Dæmon (Bill Denbrough x Reader) [An IT & IT: Chapter 2 Reader-Insert]

Chapter 2 - SS Georgie

A/N: This image isn't mine, I only use it to ilustrate the chapter. Respective credits to William Gray, the creator of the image in ArtStation (link: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nVaoX).

It was October 1988, the torrential rains had reached Derry. The little George Denbrough, from his older brother's room, watched the raindrops slip through the window as he drew a happy face on it. When he finished his drawing, Georgie turned to look at Bill who was sitting on his bed with a paper in his hands. The paper was a page torn from the sketchbook that belonged to Bill and with that page making folds, one after one skillfully using his fingers, until he reached the shape of a simple but pretty paper boat.

"Sure I won't get in trouble, Bill?" Asked Georgie.

"Don't be a wu-wu-wuss. I'd come with you if I weren't..." Bill coughed quickly in his left fist before continuing with the sentence, "...dying".

"You're not dying!" Georgie exclaimed almost immediately, separating slightly from the window to better observe his brother. Georgie was aware that Bill was suffering from a not very pretty acute flu for a week, but he felt that his older brother exaggerated the situation.

Bill stared back at him in disbelief while with his right thumb he pointed to a point referring to his side: a bedside table full of used handkerchiefs, "You didn't see the vo-vo-vomit coming out of my nose this morning?"

"That's disgusting", he replied in disgust at just imagining that, approaching his older brother in small steps until he touched the edge of the bed where Bill finished his last touch-up on the little boat.

"Ok, go get the wax".

"In the cellar?"

"You want to fl-fl-float, don't you?"

"Fine..."

The idea of ​​going to the basement wasn't something that fascinated Georgie. The basement was his least favorite place in the house, it was a cold place by nature, dark with or without light and a little stinky thanks to the humidity. Every time Georgie had to go there, he felt the palms of his hands dampen in sweat the moment he touched the knob, his legs trembling with each step down, his heart beating extremely fast and his skin bristling intensely. It was the perfect place for some monster to come out of the darkness, pounce on him and drag him with its claws into the shadows; the worst fear of every little boy. Bill used to scold him a lot about it, saying things like: "Monsters don't exist" or "Stop being such a coward". And Georgie was trying to take his brother's words to heart, however, it was very difficult to detach from that imagination that defined him so much. Maybe when he grew up, he would change, his body and mind would change.

For now, Georgie simply grabbed one of Bill's walkie-talkie and left the room to go down the stairs, the ground floor of the house was almost dark, except for a few lit lamps. From an alternate room, the music of a piano was heard above the sound of the rain as it fell. Georgie turned his head towards that room and saw his mother sitting in front of the piano, pressing her keys with a mastery worthy of a pianist of her category. According to his older brother, his mother had graduated from a very prestigious art school, The Juilliard School, and the music she often played inside the house was one of her Beethoven's favorite compositions, Für Elise.

Standing next to his mother, near a corner of the piano, you were listening carefully to the musical performance. It was a little over two years ago that you had moved to Witcham with your mother, a school classmate of Sharon Denbrough, and your relationship with her sons was better than ever. If you weren't with Bill, whether at school, at home or on a bike ride with the rest of his friends, then you were with Georgie, taking care of him and playing a million adventures with his plastic soldiers, his Dinosaurs, cars, and stuffed animals in your bedroom or backyard. You were his best friend, a kind of older sister who understood and loved him. Something like Bill but with a more feminine touch. And it wasn't at all strange to see you quite often in his house. His parents treated you like another member of the family —especially his mother who adored your musical ear— and Clarissa, your mother, preferred to leave you with them than to leave you alone in home when her work kept her on the outskirts of Derry for several days. Something that had happened today.