(Richie Tozier x maleoc!) Denial can be a most useful, temporary shield. Unfortunately, such flimsy armor will not last a lifetime. It is best to face your past, and do so quickly, before your past returns to face you.
In which Richie Tozier falls i...
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It had been twenty minutes and they still hadn't returned. The group was starting to get nervous. Beverley was perpetually moving towards, then away, from the entrance as if she were constantly debating how long was too long before going in after them. Ben was watching her, as he always did. Whenever she went in, there was no doubt that he would be jumping in right after her. Stan was leaning against the railing, arms crossed and eyes solely fixed on the ground. Mike was, instead, watching the sprawling street across from the house. Whether he was on guard for something or avoiding looking at the house wasn't clear.
Daniel was just as restless as the others, but if anyone spared him a glance they'd see nothing but a statue. He couldn't seem to move. All of his concentration was funnelled into listening for anything within the house; for Eddie or Bill...or Richie. Some part of him wanted to hear Richie's voice, just to know that he was still okay, but another part of him dreaded it because the only thing he expected to hear from that house was a scream.
And that's what he did hear.
The cry pierced through the air like a blade, sharp and wheezing. It was Eddie. Beverley sprang through the doors before any of them could even process the sound. She disappeared into the house with Ben following in close pursuit. Stanley, Mike, and Daniel stared at the open entrance in heady mixture of shock and fear. They may have remained that way if the screaming hadn't started again, this time joined by two other voices. Bill and Richie.
Daniel's entire body quaked with terror, but the sound of his friends crying out...the sound of Richie yelling so horribly, finally forced him to move. He didn't even realise he was doing it until he was already inside of the old, decrepit building.
The first thing he saw was Eddie laying on the ground, his arm twisted in an unnatural direction; Bill and Richie standing next to him. The next thing he saw was Beverley moving away from a deformed image. The clown. She had stabbed it through the eye with a metal poker from the fireplace.
The skin around the clown's mouth tore as it grinned. It looked at Beverley, then at Bill, but finally it's eyes landed on Richie who was backed up against a deteriorating couch; pale as a ghost and mumbling something under his breath.
"Mmm," the creature bellowed. "Tasty, tasty fear."
It leapt towards Richie, and for a small moment, all of Daniel's fear melted into rage. What happened next was pure instinct. He didn't think, there was no time to. He only acted. With a roar that rattled through his chest, Daniel tackled the clown with every ounce of strength in his small body. Somehow, whether it be through sheer willpower or surprise, the thing was knocked down.
"Fuck you!" Daniel pulled the poker out of the clown's skull and it made a sickening squelch as it exited the wound. He brought the poker above his head and brought it back down into the thing's face. He did it again. "Leave," and again. "Him," and again, "Alone!". The clown laughed, louder and louder with each blow, even when his face was nothing but mushy blood and flesh he continued the maddening cackle.
"Why are you hurting me, Danny?" The face, pulverised and riddled with holes, suddenly shifted. It's eyes turned an earthen brown, it's hair curled and darkened like ink. Richie was staring at him, beaten almost beyond recognition. "P-Please...stop..."
Though he knew that the real Richie was right behind him, clearly going into some state of shock, he couldn't help but pause. All the anger dwindled, his blows stopped altogether. That brief moment of hesitation, of fear, was apparently all that the clown needed. Within a second it has lurched forward, biting down on Daniel's right hand. The boy screamed. He was vaguely aware of someone taking the poker from him and trying to hit the clown off but it wasn't working. The thing bit down harder and a spurt of blood arched above him. His blood. Daniel could feel it's teeth gnawing on his bone. The pain was beyond description.
Bill staked the thing again, this time right through the top of his head. It jerked its head back and the agony heightened, something tore, and then the clown was scampering back into the darkness; disappearing from view.
Daniel didn't remember much after that. He could recall the blood, thick and pooling down his arm. Then Richie coming over and saying "oh my fucking god! Shit! Shitshitshitshit." Richie and Bill had dragged him to the exit. They must have, because Daniel didn't remember walking out himself.
Outside, with the sun beaming down, Richie had come into focus. The boy took off his shirt and wrapped it tightly around Daniel's hand. He was wearing a white singlet underneath, but the blood splatter from his shirt had seeped into it.
"Just look at me, alright?" Richie murmured while the others spoke in hurried voices around them. Bill set off on his bike. Something about getting help. Daniel looked down at his hand, there was so much blood that Richie's shirt had almost turned completely red. "Hey! Look at me!"
"What happened? Is it bad? I wanna see..."
"No, it's not bad. You're just a pussy that can't handle a fucking paper cut, okay?" Richie's voice was trembling, but his eyes were so set. So determined. It was hard for Daniel not to believe him. "Trust me. You don't need to see it."
He wanted to trust him. Really, he did. Daniel wouldn't have minded only looking at Richie and nothing else for the rest of his life, with those stupidly thick glasses and his buck teeth that he still hadn't grown into, but he needed to see.
Quick enough that Richie couldn't stop him, Daniel pulled the blood-soaked shirt off his hand and looked at it in horror. "M-My fucking finger! Holy fucking shit! I can't-... I can't-"
He couldn't breathe. All he could do was stare at the gaping hole where his pinky used to be, streaks of blood still flowing from it like a fountain.
Something warm touched either side of his face. Steering his gaze...forcing him to look up. Richie's hands shook against Daniel's cheeks. "Hey, don't be a wimp. It looks worse than it is."
"What do you mean?! My fucking finger's gone!"
Richie, without retaliating like he usually would, pressed the shirt against his wound again. This time a jolt of pain sparked up Daniel's arm that made his vision flash into black spots. He gasped and fell into his back. The whole world was spinning, and soon enough, Daniel could barely hang onto the image of Richie's face above him. Nor of Eddie off to the side, swearing at Stanley who was trying to reset his broken arm. Nor of the other loser's trying to coax him back to complete consciousness. He was falling, and their faces were growing smaller and smaller until there was nothing there but the pitch blackness...and two shimmering eyes watching him in the dark.
