’ve designed all those buildings, but I am still the fat loser who knows he’s going to die all alone, just as he’s always been. So you can’t say anything worse to me than I have already said to myself.” Ben said, his voice only getting stronger and more sincere as he poured his heart out. They hugged for a moment before Mike spoke.
“I’m Mike Hanlon. I watched both of my parents die in a fire that they are still blamed for to this day. I’ve dealt with racism and rumors my entire life.” The anger in his voice was evident, Mike was always one to wear his heart on his sleeve, just like Ben. “I have always been an outsider and I think I always will be. That’s why I had to be the one to stay in Derry. It hurt, it gutted me. I watched my family leave and forget that I ever existed. Some days, I wasn’t sure if I did. But I remembered. I remembered everything.” Mike’s voice quaked, wavering in and out as he relived the pain of those lonely years in Derry. “You’re right about one thing. I am a madman. I’m fucking obsessed. I dragged them back here to die, I’m the reason Stan died; I called. I lied to my friends, twice, and I drugged Bill. I did all of that to kill you. Because we made a promise, and I’ll be damned if I don’t keep it.” Mike finished, and all of them knew that he was fully prepared to die in the sewers, that he spent twenty-seven soul-crushing years preparing.
Bill was last and he stepped in front of all of them with the exact same determination that terrified Richie all those years ago at the Rock Fight. At Neibolt. In the sewers. In the cistern. “I’m Bill Denbrough, but you know that already. You know that because I almost killed you twenty-seven years ago. I never forgot, not really.” That was a shock, Richie thought he forgot, just like the rest of them. “I blamed myself for my brother’s death all of my life, but it was not my fault. No, it was yours. You killed my brother, you motherfucker, and I’m going to return the fucking favor. For good this time.”
Bill did not stutter once.
