WE CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN.

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DEAD BOY (book one).
°•        CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE        •°

"        IF WE LOSE ANYONE ELSE,
I'LL LOSE IT. I'LL FUCKING
LOSE IT, CHARLIE.       "

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DAXTON SHIELDS REALIZED HE HAD LET A LOT OF PEOPLE DOWN. Charlie, for starters. He was never a good brother. All he ever did was push the other away. It took a long time before he accepted help when he should have done so sooner. Daxton could have done so, so much better when it came to him. Then there were the Losers. Daxton was so afraid of meaning something to a group of people who loved him despite it all, he shut them out. He believed that they abandoned him and that belief slowly turned into a rage that he released onto Mike, who especially deserved much better. And Richie, Richie Tozier... There was so much to unpack there. Daxton felt a twinge of sickness every time he thought about it.

They book it out of the Griffith's house with a kiss on the cheek to Jo and trembling knees. Daxton is still shaken up by the experience and trying to splutter to Charlie what happened. The threats and memories continue to echo.

You will destroy him like you destroyed us.

The dirty little secret will come out someday, Shields.

If I don't leave now, I'll be stuck here. Until the day I fucking die.

His head was starting to pound with the thousands of words of how Daxton Shields was a piece of shit.

The extra dog tag Daxton realized was still dangling across his neck suddenly felt as if the chain was shorter, tighter, and choking him. He clawed at the necklace until it tore off. "My token," he mumbles without meeting Charlie's eyes since he knew the gaze would be full of puzzlement. Daxton takes a deep breath. "I - I came back to Derry. I felt so weak. I just wanted to fucking feel something - "

"Dax," Charlie says his name softly, but his brother cuts him off by stuffing the tag in his denim pocket.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it about me." Daxton clears his throat and pretends there aren't tears stinging his eyes. He's mastered this skill a long, long time ago. Longer than he could remember.

But this Daxton could remember. He knew he could promise himself, Charlie, the Losers, and everyone he loved that he could do better. He would be better. He's never done such a thing before, would have never considered it because when he was thirteen, being cold was how he got by. Daxton learned quickly that the world was cruel so he would have to be too. But it was the other eight Losers who taught him that while he could be beaten, thrown to the side of the road like garbage, there could be eight hands reaching out to help him on his feet again if he let them in. He ended up biting back in fear these hands would join in his beatings. Daxton could never thank them enough for it.

"What about you?" Daxton asks Charlie. "You remember more than me." He tried to wonder why that was, but couldn't make a guess. "What would your token be?"

A small smile tugs on Charlie's lips. He pulls a pocket knife from his pocket. He flips a switch with his thumb and the blade flicks out. "Already found it while you were having your... Reunion upstairs. Don't ask me why Jo kept it all this time."

The sight of the knife causes further memories to pour in. Charlie didn't have a fear of knives, but after the traumatic incident in his childhood, he attempted to stray far from them. The day he grew comfortable with them was when Daxton helped him carve their initials into the stone just outside their house. Charlie started practicing both his comfort and skill in handling them which became useful when their tour started.

"Our initials," Daxton remembers. "That's why."

They couldn't exactly slice chunks of the gravel out of the ground and take the letters with them, so the knife was the second-best thing. Their bond, the love they had for one another that was deeper than any ocean despite not having a drop of familial blood between them, that was Charlie's token. It was powerful enough to overcome fear. That was how they would beat It together.

"Yeah." Charlie stuck the weapon in his pocket again before the town of Derry got any ideas. He tilts his head towards the rental car where they could speed to the hotel. "Let's keep going."

His words were nonchalant, calm, but Daxton knew they shared the same thoughts. It was Charlie who preached how close they were while Daxton laughed it off while secretly feeling the same. It was an equal balance.

After all, that's what brothers do.

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They aren't the first to arrive. Daxton thanks all of his lucky stars, despite how there were only a few of them given his luck, for that. The sooner the Losers reunited, the sooner they could band together and beat that fucking clown. Daxton could hardly wait. It was a moment he's been waiting to do for twenty-seven years without even knowing so. It was there, waiting, in the back of his mind. Now that he finally remembered, he was impatient. Daxton was buzzing with impatience until it would be all over. Maybe he'd be able to move on, and do better, just like he always wanted.

Eddie passes them and bursts through the door first, his legs speeding to carry his shaking form. He doesn't even glance behind him when he knows Daxton and Charlie are following him inside the Inn. There's something wrong. Daxton knows that immediately because the man is drenched from head to toe in some kind of black gunk. It reminds him of a familiar image from when they first fought Pennywise, when the clown had vomited the same thick liquid on Eddie, and the thirteen year old shook with rage as he screamed, "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Before bravely kicking It in Its painted face.

This Eddie Kaspbrak was different. He's grown into someone else, something that Daxton couldn't have possibly recognized. Brave was the last word he'd use to describe him. Poor Eddie is so stiff that cracks have begun to appear from the spots where the mysterious slop had dried. Charlie frowns at the sight. He starts to utter Eddie's name, but it goes unheard as he stomps loudly as if it'd wipe his shoes clean.

A familiar head of copper hair rises as Eddie bulldozers across the long rug. Beverly Marsh eyes Eddie with confusion and concern, her tone matching her features when she gasps, "My God, what happened to you?" Just as he crosses her to bolt up the stairs.

"Nothing. I'm okay! I'm fine, everything's fine!" Eddie exclaims in such a panicked voice that his friends doubt everything is fine. If Pennywise came after the brothers, surely it came after the others. But Eddie brushes off their worries and a few seconds later he disappears, a door slamming shut after him.

Daxton huffs. They all must've been paid a visit by what they feared the most. "What now?" He asks the million-dollar question. If they all had their artifacts, where should they go next? He quickly scans the area but doesn't see Mike anywhere. He would know what their next move was. Plus, they wouldn't have made it here without Mike. They had him to thank. Where the fuck was he?

The door swung open again. Daxton spun with hope in his heart that Mike had finally arrived, all of the other Losers were almost here after all, but the feeling deflates when he sees it was only Bill. Don't get Daxton wrong, he's glad their leader was fine - even if he seemed a tad shaken up by something with trembling fingers clutching an old paper boat - but he was hoping for Mike. Sitting and waiting patiently wasn't Daxton's virtue, after all. He hadn't been able to let go of that in the last twenty-seven years.

"Hey, how're you doin'?" Bill greets them as his blue eyes quickly scan the lobby area. "Where's everybody else?"

Stressed, Beverly lists off, "Richie wants to leave, Ben's trying to get him to stay..."

Charlie nods his head towards the stairs. "Eddie looks like he got vomited on again." His lips twitched into a fond smile as if he remembered the same memory Daxton had earlier of the real Eddie Kaspbrak, the one they knew had to be there, but shoved so far away that a search was out of the question. Daxton wonders if the same applied to himself.

"The-the-they're just scared," Bill dismisses any of their concerns as he cast a gaze up the long staircase.

"I'm scared too, aren't you?" Beverly whispers to the other three.

And yes. Daxton was. He believes that Charlie was too. It was impossible to not be terrified, wasn't it, when a demon clown that had haunted your life since you were thirteen had reappeared? But Daxton learned a long, long time ago something about fear even if he hadn't remembered so until now. Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared. It means you are. And Daxton so desperately wants to run. But he's doing the right thing anyway. In the end, being afraid and brave came hand in hand.

"What a shitshow," Daxton mumbles angrily instead of I'm scared, and drags one hand down his face. He can feel his wrinkles crease. He's too old for this shit. He huffs and starts towards the stairs with Charlie curiously behind him. "We're gonna have to call Mike. Get his ass down here." He swears to God he's gonna burst soon if Mike Hanlon doesn't walk through that door.

A few heavy steps that smack against the maroon wood drive Daxton closer to the second level. "Dax, wait," Charlie urges from behind him. His brother ceases to stop, one hand gripping the railing tightly. He tries to pry anyway. "I know you want to get this all over with - "

"You don't know shit, Charlie," Daxton spat coldly over his shoulder. His brain aches with yet another wave of memories.

"I know you don't like making friends, but it's just - "

"No! Really, Charlie, I would love nothing more than to join your friends in stupid Quarry antics for whatever you losers think is fun! You don't know shit, Charlie."

Soft brown eyes turn hard before an even colder, "Fuck you."

Daxton releases the air ballooning in his chest. He swears he can still feel the guilt he felt back then and wants to explode until he paints the walls red. It's almost painful. Daxton has to stop as he reaches the top step when his knees start to wobble. The kid he was is curled inside, drowning in the waves of shame, wanting a place to land safely after breaking free. He doesn't know how to unlock his rib cage and he doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not the child he used to be.

"I'm sorry," Daxton whispers once he faces Charlie. There are no malicious words waiting on his brother's tongue, nothing but tender forgiveness in his features. Daxton almost cries. He didn't deserve it. Having a brother like Charlie was a gift. And he was taking it for granted. "I'm sorry, Charlie," he repeats with a swift blink to force the tears away. Daxton absolutely refused to cry here. He takes a deep breath. "You're right. I want to get everything over with 'cause I am scared. After... After everything, after - " He chokes on his words. "... Stan. If we lose anyone else - I'll lose it. I'll fucking lose it, Charlie."

Abandonment wasn't a stranger to Daxton Shields. It almost felt like home. It was the one thing he knew would stick around. He's known it his whole life. His fostering system couldn't even find Wells Shields on the map since he was so great at disappearing. And after the violent clash with his mother, Olivia Miller, Daxton never lived with her again. She even stopped showing up for their observed visitations. Every family he's met, with the exception of the Griffiths, didn't want him either. Richie Tozier alone was such a painful memory that Daxton felt as if someone socked him in the gut when he made any attempt to think of him.

But grief, loss? It was unfamiliar. Daxton kept a good distance to prevent such despair. Everyone dies and that's a fact. But Stan's death knocked him off his feet. He killed himself because he was so afraid and Daxton didn't know which was worse. A long, awaiting death you're expecting or one that surprises you when it comes out of nowhere. He doesn't want to ever find out. Tabitha, his niece, his nephew, the Losers - they were his family, his whole world. Daxton can't lose anyone else.

"Who says you're losing anyone else?" Charlie asks. His dark eyes scan Daxton, reading him like nobody else can. "I'm scared too, Dax. I can't lose anyone, especially you." His eyes slowly seem to water at the thought. "I can't fucking lose you."

He reaches out to grasp Daxton's shoulder and tug him into an embrace. Their foreheads smack into one another and it brings the familiar tides of relief to wash into Daxton. They were together, here and now. Daxton tries to understand that's what mattered the most, the time they had with each other. In a selfish way, he'd hope it'd last forever and wonders if Charlie felt the same.

Their little moment was interrupted when one of the hotel room doors pushed open. Daxton pulls away and lifts his head, half-expecting to see Richie Tozier on the other side. He braces himself to become choked up all over again with memories, but his guard falls when he sees it's only Ben. His kind eyes quickly bounce from Daxton to Charlie before he releases a breath that sounds almost like a small laugh. "You both too, huh?" He asks.

Charlie cocked his head. "No joke." He glances past Ben's shoulder as if he could see through the rooms. "Richie okay?"

It's the first time since they've arrived at Derry that Charlie didn't seem like he wanted to throttle Richie. Daxton understands quite a bit now more than he did. When Richie left, it was like leaving a hole in his heart. That hole slowly grew into a void over the twenty-seven years, a black hole that struggled to fill with something, anything. Charlie was pissed Daxton used to fill it with alcohol until he found the family he always wanted. Love felt like swallowing razors when he used it to fill the emptiness and it took a long, long time before it felt like cotton.

That's the thing about love. If it's foreign to you, it hurts. It's like dipping yourself into a tub full of warm water when you're freezing cold. You know it'll sting less eventually, but as the water laps at your skin, it burns. Daxton Shields suffered a lot just to get to the beautiful parts of it, to feel the warmth bring comfort to his once frozen body. He won't lie. It hurt like hell. But in the end, it was worth it.

"He'll be okay," Ben confirms before asking in concern, "What about you guys?"

Daxton's lips part to respond. What could come out, he isn't sure because he's been the furthest thing from okay since... Well, he wishes he could say since he's set foot in Derry. But it was probably much further than that. Pinpointing where Daxton's life went wrong was impossible. He knew the Losers probably felt the same. They could go back and forth about how they feel all day or get this shit done and over with. Daxton knows which one he'd rather do.

Suddenly, a shout from below them startles the three. It bounces off the walls, crawls up the stairs, and sends them rushing down the steps again together since the threat of It still lingered among all of them. Daxton nearly trips as he reaches the end and barely catches himself by grasping the railing. Bill was long gone, the front door slammed shut behind him, while Beverly stares after him longingly, tears evident in her blue eyes as she calls for him. At least there was no clown insight, Daxton thinks, as he sighs.

"What happened?" Ben asks anxiously. He looks towards the now shut door. "Did Bill leave?"

"I couldn't stop it," Beverly chokes out. Daxton frowns at the tremor in her voice, the way her lower lips tremble. "Everyone... Everyone's leaving - "

"Not everyone," Daxton argues because his place was here, with the Losers, "Not us."

Ben nods. "It'll be okay. It's Bill," he reminds them. "He'll be back."

He's right and they know it. Bill Denbrough was their leader, a good one at that. Daxton's meant a ton of men like him while in the army. It doesn't matter what age Bill was, thirteen or forty. He wouldn't leave them for good when true fear has settled in and their threat was looming.

"At least I convinced Richie to stay," Ben adds unhelpfully.

Charlie throws a hand in the air. "Woo-hoo," he mumbles sarcastically.

"Hey," Daxton warns quietly. He knows Charlie's tired. He is too. They already didn't get much sleep the night before with the mix of angry, panicked tossing around in bed. There was no telling how much sleep they'll get in the next few hours and exhaustion can't be the one thing that'll slow them down. But Daxton has a lot of room to talk when anger was his best feature and they were both becoming irritable.

"Guys!"

He sees Charlie's face soften into worry. Daxton was real fucking tired of racing up and down a staircase, too old for that shit too, but the hysteria in the single call from who he assumes was Eddie brought him flying to the second level again. Beverly reaches their friend first ahead of the men and she releases a terrified scream, her hands flying to cover her face. Daxton sees why as he bolts across the rug.

Eddie slowly slid down the green wallpaper he was slowly painting red. He was clean of any muck they saw earlier and instead painted with blood that Daxton hoped wasn't his own. It quickly deflates when he sees the wound deep in his cheek. Ben gasps at the sight and demands to know what the hell happened, while Daxton could barely get a word out. Eddie must be in a state of shock from being attacked as he numbly mumbles, blood dribbling from his lips, "Bowers is in my room."

The name Eddie uses brought Daxton's face to twist into a nasty scowl. This was the one man he couldn't remember until now. He was a tad bitter that he couldn't remember until now. It was always there, haunting Daxton, but Henry fucking Bowers? He was a nightmare in human form and could give Pennywise a run for his money. Daxton can't believe he's still alive and had the nerve to hurt one of his friends after everything.

Daxton darts past Eddie who now nervously asks Beverly and Charlie, "Is it bad?" With Ben on his heels. He shoves the door in his way and finds Eddie's room, memories flying by like a horror movie where the gay kid gets his ass kicked because that was pretty much all Bowers did - besides murdering his only friends and his father. Daxton remembered his very own warm Derry welcome the first week he had when he moved into the smalltown.

There were still scars from Bowers's cigarette on his forearm.

Daxton's blood was positively boiling. He was going to rip that asshole's guts out and then choke him with it.

The only destruction to Eddie's hotel room was in his bathroom, the door already creaked open. The shower curtain had been torn from the ringlets. Eddie's blood was splattered and smeared across the linoleum floor. The window was shattered and bits of the frame snapped into splints.

There's no telling what Daxton expected as he bumps into Ben's shoulder to peer out the broken window's pane. He guessed easily Bowers wasn't the same skinny, asshole sixteen year old he once was. But the man who stood in the hotel's parking lot slowly dragging the blade of a knife out of his chest was very obviously the man Daxton wanted to rip apart. At least the mullet was still there as recognizable for the trash it was as ever.

A menacing laugh escapes from Bowers's bloodied lips. He wiggles the weapon towards Ben mockingly. Then his soulless eyes met Daxton's. Half of his smile slid before he used one of his callous hands to bring two fingers to his lips that pucker. Daxton swallows. Bowers was mimicking taking a smoke before releasing a loud cackle, bounding towards the familiar blue car that sat a few feet away.

It was a message that Daxton heard loud and clear. It was like a message sent by a truck that rams directly into his chest, constricting his ribs, and making it hard to breathe.

He's done this once already.

Daxton Shields was no less of an idiot than what he was twenty-seven years ago. He hadn't even been in Derry for an entire week yet and clearly haven't learned the lessons of walking around the hick town on his own. Excuse him for enjoying the weather before the sun would hit and people would be out and about to enjoy their summer. Daxton wondered if he'd actually make it home at this rate, having run into the Bowers gang, a heavy boot planted onto his back, and swallowing mouthfuls of gravel and dirty water.

At least Daxton had managed to avoid the puddles by hopping around them until now.

His teeth scraped painfully across the broken concrete and damp soil when Bowers grabbed a fistful of Daxton's hair. He gagged out loud as his neck bent back enough to yank him away from the puddle. He spat once, twice, in a poor attempt to clean his mouth of any parts of the Earth.

"We haven't had a chance to properly meet," Bowers sneered close to Daxton's ear with a hot breath that brought Daxton to gag again, "Daxton fucking Shields, isn't it? From that animal shelter with the Griffith's?"

Daxton twisted his neck so he could spit another mouthful of dirty water directly into Bowers's face. "That's right, asshole," he snarled without an ounce of fear despite the feeling of taking a plunge into his gut. Daxton refused to let Bowers think he was afraid otherwise he'd become a squirming bug under a microscope.

The water droplets trail over fading marks painted on Bowers's jaw. He cocked his head, features curling into something so twisted and murderous that Daxton actually showed in that split second he really was afraid. True fear hadn't settled in until his gang grasped his shoulders and fought through his struggle until he was planted on his back, the sole of the boot now shoved into his ribs.

"Fuck you!" Daxton screamed as he thrashed, arms swinging towards anyone who was close enough to hit, bucking his legs until one of them grabbed his knees, pinning them. His two wrists were wrenched above his head and he cries out in pain instead of rage this time when one of them twist at an awkward angle. It's a warning, one that trails straight down Daxton's arm and reached his shoulder.

But he doesn't give up when he sees Bowers wave a red lighter in Daxton's eyes.

"Fuck me, huh?" Bowers echoed with putrid wrath dripping from his tongue. His voice slowly raised and Daxton just about fears for his life when he flicked his thumb until a flame appeared. He spat, "You think people like you can come to Derry?!"

"People like me will make you choke on your fucking teeth," Daxton fired back with his teeth bared. He was unable to catch onto what Bowers meant at the time. Twenty-seven years later, Daxton wondered how the hell that psychotic asshole could read his mind.

Bowers brought a cigarette close to the flame until it was lit. He didn't have to speak even though he snapped with the promise of, "You'll be sorry," since his rage was clear as day on his face.

The smell of cigarette smoke filled Daxton's nostrils. He loathes it. It burned his senses and made him feel sick. He tried to wiggle away, but it wasn't any use. His friends are laughing at his struggle as they tighten their grips. "Get away from me," Daxton demanded furiously through his teeth that now clench. "Get the hell away from me!"

Daxton Shields had done this once already. That fucking psycho in his last foster house that he ended up in a scrap with. He knew he wouldn't catch a break in Derry, but fuck, really? Again?

The bare arm that hurt when the limb was mangled above him was rolled again. Daxton had to tighten his teeth again to keep from crying out, refusing to give them any satisfaction. That would have to come later, specifically when Bowers brought the lit end close to his exposed skin after taking a long puff. The smoke and sizzle get close together all at once. Daxton realized quickly that wrestling was going to make it worse in the end.

He felt his skin sizzle before the bud even reached him. Daxton attempted to hold it back at first, but as soon as the ashes meet skin, he couldn't do it. He released an outcry as it boiled his skin with a quiet hiss. He wished he was strong enough to hold back the tears once they started to brim. The reek of smoke faded and was replaced with the scent of flames melting skin. The pressure becomes excruciating as it swallowed a patch of Daxton's skin, blistering, one after another. That wasn't enough for Bowers who didn't stop there.

A line of boiling blisters that scorch against Daxton's skin appeared until he has exactly seven singed spots on his forearm. He at least was proud he didn't cry until they left him there, laughing above him, pathetically curled into himself to appear smaller. Daxton dragged himself out of the dirty puddles he was left in, muck attempting to claw him back. It was just about the only thing he was good at because he's done it to many times.

And he can't do it again.

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author's note:

omg hey long time no see!! i need to come back more often this took me way too long to actually finish. and i missed my boys so much but i also hate bowers so much and had this planned forever. i especially cant wait for the next one. i'll try to get it out sooner!! key word on try cause i almost went a whole year without updating LMAO

hopefully some of you guys are still here and haven't given up on me

anyways this act is slowly coming to a close! i really cant wait until the battle with pennywise, shits about to get violent. cant wait to put my writing to the test. accepting that challenge.

thank you for coming back to read! i promise i'll always come back to eventually update! ❤️

- koda

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