The house at 29 Neibolt Street should not have a phone. If it did have one at some point in time, it would have been trashed with most of the other furniture, fittings, and wiring left behind when the house was abandoned. Realistically, there couldn’t be a phone in the Neibolt House.
But reality is soft in Derry, easily shaped like wax if you have warm enough hands— and something does, it seems. There on the kitchen table of an otherwise dusty and dirty house, sits a spotless beige rotary phone. It doesn’t have an entry in the phone book, it isn’t connected to a telephone service, it’s not even plugged in— yet it rings every Sunday evening at 7:01 sharp.
Some people, brave and stupid alike, find themselves in the house when it does. To most it acts like a warning, to further fuel the dread in their bones that comes from just being in that house. The few who attempt to find and answer the call act as snacks for the thing that lives beneath.
Dick Hallorann had been one of those people once. In retrospect, he isn’t sure which, bravery or stupidity, led him into the house to begin with. The phone hadn’t been there then, just a half-empty kitchen covered in a healthy amount of dirt and dust. He’s tried to convince himself for years that it was a sense of duty, a sense of serving something bigger than himself that led him into that house. It certainly wasn’t the way his shine tugged him in insistently, like a magnet, the moment he stepped into Derry. No, it was the guns in his fellow soldier’s hands, the mission on their minds, the need to prove himself, surely.
It doesn’t matter now, Dick had left that cursed town as soon as he could in the weeks following the fight on the ice. In the months and years after his departure, he’d traveled, hopping from restaurant to restaurant. Now, in his own kitchen, Derry sits as a fuzzy memory at the back of his head. 29 Neibolt, however, does not.
The phone to Dick’s ear tones again as he stares at the faded postcard stuck to his refrigerator. A Paul Bunyan statue, standing tall on a pedestal in a town over two thousand miles away. One of the only pieces of mail he’s ever received from Derry, aside from the occasional letter from Leroy.
On the back was a phone number, nothing else. No name, no return address, no hint to who this might be from. Just a phone number and a nagging tug from his shine.
It had been half a decade since he’d been in Derry last, and he had no idea who would think to send him— no, drop off, a postcard with no note. Some instinctual part of him screamed for him to shred it, like it might suddenly grow teeth and bite him if he didn’t strike first. His shine urged him otherwise.
Any hesitation he had was trumped by curiosity, and two weeks later on Sunday after seven, he called.
Dick realized too late that it wasn’t anyone or anything he wanted to hear from. He’d dropped the phone as soon as he heard noise behind him, only to turn and find an eight foot tall clown in the middle of his living room.
Hallorann expected a short fight, expected the Eater of Worlds to finally devour him and his. He should have known it would try to come for him, not even sleep could stop It from craving revenge. After all, he’d gotten in its head, slapped it, for god’s sake.
What he experienced instead was the distinct feeling of pressure off of his chest. Like he’d been holding a breath his whole life and hadn’t even known it. Dick realized then that he’d felt this way before, just as every blurry memory of Derry came rushing back, crystal clear. By the look on It’s face, he knew it felt it too.
Dick has never tried to explain what happened that night, to himself or anyone else. He can’t explain it. The same way he can’t explain why his shine ached when it was over, why it seemed like everything down to breathing was more difficult the moment he put the phone back on the hook.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he picked up the phone and called again the next Sunday evening, just to feel that relief. Dick called again the Sunday after that, and the next, until it became routine. Just a phone call, just relief, just an innocent curiosity that neither of them have the power to resist.
Three months later, their Sunday routine remains largely unchanged, though the same cannot be said for their relationship. The poor old house shudders and shifts under the weight of It’s presence as it rises from deep below the house and makes its way to the phone. Finally, finally, it answers.
“Took you long enough, I was starting to think you’d sleep through my call,” Dick’s voice echoes throughout the derelict house. There’s no response, this part of the call is always one-sided as It works itself into his home. “I was thinking tonight we could watch something, there’s going to be a movie on and I think you’ll like-“
Shuffling from the living room interrupts him, and he sets the receiver down on the kitchen counter. Hallorann doesn’t know how it works, or why, but it does. It had tried to explain more than once. It was purely projection, using some kind of cosmic reality bend that humans tap into very briefly when they make phone calls— Dick understood…kind of.
As he steps into the living room, he can see that Pennywise has made itself comfortable on the couch, waiting.
“Sit,” It directs, pointing to the other end of the couch, and Dick does, television flicking on as he gets comfortable. Something is different tonight, and they both feel it immediately.
The clown is unusually stiff, Hallorann notes, and incredibly warm. He’s never noticed it having a real body temperature before, aside from their first phone encounter when it had pushed a gloved finger against his forehead and he’d nearly jumped at how cold it was. Even from where he’s sitting on the other end of the couch, he can feel the heat and It’s eyes boring into him. Dick can feel pressure at the edges of his mind, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. He can’t explain that either.
Stress and adrenaline cling to Dick like static while he stares at the television, now trying to distract himself. Pennywise sniffs beside him, and out of the corner of his eye he catches it making a face as it takes in the information. Dick likes to watch it think, likes to watch it draw conclusions and ponder and try to understand concepts and emotions that are simply too small for a thing like it. Finally, it comes to one. The hotel has not been kind to him lately.
The people are fine, sure, but the nightmares are the real problem. Trapped, wandering endless blood soaked halls in pursuit of someone who needs his help. Just out of reach, just out of sight, calling for him. Some nights it’s old friends, others it’s family. Lately, it's been strangers. A mother and son, two people he does not know but gets the sickening feeling he might soon.
The echoes of their cries for help stay with Dick long after he wakes up in the morning. It usually isn’t until he’s getting into his car to head up the mountain that they fade into the background. Forgotten, until the next night.
Even the thought of him being tainted by that wretched building makes It horribly possessive. It is endlessly annoyed by his stubborn refusal to leave. Of course, it’s tried valiantly to convince him to abandon the hotel, come home, but nothing has worked yet.
Yet.
Maybe this latest run of stress will make him crumble. It smiles to itself, immediately lost in the fantasy that Dick might come running home to it when he’s finally had enough. Tail tucked between his legs and stinking of stress and fear.
“You’ve gotta help me,” Dick would beg. “That hotel was a nightmare, I should have come back sooner, you were right.” Of course It would welcome him into its town, give him peace, lure him back into its nest, wake itself from its sleep to lick the fear from his skin and claim him. A quiet, rolling growl reverberates in its hollow chest at the thought. It never should have let him get away in the first place. The thoughts of claiming—of breeding and mating have become more and more frequent as it dreams. Some ancient need in its bones to create lies hungry in the back of It’s mind, now louder than it’s been in millions of years. All because Dicky, It’s Dicky, is compatible. Even if he refuses to acknowledge it.
Huffing quietly, it lays across the couch, setting its head in his lap to demand attention. “Cat-like” Dick had called it once, said they are prone to lying in their owner’s laps when they smell they’re distressed. Though Dick was far from being It’s owner, maybe this might coax him deeper into the spider’s web. It combs the outer reaches of his mind again, looking for a hint at what might console It’s mate. Any deeper and it's likely to get swatted or pushed away. Hallorann doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in thought.
Mindless is the way Dick runs his hand over the folded fabric of Pennywise’s spine, petting it as the movie starts. This is…not what It expected, and it freezes, one eye drifting as the gentle touch runs the length from between its shoulders to the middle of its back.
Dick keeps his hand slow, feeling the different seams and frays in the fabric of its costume. The pressure of its head in his lap is admittedly nice, though he hopes he doesn’t lose a hand for petting it.
Believing that the rubbing is absentminded does not help the clown ignore the way it feels. It’s not used to being touched, much less like this, and the tenderness is making those earlier quieted thoughts return in force. Pennywise is trying to sit still, act like it doesn’t even notice him doing it. A task that is becoming increasingly difficult as Dick becomes more thorough with his hand. It narrows its focus to his thoughts, trying again to distract itself.
Dick hesitated to call their relationship romantic, even though it was quickly becoming undeniable that it was. He wouldn’t think of It when he needed to smile through unpleasant interactions at work if it wasn’t something he held fondly in his heart. Domestic was more palatable for Dick, though Pennywise loathed the word.
“You can’t call me that, we haven’t even gotten close to that yet,” Dick had argued when the word “mate” had first left It’s mouth. It was a half joke, meant to suppress Dick's own feelings and the rapidly rising heat under his skin at the idea of being claimed. The clown stepped closer, caging him in against the kitchen counter and bringing its painted, grinning face uncomfortably close to his.
“Yet?” Had been Its only argument against his before Dick pushed it away, all too aware of his lack of a defense. It didn’t go far, hovering in silence while he finished cooking his dinner. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, but there were some, well, moral and ethical hangups about the whole thing that made him nervous.
Dick replays this scene in his head again, wondering why this is the one his brain decided to land on when he needed to force a smile at work today. And why the hell did it work? Dick knows, of course.
He could try and convince himself that it’s all a trick, some carefully designed trap by the being in his lap to get his guard down. Dick could tell himself that It couldn't possibly be reasoned with, that the weight off his chest and the way it seems so docile is fake. That all it wants is to devour him. But of course, he knows better. It is a terrible liar, something he thinks is probably a byproduct of eating so many kids. The tug of a smile at the corners of its lips, how it avoids full eye contact, the too-obvious giggling— it makes no effort to disguise its lies. Nor does it make any effort to lie to him when he asks about the way his shine reacts to It's lights.
Unconsciously, Dick’s hand slows along the clown’s back as he drifts deeper into thought.
Not to mention, the way it behaves around me is completely voluntary. Damn thing doesn’t need to be polite, it knows I know it could just eat me and yet here it is. It listens when I tell it to get off the counters, or take it’s shoes off the couch, or—
“What are you doing?” It interrupts his train of thought, mildly annoyed that his petting has slowed. Dick still isn’t completely present, and gives an autopilot “sorry” before smoothing the little triangle in his fingers back down without looking. Pay attention or it’s going to bite you, Dick chastises himself.
That’s when he notices how stiff the fabric is in his hand, like it’s been starched. He tries again to smooth it back into place, running his palm flat down its spine as far as he can reach. The pattern is sharper now, almost like spines, and they do not stay down. He’s almost tempted to look away from the television and down at It, when he feels insistent pressure at the back of his head.
“Quit,” Dick grumbles, pushing back with his shine. It tries again, curious, and Dick pulls his hand off Pennywise’s spines. “Quit,” Dick orders again, a little more forceful this time. It relents, more interested in having his hand on its back than it is in getting into his head. Before Dick can try and go back to thinking, a gloved hand reaches back with impressive speed and grabs his wrist.
Dick flinches, great, now I’m actually going to lose a hand. He half expects this to be the moment where his night goes from normal to weird. It hasn’t happened in a while, so it only makes sense it’s overdue. Instead, It’s warm hand pulls his own back between its shoulders.
“You’re really on one tonight, aren’t you?” Dick asks, unable to keep himself from smiling at the thought that It enjoys physical touch as much as it does shoving its lights against his shine. It makes no sense— the weight in his lap, the body laid long on his couch, the fabric spine under his fingertips, none of it is real, and yet the entity enjoys the mimicry of touch.
“You stopped,” It replies, and somehow Dick knows Pennywise is rolling its eyes.
“Of course I stopped, you were trying to get into my head.” Dick can hear It smile, pleased it managed to get a bit of a rise out of him. There’s a long moment of silence, before It decides that tonight will get weird, must get weird, and it will be the one to initiate that weird.
“Do not stop again,” It grumbles, and lets go of his wrist. Demanding, Dick thinks. Pennywise huffs, encouraging him to get back to petting it before he gets bit. Curious, Dick pushes two fingers flat under one of the triangles, into the space that the fabric usually covers, and rubs against the unusually hot and soft spot underneath.
The creature in his lap jumps like it’s been shocked, and they both freeze.
Dick starts to pull his hand back before it growls again, a little louder this time. He’s assumed, until now, that It’s running unusually warm tonight because of the cool weather, but the way it’s behaving is making him think twice. Hallorann continues rubbing little circles against the material as he runs the interaction from months ago over in his head again. Pennywise moves into his touch, pressing closer to him.
Slowly, It settles. Or at least it’s attitude does, it can’t help but continue to get more and more worked up the more Dick touches it. It feels good to be touched like this, and not in any way close to innocent. Dick moves his hand slowly, massaging the space underneath each of the spines until he reaches the end of its costume jacket, then he starts over.
They’re both paying more attention to each other now than they are the movie. Dick knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t have let it back into his house, and yet here he is petting it like some domesticated pet. But the closeness and the touch, no matter how fake, is enough to quell the raging starvation for human touch he hadn’t realized he was craving.
The third time he starts over, It rolls onto its stomach and pulls its torso fully into Dick’s lap, head lying on its folded arms, still turned away.
They’re barely half an hour into the movie when it begins to purr. It catches Hallorann by surprise and he jumps, accidentally pressing down harder on the soft spot his fingers have found.
Pennywise moans.
It’s a half-strangled sound as it tries to keep its composure, but they both hear it, clear as day. Dick had been hoping for something more domestic tonight, but those hopes are dashed when it starts purring harder, a little too close to home. He tries to shift so its purring torso isn't pressed right up against his crotch, but the body in his lap is suddenly incredibly heavy. Fuck, this is not good. I should stop.
Hallorann continues to rub under its spines and down its seams until Dick feels the clown stir beneath him. Abruptly, Pennywise’s hips shift forward, against its will and outside of its focus, to rut against Dick’s thigh. Dick isn’t sure if he should say something, doesn’t know what the rules are here, so he moves his other hand to its back, petting with both now.
The spines are longer now, enough for him to curl his fingers against the undersides of them. It whines, soft and needy, rutting a bit harder against his thigh. Cautiously, he moves his hand over the swell of it’s ass, groping as he goes. Dick wants to grab a handful, but he can also feel the tips of claws digging into his thighs through his jeans.
“Fuck it,” He mutters, and squeezes. It makes a sound that he can only describe as akin to a dog yawning, and he takes that as a positive, doing it again on the other cheek. It’s humping gains a rhythm as he slides his hand up and under the bottom of its costume jacket. Dick doesn’t know what he’ll find exactly, but isn’t surprised when he feels it’s sewn to the pants. The seam there is softer than the rest of the fabric, like the underside of the spines, so he’s careful as he runs his fingers along it.
Pennywise leans into the hand on its lower back, feeling itself stiffen within. The awful, wretched heat in its bones that has plagued It during this latest leg of sleep finally rises to the surface here, too. It wants nothing more than to breed its mate, wants to keep him, claim and be claimed. The next time it ruts against Hallorann’s thigh, It shifts the way it wears this skin, impatient.
Dick notices the warmth on his thigh immediately, moving his leg to let it grind easier, and god does it grind. Hallorann’s fingers drift lower, down between It’s legs where its warmest, where the costume fades to soft skin and a silk-soft slit. It’s slick, and the clown stills its hips as soon as it feels his fingers against its hot skin.
It stays that way as he gently explores. His fingers are cool, the only thing to feel this good yet, kind and oh-so thorough as he uses one hand to pet its back and the other pet along its slit.
“That feel good?” Dick asks, though he assumes it wouldn’t have shown it to him if it didn’t. He doesn’t make it easy for It to answer, spreading it open and exposing it to the air. It pushes back against his fingers, moaning again in lieu of a proper response. Dick can’t see it, can’t see the way it’s hole pulses and clenches around nothing while drooling slick, can’t feel the way its cock within throbs with the need to get out, to breed. So he feels instead, dips his fingers in and feels the soft skin, traces the edges of its entrance, teases until it realizes he wants an answer.
“Yes,” It growls into the couch its face is pressed against, and the feeling of him sliding a finger in slowly is instantaneous. Warm, soft skin surrounds him as he pushes until he’s fully in. It’s a miracle that It hasn’t moved off of him and taken control with the glacial pace Dick seems content to keep. Another joins the first and he curls them, scissors them apart to stretch it out while he feels for spots that make it moan. It shudders beneath him and he’s reminded briefly of the time he spent in It’s mind on the ice, in the trailer, how powerful he felt.
“There you go, relax around me,” Hallorann coos as he slides the hand on its back up to bury his fingers in its red curls. Dick can feel its cold light brush against his shine. Gentler this time, unintentional. It’s not the usual demanding pressure, it feels good. Despite what he did earlier, he doesn’t pull his hands away when it presses against his shine this time, doesn’t stop pistoning his fingers until that gentle pressure turns demanding.
“Watch it,” Dick warns, but Pennywise is unresponsive, too busy drooling and growling and digging its claws into his jeans to hear him. It pushes again, rough at the edges of his mind. Dick stills his hand. Pennywise whines, pushing its hips back in a desperate search for friction until it understands it’s not going to get it, and lets up. The pressure is still present, It’s keeping close, too far gone to stay away, but significantly more bearable now.
“Cruel,” It whines, and Dick just huffs out a laugh and starts to move his fingers again. He can feel something inside of it, deep in It’s body, and he has to remember how to breathe for a moment because it brushes against the tips of his fingers with purpose. Slowly, it winds between them, long and tapered, wrapping around and angling Dick’s fingers to spots that make the clown writhe.
“Traitorous thing,” Pennywise spits, growling into the fabric of Dick’s jeans.
“I’m not complaining,” Dick replies, petting along the length of it as he slides a third finger into it. Pennywise begins to grind its hips again, humping against his leg in a desperate search for relief. It feels so full. Full of Dick’s fingers and It’s own cock, desperate to get out.
Hallorann’s fingers still as that ridged, slick, tentacle-like appendage inside of it slides against them, pushing outward and almost pushing him out with it. The creature squirms, bells jingling as it maneuvers up onto its elbows while it moans and huffs like this is a Herculean effort. There’s enough room for both him and whatever this is inside of It to sit alongside one another like this, but just barely.
“Easy, take it slow,” Dick whispers. His eyes drift across the clown’s body while he untangles his fingers from its hair to pet down the length of its spine. Pennywise lets out a series of clicks, half choking on the sound as its hips go still and its cock, finally free, rests against Hallorann’s thigh. The clown is panting, relaxing for a moment as it recovers from the effort of freeing itself. Had it been awake, had Dick been in It’s nest, this would be no issue at all. But it isn’t, and pushing the limits of this form so far from home while it sleeps is not an easy thing to do.
Slowly, Dick eases his fingers back inside of Pennywise, having been pushed out a bit by the movement of its cock, and is rewarded with the feeling of It’s arms trembling. Dick’s never been harder in his life than he is right now, and whatever guilt or shame he had before this has flown right out the window. It clicks softly, and he runs a hand down its spines before settling between its shoulders and pressing the soft spot beneath. Pennywise’s hips jerk forward and it growls again, dropping its head to bury its face in Hallorann’s thigh.
It’s almost too much, cock trapped between Dick’s rough jeans and its own silk soft costume. A barrage of sensation on the already sensitive flesh, and it can’t help but move again. Against his better judgement, Dick pulls his fingers from It’s hole, moving his hand back up to its spines to pay them full attention. It does bite him for that, on the side of his thigh, and Dick grunts but doesn’t stop.
It’s quickly overwhelmed, body too sensitive to handle the mix of grinding and petting. Pennywise gets a few dozen good thrusts in before it bites Hallorann again like it’s holding him in place, and slides a hand down to stuff itself full of its own fingers as it feels its orgasm build.
“How’s that feel?” Dick asks, trying to resist the urge to free one of his hands to touch himself. There’s a wet spot in his boxers at this point, he can feel it every time he shifts his hips.
“Right,” It replies, and Dick nods, he can feel it too. For the first time in his life, his shine is quiet, at peace. Likewise, for the first time in It’s long and hollow life, the endless hunger it constantly feels, is sated. Right.
“More,” It whines, and Dick gives it more. He slides a hand up and under the ruff around its neck, curling his fingers against the ridges. He can feel It’s cock spit more and more slick against his jeans, it’s humping quickly losing rhythm. Hallorann groans softly and moves his hand off of its back, sliding it between his leg and its stomach to wrap around its cock.
The deadlights within It grate against Dick’s shine just on the right side of unpleasant, and he has to shut his eyes to focus. It doesn’t let up, continuing to push and pull, trying to drum up some kind of friction here, too. Dick pushes back and is met with white hot pleasure and the very distinct feeling of his cock throbbing in his jeans.
“God— fuck that feels good,” He groans to himself, pushing back again. Pennywise groans with him this time as Dick pushes his hips forward into its side. If it had the elbow room or the focus right now it would touch him, instead all it can do is hump Dick’s hand and his shine. They find a rhythm, falling into a dance of both physical and cosmic grinding, pulling both of them closer and closer to the edge.
It tips over first, hips moving frantically as it lets Dick overwhelm it with pleasure. All it can focus on is his hand and his shine, each new movement sending another wave of pleasure through it. A low growl rumbles up its throat as it reaches its peak, its cock spilling slick, sticky fluid against Dick’s hand and thigh with every thrust. Release, finally—
Hallorann continues to push and grind against the deadlights with his shine, even after its hips have stopped moving, chasing his own pleasure drunk high. In an instant, he gets it, eyes clamping shut tighter as he grinds against the trio of lights one last time, hard enough to make It whine in his lap. His orgasm hits him hard, cock twitching in its confinement as he grinds his hips up to get some kind of friction. Dick’s never come untouched before, and this, oh this is going to ruin his life. He feels helpless, forced to sit still under the weight of the creature in his lap and take what pleasure he’s given.
Weightlessness is the only thing Hallorann feels as he starts to come down. Everything, from the couch under him to the satin between his fingers seems to have disappeared, and when he opens his eyes, he realizes they have. Dick finds himself in a void, surrounded by stars and planets, all distant. The space around him is a mix of orange, blue, and purple, all of them galaxies and nebulas far, far from where he is.
Panic seeps in after the awe, is he…in space? More importantly, is he in space alone? Dick doesn’t have time to think on it for long before the urge to shut his eyes becomes overwhelming. When he opens them again, he’s sitting at a kitchen table. He knows this kitchen table, and this kitchen. Dick was in it once, the first time his shine had ever pulled him towards something instead of warning him about it.
There’s coffee in front of him, and he has a feeling it’s made just how he likes it. The house on Neibolt has, as far as he can tell, been returned to its former glory. Clean, tidy, picturesque. Through the window, he can see the field across from the house and hear kids playing in the yard. Unseen, but talking just loud enough to know they’re there.
“To your liking?” It asks from behind him, stepping out of the small doorway that leads to the basement. Dick doesn’t turn to look at it, waiting instead until it sits across from him at the table. Pennywise looks different. Cleaner, more awake, much more in stride with what Dick was used to when he first encountered it.
“Yeah, this is…nice. This is really nice,” He replies. There’s no alarm bells going off in his head as he looks across the table to it, his shine is quiet and comfortable. Dick sighs softly, content to sit here as long as it means he can keep this feeling of peace. Unfortunately, his brain doesn’t let him have it for long. He’s just had sex with a world-eating god, of course he has some questions.
Dick won’t lie to himself this time, he enjoyed it. He wouldn’t mind if it happened again, really, just like their weekly phone calls. It’s been trying for months to impress him, make him wander back to Derry. This final little push might be the thing that wins him over.
“Would it always be like this, if I came back? Would you always be awake, I mean?“ Dick asks. He has to know. If going back to Derry means It wakes, that will mean it’s going to need food, too. Missing kids are not a price Dick is willing to pay for his happiness, no matter how much that happiness might mean. Pennywise sits up straighter in its chair, thrilled that Dick is the one asking for once.
“I will be present, but not…energetic,” It looks for the right words. “No food required, not until I wake again.”
Hallorann nods, and they sit in silence for a while. Dick stares at the coffee in his hands, looks out the front window to the yard and the sunflowers growing along the fence. It’s a beautiful day outside, even if it isn’t real. For a brief moment, he wonders what their kids are doing.
Pennywise is still asleep when Dick jolts awake, unbothered by his heart pounding in his chest or his frantic breathing. It’s lying behind him on the couch, arms wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling off of the edge. Somewhere in the house, his alarm clock is going off, and there’s an ugly bloom of guilt in Hallorann’s chest when he realizes he’s going to have to hang up the phone and send It home. His bill is already going to be through the roof with this call. Ten hour long distance, he doesn’t even want to think about it.
Maybe he can dispute it, he’s pretty sure the other phone doesn’t really exist, anyway. All of this crowds his mind as he tries to sit up and groans softly. His boxers are sticking uncomfortably to his hip, both sides of his neck hurt like hell, and his thighs ache.
“Should’ve dragged you to bed before we fell asleep,” Dick mumbles to himself. From its spot on the couch behind him, It grumbles, but lets him go. It wants to hold him still, take him apart and finish what they’d started the night before, but it doesn’t matter now. It will have plenty of time later. Dick heads to the bathroom to get ready for work, trying to stay somewhat quiet. He does not need the clown getting up to ask for another round right now.
Pennywise has moved when he gets out of the shower. Stripped of the clown suit and curled into his bed, his pillow wrapped in its arms and held to its nose, asleep. It’s almost cute. If he does get away with disputing that phone bill, Dick thinks, this might be a very nice routine to fall into. He continues to think about it as he steps into the bedroom and gets dressed, shutting the door behind him to try and keep the room somewhat warm. There’s seventeen years left until the next cycle, he can convince himself he’s keeping an eye on it. The phrase “no food required” echoes in his mind as he thinks. Just doing his part to keep the cosmic terror in check.
The world outside of his bedroom door is cold, and he watches as it instinctively curls tighter when he opens it. It cracks an eye open at him, too exhausted to move any more than necessary.
“Where are you going?” It asks, voice rough from disuse. God, he wishes that didn’t do things to him.
“Work, I’ll be back later,” Dick replies, and it grumbles something that sounds like “I’ll be with you” in response. Another pang of guilt as he shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t know why this feels so sour, it’s not like he can’t call again next weekend, not like he won’t. Even the thought of it though, makes him long to crawl back in bed, forget the hotel.
Dick considers what It had said the night before as he makes his coffee, he could go back. If the glimpse he saw while he slept was true, he could live a happy life there. Die of old age in a picket-fenced house instead of some cramped apartment in Colorado or Florida. There would be downsides and issues, maybe many of them, but he wouldn’t have to rely on phone calls- oh shit, the phone.
Dick turned to hang the receiver back on the wall, not sure why he didn’t just get it over with when he walked into the kitchen, only to find that it was already back on the wall. Okay, maybe he hadn’t forgotten it when he walked back in.
That can’t be, though. His shine was quiet, content, and as Dick stepped into the living room, the hallway to his bedroom door seemed impossibly long. All he had to do was check, that’s all. Prove himself right, show himself that he hadn’t forgotten.
Dick cracked his bedroom door open, and Pennywise lay exactly where it had been ten minutes before. Curled in his blankets and his pillows like a nest, sound asleep.
The house at 29 Neibolt Street did have a phone at some point. The imprint can be found on the kitchen table, the impeccably clean outline of a rotary phone on an otherwise dusty surface. Four years later, Dick Hallorann finds it when he returns to Derry after a disastrous end to his hotel job. The city, frustratingly, refused to sell him the former well house, citing future development that they all knew would never come.
It doesn’t matter, he gets a good view of the house next door through the window when he sits in his armchair. Although, Hallorann gets a good view of a lot of things from his armchair, Pennywise being one of them. It’s draped over the sofa next to him, clawed hand reaching out from the makeshift nest of pillows and blankets its buried beneath to hold his while he skims the paper. He takes a moment to look up and out at the wrought iron fence and the sunflowers growing so persistently along it. It’s a beautiful day outside.
Clown soup🤑 (⚠️ mild gore. Pool of blood and guts. And boobs idk)
I drew this on my tablet then posted it on my phone my eyesight is so shitty that I can’t see anything without a huge screen at max brightness and I’m paranoid no one can see the details.
gummygunk
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
pixelskylines
stormborns
