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”Enough!” Bill pushed himself out of the Clown’s grip, stumbling for a moment to keep his balance as he scrambled to his feet.
Bill quickly restyled his forcefully “groomed”, messed-up bedhead back into its original look, and began wiping the Clown’s— the Creature’s—
sticky, web-like saliva off of his body. He had no choice but to use his arms to wipe the drool away, ruining his shirt further by using it as a substitute towel to get the viscous, smelly slime off his skin.
Once Bill finished without throwing up, he quickly turned his attention to the cause of his saliva saturated state—
IT sat in a crouched stance, the Clown’s expression not giving away any type of specific negative emotion, surprisingly. Pennywise was still standing exactly where It was when It was grooming Bill; the only slight difference being that It was looking up at Bill now – looking up at Bill like a confused puppy, almost like a toddler that just got scolded, causing them to freeze with a lost expression and try to process this new tone of voice and reaction from their parents to figure out whether to cry or go on with their life. The Clown truly seemed utterly baffled that Bill would break out of Its grip and be this pissed at It.
Suddenly the confused puppy look took a complete one-eighty. It rose up a bit, like a beast sizing up prey, and violently snatched at Bill in an attempt to pull him back, but Bill quickly dodged by taking some quick steps back—
The reward It got was another scolding, this time a bit louder and angrier.
”I said NO!” Bill’s chest heaved from the sudden spike of adrenaline and anger from his small outburst.
Many— THOUSANDS of innocent children of all ages over the decades have been mercilessly devoured by this creature, and for a while Bill and his friends were terrified of It— understandably so. The moment when It first snatched him and held him hostage was probably one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Bill put on a brave face and reassured his friends to leave him. This was all his fault in the first place, if the Shapeshifting Monster should eat any of them, it should be him, right? The selfish older brother that roped all his friends into this life and death situation, the boy that marched straight up to the Monster’s door ready to fight, thinking he might stand a chance against It. It would be almost—poetic if the boy met his fate by the very thing he wanted so desperately to stop.
His friends resisted at first, refusing to leave him in the arms of the Demonic Jester. It took a lot of back and forthing, but the Clown forcing Bill’s head in a position that could swiftly end his life with one aggressive turn finally made the six preteens back down and begrudgingly obey their friend’s last request. Hesitantly, each of the teens retreated. Some stopped for one last glance at their beloved leader and friend, others couldn’t bare to look at him as they left. Bill vaguely saw Eddie and Beverly wipe at their faces with their arms, like they were quickly wiping away tears.
“No, come back. I changed my mind!” Bill’s internal voice begged once the last of his friends disappeared from view, the gravity of the situation suddenly sinking in.
“Please don’t leave me here, I lied. I don’t want to die. Not yet! Please, please come back.” Tears started to well up in his eyes, running down his cheeks once Bill instinctively blinked.
I’m——I’m going to die…. It’s going to eat me, It's going to kill me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Will It take a bite out of his jugular and tear his throat open? Tear the undesirable parts from him? Rip his brown hair clean off his scalp? Hair couldn’t have tasted good, after all.
Betty’s corpse was found dismembered by the Canal. Richie and Bill found that illusion of Betty with her waist down completely gone. Not to mention Ed Corcoran’s missing body; Mike reported he saw the Clown munching on a recently torn-off arm when they saved him from Henry and his gang.
It must have a thing for limbs…
Will It tear Bill’s arm off? Right or left arm; maybe both? Which would be the first to go? Or maybe It likes legs more, which leg will It dislocate and break off first?
In a few seconds Bill Denbrough will be nothing but another one of the forgotten dead youths in Derry. Nothing but a piece of paper labeled MISSING in bold letters with a picture below of the firstborn Denbrough child. That is, if his parents even give enough of a damn to give him a poster….
“TheRe, thEre, Billy.”
That’s right, how could he forget? The Clown was still holding him.
It was still restraining him, but wasn’t holding his head in a deadly ‘ready to snap his neck’ position anymore, so Bill could move his head a little more freely. At least enough to properly look at his captor.
Bill’s cheeks were still wet with tears when he turned to face the Monster. Its immediate response to Bill making proper eye contact with those yellow eyes was to pull a mockingly distraught face in response to Bill’s tear stained one. Since Bill gave up struggling once his group left, It didn’t have to restrain him too much anymore. So It freed Its left hand to use one of Its gloved fingers to wipe some of Bill’s tears.
Bill winced at the Creature’s finger making contact with his face, expecting something far worse and fatal for a second. After the Clown slid Its finger across Bill’s wet face, It didn’t wipe Its finger on Its clown suit, or even wipe the tear off on the dirty sewer floor. Instead, It brought it barely a couple inches from Its painted red lips. Bill watched as the Creature brought out Its long, slimy tongue - a tongue that seemed more appropriate for a monstrous reptile starring in some horror movie than a humanoid creature dressed as a clown. The Clown slowly took Its time licking the finger, seemingly savoring the salty flavor before eventually bringing the whole finger in Its mouth.
It reminded Bill of an infant sucking on their thumb or their tiny fingers. Only infants are cute when they do that——this wasn’t cute, this is creepy as hell and downright horrifying at best.
What——-
the fuck…..
Bill cringed in disgust watching the Clown suck on Its finger that once had his tear on it. It didn’t last long though, luckily. The Clown grimaced like a toddler tasting a lemon for the first time. It yanked Its now saliva-covered finger out of Its mouth, Its face still in an uncomfortable, almost pouting, expression.
“Sour,” It said, not addressing anyone in particular. Its voice was a deep rasp, a serious tone - It glaring down in contempt at Its own finger for a second. Bill felt a brief grumble in the Creature’s chest that made its way up to the throat and out of Its mouth in a deep, ancient growl.
Bill wasn’t eager to speak up at the moment. The Creature clearly looked irritated, and seeing its animalistic nature, Bill feared pissing It off more might make It take out Its anger on him and take a fatal bite into his vulnerable flesh.
The Clown abruptly turned its attention back to Bill, and he felt his heart sink. About three seconds of looking at Bill suddenly made the Clown perk back up——
“No more of that now.” Its voice was back to Its cheerful, high tone. “Pennywise is here now——“ Its red lips widened to a grin. “And we’re going to have so much fun together.”
IT didn’t eat Bill……
Instead Bill became Its toy, Its “pet”.
Its doll———
After the first week, the uncertainty of whether the Creature disguised as a clown was going to eat him or not was drained away, as it was soon becoming clear that Bill wasn’t going to be dismembered or chewed up anytime soon.
The worst the Creature did to him was barf the remains of—oh, God—Bill doesn’t even wanna think about it.
It started exactly the day after Bill was left at the mercy of the Eldritch Jester. Pets are no fun if they are limp and cold, a corpse. The Clown quickly reassured Bill It plans to keep his heart beating and his body still mobile. “We wouldn’t be able to have fun if you're dead, now would we?” It explained playfully. The damn Creature was always so enthusiastic, almost always spoke to him like he was nine years younger than his present age. It was both irritating and somehow unnerving.
If It truly wanted Bill to thrive, It would have to provide for him. Most essentially, feed him. Of course, there were no fresh human snacks or edible food in the sewer. The ones Bill did manage to randomly stumble across were days old past their expiration date, rotting and infested with flies. Not safe, or smart to eat….
Luckily though, Bill’s “generous” new Sewer-mate was more than willing, almost eager, to share Its freshly hunted meals with him. Seemingly out of the blue, while the Shapeshifting Entity Of Nightmares was viciously tearing at and devouring a lung, It paused in Its meal and looked at Bill who was sitting far away, not doing anything in particular.
It licked the bit of blood off of Its chin and cocked Its head, like a bewildered canine in thought.
…….
“Eat.”
Bill turned to the source of the voice and immediately grimaced, scooting back at the sight of a half-eaten human lung placed in the palm of a gloved hand, way too close to his face for comfort. Once Bill recovered from the first, startling sight of the gnawed-on breathing organ, he looked up at the hand’s owner.
The Clown stared intensely at Bill. It wasn’t a threatening look, or the look of a beast getting ready to swallow their prey whole. For once the Entity looked almost——normal. Human. Innocent.
The Clown stared at Bill expectantly but—patiently. Just politely waiting for Bill to respond.
“U—uh—-“ Bill didn’t quite know what to say. What exactly is the proper response to being offered a human’s organ as food?
“Uh—-th—-thank you, but——“ Bill noticed the surprisingly docile Clown’s eyes flash yellow for a brief second, easily overlooked if one wasn’t paying attention. Like a lightbulb beginning to reach its expiration date, flickering. A mere millisecond, but it was there. And it was more than enough to make Bill stop mid-sentence to rethink his words for his own sake.
After a bit of thought, and cautiously watching the Creature’s facial features and expression, Bill opened his mouth again——
“Growing boys need to eaT,” The Creature abruptly spoke, cutting off whatever Bill was originally planning to say. It enunciated the last letter of “eat”, like a parent beginning to get irritated with their young child, but still trying to keep up the child-friendly tone as to not upset their child too.
“Take the lung, Billy. It’s good for you.”
“Take. The Lung. You ungrateful, insignificant little shi—-“
Bill really doesn’t want to have to eat something that used to be inside an innocent child. He isn’t sure he’d even be ABLE to eat a raw, human organ, but it seems the Clown’s patience wasn’t as thick as it seemed. Bill was about to reach his hand out to take the offered lung – not to eat it, but maybe just holding it would make the Creature happy.
But he didn’t even get to reach his hand out when the Clown decided for him.
Bill couldn’t help the surprised gasp he made when abruptly, without any warning, the Clown grabbed Bill’s shirt and pulled him closer to ITself. Bill tried to stop the momentum by placing his hands on the Creature’s Victorian Clown suit for support. Bill’s hands were now the only thing keeping him from being possibly brought further into a more intimate and frankly embarrassing position of being pressed up against Shapeshifting-Child Eater’s chest like a helpless infant needing their mother’s skin contact or an older child being comforted from a nightmare.
But the Clown didn’t attempt to pull Bill in further…. Instead, IT took the lung that was once in Its palm and stuck it between Its teeth. It wasn’t eating it, just holding it in place so It was able to free up Its hands. It was kind of impressive that the Clown had the self control to not bite down on a tasty meal right between Its jaws, but Bill’s focus was somewhere else.
With both arms now free, IT was able to properly adjust itself in a more appropriate position, picking Bill up and, without getting up, reached out and placed both of Its gloved hands on Bill’s sides, proceeding to lift him up off the ground, like IT was simply lifting a stuffed toy instead of a 5’7 human preteen. Now that the boy was off the ground, It had enough room to adjust Its legs into a crisscross, and once Its legs were in the desired position, It lowered Its Little Buddy onto Its crossed legs for him to comfortably sit. Once settled, It immediately put a hand on Bill's back to hold him in place. It’s not stupid, the boy will most likely try to resist his meal, but the boy alone with no backup is powerless, just a simple human. He stands no chance; Pennywise could end him right now and he would barely be able to fight back…..
But Pennywise doesn’t want to kill the Denbrough child. IT simply wants him to eat—and he’s going to eat——whether he wants to or not.
Once The Clown took the lung out of Its mouth and presented it to Bill for a second time, Bill quickly caught on to what Its goal was and he wasn’t having any of it. Bill tried, with little results, to break free and avoid what was about to happen, but all the same, It managed to force his mouth open and forced his teeth to chomp down on the offered lung. Bill cringed when the slimy, gelatinous bit of the organ entered his mouth, unable to do anything to stop it. A tear managed to make its way out of Bill’s tightly closed eyes – he wanted to spit that grotesque, disgusting bit of flesh out of his mouth; he wanted to vomit, anything to keep it from going down his throat.
But The Clown held Bill’s mouth shut. “Swallow.” IT demanded. Its voice was not high or childish, but that raspy, more serious tone, like when IT bargained Bill’s life for his friends to go free and unharmed. It roughly raised Bill’s head up by his jaw to have a clear view of his face. Bill voiced his displeasure of having his head forcefully positioned up to look at the ceiling in the form of muffled protests. “Mmmfh mmm–”
It hurt – the Creature was so adamant about keeping his head in place but the awkward position made Bill’s cervical spine ache. If the Creature wanted to, It could push his head so far back his cervical spine could snap in half like a twig, his head dispatching from his body, ending his life.
But oh, that's right, It outright confirmed It wouldn’t kill him. Well, if It didn’t want to kill him you’d think the creature would be a lot gentler!
“Swallow it!” ITs sharp teeth flashed for a second when Its lips opened in a snarl, a guttural, animalistic growl accompanied soon after. Inhuman claws began to sprout from Its gloved fingertips, ripping through the fabric to press down on Bill’s fragile human cheek. Bill let out a muffled yelp, followed by strained whimpers at the feeling of Its claws puncturing his flesh.
At this point, Bill had resituated his hands from being his last line of support against the Clown’s chest to keep him from being pulled further into a humiliating position, to using his hands to desperately try to pry the Clown’s clawed hands away from his mouth – both so It wouldn't be poking through his flesh anymore, but also so he could spit the organ out. Bill’s hands desperately tugged on the monster’s gloved one – from the palm to the sharp claw fingers, but to no avail. He really shouldn't be too shocked that this billion-eons old entity was stronger than him. Stronger than a simple, not even fully grown human. The Creature’s hand reminded him of a rock, or a statue. Well, that might be over-dramatic, but in the moment it was the first comparison that came to Bill’s mind. A giant immobile, immovable rock. It goes against all logic, but the Creature’s hand wasn't capable of budging. If Stan was in Bill’s place, he’d probably have a conniption fit at the Clown’s impossible stone-palm.
But Bill wasn't Stan. Thank God he wasn't Stan. He wouldn't wish his current fate on even his worst enemy.
Bill’s hand began to ache from the futile attempts at yanking and clawing at The Clown’s physics-defying hand. Bill feared that ignoring the ache and proceeding to pull on Its hand again might tear the tendons in his hands. His hands admitted defeat, fingers going limp, palms lying idle atop the Clown’s, not even daring to move his fingers; instead giving them and his whole hand a very needed break.
Pennywise immediately took notice of Bill’s defeat and grinned, satisfied that the Denbrough child stopped struggling. The fact that a simple human boy happens to be so determined to resist It was so entertaining. It’s like the child actually thinks he might stand a chance against the Eater Of Worlds. Ah, but alas, the child was still only human. Humans tire easily, ache easily, break easily, die easily——-
Oh, how easy the simple creatures can get sent back to the weeds….
It knew Bill would get tired. And a good hunter knows the best time to attack is when the prey is vulnerable……
Bill’s exhausted hands lazily slid off Pennywise’s palm and fell limp at his sides. Another tear ran down his cheek, the boy knowing very well how vulnerable this position made him, being temporarily out of commission, fully at the mercy of whatever the Clown’s next move will be.
The Clown’s red lips dropped, forming a frown; “Tired already?” Its tone was soft, yet blatantly condescending. Similar to how a parent or wayward adult would speak to a toddler… or a simple-minded animal.
If Bill’s arms weren’t currently slack and unresisting, he’d clench his hands into tight fists of irritation. Instead, his green eyes glared daggers at the tall, painted predator; the very last defense mechanism available at his disposal.
They stood like that for a few minutes (from what Bill could tell, it could have been a few seconds for all he knew), but it felt like forever. The large palm felt suffocating, and it felt like he wasn’t getting enough air from the frantic and stuttery breathing he was forced to do from his nose. The gelatinous, warm, coppery blob was pressed to the back of his teeth, as far as it could go, as much as his tongue wanted to recoil at the feeling and nauseating taste of death.
It must have noticed what he was doing, as the Clown gave a grunt as the sound of tearing, ripping fabric filled the silence and something pinched his nose shut.
It was another fucking hand.
Wait, a third hand? Since when did It have—-
Bill, you idiot, of course It can add extra limbs, It’s obviously not human, that shouldn’t be hard to forget, hell, you witnessed It shapeshift yesterday!
Blood and saliva filled his mouth, trailing down and tickling the back of his throat, like a grotesque mimicry of a cold or cough. He struggled for breath and his chest convulsed, begging for an end to the torture. But no matter what he did, the flesh just wouldn’t leave–
His eyes watered and without his permission… his throat swallowed.
It wasn’t the lung, thank god, but the foul, sludgy mixture that had gathered around his tongue was ushered down to his stomach, almost immediately coming back up again as he heaved in disgust. The cry of his lungs grew stronger, and Bill could no longer tell if his eyes were open. His body put up a weak struggle - he was suffocating, he couldn’t breathe, he needed air, he needed, he needed, he needed–
He swallowed.
A violent shudder wracks through his body, disgust twisting his features into an agonized mask of horror. He had swallowed it. It was in him, in his body, his stomach. He heaved behind the clown's hand, but it was a small, pitiful thing that changed absolutely nothing. It was still in him. Being digested.
It was a piece of someone's lung - maybe someone his age… or even Georgie's… maybe even younger-
The blood tasted like coins, and the meat was—spongy. The first mental image that came to him was a simple yellow kitchen sponge, his Mother’s kitchen sponge, the sponge he would occasionally see her scrubbing dirty dishes and pans with if he was curious enough to lean to the side and observe.
Bill really wished the Clown would just eat him. Rip out his stomach, rip out the piece of lung, rip it all out, out, out, oUT, OUT!
The Clown - Pennywise - let out a small, chaffing laugh, and moved Its hands away from his face and nose, allowing his body to instinctively take in huge, gulping breaths of air; his lungs - don't think about it, don't THINK ABOUT IT - were screaming, spasming at each lungful.
He couldn't stop coughing, he couldn't stop heaving… he couldn't stop sobbing.
It took him an eternity to calm down - he didn't want to calm down, he didn't want to get used to this - but when he could finally see past the tears, the pain, the disgust, he realized he was on the ground, shivering and on his knees. A smug, high voice reached his ears, sounding a million miles away:
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it? Why don't you say, "thank you!" to dear, ole Pennywise, huh? A full belly is a happy belly, as they say!"
The Thing giggled, and Bill wanted to die.
……………..
Ever since then, it was a daily occurrence. Different organs or meaty muscle tissue were forced down his throat….He didn’t want to be uncomfortably restrained like the first time, so the most he would do was try to scoot away, or craning his neck in uncomfortable angles to keep the gloved hands away. It was all but a petty defiance unfortunately, as The Creature always won their little game, holding Bill in place or pinning him to the ground - making him swallow whatever was on the menu that day. Eventually, he gave up struggling altogether. It didn’t make a difference anyway… he would only be delaying the inevitable.
But he hates it. God, does he hate it. He tried to tell himself that “it could be worse”. It could make him eat parts of a freshly-killed child; force him to bite into smooth, cold flesh of his fellow kind while he tries his best to not look at the petrified, dead face of the corpse. But it was just organs - no still bodies or twisted faces (Bill tries his best not to think of the exact fate of the owners, but he still wonders).
Eating just the organs made it easier to disconnect.
…But if that was entirely true, why does he still cry himself to sleep nightly, or have terrifying dreams of the mutilated, undead kids shoving their own insides past his screams and down his throat? Crooning about how ‘good’ they tasted while they carefully slid their intestines down his protesting mouth, or holding a freshly torn, still beating heart to his lips - encouraging him to slurp the blood out as if he was simply sipping juice from a straw? The lucid nightmare would luckily cut off before he would have to swallow them - awakening with a jolt; panicked, sweaty, and feeling sick to his stomach. The churning within him would be so bad, so nauseating some nights, that he would vomit on the spot - sometimes waking up mid-spew.
In the background, the Creature would watch him. Standing idly with a blank expression. Bill caught It once by sheer coincidence after lifting his head up, catching it’s white face peering from the blackness around him. At first his heart jumped, but it quickly sank after the initial startle faded. An uneasy pause, eventually followed by some stammering and stuttering, Bill managed to call out a soft, “what are you doing?”
IT didn’t respond, and something about that made Bill even more uneasy. Or maybe it was the blank stare that startled him. He once asked the Clown why It goes through the trouble of feeding him daily; on that particular day, It had managed to pin him down to the dirt-crusted ground while It hovered over him. It had sprouted two extra arms from Its waist (or ribcage perhaps, but Bill sometimes wondered if the creature even had a skeleton), like the first time It had force-fed him. The extra arms held his own securely in place, his arms lying spread out on either side of his prone body - unintentionally mimicking a “T” pose - where they would be confined until “breakfast time” was over. The Clown’s original left arm acted as a simple support beam, palm firmly planted on the ground - miraculously enough to hold the rest of Its weight without issue, from what he could tell. Its opposite arm held Bill’s soon-to-be meal.. a fleshy, cruelly torn-off piece of muscle tissue. In any other situation, it could have easily been mistaken as the animal meat seen in butcher shop windows and displays…. But Bill knows better——-mother of god does he wish he didn’t, he really, really wishes he didn’t——
A freshly slaughtered sheep or cow would have been so much better, so much easier to swallow, both literally and figuratively.
It wiggled the bit of human meat almost—tauntingly, like how a bully might dangle a beloved toy of their victims, waiting for a young child or very short preteen to helplessly hop in a desperate attempt to reach said stolen possession - or maybe for them to whine and plead for their tormentor to give it back.
Because sometimes the creature decided to draw out the moment just before It shoves the dripping, acrid remains into his mouth. It likes to savor the moment, to really hammer in the unavoidable yet “necessary” action that will occur very, very soon. It would always be grinning ear-to-ear, or wearing that stupid, smug smirk when taunting Bill. That simple look caused him to feel many emotions, none of which were positive.
Briefly at first, it was fear—--although it was more fear of the eventual outcome, rather than the current one he found himself in.
Then it quickly turned into anger. Anger at the Clown’s knowing, cocky smile; anger for not being able to freely move his sore arms; anger at the pure helplessness of the entire situation.
Although instead of screaming in frustration, yelling obscenities, and mindlessly thrashing for release like he so desperately wanted to, he succumbed. Going limp, allowing his head to drop on the dirty sewer floor, he gave up. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to suppress the urge to vocalize his defeat as a pitiful whine. If only he could open his eyes and be back in his room, surrounded by his friends making jokes around him; or parents to lovingly wake him with forehead kisses and hugs - something they hadn’t done in a long time. Something like that was impossible though, seeing as they would have to genuinely care about him to do that… something that still hurt the small, sad part of him to think about….Or hell, maybe—maybe awaken in his baby blue, untied robe; tissues shoved up his nostrils to block the flood of snot and ick from dripping everywhere, the rest of the tissues not too far away, sitting on his nightstand directly to his left side. He would be congested and nauseous to all hell, but it would all be worth it, if a certain brown-eyed boy was also there, kneeling by the window, drawing shapes, smiley faces, and whatever else his young imaginative mind wanted, out of the fog created by his breath against the glass.
“I should have gone with him, why didn’t I just go with him?!”
But Bill wouldn’t wake up in his room, and he wouldn't wake up on a rainy October day. Because scientists hadn’t figured out time travel yet, like they had in the movies Richie liked to watch. And it’s not October, it’s September…. Almost a full year later…
He knows he’ll just see the ceiling of the sewer, or the grinning face of his captor - which is why he wanted to keep his eyes closed as long as possible. But he can’t hide forever.
When he opened his eyes again, he was met with The Clown’s white face and ruby red makeup, the bastard still wearing that devious grin across Its lips. The piece of human meat now noticeably dangling closer to Bill’s face.
Noticing how close and low Its arm had moved, and how nearer and clearer the flesh was in his eyes, letting him see all the disgusting details that made him want to vomit, just reminded him of how hopeless the situation truly was; how useless resisting would be, now he didn’t want to close his eyes now, because if he closed them the meat might move even closer, might touch his lips, might force his mouth to be pried open...
He could feel his eyes getting wet, the sudden heat rising to his pupils, blurring his vision. He blinked a couple times, which helped clear up his sight, although his eyelashes were now wet, and he could feel one stray tear slowly trek its way down the side of his eye. Later on, after the whole stressful ordeal was over, he would scream in frustration at himself for so openly weeping like a baby in front of the Jester-dressed monstrosity. But in the moment, the humility of his action didn’t register.
“Wh-wh-why are you—” Bill paused for a second, taking a deep exhale in hopes that it would help him successfully finish the word. “Do—doing this?”
The Creature’s smug grin faded. It stared at Bill for a bit, eyes pinning into his own, then It cocked Its head to the side ever so slightly. ““Why?”” It repeated the word out loud, more to itself instead of Bill. Like this was the first time It ever heard the word before and was internally analyzing it.
Then the smile came back. A very subtle smile - condescending, almost. Like It was claiming something obvious, yet so simple.
“So you don’t starve.”
…………………………..
Bill’s clothes had been covered in so much dirt and grime over the last few days of living in the sewer that he could barely see their original colors. To be fair, he didn’t exactly try to avoid getting dirty - cleanliness of course, was clearly the least of his problems. The most that mattered was that no dirt or gray water got in his eyes, mouth, or somehow his boxers. His hands became another priority when he caught himself wiping the bloody gore from his face. Bill got a look at himself while exploring the Creature’s massive tower of treasures. An old antique vanity mirror was propped up against the tower, as if being used to support the weight. The vanity was covered in dust, broken with cruelly torn off edges, leaving pointed needles of wood in place, just waiting to cause a splinter to any curious child or critter that got too close. The glass of the mirror had almost been completely shattered; only one shard lay intact, and that shard gave Bill enough.
There, he was able to see the growing effect that being in the cistern had on him. Faint blotches of dirt stained his cheeks; a bigger, more noticeable blotch on the front of his once white and blue short sleeved shirt could be seen, with small ones littered across his stomach and sides. There was no way he could see the mess of the backside, but there was most likely dirt and god knows what else there as well. Instinctively, Bill brought one of his hands up to scrub the dirt from his cheeks, then studied his hand afterwards. He noted a damp sensation on his hand and quickly assumed it was gray water that had maybe managed to drip onto his face, or probably from the paths of water that he tripped and fell face first into more times than he’d like to remember during his many failed escape attempts.
Ew…
Fucking sewer!
He found himself internally cursing the sewer, the water, the rusted pipes, the inescapable scent of shit and grime, the cold, dirty flooring, the—-
A sudden euphoric chuckle escaped his mouth.
Bill covered it once he realized that it was him laughing. Where the hell did that come from?
There’s nothing humorous - nothing fucking funny - about the situation; about dirt, about cold, about pain… at least he didn’t think there was. But something about seeing his dirt covered palm brought up nostalgia. He imagined the voice of Eddie chastising him for having the gall to use his own bare unprotected hands to clean his face, lecturing him of how unsanitary it is, how much bacteria he just unknowingly spread through the other parts of his body. Eddie would hate this, Eddie would probably vomit and then faint at Bill’s recollections of his captivity (if he ever did escape to tell the tale, that is). What would Eddie do if he were in this situation instead of him? Oh, he would be—-
Then his laughter turned into sobs, which made Bill tighten the grip over his mouth, as if covering it tight enough would cease the sound altogether. Instead, he just broke down further. Eddie, Beverly—- the image of them clearly trying to conceal tears as they turned away and exited the sewer - left him behind - flashed in his mind. Richie, Stan; Stan’s face getting eaten by the Creature who had morphed into the lady from Mr Uris’s office painting that he was so unnerved by; Stan calling him insane after the Well House incident.
After a gasping breath between tears and sobs, he fell to his knees.
He’ll never see them again, will he? Will never get to hang out after school with them or play in the Barrens or be a fucking KID again because he’s stuck with the child eating monster. If he somehow did manage to escape he would probably put his friends in danger for breaking the deal with the Creature. It would come after them, and kill them, perhaps even in front of him——
Bill squeezes his eyes shut, No, don’t think of it, don’t think of it!
He felt pathetic - small and vulnerable in a way he’d never been before. He always had anger fueling him, even in his lowest moments; a hot, burning center in his core, flames and smoke rising up his throat and choking him in the very worst of situations. But now he just felt empty, the heat all but snuffed out; a dark yawning pit of frost, of cold. Like a part of him was missing.
A mocking voice popped up from behind him, a facsimile of a cooing mother to a distressed child; patronizing and smarmy. “OooOoh, is someone UpsEt…?”
Tensing up, Bill’s shoulders rose to his ears, a pitiful but instinctual attempt at defense as he tried to scramble back up, only to be stopped by the Monster’s arms wrapping around him in the imitation of a hug - but too gangly and awkward to be called one. Its bulbous head nestled itself beside his tense shoulder, nuzzling closer to his face in exaggerated movements. Bill could feel Its drool dripping down onto his neck, and he shivered in disgust.
Its face was pouting, red lips drawn down and brows pinched like It was trying to look worried, but couldn’t quite pull it off. Their eyes connected in the mirror.
“What’s got ol’ Billy Boy so upset, huh? Tell Penny what’s going on in that small little head of yours, won’tcha?”
Bill refused to reply, refused to participate in this game while he was feeling so weak, so vulnerable - but the clown never wasted an opportunity to make it all fucking worse.
“OhhHhh, I think I know! OooOoo I think, I tHiNk, I THINK I know!” It giggled, bells twinkling as It shook in place like a child that just couldn’t wait to go to the amusement park that day. “Youuuuuuu…” Pennywise said as one of Its gloved hands came up to poke him in the nose, eyes crinkling in amusement as they remained locked onto Bill’s own. “Want a bath, don’t you?”
…
Fucking what.
The Clown continued on, knowing exactly the psychological damage It imparted with just those few words. “You don’t like how dirty you are, right? Poor thing. Well Penny can help with that, no problem!”
Bill’s mind instantly awashed with panic, because hell no. No fucking way. That clown was not gonna fucking see him naked - no way in hell. Bill would rather rip out his own spine.
Unfortunately, before Bill could run out of Its grip like a bat out of hell, Its grip around him tightened, lifting him up in the air as he thrashed about like a wild animal, gnashing his teeth and practically foaming at the mouth. All his ferocious protests fell on deaf ears
But it was so, SO much worse than he ever could have imagined.
Bill’s socks and shoes where discarded, chucked over the Clown’s shoulder and into the towering mass of long forgotten goods, never to be seen again (and Bill had tried, for a bit, to find them again, but walking barefoot on broken wood, shattered glass, and whatever else that probably gave him tetanus, made him quickly give up). Thinking back, Bill thinks It just did that to be a dick, as the clown had proceeded to lick him all over, saturating his hair and clothes in a torrent of stinky, gag-inducing drool that in no way improved his cleanliness situation. The whole event was out of a goddamn nightmare, the thing’s numerous sharp teeth just inches from his skin as Its sickeningly cold tongue slithered its way across his neck. Bill had never been more terrified, never more disgusted. He felt violated, in a way.
This of course led to Bill being forcefully groomed in revolting clown-spit everyday. He tried fighting It back, of course, but It would just simply pin him down and position him in order to proceed licking him clean, like a disgruntled mother cat.
Just remembering it makes a cold shudder of revulsion run through him.
Today (or tonight, it’s a little hard to tell in the sewers) Bill finally had enough.....
Bill is not afraid.
He hasn’t been in a while.
Now he’s just pissed!
Surprisingly enough, the Clown didn’t try to snatch Bill back again. Instead, It stayed crouched in Its place, staring at Bill with a face of…curiosity? Maybe? It was hard to get a read on Its expressions sometimes— being as inhuman as It was.
It looked interested—and as the silence stretched on, Bill realized that It was waiting… like it wanted to see what Bill would do next.
Like an invested audience watching a movie, on the edge of their seats and waiting for the big twist.
Bill continued, “No—mm—muh—more g—grooming......I—if you want to take care of me cah—can you at least do it normally? Like a human?!”
The Creature didn’t even blink, still watching Bill with those piercing eyes..
“Human—like how a human parent would n-nuh-nurture their child...?” Bill ventured.
The Clown sat in silence, processing Bill’s words.
“....”
“Hello?” Bill sounded annoyed. Not as angry as he was before, but annoyed.
“Did you even he-hear what I said?!”
“....”
No movement.
Bill let out a frustrated sigh and turned away...
...and not even a second after he heard Its voice speak up from behind him.
“Why Billy—“ Bill could already imagine the trademark grin on the Clown’s face from that tone alone.
He heard thudding footsteps and the jingle of bells coming up behind him, meaning that the Clown finally got up from Its crouched, gargoyle-like position.
The footsteps stopped abruptly.
“—why didn’t you just say so?” The voice chirped happily.
Bill’s eyes widened in surprise as he felt something (or more accurately, someONE) grab the back of his shirt collar. Bill’s entire body froze in shock as he felt himself being lifted in the air like he weighed nothing.
After a second of suspension, Bill snapped himself out of it, slowly looking down to see a lack of ground beneath his feet. He really was being held by his shirt collar by some giant creature, causing him to dangle in the air at a very terrifying, dangerous height that made him feel dizzy and sick. The shirt caught at his jaw, making it a bit hard to breathe and no doubt causing bruising around his neck as It held his entire weight.
Bill’s original instinct was to kick and squirm for release like a caught mouse, but logic kicked in and he quickly decided against it. Being let go is the last thing he wanted, and would probably be the last thing he experienced if he fell from this high up.
So instead, Bill cooperated and unconsciously lifted his knees up, curling into himself much like a kitten would when being picked up by the nape of their neck; allowing himself to be carried by the giant form of the Clown that he first saw when he and his friends were going over the Derry map.
The giant clown somehow managed to easily squeeze Itself into the cramped sewer tunnels and scurried through them at a darting, spider-like pace.
The Creature was going too fast for Bill to examine the surroundings as they went zooming past, putrid air blowing into his face and sweeping his hair back—not that there was anything spectacular to look at anyways. It wasn’t until they climbed up the all-too familiar well did Bill realize where the Creature was taking him.
“It’s taking me back up to the Well House!”
The Creature was going back through the same path the Losers had taken when they went down to rescue Beverly!
The Giant Clown rose up from the small broken old well that was bizarrely planted in the dusty, ruined basement of the Well House. It crawled out carefully, Its large limbs making contact with the basement floor. Suddenly, Bill felt the creature release Its grip on his shirt collar and, before Bill could even blink, the creature swiftly flipped Bill over Its shoulder, making Bill dangle on top of the now normal sized (but still unnaturally tall) Clown’s shoulder. Bill felt the Clown shift and slowly begin to move. Lifting his head up, Bill saw the broken down well they just climbed out of become farther and farther away as he was nonchalantly carried like some bag of luggage; like a burly construction worker or a lumberjack carrying a freshly chopped log; like a person draping a towel on their shoulder preparing to get into a shower; like a doll......
Bill couldn’t exactly squirm out and escape despite seeing sunlight for the first time in weeks— what good would that do him now?
All he could do was look at the floor as he was carried upstairs and out of the basement, through the halls and first floor of The Neibolt house, up the rickety stairs and to the second floor. They moved down the hallway that he, Richie and Eddie all walked down so long ago in search of the very same beast that was carrying him right now.
………….
There were a lot of mysterious doors in the hallway. The last time Bill was here, neither him nor his friends did a rapid run through of every single door there was, so where this Clown was taking him was a complete mystery.
Bill finally had the courage to speak up, “Uh——um, wh—where———where are… y—you, t—tuh—ta——“
The Clown cut him off. “T—t——taking you?” It mocked, letting out a small, ominous chuckle. “You’ll see Little One.”
Little One?
That’s new.
A new nickname......Suddenly “Billy Boy” doesn’t seem as humiliating and condescending now compared to this one….
Bill was cut off from fully processing the bizarre and very much unwanted term of endearment when suddenly his kidnapper abruptly stopped in Its tracks.
“Here we are!” The Clown exclaimed.
Bill heard the slow creaking of a door being opened and felt the Clown move again as they stepped inside...