Here For You

Year Three: Present Day (5)

1992
Late January

Synopsis for the Losers Club:
Everyone is now fifteen years old, or will be soon (including YN). Bill is struggling with his feelings to get over Bev, especially when she's flirting with Ben. Richie and Eddie's relationship is fine. No change in Mike and Stanley's relationships. No big events other than just surviving.

*There will be no more specific months from here on out. Just timeskips that might get confusing at times.*

Your POV
•-•-•-•-•

I breathe in and out deeply, just watching the leaves in the trees rustle as I sit on a branch. I'm zoned out, yet aware.

I'm not thinking about anything in particular, really. These are just one of those moments where I finally get some peace, no sign of trouble from It or anything else.

It's a rare occasion for me, which is exactly why I'm taking advantage of it. I'm trying to recollect my mind before it crumbles.

I've been so close to just letting it all go for the past year, and I keep telling myself not to. Life may not seem worth living right now, but my loved ones didn't sacrifice themselves to save me for nothing.

If not for me, then I'm doing it for them.

I just hope they can forgive me if I can't hang on much longer...

I'm snapped out of my daze to the sound of panicked screams coming from my right. They're a ways off, but close enough to where I could reach them shortly.

I don't hesitate nor think about my decision before acting on it.

I stand and jump from branch-to-branch until I find the source of the yells. I see that it's a group of seven, and they're surrounded by a small hoard of walkers.

Swiftly pulling out my throwing knives, which I had occupied myself in practicing more over the years, I act as an eye-in-the-sky for them. I aim each shot quickly, hitting my target one-hundred percent of the time.

Walkers drop like flies, and the group below look heavily confused, yet relieved at my help. Though they cannot see me in the tree.

When I run out of my throwing knives, I pull out my dagger and drop to the ground, letting my bag collapse onto the grass against the tree trunk as I move to fight in close quarters.

The newcomers seem startled by my appearance, but don't question me as I slay a vast amount of the hoard for them.

Once all of them are down, I slip my dagger into its scabbard before collecting all of my knives from the heads of walkers.

"Who the hell are you?" a boy with thickly rimmed glasses and curly hair exclaims.

I glance at him with an emotionless expression as I pull a knife from a walkers head with ease. They flinch as I stand up straight, "Who wants ta know?"

"B-Beep-beep, Richie," a cute boy with cropped brown hair and a stutter says, nudging the blabbermouth. He looks at me as I pick up another one of my knives and adds, "Th-Thank y-y-you for h-helping us."