pop || reddie

dix-huit

Warnings: birds lmao??, death, general sadness and spookiness
Notes: honestly these were SO fun to write

Stan runs his finger along the dusty wall of his synagogue. He pulls away, looking at the filth with mild disgust before brushing it off on his pants. Stan feels drained, tired. He has for a while now, and it's understandable. Any time he tries to relax, he hears the mist speaking to him. He hears It in his dreams every night, sees It dirtying up his neat room. It's infuriating.

And Stan doesn't want to think about It. He doesn't want to believe that It's real. It terrifies him on such a deep level of his being that the pronoun "it" has been sullied forever. Any time he hears it, all his hair stands at attention as he bristles, eyes growing wide and fearful.

And he's just so tired.

Stan has never really liked Derry. It's like an annoying cousin that he forces himself to put up with. But it's his hometown, there's no changing that. And there are parts that he likes about it.

Stan steps into his father's office. He'd left his birdwatching book in there the other day, and he figures he'd stop by and retrieve it. Stan's eyes wander across the familiar walls, past the barely-crooked paintings that burn his eyes. He looks back down.

On his father's desk lies his book. Stan walks around to pick it up, pausing when he sees a photo next to it. It's a small thing, tucked into the outside of a picture frame that's already occupied. Stan picks it up, a smile tugging at his lips.

Richie had taken the picture, a while ago, back before Richie had started smoking instead of working on photography. It was of Stan, grinning wide and holding up his birdwatching book, the very same one in his hands now, though it was a lot less tattered back then. It was open to a page with a brilliant bluish colored bird. The first bird he'd recorded spotting.

Stan exhales sharply out of his nose in a small laugh. He was so happy back then. He feels a pull in his chest. This is his token, he knows it.

Then Stan hears a creak.

Stan almost genuinely faints as he turns around to face the noise. He's met with two large, coal-black eyes- no irises or whites, all pupil- belonging to a gargantuan creature huddled in the shadows. The dim light glints off of the reflective orbs, almost challenging. The thing steps forward, clicking its beak. Stan whimpers. He recognizes the bright blue plume, the markings around the eyes. It's his first recorded bird. Except it's huge, menacing, hungry. It clicks Its break again, shaking the ground as It begins walking towards Stan.

Stan screams, clutching his book close to him as he begins running, legs feeling like jelly, like they'll give out any second. Stan looks over his shoulder, tears of panic pricking his eyes, and he sees the bird, beak wide open and filled with razor-sharp teeth, chasing him through the halls. Its feathers brush the roof, wings twitching in a want to expand.

Thud, thud, thud.

Stan nearly trips over himself as he rounds the corner, still shrieking for help. And then he sees a figure in front of him, getting closer and closer. Stan doesn't have time to stop himself, running smack-dab into the figure, falling back onto the floor.

Thud, thud, thudthudthudthud-

Stan cries out hysterically, scrambling up and looking behind him.

Nothing. The bird is gone.

Breathing shakily, he looks back towards his extremely confused father. Stan's shoulders drop.

Fuck.

~~~~~

Ben roams the streets of Derry aimlessly, reflecting on why he's here. In this group, in this town.