Lover: Bill Denbrough x Reader (Sequel to Losers: Bill Denbrough x Reader)

Out On Our Own

"He was old before his time." Ben sighed.

The room hung heavy with the memories of Stan. This was something that we were never going to get over. Something we'd never forget, but something I wished that I could stop thinking about. I didn't want to be down here anymore. I didn't want to be in Derry anymore. If I left right now, what would stop me from forgetting everyone again. I wouldn't remember Stan, so maybe I wouldn't feel this soul-shattering sadness that threatened to crush my heart in-between its scarred fingers. 

"Yeah, I wonder what he was like all grown up." Eddie nodded solemnly. 

God, what was he like? I knew he had a wife, but did he have kids? Oh please tell me he didn't. I couldn't even begin to imagine what this would be like for them. 

"Probably what he was like as a kid," Richie started and I waited for him to crack another joke. But what came next was something I'd never expect to come out of Richie's mouth. "The best."

I felt myself about to cry again and I cursed myself for acting so childish. I'd cried more in the past twenty four hours than I had in the twenty seven years that I'd been outside of Derry. Something about this place just didn't sit right with me. Obviously, it had something to do with the evil clown living in the sewers and eating children, but there was something else. It was like when Richie and I left, I left a version of my self behind. The self that stood up to Eddie's mom when she talked down to Bev. The self that went first down into the bowels of the city to fight a shapeshifting clown demon. The part of me that was hopelessly in love with Bill Denbrough and incredibly jealous of Beverly Marsh. The part of me that promised Stan that we'd see each other again. My better self. 

"Here," Bill said, tossing one of the shower caps to Richie. 

Richie went to tuck it into his pocket, but stopped. He looked over to me and his dark brows furrowed. I'm sure he remembered how close Stan and I used to be. How much we had to have meant to each other. He looked as though he was thinking something over for a few moments. 

"(Y/n), here. Hold on to it, for old Stan's sake, will ya?" Richie asked, holding the cap out for me to take. 

"Sure, Rich." I nodded, taking the shower cap from him. I didn't put it in my pocket just yet. It felt like when I put that shower cap away, I was finally closing his chapter in my book and I wasn't ready for that yet.

"Alright, Mike. What are we doing here?" Richie asked, looking out over the small dusty room that we were all packed into.

"The ritual. To perform it requires a sacrifice." Mike said, his voice the same serious tone it had been since the restaurant. 

Jeez, having dinner seemed like it happened such a long time ago...

I felt the need to apologize to Mike. The way I had shouted at him and the things I had shouted at him outside the Chinese place was a bit uncalled for, I supposed. It wasn't Mike's fault that Stanley killed himself. It wasn't any of our faults, there was nothing we could have done to protect him at this point. 

If we were looking for a loser to blame, I'd fucking volunteer as tribute. If I'd been paying even the slightest amount of attention to him in the sewer that day I could have stopped him from wandering off. I could've kept him from that feeling of isolation. I can't even fathom how scared he had to have been down there. I could've held his hand or something. How could I let my best friend walk straight into the arms of that fucking clown. 

Eddie and Richie had grouped up with us by now and we we're waiting on Ben and Mike. I heard something move beside me and I had my flashlight on it instantly. Only, there was nothing there.