Climbing out of the sewer, out of the rotting hole that had opened up under the house of Neibolt, still feels a little like a dream. The smell of blood and dirt and sweat and fear seem to fade, but when the wind blows by the water, he's sure he can still smell it, just as sure as he can see the yellow rain slicker burned into the backs of his eyelids when he turns his face up to the Derry sun.
But this morning he breathes in the easy, morning air. There's a lightness to his chest that he hasn't felt in years, and he hadn't realized he'd missed. There's weight there still, the heft of Eddie Kaspbrak's name echoing in the air between him and the other losers. They defeated the monster, but at what cost?
(He remembers the lake, the way they tied themselves into a knot, an invisible callback to the blood oath they took years and years before, an oath he can hardly believe he erased from his mind. But the way they stood there, arms curled tight around Richie and the well of grief at everything they've sacrificed? It makes him remember that Derry isn't home, the Losers are).
But Hollywood beckons, doesn't it? His fingers already itch for the familiar click of the keyboard, for the business and focus of work that seems so foreign in a place like Derry. Derry, wherein lies just as much joy and life as there lies something cold and sinister. Like a story, a thriller wrapped up neatly with a bow prettily set on top.
He barely registers that he's left his room, that he's standing on the porch to the old hotel, looking out at the tired, weary streets of Derry. He hardly notices the door swing open, but he knows its one of the Losers. Of course it is, and he doesn't bother checking over his shoulder when he speaks.
"I think I was on my way to get a drink, but I have to tell you, I got down here and forgot all about it."
Like setting your keys down when you walk in the door, so routine and simple, and turning to find them missing when you leave. Like feeling the urge to run and resisting, though you don't know why. Like driving out of a city and leaving it behind for 27 years and never looking back. Until now.
For the first time in 27 years, Beverly Marsh doesn’t dream of new and twisted ways that she and the rest of the Losers will die. For years, every single night would be someone different, with new ways to bleed, new ways to make it hurt. For years she didn’t understand why she would think that, why those dreams would haunt her, and often assumed it was just the turmoil she lived in her personal life that would make her subconscious work up scenarios that she never fully comprehended.
Now, though, she gets it. All the missing pieces are there now, the puzzle in her brain now complete but it doesn’t feel like a resolution. And it should be - after all, they had managed to defeat the monster behind it all. But, instead of dreams about how she will die, or how anyone else from the group will die, she just remembers Eddie. Eddie, dying. Eddie, dead. Their bonds have changed from when they were kids, and years have passed between them leading them to each build lives away from each other, but it doesn’t change the grief behind it all. He should be here. He should be able to go back to his own life, to be relieved it’s all over. None of it feels fair.
She doesn’t know what time it is by the time she grabs her lighter and the half empty pack of cigarettes, and makes her way downstairs as she slips on a cardigan to cover the array of bruising she still has from when she had left home. The hotel is quiet, the occasional creak of the old floorboards accompanying her as she walks to the front door, but she hardly notices. Now that things are done and over with in Derry, her mind keeps slipping to the what now, the stage she didn’t expect to find herself in because she had been sure she wouldn’t survive another round against Pennywise, but...here she is. Alive and now unsure of what comes after.
As she steps outside, she pauses when she sees Bill and a faint smile crosses her lips. “Well, if you still have that urge for a drink, I can join you if you don’t mind company.” She walks over to stand next to him, adjusting the cardigan closed as she crosses her arms. Considering her friends had all seen her already with a tanktop, she knows damn well she isn’t really hiding anything from them that they hadn’t probably seen already, but it’s an old habit from her old life, and it’s hard to really stop herself from doing it.
“Are you leaving today, or did Derry charm you into staying?” A small smile twists at her lips as she says it, teasingly, turning to him. She knows he can’t stay; after all, he has a life to get back to.
Bev's voice surprises him. He's not sure why, really. Maybe he'd expected Ben or Richie to sidle up and go with him to the bar. But the element of surprise has always been a Bev thing, so he really should have known better. He offers her a tiny smile.
"Derry and charm don't belong in the same sentence."
Bill breathes out a laugh and shoves his hands into his pockets, looking out at the quiet, empty street. Derry seems eerily still in a way that feels normal. But normal and Derry never quite go hand in hand and never have. Even now, with It gone, he's not sure that this place will ever truly feel normal again. But perhaps it's better that it doesn't.
"I need to head back before all of Hollywood winds up in Derry looking for me." There's no boast in his voice, just a tired sort of amusement. After all, he left in the heat of filming, when all eyes were turned on him for a new ending to the picture he'd been working on. "But a couple of extra days won't hurt. Have to give myself time to nurse the inevitable hangover."
They all need to leave this place, he thinks, even though they've defeated the monster in the dark. Leaving Derry this time might feel less like a forgetting and more like a solemn goodbye. He sucks in a deep breath, the cool, morning air crisp and clean in his lungs. He exhales it on a tired sigh, leaning his body into one of the porch posts so he can better look at her, wrapped up in a cardigan that, she's right, does little to hide what they all know is there underneath.
It gives him pause, however, before he finally asks, "You?"
She smiles at his response, and she doesn’t doubt that level of responsibility he has waiting for him. After all, even without realizing exactly who Bill Denbrough was, she knew of his popularity. The notoriety if his name. “That’s right. Big movie in the works, right?”
She had seen a blurb about it on the news, had been excited to see the movie adaptation of his book. Because, even without knowing who he was, she had been drawn to his work after so many raving reviews, so many discussions among her staff about the ending. She had needed to read it for herself to find out, and she had been looking forward to the adaptation to see who would win - the writer or Hollywood.
It’s surreal, that said writer is Bill. They’re both grown now, but with all the memories back in place now, he’s no longer just that writer she had read about. He’s Bill.
Shifting her position so that she can lean against the railing, she ponders the question for a moment before she shrugs slightly, breathing out a chuckle. “You know... I don’t know. I’m leaving, I’m not staying long term. But I need to figure out where I’m going to, before I actually book that flight.”
A chuckle. "Almost finished. If the writer could sit down and hammer out a better ending."
He'll never hear the end of it from Mike, he realizes, and there's a strange sort of fondness that comes with it. A familiarity that was lost for nearly 27 years suddenly regained. So much of his life, of the people who made him who he is, had all but disappeared for so long.
He can't help but wonder if, when he crosses that fateful border, if the Derry fog will descend on his mind again and wipe the slate clean. While a part of him thinks it might be easier, the other part, largely winning, wants to keep the events of the past week or so close to his heart.
"Mike's even closing up shop in a few weeks. Looks like we're all getting out of dodge while we still can. Told him he could always flee to the other side of the country." He pauses, considering his words as shifts against the post, turning to look at her. "You could, too. Plenty of room in Hollywood."
The buzz and art of the city sure put Derry to modern shame, with its high buildings and wide, open skies. "The traffic will make you want to throw yourself in the Barrens, though."
"Mm, maybe this is good timing, then, and can serve you as inspiration."
They had won, after all. Losing Eddie and Stan stings in a way that she knows she won't get over easily, not now when she fully remembers what they had meant to her and the rest of the Losers. Not after everything they sacrificed. But, they had managed to win. Thanks to them and what they had done, they had managed to survive. There's guilt behind that sense of victory, of course, but she also knows that throwing this chance of a life would be a disservice to them.
The suggestion to go to Hollywood makes her pause, but it's more surprise than anything else. "I... Yeah, that's not a bad idea. I may stay somewhere nearby, though, not exactly Hollywood." She pauses for a moment, but it's brief. As if trying to figure out if she wants to share this but, after everything they've lived through together? It feels stupid to have any more secrets between them.
"I have a feeling things are going to get a little dicey for a bit when I get back to the real world," she confesses with a sigh. "I left Tom the night I came here. Considering our brand, and all, I doubt a lot of it will stay private."
She can already see the headlines, all the lies that Tom will start spewing to paint her in the worst light. He has threatened her with it whenever she would claim she was leaving, that she was done with him, that she wouldn't put up with his bullshit anymore. But, before, it never worked. She would stay; out of fear, out of love. Or, well, what she had figured was love. Now, after experiencing true fear, Tom seems insignificant and that resolve that she had left Chicago with has only become stronger, but it doesn't mean she's thrilled about what she knows is probably coming next.
"There's a bunch of little beach towns around there, right? Maybe I'll just go there until everything blows over."
"I don't think they want this kind of happy ending," he says and gestures out toward Derry, slowly waking to the morning and starting its day. Everyone here, so unaware of the events in the sewers, turning a blind eye to the collapsed, old house on Neibolt. Nary a whisper about the children who left and came back, about the thing that tried to make Derry its very own beating heart.
For a second, his skin crawls, remembering the way the slick muscle of the heart twitched under all of their hands. There's power in the memory, power in the visceral reaction, and for once it's not rooted in fear.
He comes back to the present when she speaks again and he lets out a little breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Tom, the unspoken, angry elephant in the room. Beverly has been a fusion of beauty, mystery, and bruises for as long as he's known her. No one ever had to ask. No one wanted to.
"Maybe it's not meant to stay private," he wagers. "Doesn't sound like he deserves the right to privacy. Can't let the real dicks get away scot-free." He doesn't have to gesture, doesn't have to say bruises or cardigan for it to be laid bare between them. A lick of anger flares in his chest, makes him shift against the post enough to push away, closing some of the distance between them, so they stand shoulder to shoulder. What he does do, however, is reach to tap the half empty pack of cigarettes in her hand, a reminder.
They could all use a few smokes and a few drinks.
"Plenty of little beach towns. Bungalows as far as the eye can see, clear down the coast. Good place to escape for a little while, lay low. I can dig up a few agents. Know a couple of names. Thought about getting one myself for a while. The idyllic writer's hut." He shake his head at the thought, something distant and far. He realizes now that he never chose one because the ocean looked like nothing but a wide, gaping maw that left him unsettled for reasons he couldn't pinpoint all those years ago.
Bill's response isn't surprising, the way he says how Tom doesn't deserve the right to privacy, the tone in his voice. It makes a small smile tug at her lips, because he's still so much the boy that she had met years ago. The boy that was so brave, the boy she followed into Neibolt without a second thought. It's good to know that, despite everything that has happened and everything they all forgot for so long, he's still Bill beneath it all.
"It's not that easy," she says with a small sigh, her smile dry for a moment. "But, you're right. He doesn't."
He never did, really. It's embarrassing, to be as old as she is and still be haunted by the same shit that she had escaped when she left Derry as a teenager, but it was like falling in quicksand. Just when she would find enough resolve to leave, he would find a way to drag her back in. One time things had gotten bad enough that she was sure she wouldn't survive to see fourty, but here she is. And she had survived not only Tom, but Pennywise as well. If that's not a sign that she needs to start fresh, she doesn't know what is.
The tap of the cigarettes makes her smile again, offering him the pack. She hadn't been sure if he smoked but, quite honestly, she had also forgotten about her purpose for walking out here.
"If you don't mind, that'd be great. Being on the same coast will be nice. I think 27 years was plenty of time between us, right?" She doesn't know if they'll forget again the moment that they cross the town's limits, but god, she hopes that won't be the case.
"If it was that easy we wouldn't be talking about it," Bill muses, wry and a little tired. If anything in their lives had been simple, they might not be here right now, nursing old scars and deeper sorrows, wondering what the city lines might do to them when they decide to leave again.
And they will leave, in the end. It's all they can do.
"You don't have to do it alone, you know," he says it so casually and he reaches for the pack of cigarettes. He doesn't smoke, really, but when in Derry... "Not anymore. None of us do."
Bill won't turn a blind eye because all of his blind spots have been diminished. There are no more yellow rain slickers haunting his dreams, no more doubts or questions or bouts of numbing amnesia. It's all laid out before them, and when he looks over at her, offering the pack back once he's fished a cigarette for himself, he can't help but feel like he's seeing her for the first time all over again. Vibrant and bright and strong, even when bruised. They all looked to Bill for guidance, sure, but Bev had been the real leader; the glue.
"Twenty-seven years was plenty of time to get our shit together," he says with a little laugh. "So it'd be nice to meet up occasionally somewhere else. Throw a beach bonfire, get wasted and talk about politics or listen to one of Richie's sets, like we'll even get the choice." A smile, tired, but warm, crosses his face.
There's something about the way that he tells her that she doesn't have to do it alone that disarms her in a way that only Bill Denbrough can manage. It takes her by surprise, although maybe it shouldn't. But, as popular as she is, as successful as her adult life has seemed to be, she has been mostly alone throughout it all. She and Tom had good moments, little highlights of brightness in the pit of darkness that was their marriage sometimes, but outside of that a lot of her life has been a carefully orchestrated act. The polished and poised fashion designer that everyone knows and loves, the way she's sought out by both celebrities and common people alike. Her friends are generally also Tom's friends, and they're all too careful to look away, to not ask questions whenever she cancels a get-together at the last minute, or when she claims she had gotten into an accident to explain the newest injury that she can't quite hide.
But, just how it happened years ago, Bill makes her feel seen in a way that still takes her by surprise. Because he sees her, and he doesn't see her as weak, how she does on the worst days. He's still on her side, and she smiles as she digs out a cigarette for herself.
"You're right, we're not alone anymore." She lights her cigarette before offering to do the same for him. She takes a long drag of it like a pro, the burn of it bringing with it that familiar comfort she's used to. "For all the shit this trip brought, I'm glad we all found each other again."
Who knew, that back when they had made their pact, that it would lead to this. That it would impact their lives so deeply, that they'd be forever-changed by decisions they made at thirteen. As much as she had found herself cursing Mike for calling them, for dragging them back here and holding them to their promise, she's at least glad that they can salvage their friendship as well.
The image he paints is one that she can already see, as if the bonfire and the laugh that will accompany it are just happening a few feet away, and she smiles. "As soon as I get settled in, I think that's a hell of a way to do a housewarming party. I'm in." She flicks off the ashes over the railing, at the dirt below.
"It's crazy, isn't it?" Her eyes wander off to the town, the way it's slowly coming to life now that the sun is rising. "It's really over. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's really done."
That they're alive, she doesn't say, but it's implied. After twenty-seven years of dreaming about all of them dying, to be free from it... It's more than she had ever expected.
Now that the underlying threat of the creature is gone, it's easy to try and look at the future with a little bit of optimism. Until returning to Derry, he hadn't realized just how much negativity hovered in the air around him wherever he went. Sure, he's been successful and his books sell, turn into movies, even, but he hasn't written one yet that feels right. Now, for the first time in most of his life, he feels energized in a completely different way.
Maybe that's the company, maybe that's the curse of Derry finally releasing its grasp on them, but he's not sure. Either way, he takes a deep drag from the cigarette, closing his eyes against the burn before he exhales on a low chuckle.
"After all we've done in the last fuckin' week and here we are planning housewarming parties." He shakes his head, a smile on his face as he tries to reconcile the final fight and everything that lies ahead of them.
"But we did it, didn't we?" HIs voice goes quiet, almost awed by the things they've been capable of after all these years. "We had no idea why we were coming back here or what would happen, but we did it. It feels wrong to think about leaving this place after all of that. God, when we were younger I remember we couldn't wait to break those city limits, all of us, after the fight in Neibolt. Pact or not, but I always had a feeling. Couldn't really put my finger on it."
He flicks some of the ashes into the mulch below before he goes in for another drag. "Been trying to write myself to the reason all this time and didn't even realize it."
But they've all done that, in a way, haven't they? Lived their lives knowing that something was missing but never able to really place it, never able to turn around and look it in the face. "Shit, when I heard Mike on the phone that day, I thought I was having a heart attack. Couldn't say why I knew it was something serious, but I just knew."
"We did," she responds with a small smile on her face, her gaze lost on the view of the town in front of them. It's different, now. Derry is still a hellhole that she never wants to live in, and that she never plans on coming back to, but it feels different now that the fog has lifted. Now that they defeated the monster living in the sewers, the curse that had fallen on the town long before they were even conceived.
As Bill speaks, she glances over at him. Beverly has been living with her own shadows lingering in the corners of everything she does, but she never imagined what it could have been like for them. It just never entered her mind to even consider what it could have been like for her friends, even if she dreamt about them constantly.
"The way this town had a hold on us... I don't think any of us fully realized it." She sits on the rail of the porch, turning to face him a little better. "I dreamt of all of us. Every night. And it was never... We never made it this far. We would always die, it was always so fucking bloody." And, of course, she had been right with Eddie. The grief of losing one of their best friends still feels like it crushes her chest, making it hard to breathe for a moment, but she swallows it down.
"I always defaulted it on the chaos I was living in; the somehow those dreams were a result of my subconscious or whatever psychobabble people say. But...it's weird. Now that we're on the other side, there's so much possibility, and it feels strange to think of taking that first step."
But that's the thing about the creature, about Derry, isn't it? That it always held onto them, even when they couldn't quite wrap their heads around what it was. But Pennywise was always there, lurking. They might have left the shadows behind, but the shadows never quite left them.
"Yeah, makes you wonder how we forgot in the first place."
Except, in a way, it doesn't. It's easy to forget the things you're afraid of, to forget what you can't quite explain. But now, with the fog of fear and desperation lifted, with so much left behind them, there's actually a road ahead. A way out.
He snubs out his cigarette on the railing with one last exhale, the nicotine doing something to clear his thoughts. That, or it's Bev. She'd always been the level-headed, strong-willed one when they were younger. Brighter than any shadow that tried to swallow her whole. "Well, you don't have to take it alone."
And maybe that's too daring, what with everything waiting for them beyond Derry, the pieces of their lives they'll have to try and make sense of again. "It's a long drive from here to California. Guess I could always fly, but I don't know, think the journey might be good. Maybe help me come up with a decent ending for my books for once." A huff. God, he hopes Mike is around to rib him about that for years to come. "But I could give you a lift. At least as far as Chicago. And it'd break up the monotony of it all for me. If you're interested. Bored enough, even."
A shrug, a smile. "It still feels like a dream, doesn't it?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
voicetesting;
But this morning he breathes in the easy, morning air. There's a lightness to his chest that he hasn't felt in years, and he hadn't realized he'd missed. There's weight there still, the heft of Eddie Kaspbrak's name echoing in the air between him and the other losers. They defeated the monster, but at what cost?
(He remembers the lake, the way they tied themselves into a knot, an invisible callback to the blood oath they took years and years before, an oath he can hardly believe he erased from his mind. But the way they stood there, arms curled tight around Richie and the well of grief at everything they've sacrificed? It makes him remember that Derry isn't home, the Losers are).
But Hollywood beckons, doesn't it? His fingers already itch for the familiar click of the keyboard, for the business and focus of work that seems so foreign in a place like Derry. Derry, wherein lies just as much joy and life as there lies something cold and sinister. Like a story, a thriller wrapped up neatly with a bow prettily set on top.
He barely registers that he's left his room, that he's standing on the porch to the old hotel, looking out at the tired, weary streets of Derry. He hardly notices the door swing open, but he knows its one of the Losers. Of course it is, and he doesn't bother checking over his shoulder when he speaks.
"I think I was on my way to get a drink, but I have to tell you, I got down here and forgot all about it."
Like setting your keys down when you walk in the door, so routine and simple, and turning to find them missing when you leave. Like feeling the urge to run and resisting, though you don't know why. Like driving out of a city and leaving it behind for 27 years and never looking back. Until now.
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Now, though, she gets it. All the missing pieces are there now, the puzzle in her brain now complete but it doesn’t feel like a resolution. And it should be - after all, they had managed to defeat the monster behind it all. But, instead of dreams about how she will die, or how anyone else from the group will die, she just remembers Eddie. Eddie, dying. Eddie, dead. Their bonds have changed from when they were kids, and years have passed between them leading them to each build lives away from each other, but it doesn’t change the grief behind it all. He should be here. He should be able to go back to his own life, to be relieved it’s all over. None of it feels fair.
She doesn’t know what time it is by the time she grabs her lighter and the half empty pack of cigarettes, and makes her way downstairs as she slips on a cardigan to cover the array of bruising she still has from when she had left home. The hotel is quiet, the occasional creak of the old floorboards accompanying her as she walks to the front door, but she hardly notices. Now that things are done and over with in Derry, her mind keeps slipping to the what now, the stage she didn’t expect to find herself in because she had been sure she wouldn’t survive another round against Pennywise, but...here she is. Alive and now unsure of what comes after.
As she steps outside, she pauses when she sees Bill and a faint smile crosses her lips. “Well, if you still have that urge for a drink, I can join you if you don’t mind company.” She walks over to stand next to him, adjusting the cardigan closed as she crosses her arms. Considering her friends had all seen her already with a tanktop, she knows damn well she isn’t really hiding anything from them that they hadn’t probably seen already, but it’s an old habit from her old life, and it’s hard to really stop herself from doing it.
“Are you leaving today, or did Derry charm you into staying?” A small smile twists at her lips as she says it, teasingly, turning to him. She knows he can’t stay; after all, he has a life to get back to.
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"Derry and charm don't belong in the same sentence."
Bill breathes out a laugh and shoves his hands into his pockets, looking out at the quiet, empty street. Derry seems eerily still in a way that feels normal. But normal and Derry never quite go hand in hand and never have. Even now, with It gone, he's not sure that this place will ever truly feel normal again. But perhaps it's better that it doesn't.
"I need to head back before all of Hollywood winds up in Derry looking for me." There's no boast in his voice, just a tired sort of amusement. After all, he left in the heat of filming, when all eyes were turned on him for a new ending to the picture he'd been working on. "But a couple of extra days won't hurt. Have to give myself time to nurse the inevitable hangover."
They all need to leave this place, he thinks, even though they've defeated the monster in the dark. Leaving Derry this time might feel less like a forgetting and more like a solemn goodbye. He sucks in a deep breath, the cool, morning air crisp and clean in his lungs. He exhales it on a tired sigh, leaning his body into one of the porch posts so he can better look at her, wrapped up in a cardigan that, she's right, does little to hide what they all know is there underneath.
It gives him pause, however, before he finally asks, "You?"
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She had seen a blurb about it on the news, had been excited to see the movie adaptation of his book. Because, even without knowing who he was, she had been drawn to his work after so many raving reviews, so many discussions among her staff about the ending. She had needed to read it for herself to find out, and she had been looking forward to the adaptation to see who would win - the writer or Hollywood.
It’s surreal, that said writer is Bill. They’re both grown now, but with all the memories back in place now, he’s no longer just that writer she had read about. He’s Bill.
Shifting her position so that she can lean against the railing, she ponders the question for a moment before she shrugs slightly, breathing out a chuckle. “You know... I don’t know. I’m leaving, I’m not staying long term. But I need to figure out where I’m going to, before I actually book that flight.”
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He'll never hear the end of it from Mike, he realizes, and there's a strange sort of fondness that comes with it. A familiarity that was lost for nearly 27 years suddenly regained. So much of his life, of the people who made him who he is, had all but disappeared for so long.
He can't help but wonder if, when he crosses that fateful border, if the Derry fog will descend on his mind again and wipe the slate clean. While a part of him thinks it might be easier, the other part, largely winning, wants to keep the events of the past week or so close to his heart.
"Mike's even closing up shop in a few weeks. Looks like we're all getting out of dodge while we still can. Told him he could always flee to the other side of the country." He pauses, considering his words as shifts against the post, turning to look at her. "You could, too. Plenty of room in Hollywood."
The buzz and art of the city sure put Derry to modern shame, with its high buildings and wide, open skies. "The traffic will make you want to throw yourself in the Barrens, though."
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They had won, after all. Losing Eddie and Stan stings in a way that she knows she won't get over easily, not now when she fully remembers what they had meant to her and the rest of the Losers. Not after everything they sacrificed. But, they had managed to win. Thanks to them and what they had done, they had managed to survive. There's guilt behind that sense of victory, of course, but she also knows that throwing this chance of a life would be a disservice to them.
The suggestion to go to Hollywood makes her pause, but it's more surprise than anything else. "I... Yeah, that's not a bad idea. I may stay somewhere nearby, though, not exactly Hollywood." She pauses for a moment, but it's brief. As if trying to figure out if she wants to share this but, after everything they've lived through together? It feels stupid to have any more secrets between them.
"I have a feeling things are going to get a little dicey for a bit when I get back to the real world," she confesses with a sigh. "I left Tom the night I came here. Considering our brand, and all, I doubt a lot of it will stay private."
She can already see the headlines, all the lies that Tom will start spewing to paint her in the worst light. He has threatened her with it whenever she would claim she was leaving, that she was done with him, that she wouldn't put up with his bullshit anymore. But, before, it never worked. She would stay; out of fear, out of love. Or, well, what she had figured was love. Now, after experiencing true fear, Tom seems insignificant and that resolve that she had left Chicago with has only become stronger, but it doesn't mean she's thrilled about what she knows is probably coming next.
"There's a bunch of little beach towns around there, right? Maybe I'll just go there until everything blows over."
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For a second, his skin crawls, remembering the way the slick muscle of the heart twitched under all of their hands. There's power in the memory, power in the visceral reaction, and for once it's not rooted in fear.
He comes back to the present when she speaks again and he lets out a little breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Tom, the unspoken, angry elephant in the room. Beverly has been a fusion of beauty, mystery, and bruises for as long as he's known her. No one ever had to ask. No one wanted to.
"Maybe it's not meant to stay private," he wagers. "Doesn't sound like he deserves the right to privacy. Can't let the real dicks get away scot-free." He doesn't have to gesture, doesn't have to say bruises or cardigan for it to be laid bare between them. A lick of anger flares in his chest, makes him shift against the post enough to push away, closing some of the distance between them, so they stand shoulder to shoulder. What he does do, however, is reach to tap the half empty pack of cigarettes in her hand, a reminder.
They could all use a few smokes and a few drinks.
"Plenty of little beach towns. Bungalows as far as the eye can see, clear down the coast. Good place to escape for a little while, lay low. I can dig up a few agents. Know a couple of names. Thought about getting one myself for a while. The idyllic writer's hut." He shake his head at the thought, something distant and far. He realizes now that he never chose one because the ocean looked like nothing but a wide, gaping maw that left him unsettled for reasons he couldn't pinpoint all those years ago.
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"It's not that easy," she says with a small sigh, her smile dry for a moment. "But, you're right. He doesn't."
He never did, really. It's embarrassing, to be as old as she is and still be haunted by the same shit that she had escaped when she left Derry as a teenager, but it was like falling in quicksand. Just when she would find enough resolve to leave, he would find a way to drag her back in. One time things had gotten bad enough that she was sure she wouldn't survive to see fourty, but here she is. And she had survived not only Tom, but Pennywise as well. If that's not a sign that she needs to start fresh, she doesn't know what is.
The tap of the cigarettes makes her smile again, offering him the pack. She hadn't been sure if he smoked but, quite honestly, she had also forgotten about her purpose for walking out here.
"If you don't mind, that'd be great. Being on the same coast will be nice. I think 27 years was plenty of time between us, right?" She doesn't know if they'll forget again the moment that they cross the town's limits, but god, she hopes that won't be the case.
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And they will leave, in the end. It's all they can do.
"You don't have to do it alone, you know," he says it so casually and he reaches for the pack of cigarettes. He doesn't smoke, really, but when in Derry... "Not anymore. None of us do."
Bill won't turn a blind eye because all of his blind spots have been diminished. There are no more yellow rain slickers haunting his dreams, no more doubts or questions or bouts of numbing amnesia. It's all laid out before them, and when he looks over at her, offering the pack back once he's fished a cigarette for himself, he can't help but feel like he's seeing her for the first time all over again. Vibrant and bright and strong, even when bruised. They all looked to Bill for guidance, sure, but Bev had been the real leader; the glue.
"Twenty-seven years was plenty of time to get our shit together," he says with a little laugh. "So it'd be nice to meet up occasionally somewhere else. Throw a beach bonfire, get wasted and talk about politics or listen to one of Richie's sets, like we'll even get the choice." A smile, tired, but warm, crosses his face.
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But, just how it happened years ago, Bill makes her feel seen in a way that still takes her by surprise. Because he sees her, and he doesn't see her as weak, how she does on the worst days. He's still on her side, and she smiles as she digs out a cigarette for herself.
"You're right, we're not alone anymore." She lights her cigarette before offering to do the same for him. She takes a long drag of it like a pro, the burn of it bringing with it that familiar comfort she's used to. "For all the shit this trip brought, I'm glad we all found each other again."
Who knew, that back when they had made their pact, that it would lead to this. That it would impact their lives so deeply, that they'd be forever-changed by decisions they made at thirteen. As much as she had found herself cursing Mike for calling them, for dragging them back here and holding them to their promise, she's at least glad that they can salvage their friendship as well.
The image he paints is one that she can already see, as if the bonfire and the laugh that will accompany it are just happening a few feet away, and she smiles. "As soon as I get settled in, I think that's a hell of a way to do a housewarming party. I'm in." She flicks off the ashes over the railing, at the dirt below.
"It's crazy, isn't it?" Her eyes wander off to the town, the way it's slowly coming to life now that the sun is rising. "It's really over. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's really done."
That they're alive, she doesn't say, but it's implied. After twenty-seven years of dreaming about all of them dying, to be free from it... It's more than she had ever expected.
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Maybe that's the company, maybe that's the curse of Derry finally releasing its grasp on them, but he's not sure. Either way, he takes a deep drag from the cigarette, closing his eyes against the burn before he exhales on a low chuckle.
"After all we've done in the last fuckin' week and here we are planning housewarming parties." He shakes his head, a smile on his face as he tries to reconcile the final fight and everything that lies ahead of them.
"But we did it, didn't we?" HIs voice goes quiet, almost awed by the things they've been capable of after all these years. "We had no idea why we were coming back here or what would happen, but we did it. It feels wrong to think about leaving this place after all of that. God, when we were younger I remember we couldn't wait to break those city limits, all of us, after the fight in Neibolt. Pact or not, but I always had a feeling. Couldn't really put my finger on it."
He flicks some of the ashes into the mulch below before he goes in for another drag. "Been trying to write myself to the reason all this time and didn't even realize it."
But they've all done that, in a way, haven't they? Lived their lives knowing that something was missing but never able to really place it, never able to turn around and look it in the face. "Shit, when I heard Mike on the phone that day, I thought I was having a heart attack. Couldn't say why I knew it was something serious, but I just knew."
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As Bill speaks, she glances over at him. Beverly has been living with her own shadows lingering in the corners of everything she does, but she never imagined what it could have been like for them. It just never entered her mind to even consider what it could have been like for her friends, even if she dreamt about them constantly.
"The way this town had a hold on us... I don't think any of us fully realized it." She sits on the rail of the porch, turning to face him a little better. "I dreamt of all of us. Every night. And it was never... We never made it this far. We would always die, it was always so fucking bloody." And, of course, she had been right with Eddie. The grief of losing one of their best friends still feels like it crushes her chest, making it hard to breathe for a moment, but she swallows it down.
"I always defaulted it on the chaos I was living in; the somehow those dreams were a result of my subconscious or whatever psychobabble people say. But...it's weird. Now that we're on the other side, there's so much possibility, and it feels strange to think of taking that first step."
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"Yeah, makes you wonder how we forgot in the first place."
Except, in a way, it doesn't. It's easy to forget the things you're afraid of, to forget what you can't quite explain. But now, with the fog of fear and desperation lifted, with so much left behind them, there's actually a road ahead. A way out.
He snubs out his cigarette on the railing with one last exhale, the nicotine doing something to clear his thoughts. That, or it's Bev. She'd always been the level-headed, strong-willed one when they were younger. Brighter than any shadow that tried to swallow her whole. "Well, you don't have to take it alone."
And maybe that's too daring, what with everything waiting for them beyond Derry, the pieces of their lives they'll have to try and make sense of again. "It's a long drive from here to California. Guess I could always fly, but I don't know, think the journey might be good. Maybe help me come up with a decent ending for my books for once." A huff. God, he hopes Mike is around to rib him about that for years to come. "But I could give you a lift. At least as far as Chicago. And it'd break up the monotony of it all for me. If you're interested. Bored enough, even."
A shrug, a smile. "It still feels like a dream, doesn't it?"