The moment the library door opens, the two know something is amiss inside. There were sounds of struggle, grunting and groaning. Richie storms ahead of Jaime and opens the lobby doors. The pair are met with the sight of Bowers, on top of a powerless Mike, same knife that had cut Jaime's neck being held centimeters from Mike's face.
A tiny yelp flees Jaime's lips, her confident demeanor instantly disintegrating, but Richie quickly shushes her. She looks between him and the horrific scene ahead, silently asking him what they're to do. As if on autopilot, Richie grabs a sharp piece of metal from the checkout table and storms forward.
"Just like your druggie parents," Bowers seethes to Mike, "can you see them yet? Crispy, like fried, fucking--"
Richie drives the object through Bowers' thick skull, evidently killing the man who had attempted to kill multiple people just that day. He halts, shaking, then slumps against Mike as his body begins giving up on him. Jaime rushes up to Mike as he pushes Bowers off of him. Wordlessly, she outstretches a hand and hoists him to his feet.
"Guess you could say that was long overdue." Richie pants, smiling sheepishly. "Get it, because we're in a... library--" He cuts himself off by spilling his guts onto the floor where Mike had just been. Jaime grimaces as Richie vomits up the beer they had just consumed together.
The lobby doors swing open harshly, revealing three of the losers. "Mike?!" Beverly says frantically, rushing forward with Ben and Eddie following suit. A shrill scream escapes her upon seeing Bowers lifeless body.
"I was hoping I'd be able to warn you of that," Jaime grimaces, looking at Mike, "I guess we were a few minutes too late."
"No," Mike breathes, placing a hand on her shoulder, "no, you came just in time. It's alright."
"You alright?" Ben asks cautiously.
"No I'm not alright, I just fucking killed a guy!" Richie gestures madly to Bowers' body.
"I was... talking to Mike..."
"Where's Bill?" Mike asks. He doesn't seem as phased as he should be; rather he seems more determined to kill It than ever.
For a second time that evening, the lobby doors open brashly. Everyone jerks their heads towards that direction, expecting the Denbrough to walk in. Instead, they're met with the sight of a frazzled Victor, appearing as if he had rushed across town to be here.
"Am I late?" He asks, panting. When he's only met with wide eyes, Jaime runs over to him and hugs him once more. Unquestioningly, he hugs back, squeezing his younger sister but looking to her group of friends with furrowed brows and concerned eyes.
She pulls away and tugs him forward by the arm. "Guys, you remember Vic, right?" Murmurs of reluctant agreement follow.
"I hope I didn't miss any-- holy shit." Victor stares down at Bowers' body, noting the leaking wound in his head. He shakily points to his former best friend, his face hardening. "Which one of you did this?"
Honey-thick silence follows. The losers look to each other fearfully. Victor's stare is indecipherable, but they all safely assume he's not very happy. Jaime tightens her grip on his arm, looking at him apprehensively.
"Well, since none of you fuckers want to take the fall for me, guess I'll say it." Richie says finally, rubbing his forehead. "I did it."
At a snails pace, Victor drags his gaze up to meet Richie. He swallows audibly. "You-- you killed Bowers?"
Richie clicks his tongue, looking past Victor at Jaime. "Yeah, I guess I did."
Without warning, Victor barrels forward and scoops Richie into his arms. Jaime opens her mouth to protest, but upon realizing he's only hugging the man, she relaxes with a feeble smile. Victor squeezes Richie and pats his back while Richie hesitantly wraps his arms around the man, chuckling nervously.
"You are a legend, Tozier." Victor pulls back, patting Richie's shoulder. "Hey, man, it's been awhile, how are you?"
Richie falls into relaxed laughter. "I've definitely had better days. It's great to see you."
Victor turns, meeting the weary stares of Jaime's best friends. "Mike, Ben, sorry I don't remember your name, Eddie..."
"I-I'm Beverly." She introduces herself with a forced smile. He nods knowingly.
"Should've known." He frowns. "Where's the other two?"
"We don't know where Bill is." Mike says. "And Stan..."
"Stan the Man! Where's that rascal?" Victor asks fondly. Jaime clears her throat as everyone looks away awkwardly.
"He... uh... he didn't make it here. It got him." She explains, fighting past the lump in her throat. Her older brother's face softens with pity.
"Fuck, Jay... shit, I'm sorry." He wraps an arm comfortingly around her shoulder. "Hey, well, look, guys, I don't know if you want me here or not. But as long as I'm in Derry, I'm staying with my sister." He clears his throat. "And I think, I think I'm as much a part of this as you guys. I uh... I saw something. That summer. Before... Jaime even told me what was happening."
"What? What the fuck did you see?" Richie asks.
Jaime weasels out from under his arm and frowns at him. "You didn't ever tell me that-- why? What happened?"
Victor recalls, like yesterday, the incident on the Bowers farm. "I was at Henry's, helping him finish his chores. He always had us help him, so he could sit back and smoke and bark at us. It was well after dark one night, I think it was before school let out. I don't know if you guys remember, but Bowers had these two horses. Old fellas, they were. They were former racing horses, but they'd withered with age. I went into the barn one night to make sure they had been fed. It was so dark in there, all I had was a flashlight. I just remember the jingle of bells and feeling something dart past me. Then the clown in one of the horse pens, popping up from behind the stall door. He had this stupid fucking voice and he reeked of circus food. I was alarmed because I wondered if this was some psycho druggie with a gun or knife. I wasn't scared of him that much, which is probably why I slipped away unscathed. Honestly, I didn't even correlate that with what Jaime told me until the summer ended, and by then, she walked around that topic like eggshells. So I kept it to myself until this very moment."
"You should've told me." Jaime says the moment he closes his mouth.
"Oh, like you should've told me you were coming back to this stupid fucking town?" He shoots back.
"Well, you can certainly stay." Mike says before Jaime can begin bickering with her older sibling.
"Unless Pennywise possesses you and you try to kill us too." Eddie jokes, though beyond his joking tone is seriousness. Victor laughs him off.
"Pennywise doesn't have the balls."
Jaime suddenly notices the cut on Mike's arm. "Shit, Mike, did Bowers do that?"
"Yeah, man, let's get that cleaned up." Ben says, motioning him over. They take a seat at one of the tables as Ben examines the wound. Eddie makes a beeline for Richie, the two falling into a loquacious conversation. Beverly simmers with quiet anxiety, offering reassuring smiles at Jaime when she looks at her worriedly. Victor stays glued to Jaime's side. She'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the protection, but after what Pennywise said to her earlier, she enjoys the protection with a hint of guilt. Am I really this co-dependent? Everyone is always here for me, but am I ever here for them...
"Bill," Mike speaks into his phone, distracting Jaime from her depressing stupor. "We're all at the library, where're you at?" He gets up quickly after that, arm freshly bandaged. "No no no, look, just come here, to the library, we can talk about the plan-- no no no, Bill, Bill!" Mike hangs up the phone with a heavy sigh.
"He's going to fight It alone."
"What?"
"Alone. It's about the group, the ritual doesn't work without the group! Doing it together is why it worked."
"Mike, did he tell you where he was going?"
"If he really wanted to kill Pennywise, there's only one place he'll go..." Beverly says.
"The same place the ritual needs to be performed."
"Oh, we're not gonna like this, are we..." Eddie sighs.
"Fuck." Ben curses.
-
A jarring pain throbs in the depths of Jaime's skull as she enters the house on Neibolt. She could finally remember the entirety of the summer of '89, but at what cost? Seeing Bill on the porch, begging the others to leave him, was too familiar. It paralleled nicely with the events of that summer, that was for sure. Of course, like both times, none of them would allow the boy to defeat It alone.
Under her feet, the wood creaked forebodingly. She shined the flashlight Mike gave her around the house. Dust swarmed the air with each move the eight people made. Behind Jaime, her older brother clears his throat, stifling a cough.
"What a poorly constructed house. I'm surprised it hasn't caved in already." Victor notes, his carpentry ever-so-present. Jaime swats at a cobweb as she continues persevering through the house, following those in front of her.
"Well, I love what he's done with the place." Richie comments, noting the tar-black liquid seeping through the walls and dripping down the faded wallpaper.
"Beep beep, Richie." Beverly replies.
Bill walks further into the Neibolt house, leading the seven into dark shadows. As he opens a creaking door, Beverly, Mike, Ben, and Victor linger back, all studying the cracks and crevices of the house. Jaime could tell Victor was beginning to feel fearful, but she had no doubts he would put on his angry mask, replacing fear with the only emotion that can motivate man to do the unthinkable.
Behind Bill, Richie, and Eddie, Jaime walks into a shockingly familiar room. The same room Eddie had fell into, fracturing his arm in an unnatural angle. She coughs, shining her flashlight around.
"T-That's the basement." Bill says, motioning to a door that led to a stairwell.
"This is where I came, after I saw... what I saw..." Jaime says quietly. The vision of her parents and Victor turning against her still made her skin crawl. Eddie glances up at the hole in the ceiling.
"I had to wear that fucking cast for months." He says dryly.
"Aw, c'mon, Eds, did Greta's graffiti not enrich the cast experience at all?" Richie jokes nervously. Before the other man can retort, a sharp cry from another room jolts the four of them.
"Ben!" Beverly cries distantly, just as all of the doors in the room slam shut. Bill and Eddie pound on the door, shouting a mantra of Ben's name. Jaime looks around frantically, silently wondering where her brother went off to.
Unbeknownst to her, in an entirely separate room in the dilapidated house, Victor had also been locked in a room, but alone. His bangs on the door went unheard by the yelling losers across the house. Around him, dust and dirt float from the ceiling each time his fists come in contact with the door. He can't comprehend why the weak wooden door was now refusing to budge under his nearly two-hundred pound weight. However, it all becomes clear, when a snarling laugh echoes behind him.
Victor halts but refuses to turn around. The hair on the back of his neck stands on-end while a chill runs down his spine. He closes his eyes, mumbling a myriad of curses to himself. I know that laughter.
"Sure did miss ya, old pal. And that booze you used to steal from your pops." Patrick Hockstetter mimics the pop of a cork popping off a bottle of alcohol.
"I can honestly say I did not miss you, scumbag." Victor seethes through gritted teeth, still staring straight at the chipped door.
"Now, that's not very nice. Not the type of thing you say to someone that you didn't even try looking for." Patrick responds. Victor can hear the thud of his boots, as if he's pacing.
"I was relieved you were gone, asshole. You were fucking sick. I haven't forgotten the refrigerator, or what you did to Bowers--"
"You didn't try to stop it when it happened to him, and you certainly didn't want it to stop when it was you and I."
"Shut up!" Victor bellows, spinning around on his heel. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they do, acid rises in his throat. Patrick Hockstetter is frozen in time as a fifteen year old, a decayed one at that. His clothes are weighed down with a foul concoction of sewer water and blood. His grey skin hung in chunks from his bones, and his entire left cheek had been hollowed out by maggots to reveal broken teeth inside. Underneath the matted black hair reside his glossed over, unnaturally green eyes.
Patrick offers a sinister smile, water and maggots dropping from his mouth as he does. "You enabled a lot of things that summer, Victor. You knew that Bowers wanted to do horrible, horrible things to your baby sister, and yet you turned the other cheek."
"I-I didn't!" Victor insists, voice cracking. He quickly regains his composure with a threatening scowl. "I had no idea. And maybe if you hadn't tried to fucking kill me-- all because I told you I wasn't gay-- I wouldn't have been so caught up with my own shit that I couldn't see my sister was suffering."
The entity of Patrick paces again, smiling as he crosses the floor wall-to-wall. "Ah, you see, but you still invited me into your home after I dragged the tip of my knife across every inch of your body. You allowed that type of thing around poor, poor little Jaime, who was too fucking stupid to know what type of dirty things her brother was doing. Let's not forget, you did set a house on fire and nearly killed a family of three."
Victor clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides, eyes narrowing into dim tunnel vision. "You all convinced me it was abandoned. You can continue trying this shit all you want, Patrick-- or whatever you are, but I'm not falling for it. You and I fooled around a few times, then your sorry ass fell in love with me because I was the only one who would give you that type of attention. Then you get so fucking butthurt that I'm not gay, you almost kill me. Still, you beat me up until I can hardly see out of either eyes. Then, barely even a month later, you go missing, and I'm supposed to be sad about it?" Victor scoffs, a newfound confidence washing over him at Patrick's now stoic demeanor. "No. I was relieved, Patrick. I was ecstatic. I prayed you were dead. I prayed that you were burning in hell, the souls of all the animals you tortured haunting you. I prayed you were stuffed in a refrigerator with no means of escaping. And I could only hope your dead baby brother got his revenge. The thought got me off, Patrick."
"That doesn't change what you did to your sister, Victor. She remembered it all today, and she's mad again. She doesn't understand how an older sibling could be so cruel. She wants revenge, Victor, she's gone batshit--"
Victor lunges at the zombified version of his former friend at super-sonic speed. His thumbs dig into the soft flesh under Patrick's collarbones, nails easily breaking the grey skin. Hands on the zombie's shoulders, he shakes the frail body, seething at the teeth. "You aren't real, you piece of shit." Is all that fights past his lips before he slams the ghoul into one of the weak walls of Neibolt. He crashes against the wood, dust and debris falling into his hair from the impact. Instinctively, Victor backs up until he hits the door.
"If only the other losers were even as half as brave as you, Vicky. Maybe then Stan wouldn't have became best-buddies with a razorblade." Patrick spits, his voice growing deeper and more cartoonish by the word. Victor blinks, and then his former friend is replaced with a towering, maniac clown.
"Oh, for the love of sweet baby Jesus, fuck right off." Victor sighs in exasperation, his heart thudding under his chest. He gulps, mouth dry and tasting of dust.
"Don't you miss your friends, Victor?" It tries, feigning an expression somewhat akin to hope. "Patrick and Belch are down here. If you join them, you'll float too--"
"I would rather bang Patrick again than do that, thanks though." He replies, smirking when It's expression falls. Is this actually fucking working? What an absolute shitass. Before the clown can persuade him any further, Victor turns around and tries the doorknob again. He's pleasantly surprised when it swings open, though he soon realizes that's not any fault of his own.
Bill stands before him, a hand in his brown hair and his eyebrows knit together in concern. "Victor? A-are you okay?"
"'M fine." He waves a hand dismissively. He cocks his head over his shoulder, checking the dingy room he had emerged from. No sign of zombie Patrick or the clown.
"Good," Bill sighs, "b-because we need you. Jaime's f-f-fainted."
A/N: plot twist?? well more like subplot twist??? it was really cool to write a scene that focused on Vic and his fears, especially since he doesn't take any shit. obviously, his scene took place while spider-Stan (omg get it) was attacking Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Jaime. Jaime kinda has a knack for fainting but that's one of the few side effects of her accident, along with migraines. Vic knows what to do. he always knows what to do. ANYWAY hope you enjoyed xoxo