pop || reddie

dix-neuf

Warnings: trauma, abuse
Notes: unedited :/

Mike Hanlon lets his mind wander as he bikes into town. He supposes he'll have to look for his token at some point, but currently, he's making a delivery to the butcher's on behalf of his grandfather.

Mike wishes he could fly instead of bike. It had always been a strange fantasy of his, flying. It had started the night his parents died.

Little Mike Hanlon had sat in the police station with a blanket wrapped around him, looking out the window and wishing he could sprout wings. Wishing he could just get away from it all and fly high over Derry, looking down at the people moving like little ants. The fantasy had stuck with him, and whenever he was upset or annoyed, he would imagine flying.

And then his eye catches on something in the tall grass beside him.

Mike suddenly skids to a stop. Fear grips his throat, but he fights back, swallowing hard. What had he just seen? It isn't... no, it can't be what he thinks.

But it is. Mike parks his bike, stepping cautiously towards the grass. He inhales sharply through his nose, backing away.

There is a burnt human head laying there, clearly long-dead, attached to a burnt body that Mike can't see. The fire has taken away all of the hair, and the skin has been melted away in many places, leaving reddish-black charred areas behind. The eyelids are completely burned off, and the gooey mess of what used to be eyes is on full display, as well as the person's rotting teeth behind their now nonexistent lips. It's horrific, and Mike takes another deep breath to still himself, preparing to go home and call the police.

But then something else happens, something that takes Mike's last shred of hope that things might stay normal for the Losers and shoves it down a garbage disposal. The head's eyes move.

Mike makes a noise then, a small yelp, as he leaps back. The figure rustles in the grass, and Mike's eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he watches It stand. He hears more rustling, and another equally burnt figure stands up beside It, a little shorter than the first one.

Mike has the sickening realization that he's looking at his parents. This isn't real, he thinks. You can be brave if it's fake, right?

A panicked sort of whimper is drawn from him, more of a harsh exhale where his vocal chords vibrate slightly on accident, creating an almost wheezy sound. His parents tilt their heads at him in unison. Mike can't see what expression they're wearing, as any features indicative of emotion have been burnt off.

An awful cracking sound pierces the air, and Mike watches the figures hunch over a little bit, staring at him with their bloody eyes. Bony, rotting wings are being torn from their shoulder blades. They look more like the skeleton of something that once had wings, like some sort of giant bat.

Mike subconsciously wishes he could grow wings and fly away from this, but he snatches the thought back. He doesn't want to grow wings anymore. It's destroyed, his fantasy that always kept him afloat is lying in ruins at his feet.

Mike runs to his bike, kicking the stand up and pedaling harder than ever before. He doesn't stop until he nearly runs over Stanley Uris in the street, who's clutching a book tight to his chest, fidgeting with something in his hands.

"Oh. Oh! Stan! I'm sorry!" Mike hops off of his bike, overjoyed to see a friend who will understand his plight.

"Hey, Mike. Found your token?" Stan asks him, and Mike shakes his head. "I found mine an hour or two ago. I don't think I'll get to sleep tonight." A shiver passes through the boy, and Mike sees how anxious he seems to be. He decides to tell him about what he'd seen later.