(A/N:)
[word count]- 1814
Alright, let's do dis thing-

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Golden strands of grass fluttered in the late summer breeze, making way for a small circle of teens that stood hand in hand, quietly swearing to protect their home and to protect each other. Stan, who had his head wrapped firmly in bandages, smiled faintly, happy that after everything, they were still united, if not closer than ever before. On his left was Richie and on his right was Bill, both holding his hands tightly. Hot blood trickled between them and he knew that there was no turning back. If IT were to come back, so would they.

    That was a total of one week ago and now Stan was in his room, filled with dread.

The faint padding of socked feet against hardwood flooring was the only sound that filled his room as he paced, arms folded tightly over his chest and eyebrows furrowed in deep brooding thought. He couldn’t shake the trepidation that seemed to clog up his insides and churn around in his gut, similarly to butterflies, but rather, hot coals straight from the hearth. Dark and twisted images of the oh so scarily familiar face of IT danced around in his head, occupying his nightmares and flooding his mindspace. It was literally keeping him up at night, almost to the point where it was affecting his school work and motor skills. As he turned to walk back across the room once more, Stan unfurled his arms and looked down at his hand, feeling the fading sting of the long cut that claimed its stake along his palm. He had made a blood pact just days earlier, taking an oath to come back if IT ever made a return. The keyword there was “if”, but Stan couldn’t help but feel like the pact was made because deep down they all knew it wasn’t over and it was eating away at him. He had tried to talk to Richie, but he just joked around about it, even though the mention of IT made him visibly weary. Eddie flat out didn’t want to talk about it, and Stan hadn’t gotten around to conversing with Ben, Mike, or Bev. It was like they were denying that it had even happened at all. The only person that ever really acknowledged it was Bill- He had somehow remained level headed throughout the ordeal, despite the loss of his brother. In that moment, Stan decided that he wanted… needed to talk with another person- and that someone was Bill. He quickly, but stealthly made his way down the stairs, tip toeing past the living room where his mom sat in a recliner, mindlessly staring at the television. Slipping on his sneakers, he placed his hand on the cool, silver knob and turned it slowly. Silently, he squeezed through the wooden port out into hot summer night. The sun had just set and the lavender sky grew darker by the second, the eerie screeching of cicada seeming to echo through the nearly empty street, making Stan’s skin crawl. He swiftly grabbed his bike from off the lawn and mounted, hastily tearing out onto the road, pedaling like a madman. A ride that would normally take him ten minutes, took him only five. He hopped off his bike, breathing heavily as he leaned it against the front of Bill’s house. Approaching the door, Stan hesitantly raised his hand to knock, waiting a moment to compose himself before rapping his knuckles against the wooden slab, waiting anxiously for an answer.

The door opened a crack as a shocked noise followed before actually calling his name hesitantly, “Stan?”  The door opened more as Bill’s father stood disapprovingly in the doorway, “Stan, do you know the time?”  Stan hadn’t really checked the clock before he left, it hadn’t been that important to him in that moment.  Then again he wasn’t thinking of Bill not answering the door, it almost slipped his mind that parents were a thing.  “Well it doesn’t matter, come in before you catch a cold,” he said softly as he waved Stan quickly into the air conditioned home.  Stan didn’t understand the real reasoning behind Bill’s father’s statement, but was content none the less as the cold air cooled his fevered skin.  Just as Stan was going to explain himself, Bill came down the stairs almost in slow motion.  Stans heart caught in his throat as he felt an avalanche of feelings crash down on his small and boyish frame, causing him to hunch a bit.  Bill looked between Stan and his father in surprise before running down the few steps he had left to descend, grabbing Stan’s hand and pulling him back up the stairs from which he came.  As the two boys finally opened to door to Bill’s room, Bill shut it, for privacy reasons of course.  

“S-Stan, w-what’s wrong?”  Bill asked with confusion and fear lacing his stumbling words.  Stan didn’t say anything and this scared Bill even more. Unclenching his hand from around Stan’s shaky one, he put his hands instead on the boy’s shoulders. Stan looked up at the worried boy before him with a certain unreadable expression that Bill had never seen him wear.  It was a first for Stan to have ever managed to scare him, and Bill hated it. He shook Stan a bit, his own vision becoming blurry as he saw tears build in Stan’s now hooded and tired looking eyes.  “Stan,” Bill said again, this time trying his best not to stutter, “I cuh-can’t help you if you don’t t-tell me, right this i-instant.”  Stan still continued to let tears fall as he shifted his feet closer to the other, Bill understanding immediately as he pulled him into a tight hug, being careful of his face.  

Stan let his hands grip the back of Bill’s shirt as he stammered, “I can’t sleep and I can’t eat… God, what’s wrong with me?” Shifting slightly, he let go of the hug, pulling away to wipe the few tears that trickled down his pale cheeks. The silvery moonlight that was now filling Bill’s room clearly showed just how sick he looked. Taking a deep breath, Stan started to pace again in small circles as he stared at the deep, wood floors. “It’s been haunting me, Bill,” the curly haired boy stopped and sighed, sounding tired and filled with frustration, “I feel like It’s still with me, and it won't go away.” He felt utterly distraught. With a defeated hiss, he sat down on the bed and put his face in his hands, wincing as he grazed the recent wounds that marked his otherwise smooth skin.

Before Bill could get a word in otherwise, a soft knock came from the door and they both looked up. Slowly, it creaked open and Bill’s dad stuck his head in, eyeing them with concern. “Hey,” he began in a soft, parental sort of way, “your mother and I are heading to bed, Billy, and Stan, if you want, feel free to stay the night.”

Stan nodded at him gratefully and managed a small smile that hardly lifted the corners of his lips. “Thank you, Mr. Denbrough.” He said respectfully, his tone laced with appreciation. To be alone was the last thing he wanted in his current state.  Bill’s father then shut the door as quietly as he opened it, leaving the boys to help each other in the solitude of Bill’s now somber bedroom.

Bill joined Stan on the bed, sitting beside him gingerly. A static silence suffocated them until Stan finally spoke out, “Why? Why won’t anyone else acknowledge that this isn’t over? Richie just makes jokes, Eddie practically ignores me when I say anything and Mike and Ben just go quiet.” He shook his head with a slight groan of exasperation. “I can't seriously be the only one having doubts, right?”

“W-well, t-think of it this way,” Bill speaks carefully, “If we didn’t see it die… then is it really d-dead?”  Stan lifted his head to meet Bill’s eyes, Bill was struck with a sudden wave of an interesting feeling he couldn’t quite comprehend.  

They stared at each other for a few beats before Stan lifted the side of his mouth in an attempt to smile at his best friend in front of him, “you know what?”

“What?”

“That didn’t help as much as I thought it would…” Stan trailed while losing the smile on his face and leaning back on his hands, his gaze on the ceiling.

Bill let his head hang for a moment, pondering a bit before raising his bright juniper eyes to look at Stan, smiling somewhat deviously. “I d-do know what will help muh-make you feel better th-though…” he stated in a dubious tone.

Stan rolled his head to the side, squinting his bloodshot eyes at Bill with suspicion. “Don’t-” Before he could give a proper protest, Bill tackled him down against the bed, tickling him furiously. “S-stop!” Stan exclaimed, struggling to hold in a laugh. “Hey, this is unfair!” Stan chuckled before managing to push Bill off, both of them smiling widely as they layed back, taking in uneven breaths.  Both boys lay in a comfortable and mutual silence as their breathing became normal again.  It seemed like forever before Bill spoke again.

“Stan,” Bill mutterrd his name a bit drozily as became very tired all of the sudden, his body beginning to slack as he settled comfortably against the bed.

“Yeah, Bill,” Stan said, his head lolling to face the other boy.  He waited a bit before becoming restless for an answer, deciding to poke at what looked like a lifeless body laying beside him.  “Bill…” he pressed.

“Hmm…” the boy mumbled, rolling into Stan, leaning his head on his stomach.  Stans heart skipped slightly as his eyes widened a bit. His hand that wasn’t stuck between Bill’s bed and Bill's body moved reflexively, reaching out to touch the brunettes head, his fingers unconsciously moving through his soft, dark brown mocha hair.  Stan could hardly breathe, let alone think, as he allowed his body to do as it willed.  He didn’t know if this was okay, or if Bill was just too tired to ask him to stop, but it felt like it was the right thing to do in that moment.  Bill sighed into Stan’s chest and he thought he heard a hint of contentment before his eyelids started to feel the pull of sleep as well.

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(A/N:) hi- you made it to the end of the first chapter- congrats 🎉🎉🎉

I'm wondering if I don't start an IT One shot book so that I can also write Reddie and things like that?

Anyways, thank you for reading!