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Birds Don’t Float, They Fly - Stanley Uris (IT)

This is honestly the best shit I’ve ever written. Not to sound pretentious, but for once I’m proud. ok enjoy <3

Prompt - Stan’s loved you since you saved him from Bowers, but he was never able to tell you until Stan and the Losers have a brush with It. You’re the only one who can calm Stanley down after he’s attacked, giving him the chance to express his feelings.

Warnings - Swearing (you know, Richie), sex references (that trashmouth), 

A/N -  Told from Stan’s POV. There’s a flashback in the timeline. Italics = Internal Thought. ‘Italics+Quotes = Past Quote.’ You’re a part of the Losers Club, hun. <3

Words ~ 5341


Summer 1989

The wind whipped past my ears and pulled at my button-up as we⎯minus Bill⎯biked to Neibolt. My feet were spinning around the gears of my bike faster than I would have liked, but I told myself it didn’t matter if Bill was going to hurt himself trying to fight this imaginary monster. We all turned down Neibolt Street like a flock of Geese that began migrating too late in the season, flying with speed for fear of what would happen if we stayed where we were.

Arriving at the withering building, Beverly spotted Bill walking up the front steps and began to yell for him. “Bill! Bill, you can’t go in there alone!” She skidded her bike to a halt, hopped off, and let it hit the street with a metallic clank.

I stopped my bike, got off quickly, and threw the kickstand down. As soon as I looked up from the pavement my eyes locked with Y/N’s and for a second I forgot about the dark threat of the house. I’d fight any made-up monster if it gave me the fucking courage to ask her out. I wish I had done it the first day I met her, but Bowers had made me feel like such a pussy that I don’t think I’d be able to give Bush the time of day.


Spring 1988

School had just let out so the hallways were empty, but somehow I managed to walk down the same one with Henry and his goons. In every other situation, I would have walked away, but Victor Criss had found a dead robin outside and those assholes were kicking it around with their engineer boots. I wanted so badly to turn and leave but Belch Huggins had delivered a kick so nasty I had felt it in my own gut.

“Hey! Leave the bird alone!” I squawked loudly enough to interrupt their laughter. The words hung in the air, unbelonging, like a burp in a silent Bar Mitzvah.

Henry turned to me with a look in his eyes that screamed he was in the mood to break something bigger than a bird and he yelled with such ferocity it was nearly a screech. “You wanna take its place, fucker? Want us to kick you around instead?” Belch and Victor laughed at Henry’s witty slap, but I wasn’t laughing. I could already feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck. They were maybe forty feet away. If I run now, I thought. Maybe I’ll have a chance.

So without wasting any time I turned and bolted, sprinting down the hallway with two thoughts in my head. Don’t get caught by Henry and Fuck, my lungs hurt. Is this how Eddie feels? I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, ducking down hallways. With one hand on my kippah, I turned around a corner, hoping that the soles of my shoes held up, which they did. They carried me around the corner but not the girl carrying her books. I managed to crash right into her. Books flew and folders opened, dumping papers everywhere as she threw her arms up in surprise and discontent.

“What the-” She yelled angrily, staring down at what was once in her hands. She looked up at me and our eyes locked, giving her time to survey my terrified expression and finish her complaint. “What the fuck, dude.” She said, slightly softer, less angry. “Who are you running from, bolting down the hallway like that?”

As if they heard her ask, Bowers’ footsteps grew louder. “Come here you Jewish freak!” Belch Huggins yelled. I turned around expecting to see Bowers. Suddenly it was as if someone pressed the fast-forward on my life. Everything sped up and I knew that if I got caught I’d be dead meat, but something stopped me from running.

I turned back to the girl, not wanting to leave her with the mess I made, but when I looked at her again, any trace of anger had fled from her face. Instead, it was a look of pity, with an almost unnoticeable undertone of fear. “Bowers?” She asked quickly, but quietly. I nodded. She looked behind me, behind herself, and then to her left before talking again. “Get in a locker.” She could see that I was confused, so taking my hand in hers she pulled me to the lockers. “If you trust me, you’ll get in and you’ll stay quiet.”

She let go of my hand as I got in. I felt a sudden emptiness below my wrist as if she took my own hand with hers before closing the door. I could see through the slits in the metal that she quickly knelt beside her papers, just in time for Henry to nearly run her over. All three of them came close to taking a tumble but they managed to stop and simply stare at the mess.

“Jesus, Bowers,” She spoke, but the voice wasn’t hers. At least not the one that I knew. She sounded so full of confidence and typical disgust that if I had my eyes closed I would have assumed it was Greta Bowie. “Late for your tea party?”

Victor scoffed. Belch giggled. Henry glared. “Where’d he go?”

“Where’d who go, Henry? Your boyfriend?” Henry stepped forward onto one of her papers and began to talk but Y/N put one hand flat on his chest and pushed him back slowly. I was taken aback by her courage. It was like I’d been looking at Y/N in the dark and someone just threw open the blinds. I saw how her face curved and how her hair flowed. All of a sudden I wanted nothing more than to throw open the locker door, grab her by the waist, and pull her in close, but the gang was still there, so I was still trapped.

Victor and Belch began to look agitated, like Henry was fanning the embers under their asses. “We’re looking for Stanley Urine.” Victor squeaked. I winced at the mocking name. They’d been using it since the third grade. I didn’t want Y/N to know me as Stanley Urine, the cowering boy she shoved in a locker. No, not like that. “Real ugly, Boy-Scout lookin’ thing. Seen Him?”

Y/N’s voiced adopted a fresh tone of shock. “Wait,” She held her hand up above her head, palm down. “‘Bout this tall, pressed shorts, curly hair, running like a maniac?” I furrowed my brows in confusion. What was she doing? All three stared at her with reignited rage bubbling in their veins. They nodded their heads furiously. “That asshole came barreling around the corner, knocked my books out of my hands, then took off.” Suddenly it made sense. She was playing them like harp strings.

Belch spoke first. “Where the fuck did he go then?!”

Y/N raised a pointed finger and directed their attention to the exit doors twenty feet in front of her, in behind them. “He skid out those doors. Looked like he was heading for the East field. Playground maybe.”

Without saying another word the bullies took off. Before throwing open the doors, Victor turned to Henry and yelled too loudly for his own good, “That’s the one you like, Henry?” Who only retaliated by giving him a swift kick in the ass before grinding up the dirt of the east field.

Y/N stuck her tongue out and made a retching sound before walking over and opening the locker I was in. I must’ve looked pathetic cause she let a little chuckle echo through her nose. “Sorry I called you an asshole. I had to play into it.” She was being genuine. For a second I wondered why she bothered to help me at all, but she brought me back to reality with her soft, calm voice. A voice too calm for someone who just went toe-to-toe with Bowers. “It’s Stanley, right?”

I chuckled and managed to talk. “Yeah, Stanley Uris. But my friends call me Stan.”

Y/N smiled. “I’d love to hold that honor, Stan.” She laughed. “But I knew it couldn’t have been Urine.”

That time we laughed together, then I noticed her books and papers were still scattered. “Here,” I offered, kneeling. “Let me get these for you.” I expected her to stand while I handed her papers, but she knelt down beside me. Occasionally we would reach for the same paper and our arms would brush⎯Y/N, I thought⎯ or we would look up at the same time and lock eyes⎯Y/N Uris, I thought.

We had collected everything and stood up in unison before Y/N spoke again. “Thanks for helping me collect my things.” She said quietly, almost bashfully. Was she being shy? In front of me? But not Bowers? You’re so confusing, I thought. I think I’m in love. “Well, I guess I should head on my way then.” She said, softer this time. As if she didn’t want to say it at all.

“Oh,” I choked. “Yeah, me too.” We both nodded but remained stationary, neither willing to move away. Even if you can’t ask her out, don’t let her go, Stupid. “Actually,” I said with the last sliver of pride I had after that fiasco. “I’m going to meet my friends in the barrens. If you have nothing better to do, I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

Y/N smiled so hard her eyes crinkled. “I’d love to, Stan.”

So we walked to the West entrance, away from Bowers and his goons. I flicked up the kickstand of my bike and with Y/N sitting on the handlebars, we were off to meet the losers.

We found the group in the usual spot and I explained what happened at the school. Most of the story was made up of Richie’s commentary, but everyone fell silent when I told them how Y/N handled Bowers

Bill spoke first. “Wuh-well, it’s n-nice to m-m-meet you, Y/N.” He stuttered.

“Mhmm, it’ll be nice to have another girl in the group.” Beverly joked, elbowing Eddie, who continued to stare.

“Yeah,” Ritchie pulled his glasses from his face and wiped the condensation off on his shirt, looking Y/N up and down. “I agree.”

Y/N was beginning to blush, but something Beverly said stuck out in my head. “In the group?” I repeated. “You mean, you guys are cool if she-”

“Joins the Losers Club?” Mike interrupted. “Please do.”

The Losers murmured in agreement and Y/N smiled. It was one of the wide ones that made her eyes crinkle.

And so we were eight.


Summer 1989

“Stan, would you stop staring at Y/N and come grab a stick?”

I turned to Eddie, my eyebrows furrowed in frustration, my cheeks red in embarrassment. He matched my expression and then threw up his eyebrows, as if to say “Yeah, Stan. I can do that too. Now get over here.” I turned to Y/N. She smiled and shook her head before walking past me to the huddled group of losers.

Mike had found and cut eight tiny sticks, all at different lengths. “Everyone chooses a stick. Longest stick stays watch. Deal?” Everyone nodded and murmured mhmm.

Richie was the first to draw. The twig he drew was about the length of his pinkie. “Fuck.” He mumbled as he turned his head to the house. He looked up at it as if the dark, solemn house was a librarian, peering over his shoulder to find him drawing dicks on the cover of Lord of the Flies. Richie shook his head. “Man, I can’t believe I pulled the short straw. You guys are lucky you’re not measuring dicks.”

“Shu-sh-shut up, Richie.” Bill stuttered.

Y/N chuckled and everyone’s heads turned. We stared because for the first time in forever, laughter felt foreign. None of us had laughed in so long. Too long. We were all so intimidated by what may or may not lie in that dead house that we forgot to have fun. Isn’t that what summer’s all about? Having fun?

Y/N noticed everyone’s eyes and promptly figured out why they were staring. “You guys know what?” She said, boldly, in her Greta Bowie voice. “I’m not scared of this house. I feel the same way about going into this house as I feel about doing homework. Sure it’s daunting, but only cause I have no clue what the fuck’s going on. But once it’s done, I can enjoy my summer. And that’s what I intend to do.” She reached towards the small bundle in Mike’s hand and pulled out a twig. It was half the size of her forearm.

“That’s the longest one,” Mike said. Half appalled, half annoyed.

“Well, fuck.” She mumbled. I chuckled. It felt odd, like a forced burp, but I chuckled. Then I laughed. Y/N looked at me and began to laugh too. Then Richie. And Beverly. And suddenly the losers were laughing. All of us were laughing in the dead brush of the Neibolt property, totally forgetting any burden we carried. We felt like kids again.

Though none of us were passionate about running into crackhead houses, but we could now all agree that we’d be happy to go in together. Ben took a deep breath. “I guess that settles it. Y/N stays watch, the rest of us go in.”

The group nodded, and though the mystery contents of Neibolt should have been my priority, I couldn’t take my eyes off Y/N. Even in the face of death, I thought. She’s just so stunning

Death. The word tumbled around in my head like a brick in a dryer, before I clenched my fists and pushed it out. There is no monster in that house, I assured myself. No death. No need to worry, Stan. Don’t be fucking stupid. With a deep breath and another glance at Y/N, I took up the front steps of Neibolt, leading the losers.

“You go, Stanley the Manly.” Richie chirped smugly. “Let’s go fight Count Chocula.”

I turned around, unable to leave Richie uncorrected. “We’re not going to fight anything, Richie. We’re going to prove that there is no monster.”

Richie only chuckled and put on a British accent. “Right sir, good ‘ol chap. Let us go. Pip pip cheerio.”

I put my hand on the cold doorknob, twisted, and opened the casket on fear.


Neibolt smelt damp and dark, as if the cellar grew and consumed the whole house. The dust on the windows tinted the sun orange, so that what little light made it through illuminated the floor in a warm, dead glow that resembled a rotting pumpkin.

The group of losers was the only source of heat in the house. “I feel like this place is sucking out my soul,” Eddie said quietly, as if he was afraid something would hear him.

“Are you saying you would rather have it suck your-“

“Richie!” Eddie yelped, only no one laughed this time. Eddie was right. There was something about this house. Something dark.

I clenched my fists again. Don’t be stupid, Stan. Something like that isn’t empirically possible. But then I heard it. It sounded low and soft, like a woman humming a sick child to sleep. The humming flowed through the air and into my soul, so that it no longer sounded like humming. It was my mother shouting my name. It was my scout leader calling us in. It was Ms.Douglas, a curled finger pointing at my chest, commanding a solution out of me, and I had no choice but to answer.

I followed the sound as if it was a trail of candy and I was a little child lost in the woods. Any traces of my friends were blurred in my mind by the filter of pure and simple curiosity. I trailed out of the foyer and down a long hallway before I lost the sound entirely. I turned my head, spinning in circles trying to pinpoint the tune, but it was gone. It wasn’t until I spun to face the way I came before I heard the creaking. I turned to face the door again. The creaks and groans sounded unnatural, fake, as if they were playing through an old walkman. But then the knob began to turn.

It spun to the left, then to the right before making a final full turn to the left. It’s Richie. My brain exclaimed, unaccepting of what it what seeing and hearing. This isn’t real. It’s just Richie. It’s a prank. It’s not real, Stan. It’s not-

The door made a sound that resembled a dying cat as the old bolts wailed together, struggling to hold up the ancient wooden door as it swung open slowly, regretfully. As if the door knew it was releasing something bad. Something evil.

You’re being stupid. There’s no evil. My thoughts cried. Stand your ground, Stanley. Be a man.

The door stopped opening. No light shone through. The room that lay beyond the door was dark and draining. ‘I feel like this place is sucking out my soul.’ Eddie had said. All I could do was agree with him, though I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to agree with Eddie, because admitting that this hell-hole was draining the life out of me was admitting that I was scared.

Turning away from the open door, I began took a quick step down the hall before I saw her. Y/N. Standing at the end of the scuffed, peeling floorboards. She was standing still, looking at me as if she were scared. Seeing her in here made me feel worse than any evil could. Imagining that this house could bring her pain opened up a black pit deep in my stomach, allowing a red-hot ache to flow over my insides. If this dark, decrepit house even dared to bring her fear, I’d burn the whole thing down.

“Y/N?” I called quietly, concern bleeding through my fake confidence. “Y/N aren’t you supposed to be on watch?”

“I couldn’t stay there, Stan.” She cooed. “Not without you.” I was so distracted by her silky voice that I almost didn’t notice how unnatural she sounded. Her voice resembled the creaks and groans. Fake. Not real. But like the humming, it was enticing. Moving towards Y/N was like moving towards road-kill. If you really valued your peace of mind, then you would stay away…but in the end, curiosity grabs you by the balls, and you do anything but stay away.

“Why would you want to come in here?” I joked in an effort to mask my own fear. “This garbage dump is the last place I’d want to be.”

She took a step closer to me. She was so close that I could smell her shampoo. I could have kissed her if curiosity would give me my manhood back. “It’s no dump if you’re here, Stan.” She was practically singing, and I didn’t mind.

“Ha, uh. Yeah.” I mumbled. “Did someone take your place? I’d hate if the police found us snooping around-”

“We don’t have to worry about adults, Stanley.” She interrupted. She wasn’t singing now. She was nearly whispering through her teeth. She put one hand on the back of my neck, the other under my arm placing it flat on my back, pulling me in. “No one’ll find us here, Stanley. No one. We won’t be found, Stanley. No no no.”

She trailed off as she rested her head on my shoulder, but with each sentence she sounded less and less real. It was as if her voice were coming through the radio and someone was slowly turning the dial to the static grey area in between stations. The feeling of worry began to bleed through the admiration. Y/N was no longer a source of heat. I could feel her change in my arms. She became the same dark emptiness that was draining Eddie. Draining me. Draining all of us. Y/N became Neibolt.

I quickly tried to pull away, but Y/N tightened her grip. Her arms were clamped around me, unyielding and ungiving. She spoke again but there was no music left in her voice, no tune, no hum. It was all static. All darkness. “We don’t need to leave Stan. We can stay. We can float. We’ll all float. We’ll all float!”

I yelped and squirmed and twisted in her grip. The sweat that made its way through my button-up made me just slippery enough. I gave one final twist, working my arms under hers. I ducked my head and pushed her back, throwing her off.

No. No, it wasn’t her. The carcass that stood in front of me wasn’t Y/N. It looked like her. Exactly like her. Except her eyes were glazed over, frosted like a sheet of ice over a dead animal. The skin on her face wasn’t radiating her characteristic glow, it was grey, dead, peeling from her face like sheets of slush off a poorly shingled roof. There was no life in her chest. Instead, her missing sternum revealed her open ribcage where black, rotten organs resigned. They looked like vegetables my mother had once left on the front steps. Our cat had gone missing, but my mother figured that if she offered food and wished hard enough, it would come back. But the cat never did, and instead, the vegetables rotted and turned black and mushy, leaving a stain of failure in front of our house.

It was only looking down at my hands that I noticed the blood and chest tissue that covered my fingers. I screamed and kept screaming. I couldn’t stop forcing the sound out. I screamed so hard that my diaphragm hurt. I figured the force and the stench of Y/N’s rotting corpse would make me puke, but somehow I kept it down. I wouldn’t have cared if I puked. I could have thrown up a kidney and I wouldn’t care, because all I could see was Y/N. It was her voice I heard. It was her corpse I saw. It was her blood that coated my hands, and it was real. It was all real.

I stared and screamed some more. I could hear the losers yelling but it was all so distant. Y/N was so close. So close and so real. So real. “Come float with me. Won’t you, Stanley?” She whispered. She was quiet, so quiet, but her voice was a shriek.

And so was mine. I screamed, one final time, and then the world went black.


When I woke up everything was shaking. Bobbing? I turned my head to find Mike’s chest. I glanced at my feet and found Ben and Beverly, each with a leg in their arms. The losers were carrying me.

“Hu-hey, g-g-guys!” Bill managed to squawk. “S-Stan’s awake! P-Put him d-down on the g-guh-grass.”

I felt them put me down on the grass. It tickled the back of my neck but I didn’t care. I looked straight up at the sky. The sun stabbed at my eyes, but it also warmed my face. It made me feel warm. Alive. She’s not alive anymore, my head screamed. I think Eddie asked me a question. He was muttering something about concussions, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t give two shits. Y/N was dead. She was my cat. Gone.

When I closed my eyes I could still see her hair, glowing under the fluorescents that illuminated her and Bower’s gang. I could still feel her warmth and smell her perfume and I remembered that one Friday night in June. The losers were having a sleepover, but I had a nightmare. One that I can’t even remember now, but it shook me to the point of tears. Y/N had woken me up and pulled my head softly into her chest. “It’s okay, Stan.” She cooed, as if I was an injured baby bird. “It was only a nightmare, Stan. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real, Stanley.”

If I listened hard enough I could still hear her voice. ‘Stan.’ I could hear her call. ‘Stan. Stanley.’ “Stanley!” Suddenly I opened my eyes. “Stanley open your eyes. Oh! Stan look at me. Look at me, Stan.” My eyes were frantic. It took a few seconds for my brain to process what I was seeing. It was Y/N, standing above me. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. “Stan? Stan! Holy shit I thought you were over the hedge! What happened in there?”

She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be real. Her blood, Stan. The blood. That was real. I sat up, screamed and pushed myself back. It wasn’t Y/N. It couldn’t be Y/N. I stared at her. I stared and stared, expecting her to die in front of me again. The static spun around and around in my head like a demonic merry-go-round. ‘We’ll all float. We’ll all float.’ “We’ll all float,” I muttered.

Y/N looked so concerned. If that was even Y/N. Could it be? Was there any empirical way? “Stan, what-”

“You said we were all going to float.” I wheezed. “You’re dead, Y/N. You were dead.”

Ben stepped forward. “Stan, what do you mean?” I turned my head and stared at him. I was frantic and he must have seen it because he looked down at me with pity. 

Beverly put a hand on his shoulder. “Y/N never came inside until you screamed, Stanley. By the time she got to you, you were unconscious.” Some of the losers nodded, the others murmured mhmm’s.

I turned back to Y/N. More tears trailed down her cheeks, wetting the canals that led to her chin and down her neck. She stretched a hand out. I didn’t take it. I couldn’t take it. My world was upside down. “That’s impossible.” I croaked. She took her hand back. “That’s not possible. You were-” I could feel the tears welling up my eyes. They started to trickle down my hot cheeks. “You were dead, Y/N. I felt you in my arms. Your eyes, your face, your-your-” I stared down at my hands. They weren’t clean on account of all the dirt, but there was no blood. No stains. No trace of Y/N. I started to cry harder. I looked up at her again, my eyes cloudy with water. It was as if I was looking at her through the bottom of a coke bottle.

The tears had stopped falling down her cheeks when she knelt beside me. She extended her hand out again. Palm up, as if offering something. A little sanity maybe. “Feel my hand, Stan.” I kept looking at her. I blinked tears out of my eyes so I could see her fully. Clearly. I looked at her hand. I was so reluctant. I was scared that if I felt her hand the skin would peel off and It would happen all over again, but there was something about her now. There was no static in her voice. It wasn’t tainted with a hum either. It was just her. It was Y/N. Could it be Y/N? It had to be. I think.

It was the uncertainty that was rotting inside me. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know. I had always known before this. Before Neibolt. Before It. I knew how to treat Poison Ivy. I knew not to fuck with Henry Bowers. I knew I was in love with Y/N. But now I didn’t know if she was even real anymore. I didn’t know if what I was seeing was real. I didn’t know if I should cry tears of joy because she was alive or cry myself into madness because she was worm-food. I didn’t know. I had to know. I had to find out, so I took her hand.

It was warm and inviting. It was real. This was real. This. Y/N smiled. That was real. She offered her other hand. I took it. That was real. Real. Real real real. She was real. It was almost too good to be true. “But you said we were going to float, Y/N. You were in there. I couldn’t have imagined it, Y/N. It was so-”

“Real?” She let out a chuckle. It was out of place but I didn’t argue with it. “All of our nightmares feel real until we wake up, but you’re awake now, Stan, so good morning. It’s 92 degrees in sunny Derry, Maine. A great day to go biking with friends and forget about death houses.”

I chuckled. She always knew how to make me forget what I needed to forget. Forget things like evil houses. Death houses. Dead dead houses. She was dead. “You were dead,” I mumbled. The panic was beginning to bubble violently now. It was sloshing over my bearable limit, over the rim of the pot of my life. “We’re gonna die.” I choked. “We’re all going to float. We’re gonna-”

The words stopped. They wouldn’t come out. I heard Richie make a gagging sound, but it was distant and I was distracted by Y/N anyway. She was close. So close I could have-

I knew why the words wouldn’t come out. Y/N had grabbed me by the collar and pulled me in. Her lips were locked to mine. I could smell her shampoo, her perfume, her chapstick. I could feel her warmth. I could feel her nose against mine. I could see that her eyes were closed. She meant this. She was real and she meant this. So real.

She pulled away and her eyes fluttered open. Those stunning eyes. They weren’t dead. They weren’t iced over like dead-meat in a freezer. They were as vibrant as ever and they drew me in. I was in such a trance that I almost didn’t notice her speak. Her voice was a sweet melody that reminded you of a warm summer day, just like this one.

“We won’t float, Stan. Never. You, me, the losers. We’re birds, Stan. Birds don’t float, they fly.” Y/N stood up. Taking my hand in hers, pulling me up off the dead acidic soil. “So how about we fly?”

I smiled. It was a genuine smile. Y/N had rekindled the fire. My heart burns there too. “You’re right.” I walked over to my bike, the losers watching me carefully. I kicked up the kickstand, threw my leg over, and checked my watch. “Ice-cream shop’s still open.”

The Losers club erupted in cheer. Ben ran to his bike and hopped on with surprising agility. Everyone else jogged to their bikes, pulled them up off the road, and got ready to take off. Everyone except Y/N, who walked slowly over to my bike. She stood bashfully beside me. I was close enough to kiss her. She spoke very quietly. “I’m sorry if that back there was…um. Well if it was-”

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers, finally managing to cherish the kiss now that I wasn’t half dead myself. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I met you.”

Y/N chuckled bashfully. “I know.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek. Softly but surely. “Me too.” We both smiled at each other before she leaned in close again, only this time she didn’t kiss me. She only whispered in my ear. “Race you to the Ice-cream shop.” and with uncanny speed she hopped on her bike and sped off, the two of us leading the Losers Club in a mad dash on wheels. We forgot all about Neibolt speeding down that street, Bill triumphantly yelling “Hi-ho, Silver. Away!”

And down Neibolt street, through Derry, away from all the fear and the pain… we flew.


I love you all with my life and I want you to know that the IT imagines aren’t stopping here!

Peace out girl-scouts!

Love, E

(fans-of-fiction)

My Boys...Part 3

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Epilogue)


Sitting at your desk as you sip your cup of iced coffee, you pick it up as the bottom of the cup splashed some of the condensation onto your shirt.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, looking around for a napkin as you plop your coffee back down onto your desk.

“Here,” you hear Spencer say, offering you a napkin in front of your face as you sigh and smile lightly up at him.

“Thanks, Reid,” you coo, taking it from him as your fingertips brush his hand.

The slight contact of skin caused his breath to hitch.

For two years Spencer denied how beautiful you were.  For two years he rolled his eyes at Morgan as his best friend picked on him about staring a little too long or rambling on a little too much while he was around you.  For two years he shrugged off J.J. as she urged him to ask you for coffee, trying desperately to convince him that you had the same lingering eyes for him as he had for you.

But today was the day, he had told himself.

Today was the day he would finally ask you for coffee.

Dabbing at the wet spots on your shirt, you yawn heavily as your eyes begin to water, the napkin coming up quickly to blot the tears out from under your eyes as Spencer catches your movement.

“Y/N.  A-are…are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, Spencer,” you chuckle as you bring the napkin around to your other eye, “I’m fine.  My eyes water whenever I yawn.”

“Are you not getting enough sleep?” he asks.

“I suppose I could be getting more,” you muse.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks.

“Not really.  It’s not a bad thing that I’m not sleeping.  I just…would rather spend the time doing what I’m doing rather than sleeping.”

“Sounds like fun,” Spencer muses as he smiles at you.

“Very,” you smile before dipping your head back into your paperwork.

“Y/N?” Spencer asks, causing you to flicker your gaze up at him as he faces you from his desk.

“Yeah?” you ask as you dip your head back down and continue writing.

“It’s almost lunch time,” he muses, “maybe we could go down the road together and get some more coffee.  It’s by that sandwich place, so we could grab a bite to eat before heading back to work.”

As your pen stops writing mid-sentence, your back tensing up as your mind begins to whirl with the possibilities of what this could mean, the nagging sensation of your secret in the back of your mind keeps chirping at you from a distance.

You have a family, Y/N.

“Coffee and sandwiches…” you trail off.

“Mhmm,” Spencer hums, his senses at an all-time high as both Morgan and J.J. have stopped around the corner, listening to every word of the conversation as their grins grow bigger and bigger.

“He’s got this in the bag,” Morgan whispers.

“They are gonna be so cute together,” J.J. remarks lowly.

Your boys always come first, Y/N.

“Thanks for the offer, Reid,” you begin, “but I really just need to finish my paperwork and get home.  You know, to catch up on a bit of sleep.”

Spencer could feel the bit of confidence he had accrued that morning plummeting to his knees, making him physically sick as he stares at you in disbelief.

Coffee and sandwiches.

Caffeine and sustenance.

The plan was practically fool-proof.

And yet, here he was, looking like a fool.

“Maybe next time?” you ask, flickering your gaze back to him as the question rips him from his mind.

“Next time?  Oh oh oh, yeah.  Yeah, sure.  Maybe sometime next week or somethin’,” he stammers.

“Good,” you breathe, your heart slowing down as you dodge the head-on bullet in front of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So…here’s what we know,” Garcia says as she moves out of the way of the bulletin board, “we know the unsub’s suffered a big loss in his life.  Reid theorized that it was a loss he didn’t cope with, possibly surrounding a big moment in his life.”

“We also know,” she continues as she looks over tentatively at you, “that the unsub’s taking these kids to places he feels should be important to them.”

“Which makes this harder, because it means he doesn’t view life events in their lives as important, he views their life events as it relates to his life as important,” J.J. states.

“Meaning we’re dealing with a very self-centered unsub,” Morgan chews.

“Not exactly,” Rossi barges in, “if he suffered a loss and is still feeling the effects, it usually means he didn’t get past his grieving process.  He’s relating to things in their lives solely on the basis of how important he feels they should be to them.”

“Like taking the first child to the run-down school, or the second one to the basement of that daycare facility,” you interject.

As everyone turns and looks at you, you puff out a breath of air and continue.

“Each place where the children were killed is another glimpse into our unsub’s life.  If he’s taking them to places that are familiar to his past as well as the children’s, then he has been scouting them,” you state.

“Or has access to that information electronically,” Spencer adds.

“Either way, if we can figure out what scenario would be most likely to have occurred in this man’s life in these particular places, we can use that information to pinpoint some suspects without having any idea what he looks like,” you finish breathlessly.

“J.J.  Morgan.  You guys are on that task.  List all the scenarios that would be important to a person as they relate to the venues in which the children were killed,” Hotch orders.

“On it,” J.J. says as she pats Morgan’s arm, Morgan following her out of the meeting room as they head for their respective desks.

“Hotch?” you ask as you furrow your brow, watching the television helplessly as your boys’ heads lull forward with exhaustion.

“Yeah?” he asks, his tone of voice settling a bit.

“Since we’re considering all angles…” you trail off as your eyes begin to water.

You couldn’t imagine how petrified your sons were.

“Go on,” Hotch urges.

“What if he’s taking them to places that do mean something to these children.  Maybe…maybe these places hold some sort of…of fear for them.  I mean…look at them…”

Motioning to the television screen, Hotch’s eyes flicker between you and the video feed as he furrows his brow.

“I don’t understand…” Hotch trails off.

“What if they’re in a place they know…a place that holds bad memories for them?  I-I-I mean…the man isn’t anywhere to be seen in this video right now.”

You were grasping at straws, trying to give yourself any sort of hope.

Hope that was dwindling quickly.

“What if he’s taking them to places that frighten them in an effort to…to understand them better…or something?” you ask, your pleading eyes turning towards Hotch as you see his face soften in your weakness.

“Y/N…” your boss trails off.

“You think he’s trying to better understand these kids before he kills them?” Spencer spits.

But before Hotch could reprimand his out-of-control colleague, J.J. sticks her head back into the door.

“It’s a working theory,” J.J. adds, darting her head into the room as she shoots a disapproving glare towards Spencer.

He was angry.

And he had every right to be.

“Get this,” J.J. continues as her eyes slowly peel away from Spencer, “the places the unsub has had these kids does relate to them.  In the first one, the abandoned school, it was the school that burned down.  The sister being held had lost her brother in that fire.”

Clarity started to dawn on you as you swivel around towards J.J.

“And in the daycare facility, it was apparently shut down for a time because there was a girl that was given an unapproved medication and had a seizure,” Morgan states.

“Lemme guess…the girl that was killed was the girl that had the seizures…” Rossi trails off.

“Yep,” Morgan clicks.

“What about the third?” Hotch asks as his brow furrows deeply.

“Working on it,” J.J. breathes.

“Why did we not know this sooner!?” you shriek, losing your cool again as your chest begins to heave.

“Reid?” Hotch draws out.

Locking your eyes with the side of Spencer’s head, you feel your jaw clench together tightly as tears begin to rise in your eyes again.

“Had you fixated on your job instead of trying to bed me…maybe my sons would still be here,” you glower at him as your eyes begin to ignite a fire behind your widening irises.

“Well maybe if we knew you had sons,” Spencer begins as he slowly stands from his chair, “then the FBI could’ve put protective detail on them like they did on everyone else’s children, and they would’ve been just fine!”

“It’s not my fault my sons are gone!” you roar as you take a threatening step towards the towering man.

“Well keeping them a secret during a time where they could’ve been protected didn’t help matters!” Spencer shouts.

“Be a better agent, Reid!” you shriek as your body begins to tremble.

“Then you be a better mother, Y/L/N!”

And as Spencer storms out of the meeting room, your jaw swinging low to the ground as hot tears of anger begin streaming down your face, you whip around to the screen as you hear Wilder howl out in pain again just as you see a blurry figure crack down on the side of his head.

“11 hours,” the hollowed voice says.

“He’s taunting us,” Rossi states.

And all you could do was lean up against the wall and sob.

The One Where Derek Is A Movie Snack Hoarder

A Happy!verse Fic (06/07/14)

“Hold this,” Derek grunts as he shoves his soda into Stiles’ empty hand and moves past him toward the cafe. “And watch my popcorn.”

Stiles throws his head back and groans. He kind of hates going to the movies with Derek. The dude seriously drives him up the wall with pre-viewing, snack preparations. Like…Stiles just wants to watch some shit blow up for Christ sake. He didn’t realize they needed to set up a snack bar. 

Every time they go, it’s the same thing: popcorn, a coke, box of milk duds, nacho cheese, and a small plastic container from the cafe that he fills with salt. 

Who needs this much shit just to see a movie?

Derek returns with one of those opaque cups that Stiles has only ever seen used for this and jello-shots, plus a matching lid. He stands in front of the condiments counter, brows furrowed deeply as he pours the fine yellow salt into its container. Gets it all over the counter and his hand. He looks generally offended at the entire situation. 

A rush of affection flows through Stiles like water and collects somewhere behind his rib cage. 

“What?” Derek asks offhandedly. Stiles hadn’t even realized he was smiling. 

He nibbles at his lip a little to keep the grin from cracking his face wide open. “You’re just…cute.”

“‘Cute’?” the werewolf scoffs. Like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He balances the cup of salt on top of his popcorn, picks up the tub in one hand and his candy and cheese container in the other. 

“Yes. Cute,” Stiles repeats as they fall into step together.

“I don’t think I’ve been called that since I was in middle school.”

“In my head, you have. You’re…kind of adorable.”

Derek grumbles under his breath. His nose scrunches up a bit like there’s an itch he can’t scratch. Stiles huffs out a laugh. He cradles one of the two sodas between his arm and his body, cold condensation seeping through his shirt almost immediately, and reaches out to scratch the tip of Derek’s nose with his index finger.

“Better?” he asks, pulling back.

“Much.”

Stiles leans forward to kiss the spot he’d just scratched. "You wanna sit in the back row?“ 

"But if we’re not in front of the railing, where am I going to put my feet?”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”