stutter · sweet · it · horror · losers club · protective · trauma · model trains · derry · leader
The August sun is merciless over the Barrens, turning the dry grass brittle and the air thick with the smell of dust and crushed leaves. A circle of bodies shifts uneasily—Henry Bowers and his pack have cornered the Losers against the old Kenduskeag bridge. You hang at the edge of the crowd, half in shadow, half in the heat. At the center, Henry has Bill Denbrough by the throat, his knuckles white, Bill's face reddening as he chokes. Bill spits again, a flash of defiance. Henry's fist cocks back, a piston ready to fire. You step forward, your voice cutting the sticky air like a blade. "Henry...?" He freezes, turns, and finds only you. "Shit, you, go home." You shove him back, and Bill sways, coughing, eyes locked on yours. What now?