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Bill scrunched his eyes up and pushed his face deeper into the pillow as the morning sun shined in his face. He stayed in his sheets for a few more moments until his alarm went off, signaling that he needed to get up and start his regimen. The phone’s screen blinded Bill as he read it with a sigh. Monday.
Mondays were always the worst. Monday meant he had to go to Mike’s, which meant he had to face his friends. He loved them more than himself, but that wasn’t necessarily a high bar. Not at all. But they were the one thing he could count on to lift his heart.
Monday also meant family dinners. They were the worst, with worried glances from everyone around him. Worse than Thanksgiving at home.
Bill rolled out of his bed and fixed the neck of his shirt, slipping over his gaunt and bony shoulder. The room was freezing, cold autumn air sinking into his bones and making his joints tight. As much as he wanted to go back into bed and sleep away the day, he knew it would cause more trouble for him later.
He dropped to the floor.
Push-ups were important. His back always hurt afterward, and his lungs always ached, but it was worth it. It was always worth it. Especially on a day like today. He counted his pushups in his head. He wanted to get to 500 today, or over.
One… two… three…
100 meant he could have a bite of Mike’s sourdough. God, he loved Mike’s sourdough, made with a 13-year-old starter of Mike’s unique recipe.
One-hundred-fifteen… one-hundred-sixteen… one-hundred-seventeen…
Two hundred meant half of a pork chop, plain with the fat cut off. Bill’s back was already aching and he had to take a moment to replant his feet firmly on the ground, to avoid slipping and causing more noticeable discomfort. Maybe cut the porkchop, for the foreseeable future.
(Your thighs are getting fat, anyway. Don’t you want to look like Stanley?)
Stanley was always so perfect. Perfect skin, perfect grades, discipline, and beauty (skinny.) Like a Greek god. A Nymph in front of Bill’s own eyes.
God, everything It said was right, wasn’t it? (Selfish, greedy, egocentric little boy obsessed with image) Bill wanted to puke.
He didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Beverly would smell it on his breath. It’d be the start of it all over again, this time without the benefit of the doubt.
Everyone would know.
(Everyone will know you’re weak.)
“No. Shut up,” He shook his head, shivering as he tossed on warm layers that served more purposes than just keeping him heated. He locked up the house and left.
When Bill arrived at the farm, everyone was already there. Bev looked beautiful, laughing with her arms around Mike’s neck as he carried her. Eddie, defying all odds while he meandered across the lawn on his crutches with Ben’s sturdy, calloused hand helping him. Richie was sober (for once). Stanley…
Stanley was beautiful as always, carefully holding his glass of water with both hands. He smiled when he saw Bill.
He was the only one to notice him. (Broken always finds broken again.)
Bill scratched at the back of his head to get that little voice to shut up. Monday was supposed to be helpful. The voice just needed to
Shut.
The fuck.
Up.
“What was that?” Stanley raised an eyebrow, setting his glass down slowly and carefully.
The blood drained from Bill’s cheeks. “Just said I was surprised to see you up,” he shrugged, silently cursing to himself as he felt the layers of clothing fall uneven underneath his jacket. “Mike, um, Mike said you were feeling tired.”
Fuck. Shit, he was babying Stan now. He was capable of taking care of himself (not like you) and now Bill was projecting, and Stanley would realize something was wrong with him, and--
“Hey.”
Bill jumped at the sudden strong hand on his shoulder, realizing now that his breathing became shaky as he spiraled. He looked up to face the man and felt warm all over when he saw Mike’s hot cocoa eyes staring back at him.
“Hi,” he sounded stupid.
“You haven’t been around for a while,” Mike began, voice as warm as his smile, “we were starting to worry that you had…” He trailed off. Fuck, Bill knew what he meant. All eyes would be on him tonight.
Fuck.
“No, I’m good. Just writing, y’know? New book idea after we all got curb stomped by a giant clown spider--”
Bill got the memo to shut up when he saw everyone staring at him. He’d been shouting. Fuck.
It went silent for a good while after that, the only sounds were of Eddie’s crutches crackling in the dead leaves on the ground. His ears rang with it.
“Let’s eat,” Ben chimed in, flashing his studly smile while he set down a few plates. (Of course, he has to swoop in to be Prince Charming.)
Everybody sat in uncomfortable silence while Bill listened to their forks scrape against the plates, heard their teeth mashing together and their throats guzzling down water. They sounded disgusting. He wanted to puke.
He didn’t, instead, he watched Stanley struggle to hold onto his silverware with his shredded nerves and tendons. He was jealous, wished that he had such a perfect excuse to avoid eating.
But he had to take a bite of the sourdough.
And he had to try the sourdough with the mashed potatoes on it.
And of course, add a small slice of a pork chop onto the pile.
Before he realized it, his plate was empty. Bev stared at him with expectant eyes and a small smile on her face. Now he really couldn’t throw up.
(Failure.)
After dinner, everybody went into the barn to have tea and some of Ben’s lemon bars. He always bragged about how good he was becoming in his baking, after his therapist’s recommendation.
Bill almost refused, but Beverly met his eyes again. Fuck. He took a bite and almost moaned at the taste, forgetting how heavy he felt from the dinner for a few moments. When he finished his second piece, everyone was watching him.
“Um…” Bill began, only for Beverly to take the metaphorical talking stick from him. Interrupting her now would be as though Bill were interrupting his own mother.
“Bill, honey… we need to talk, okay? We’re worried for you, sweetheart.” Her eyes were misty. Bill could feel his breaths become shallower like he’d been punched in the stomach. Stanley spoke up next.
Oh no.
“We’ve been watching your… behavior for the past few weeks, and we notice some concerning reversions to your past habits.”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” he scoffed, covering his ears before Richie gently lowered his hands. “You don’t get to talk about my head, you can't fucking hold a cup because of your own fucking self!” Bill closed his mouth quickly after he’d snapped. Stanley remained unphased, watching him as Bill’s eyes misted up and he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Let us help you, I want to help you, I…”
Bill silently begged Stanley to say the three words he longed to hear most in the world.
“We love you,” Richie finished for him, “and we care about you, so much. We don't want you to go back to that place.”
“That place,” Bill scoffed, “says the alky on his one day sober.” He knew it was a cruel, low blow. All of them were, but he wouldn’t admit that he hated his friends deep down for their better reasons to be fucked up after what they went through. Bill had nothing to complain about compared to them.
Eddie had to go to physical therapy every day, and he still couldn't take a proper breath or work out or, hell, even move like he used to without pain.
Ben and Mike were each being treated for their PTSD of being the “strong man” and the man who, in his mind, caused harm to all of them, the reason they remembered everything and had to go back to Hell. To Bill, they were the ones who got off easy.
Beverly was infertile, which may have been for the best. Maybe she didn’t even want to have children, with how busy she was with the fashion house. (And babying you.)
Stanley, God, what wasn’t wrong with Stanley after It? His hands barely worked, he had no feeling in them besides sharp stings of pain, and his head was beyond messed up. PTSD, depression, night terrors, it seemed like Stanley was the accumulation of all of the losers put together, besides Richie.
God, Richie. He constantly smelled like booze and cigarettes, even after three separate stints in the best rehab centers on the East and West coasts. But who knew, maybe this time he would finally stay on the wagon. Doubtful, but possible.
Honestly, Bill couldn’t see why they were so concerned with him. They had their own shit to deal with, so who cared if he skipped a few meals or exercised every now and then? At least he was taking care of himself.
“Bill,” Eddie snapped, standing quickly without his crutches and glaring. “Get your head out of your ass and listen before I Baker Act you. Jesus, can’t you see how much we care? We’re trying to help!”
Bill looked to his feet and nodded. No getting out of this now. Might as well have a big green sign, ‘Welcome to Interventionland, population: you!’ hanging in the middle of the room. But was it an intervention if he was fine?
“I’m scared for you. I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I let this continue to happen. Can’t you please just listen?”
He nodded again.
“I love you.” Eddie got to his knees in front of Bill, forcing him to make eye contact with him. “I love you so much, always have. We all do.”
Ouch. that stung. Of course, he knew that they loved him, but not the way he’d hoped they did. Not the way he craved for.
Eddie held his hands in his cold ones, looking into Bill’s eyes while Mike spoke.
“I know it hasn’t been… easy for you, for anybody since it happened, but you’re different. You’re our glue, and we need you. All of us need our big, strong leader back. Our Big Bill.”
Was that supposed to help?
How was that supposed to do anything but make Bill feel even more guilty for the role he played in this? Like he needed another reminder of what he couldn’t be.
“I know…” he sniffled. “I know you would like me to be him again, but I can’t. I don’t know how to be him, never did. I don’t know how.”
Everybody was staring at him again. Why were they fucking staring at him?
They all came in for a hug then, holding Bill close as he cried into them. They each gave their own shushes and calming words, but none of that mattered.
All Bill cared about was that he was being held by the people he loved and they loved him, too. The little voice inside his head finally went quiet, and for that instant nothing else mattered.
Not his body, not what he’d eat, not how worried he was of being not good enough for them.
Because he was. He was enough. At least, he had the potential to be.
When they let go and sat back down in their seats, Bill knew it was time to spill his soul.
He told them everything. About the eating, about the nightmares that kept him up, about the mocking voice It left in his ear telling him to destroy himself because I don’t deserve to be as okay as I am.
Richie laughed at that, which made everybody else laugh, which put Bill at ease. He missed hearing them laugh. It had been so long since they were all together, so long since they were all happy.
“You, pumpkin, are not at all okay. But we’re gonna help you,” Richie replied, and Bill felt his heart flutter at the name. He wished it was a pet name. “We’re all gonna help each other.”
Bill nodded, wiping off his muddled cheeks. “I’d like that.”
“We really do love you, y’know,” Stanley muttered from behind him.
“I love you guys too. So much. I just wish you loved me the same…”
“What was that?” Mike looked into Bill's eyes.
He hated how many eyes were on him, seeing into the weakest cracks of his soul.
“I mean, I guess it's just that-- I love you, but you only love me like… like a brother. Like someone you have to love because of everything we’ve been through together.”
“Who got that idea in your head, hm?” Beverly hummed. “We love you just the same.” She pressed a soft kiss to Bill’s hand while everyone else did the same over the rest of his body. Stan and Mike on his head, Richie at his cheek, Ben on his other hand, and Eddie taking his shoulder.
It felt like a dream. Like at any moment, he was going to wake up and have to deal with the cruel, cold reality of being alone.
Alone in a big house that he’d once shared with a woman he could never fully love the way she deserved.
Was this how she felt?
“I love you guys so much.” Bill began to sob, overwhelmed by everything.
All of his emotions from when Mike gave him that fateful call to watching his friends, the loves of his life, struggle to recover from life-threatening injuries, to that moment. It all surmounted to the once leader of the Losers Club crumpling up like a paper man while he cried and leaned into his newfound lovers for support. If he hadn’t been so overwhelmed, Bill would’ve felt stupid.
He tried to breathe like a normal person, but it was hard. From the mixture of crying, anxiety, and six different intoxicating scents filling his lungs, it felt nearly impossible to regulate himself.
The voice was beginning to come back like a worm crawling into his ear and making itself at home.
"Just let yourself relax..." Mike murmured like he was speaking to a spooked animal, "I'll take it from here. Everything's gonna work out, you just have to let us help."
Bill nodded, feeling himself slump against the strong forms of Mike and Ben as he was stroked and pet like a cat, and if he were he had no doubt he'd be purring. Something about being physically calmed was almost as addicting as the cigarettes he'd smoked as a teen.
"I love you," he whispered, earning a soft chuckle from Richie.
He'd almost forgotten how warm and resounding Richie's laugh was.
"We know, hun. We love you, too." Beverly pressed an almost maternal kiss to Bill's head as he finally closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off into the open sea of sleep. The waters were warm and calming.
But they didn’t stop the voice, even with their rocking and surrounding warmth. He heard It. Heard the mocking voice of Robert Gray, or Pennywise, or whateverthefuck It really was.
It knew how weak he was, even when the losers, no, lovers around him tried to patch up the holes in his ego. It always found a way to break through them.
When he awoke, Bill was being held by Ben. He still smelled like the smoke from Mike's fire pit the night before.
He chuckled to himself. It was such a Ben Hanscom thing to do, sleep even though you were grimy and smelled like a lumberjack.
Ben hummed and pulled Bill's frame closer, and he didn't object. Alarm bells were whirring in his brain at the thought of Ben doing a secret bodycheck. But they were muted by this sense of domestic bliss that Bill allowed to overtake him.
"You slept well," he commented voice husky with sleep. Bill thought he could get used to hearing him speak in the mornings. "Hardly moved at all."
Bill just hummed back. He knew what had really happened in his mind that night, just hoped he didn’t notice how he--
"You cried, though. In your sleep."
Dammit.
"I know."
"Were you dreamin'?"
Bill shrugged. "We don't have to talk about it."
"I want to."
Bill shook his head, and Ben understood. He loved how they could communicate so easily without words. Hoped it would end there.
They stayed in their little nest for a few moments longer before Richie came to steal Bill away, helping him up with a kiss to his cheek.
"I'd hate to steal the second B from your trio, Benny, but the others want to talk to Billy-boy."
Ben smiled and nodded while he tossed a pillow at Richie, "Bring him back in one piece."
Bill was dizzy with how wanted he felt.
"Just give me a minute, okay?" He smiled and Richie nodded as he walked into the large bathroom.
It was bright and cold, with a large mirror right as he entered. He stared at his face, it was pale and gaunt. There were dark circles that looked nearly purple under his eyes. They felt bruised from how much he'd cried.
He dragged his long, thin fingers over his cheeks and watched as his eyelids were pulled down, his skin wrinkling and stretching as he stared at himself.
His lips were pale and dry, nothing like the full, rosy red they once were. They bled at the corners.
He looked away from the mirror.
Bill hated what he saw.
Despised how he felt.
But he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a sick sense of satisfaction for the progress he'd made.
Bill let out a shaking breath as he stepped onto the fancy electronic scale that was no doubt Ben's, smiled as he saw the same weight he'd once had in middle school when the bright "85.6" flashed on the display.
He looked back to the mirror and took a quick sip of water from the sink.
"You're okay," he muttered before turning to walk back out to see Richie.
He missed the worried frown the man had before they came face to face, the frown quickly replaced by a light smile.
"Ready to go, Pumpkin?"
Bill smiled the nickname and nodded as he tasted more blood infiltrating his mouth.
He loved it.
He followed Richie down the warm carpeted stairs and tripped three rimes before Richie swept him off his feet to carry him the rest of the way.
"Can't break precious cargo," he commented. Bill wouldn't admit he blushed, or how he felt butterflies fill his stomach.
Once they got downstairs, he was completely enveloped in warmth. It only took a few moments for Bill to find the culprit; a fully stoked fireplace and a fresh pot of coffee that all of the remaining losers were sharing.
They smiled when Bill entered the room. Eddie was cuddled up with Mike as he rubbed some kind of oil into the scars covering his chest. Stanley was in a similar position with Bev, though she was busy peppering kisses to his own scars as she helped him through joint exercises. Richie took his place between the two couples and placed Bill down next to him.
Bill looked between the two couples and Richie. "Looks like I entered something that was preexisting." he twisted his mouth up. He sounded bitter.
"We've been hoping you'd join to fill in the gap," Richie replied, placing his hands in Bill's messy hair. "It was lonely, not having you here with us. Pretending we weren't what we were whenever you came around. I'm glad you finally got the memo, though." He smiled.
"Took him long enough," Eddie chuckled softly, a dazed-out smile on his face from his pain medication. "For a writer, he can't get a clue sometimes."
Bill shrugged and busied himself with a cup of coffee. "So you've been like this..."
"Since Eddie and I got out of the hospital. Realized this wasn't only a support group for our specific type of trauma, that it's what we were all missing in those twenty-seven years."
“Why’re you just… congregated here, though? This feels private.” He sounded dumb again. Mike chuckled.
Please don’t let him be laughing at me, Bill silently begged.
"This is a morning ritual of sorts," he provided, "Helps Bev, Richie and I sort out our worries about you three while helping you to feel better."
“But why am I here? Feels like I’m intruding,” he shrugged and twisted his mouth again (stop it, you look like a child), “Again, it feels kind of private.”
"Honey," Bev looked to him, a bit stern. "Just let it be. Get out of your head and just try it, okay?”
"God, you sound like a cult leader." Bill shook his head and gave a self-conscious chuckle. Was that not appropriate? Why wasn’t anyone laughing, what did he do wrong this time? (Besides everything.)
"Just... Give it a shot, Pumpkin. If you don't like it, then you can go back to bed. Yeah?"
Bill twisted his mouth up again (stop). "Okay."
Richie pressed a kiss to the top of his head and Bill began to feel a twisting, sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt babied, but not in a good, loving way. He felt like they didn’t see him as an adult. They never would.
The relationship talk was just a trap to get him vulnerable to trust them.
(Why would they ever love someone like YOU?)
The voice was shouting in his ears.
(They’ll never see you as anything more than a scared, little child. Failure, weak, poor little Billy who can’t keep down a meal.)
He wanted to puke.
He couldn’t. Richie held on tight, not letting him give in to the flighty feeling that made his heart race and lungs run out of air.
“Fuck, no. ” He covered his ears and shook his head as the voice continued to berate him.
(They don’t love you, how could they? They know you’re just a weak little boy, they blame you. It’s your fault, your fault, YOUR FAULT!)
“Shut up, shut up, shut up! ” He stood quickly, sending his mug flying to the ground with a loud CRASH as it shattered and the coffee seeped into the wood and his socks. He stared at his now-soaked feet before glancing at the people around him, nearly hyperventilating.
They were staring at him.
Why were they fucking staring at him?
He needed to get out, but he couldn’t. Ben was downstairs now, Beverly and Richie were standing up and approaching Bill again like a scared animal. He felt cornered. Beverly had her hands up as if she was trying to show him that she didn’t have anything that could harm him. She looked concerned. Everyone did, their eyes were wide as they watched him to see if he’d try to make a run for it.
He should.
He couldn’t.
Why were they looking at him like that?
“Stop it.” He kept his hands over his ears, he didn't want to hear them try to placate him.
He didn’t want them to lie to him again.
He closed his eyes and felt his hot tears fall down his face, tasted how salty they were. (How many calories are in your tears, Billy?) He wanted It to shut up.
Ben slowly approached him from behind and held him close, listening to his loud cries as he tried to fight the arms around his waist.
He didn’t know how long it was until he could open his eyes again, but he knew it had been long enough that he couldn’t pretend that nothing happened.
Bill looked around the room and saw the concerned stares from the people he loved.
What could possibly hurt him more than the scared looks on the faces of the people he loved the most?
He tried to calm his breathing, but all he could hear were his own hiccups in a futile attempt to regulate his breathing and the blood rushing in his ears.
He gave up on fighting Ben, knowing he was much stronger than he was and it was no use to ignore the situation he had gotten himself into.
Mike spoke slowly and calmly, still sitting and holding Eddie as they stared at Bill. “This can’t keep happening, Bill. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but it’s not okay. You need help.”
That wasn’t true. Bill was fine until they tried to fix a nonissue. They needed to let him be.
(They’ll never love you now. They know how much of a mess you are.)
Bill looked to his feet and allowed his body to slump against the strong form of Ben. He hiccuped again before beginning to talk, his words almost unintelligible.
“I can hear It in my head. It won’t leave me alone,” he tried to explain it, but he just sounded insane. “I want It out but every time I try it screams at me.”
He looked around and waited for their responses, but they continued to watch him. Ben pressed his lips to the top of his head and kept them there, trying to calm him.
“I want it to stop.”
“Then let us help,” Stanley finally spoke up. Thank God somebody spoke so Bill didn’t have to.
He nodded slowly, rubbing at his eyes and sniffling messily. “I’m sorry.”
He thought he heard Richie chuckle, but it was just a sniff.
He made him cry.
Shit.
"I'm sorry for making you worry. I'm sorry for everything."
"Don't you dare apologize for your feelings," Beverly scolded him, "You know as well as any of us how hard these past few years have been, and none of us are 'okay', okay?"
Bill nodded, wiping at his cheeks again. "I want to be somebody you could love."
"Bill, you already are," Stanley took his hands in his own shaking ones, cold to the touch. "You always have been, didn't you hear what we told you last night? We love you, not as as a friend, or family, or whatever else you've managed to convince yourself that this is."
Bill allowed himself to chuckle messily, earning a few from those around him as he nodded.
"I love you so much."
"I know," Stanley nodded. "You don't have to be afraid that we don't know anymore. It's okay. You're okay."
He nodded slowly, desperately wanting to believe Stanley and live up to what he expected from him. Bill wanted to be okay, but he didn't know how.
"What's going through your pretty little head?" Richie took his hand, kissing it.
"Inferiority complex," he supplied weakly, "poor-little-me."
Richie chuckled. This time, it was real; it wasn't sad or pitying, it was hearty and bright and resounding.
This is what joy sounds like, Bill thought. This is what I can have if I just let myself.
Bill hugged Richie and Stanley so tightly that his arms hurt, he could hear his joints cracking as he pulled them closer. Slowly but surely, the others joined in, enveloping Bill in warmth from all directions.
"It's gone," he murmured. "It's so quiet now."
He couldn't hear the voice in his head or the blood rushing in his ears anymore, and he didn't feel the lingering cold of autumn penetrating his bones.
All Bill could feel was warmth and love, all he could hear were the heartbeats of those he loved the most in the world.
For the first time in nearly 30 years, Bill Denbrough felt loved.
Bill Denbrough was loved, and he was truly, irrevocably in love.
That night, Bill ate as much as he wanted to. He had desert and this time, he did moan. His new partners laughed with him as he flushed to his chest.
They shared a bath in an obnoxiously large bathtub and Beverly made them each try out her facemasks, Eddie shared his gourmet soaps, and ben continued to top off their wine glasses (though nobody could partake in anything more alcoholic than sparkling cider).
Everybody seemed so happy, like all of the problems that they had encountered in their lives together disappeared.
Bill could see light in every one of their eyes while they spoke and laughed and poked fun at each other.
He was overwhelmed once again with this newfound sense of home he felt with these six individuals, their comfort and connection between each other increasing tenfold with this new development in their relationships together. Things Bill never thought he'd be able to feel after the death of his little brother bloomed in his heart and his butterflies took up permanent residence in his chest alongside his six lovers.
They went to bed together in a cuddled-up dogpile in the Alaskan king bed Ben had built for the group, which still wasn't quite big enough ("It's my newest project," Ben had said when Bill had to lie on top of him). Bill slept soundly, perhaps the best he'd slept in his life. Being surrounded by the physical embodiments of love put him at ease, and the once trecherous, terrifyingly dark waters of sleep became warm and inviting.
He didn't wake up until the middle of the day on Wednesday and remained in the warm sheets until Mike all but pulled him out of the bed to eat lunch.
He felt the swimming feeling in his gut return when he saw the large spread, but was put at ease at Eddie's reassuring words.
"Just take it one step at a time. I'll do it with you."
And he did.
Eddie ate everything Bill did at the same pace, and never once pushed him towards anything until he was ready for the next bite.
It was exact;y what Bill needed, but he didn't know it until somebody offered it to him.
The unconditional love and support surrounding him was continually overwhelming and he had to remind himself to keep the tears out of his eyes so he could focus on what truly mattered: the people around him, who he now knew would do anything for him and his wellbeing.
This, Bill thought, smiling, this is what peace is.