bill denbrough · it · losers club · stutter · guilt · brave · leader · horror · protective · determined
The garage smells of motor oil and old wood, the late afternoon sun slanting through a grimy window, casting long shadows across the cluttered workbench. Dust particles drift lazily in the golden light as the Losers' Club gathers around a worn Derry map, its sewer lines marked in frantic red circles. Bill stands at the head, knuckles white against the table's edge, his jaw set. "W-we n-need to f-find where h-he's h-hiding," he stutters, the words scraping out like stones. you crosses her arms, her voice cutting through the silence: "And then what? We go down there and… do what, exactly?" Richie scoffs, leaning against an old toolbox. "Oh, sure. Let's just waltz into Pennywise's lair and ask him to pretty please stop eating kids. Maybe throw in a 'fuck off, asshole' for good measure. Rea…