fentywise

-----

Dick's day strolled along as it usually did. Work was turning out to be a bore these days. Fewer people staying at the hotel meant less business, and less business meant less cooking for Hallorann. He wouldn't usually mind the sudden lack of workload, but he actually liked to cook. Gave him something to do.

However, this week was different. He was glad for that gap of nothingness because he could go out and take a smoke with his work pals, the warmth of his cigarette comforting in the crisp, autumn air. The leaves of the surrounding trees had deserted, leaving the branches of their mother naked and twisting like hundreds of wrangled claws. There Dick stood now, looking up at the vast expanse of a gray, cloudy sky.

He was glad for that nothingness because he feared that if he took one step into that kitchen, he'd just fuck everything up. He had a lot on his mind. Any man in his situation would.

It's been about 4 months since Dick had been shackled by the burden of a new roommate, and, weirdly, he found he didn't mind the clown's presence as much as he thought he would. Most of the time, the creature slept, which gave Dick a fair amount of time to himself. But sometimes, during those interludes, he would find himself almost missing the clown. Pennywise's very existence in Dick's household was like one big stormcloud, but the more It stuck around, the more fascinating Dick thought It to be. Even just doing nothing. More than once, Dick would catch himself studying the clown's face as It regarded the television with boredom. It would complain and moan about the repetitiveness of the channels, how humanity is truly and rightfully doomed. But most evenings, and without fail, Pennywise would emerge from Its cave and watch The Price Is Right with Dick until bedtime.

And sometimes, Dick would watch the clown sleep. Not in a creepy way, no. Of course not. It's just that having an interdimensional entity napping in what was supposed to be your bed is not something that happens to the run-of-the-mill human being. Not that Dick was a normal human being in the first place.

It was these thoughts of the clown that were currently troubling Dick's mind.

For some strange, inconceivable reason... the clown didn't seem to be doing well this week.

It slept more than usual (and that was saying a lot) and ate less. Usually, the smell of new meat was enough to have Pennywise waiting at the dinner table before Dick even walked in through the door, but this past week, It took a full 5-10 minutes to even get up. And when It did, It sure looked like It didn't want to. What really threw Dick off was that the clown would only eat a quarter of its food! At first, Dick was grateful; perhaps the clown's appetite had had enough, and It would stop nagging him for seconds every single evening. However, a nibble a night? Now that was odd.

...But Dick wasn't stupid. He had an idea of what might be wrong, and it was this very idea that he decided to bring up to his co-worker on a chilly October day.

"You've got kids, right, Ant?" he asked offhandedly, taking a long drag on his cig.

Ant, his co-worker and a scraggly, graying man, drew patterns in the dirt with his shoe. "Yup."

"You married, too?"

"Uh-huh."

"Alright," Dick exhaled and then was silent, unsure of how to continue.

The man turned his black pinpricks for eyes onto Dick's face. "Why do ya ask?"

Dick shrugged. "Just wondering, I suppose. Say, your wife ever have... problems while she was pregnant?"

Now Ant was really looking at him. "Don't tell me we've been working together all this time, and I didn' even know you was married, Dick!" he laughed, breaking out into a strangled wheeze halfway through.

A kind of uncomfortable tension worked its way up Dick's neck, and he rubbed at it in an attempt to will away the sensation. "Never said I was married."

"She pregnant?"

She. Hah. Dick very nearly laughed aloud. Nevertheless, he shrugged his shoulders.

"How many months?"

Dick counted back. It was October now. Pennywise showed up in July. So September, August, July... 4 months? 3 and a half?

"3 and a half," Dick decided.

"Alright. That ain't too bad. Gets worse though."

"Never met a guy with such great advice," Dick mumbled sarcastically and flicked his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with his foot with more than just a little bit of frustration. He wasn't friends with his co-workers, so he shouldn't expect them to help him out on this. But he really had no one to talk to. If he brought it up with Pennywise itself, the clown would probably get all pissed.

Ant displayed his palms in supplication. "Hey, man, I didn't mean anything by it. Only the truth. She throwing up?"

Dick paused. He... didn't think so. Then again, it's not like he slept in the same bed as Pennywise. He draws the line at that. "Don't think so," he replied, feeling oddly guilty.

"How do you not know?" Ant very nearly started to laugh again but reeled it in at the troubled look on Dick Hallorann's face. Now they weren't exactly pals, but Hallorann was a damn good cook. And Ant could respect that. So awkwardly, the older man gave Dick a pat on the shoulder. "Look, Hallorann, I'm not the one for this type of stuff. My wife don't even like me very much."

The joke did nothing to assuage Dick's mood.

Ant tried again, "So why not go to the library or somethin'? I'm sure those scholarly types over there have something on the matter."

Dick said nothing, so Ant simply decided to head back inside. Look, he liked women. Enough to marry one of 'em. But when it came to the world of the feminine, he was completely lost. Best to just let Mr. Dick Hallorann help himself. He barely remembered to put out his cigarette before heading back inside.

-----

After work, Dick paid a visit to the library.

And he felt like a fool.

The library in downtown London was gigantic, so he should've had no problem finding what he needed... but he found himself in the Women's Health section, with absolutely no sign of a brain cell and completely overwhelmed. First of all, Pennywise wasn't no woman. More than that, It wasn't even human. So what the hell was Dick doing? Would the advice in these books even work?

Well, the kid would be half-human.

So maybe.

Without thinking, Dick just grabbed the nearest textbook (fighting the urge to drop the thing, as if it had burned him) and made a beeline towards the nearest table.

The library was empty, save for an old woman on the upper level and a teenager a couple of tables down from Dick, scrubbing his paper wildly with an eraser. From the looks of things, Dick wouldn't be bothered. That was good. Because instead of a fool, now he just felt like a creep; the large, heavy textbook sat in his lap, a physician's rendition of a vagina staring innocently up at him from the navy blue cover.

Jesus.

Dick got to work.

He was going to be a father. That much was set in stone. His childhood was shit, but more than anything, he was raised to treat those around him with respect. He had gotten someone pregnant, and now it was his responsibility to take care of that certain someone.

No matter who it was.

Dick sighed and put his head into his hands.

None of this would have happened if he had just kept it in his damn pants. And by all means, that really shouldn't have been so hard. The clown was hideous, that much was certain. It had bad manners. Hell, It was a goddamn man-eater.

But that day, Dick had never been so horny in his life.

Grilling Pennywise about the situation the morning after, the clown claimed It had nothing to do with Dick's sudden climb in libido. And honestly, Dick believed It. What that said about him, he didn't want to know.

But sometimes, he would wake in the middle of a night, a tent straining at the crotch of his boxers, and Dick didn't even need to remember the contents of his dream to know what it was about. Those long, white legs, opening up for him as easily as reading a mind. The arch of the clown's back and the fluttering of those strange, fin-like protuberances from each node of Its spine. That awful paradise between Its thighs... a wet, pink cavern that only Dick had been allowed to enter.

He groaned, fighting the urge to slap himself across the face. That would surely draw some eyes. Who thinks about these things in the middle of a damn library?

Dick Hallorann, apparently.

The textbook wasn't exactly helping because he turned the page and wasn't surprised to find paragraph upon paragraph about sex.

He wondered briefly how his clown was doing.

The textbook read, Engaging in sexual intercourse triggers the release of oxytocin, a chemical nicknamed "the love drug" because of its reduction of stress and promotion of relaxation. Naturally, these effects work to soothe any pains of the mother and lower anxiety levels and may be beneficial to improving her quality of life while pregnant.

Dick blinked then rubbed his forehead nervously. That... could work.

Not like he wanted to fuck Pennywise the Dancing Clown again, but sex could help to reduce Its incessant whining. Maybe ease Its pain. The author of the textbook said it, not him.

He'll bring it up briefly and see if the clown is amenable.

Either Dick will end up getting laughed out of his own house, or he'll get laid...

And honestly, he doesn't know which is worse.

THE END. (For now.)

-----

-----

Dick tried to be as quiet as possible. He really did. Today was supposed to be his day off from work. One day of relaxation. One day for himself.

So, quietly (and trust him, he was quiet), Dick shrugged on his vest and tugged on his boots. He had made sure to toss all his fishing supplies into the trunk of his car beforehand, so as not to alert his roommate and blow his whole plan sky fucking high.

But of course, Dick's luck remained infamously low.

It took one minuscule sound to wake the clown up. Just one. Dick stood from the steps after tying up his boots, raring to go. But as soon as he did, his left knee cracked. Loudly. And honestly, Dick might as well have turned and gone back to bed right then and there.

"Where do you think you're going?" a playful voice inquired from atop the steps. Damn, Dick knew he could be fast, but not that fast! Where was that speed when the kids were burying the pillar, huh? Not to mention that the bastard's ears were as sharp as a knife. Dick cursed his damned middle-aged body for betraying him when he needed it the most and simply pretended he didn't hear the motherfucker as he adjusted the extra hooks on his vest.

The clown practically danced down the steps until it stood just one above the ex-soldier. "Hm? Dickie? Not going to tell good ol' Pennywise where you're off to?" It tutted in faux disappointment before hoisting itself up by the stair railings and rocking back and forth in the air. A bored child attempting to entertain itself. "That's not very nice."

"Nowhere that concerns you, alright?" Dick replied with a heavy sigh. He ran a hand over his short, cropped hair, wondering desperately how to get out of this. Maybe he could just ignore the guy and leave. That might work.

But then again, it was hard to ignore.

The clown followed Dick as the man headed out and towards his car. However, it stopped just shy of the door, almost like it was deterred completely from stepping out into the sun.

Dick couldn't blame it. It was hot as everloving hell outside. But the most likely explanation for the clown's odd behavior was probably just that it was evil as fuck and would probably burn alive if the sun touched its skin. Or at least Dick hoped it would.

From the door, serpentine, yellow eyes scanned the length of Dick's body. The human's clothes were very different from usual. The man wore shorts instead of his usual slacks, along with a truly terrible vest. And Pennywise did not like that hat one bit. Why did the thing have a feather strapped to its middle? Perhaps that particular addition was a sort of superstition, the dumb kind that human beings are so prone to.

Nevertheless, the clown had to wonder: was this type of human fashion a British thing? The clown had never set foot outside of Derry, so it had to be a British thing. An ugly thing. From what Pennywise had gathered from the minds and interactions of the Americans, it seemed that that particular brand of human did not particularly enjoy the presence or the culture of their friends from overseas.

Hmph. The clown didn't like that hat one bit. Dickie looked more appealing without it.

While Dick checked over his equipment, he couldn't help but glance over at the door. The clown remained. Of course it did. Dick could see those animalistic, amber eyes from a mile away, shining always from the shadows. "You look creepy as hell," he called over. Why he was continuing to talk to it, Dick didn't know.

"Thank you," was the unexpected reply.

"Not a compliment," Dick muttered.

He looked back up, only to see that the clown had disappeared from the doorway. Good riddance, is what he would say.

"Going fishing, Dickie?"

"For fuck's sake!" The man nearly jumped out of his own skin at the sound of that curious voice speaking right into his ear, his heart practically beating itself into submission. "Man, you..." Dick huffed. "You can't do that shit."

The clown ignored him, turning over Dick's fishing rod in its hands. "Ooh," it vocalized, dropping the rod to shake at the can of worms.

Dick snatched the can away. "Stop that."

"Hmm..." The clown hummed. It glanced up at the sun (which, for some reason, did not faze it whatsoever), then put its hands on its hips, considering. The look on its face made Dick incredibly uneasy, and he watched with growing discomfort as that telltale smirk grew and grew until: "I'll come with you!"

"Hell, no."

"Poor Pennywise doesn't have a fishing rod, though... No matter. I will borrow yours."

"Like hell you will!" Dick snapped.

"Your optimism is truly infectious, Dickie," the clown preened, tugging at the human's earlobe affectionately.

"No, you -- You're not coming. This is just a... a me thing, alright? Stay at the cabin." Dick slammed the trunk shut and marched over to the driver's side. A timid thrum was beginning to form at the base of his skull, a headache begging to erupt. This was supposed to be his day off! The last thing he wanted to do was babysit this fucking clown.

Why me? Dick lamented.

He knew exactly why.

Strapping himself into his seat, he was completely prepared to drive off and leave that cosmic bastard coughing dust. But instead, he was dealt another fucking jumpscare when he turned to back up and came face to face with the damn clown in his passenger seat!

"Are you concerned for my safety?" The clown clasped its hands together and batted its eyelashes amiably.

Dick gave it an incredulous look. "Now, why the hell would I be concerned for your safety? Even if you stepped on a goddamn landmine, you'd be fine!"

"Hmph. And here I thought you were showing some care for the mother of your children..." The clown sank back into its seat, bottom lip drooping into a rather adorable pout. "How foolish of me."

Dick's ears erupted with an almost volcanic heat. "Mother, my ass..." he grumbled in embarrassment. That asshole just had to bring that up again. Well, too damn bad. The clown could appeal to Dick's "paternal" side however much it liked, but it wouldn't work. Whatever the entity was carrying inside of it was not Dick's kid, no matter how much blood it shared with him.

"Dickie..." chuckled that sultry voice. Its arms curled almost flirtatiously around his own, and despite himself, Dick could feel his heart rate picking up once again. But this time, it wasn't out of fear. "Let's fish together! Don't you want some bonding time with your children? They do not yet know their father as well as they should, don't you agree?"

Dick was not falling for this. No way in hell. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his shorts and fixed his gaze straight ahead, trying desperately to ignore the warm feeling of the clown's skin on his own. Dick Hallorann was going to have a nice, relaxing fishing trip by himself. By himself. Pennywise the Dancing Clown could kiss his fucking ass.

-----

"This is boring," the clown groaned. It gingerly picked up a worm from the can of bait, regarding it with chill distaste as it wound itself around its finger.

Dick's eyelid twitched furiously. "You wanted to come, so don't be saying shit," he growled.

The pair had been out on the river for about an hour, and within that whole span of time, Dick had caught a total of zero fish. Though the clown claimed boredom, he could tell it was amused by its unwilling companion's continued failure.

"Dickie is boring, then," it continued with an indignant huff and popped the worm into its mouth without a second thought.

Dick frowned. "That's disgusting."

"I'm hungry."

"Then why don't you hop back into my head and spirit yourself away back to Derry if you're so hungry?" the man muttered. "Don't gotta be here with me."

It was... odd. Dick didn't think he'd ever see the clown so straight-faced before and for such a long period of time. He understood the boredom. The first time he had gone fishing, it had been with an old childhood friend and that friend's father. The experience had been relatively lackluster, but Dick enjoyed listening to the sounds of nature... The rustle of the leaves... The hush of water over hundreds of shiny stones... It was nice.

For a moment, he considered relaying that experience to Pennywise. But he didn't think the clown would appreciate it.

"I would be sleeping for the next 27 years if I returned to Derry," the clown hummed, wiggling his fingers to pick another worm of his choosing.

Dick chuckled. "You already sleep a hell of a lot here."

"Fool. That's because I'm conserving my energy."

"Couldn't you just conserve your 'energy'..." Dick air-quoted. "...back in Derry?"

The clown slurped up a worm like it was eating a bowl of noodles. "It is not the same."

"Oh, yeah? How so?"

"My physical body is in Derry. My energy is here."

Again with this weird shit. Dick didn't understand any of it. During the first week of their living together, the clown had rambled on and on about how clever it was. It would mention the pillar, then gush about how Dick had made it see the light through that "wonderful mind he's got" (its words, not Dick's).

The pillar had prevented its physical body from leaving Derry; however, its energy could lie dormant in Dick's mind. If only Dick hadn't gotten into its head. Then, the clown wouldn't have gotten the idea to use Dick's ability to escape. Even if such an escape dulled its strength.

However, this conversation sparked another troubling question in Dick's mind. "If your physical body is in Derry, then how are you...?"

He coughed awkwardly. Saying it out loud would make it real. And he just couldn't...

The clown laughed, its red lips stretched into a grin so joyous that it was damn comical. "Human energy is weak. But I am energy. My spawn will be energy. But do not fret, Dickie. Humans do not have the capacity to understand my being, and neither do you. So there is no use in thinking so hard about it."

Dick would never be able to understand it, huh? That sounded about right. But what about the children...? Would Dick be unable to understand an entity that was inherently of his own blood?

He didn't quite know how to feel about that. Surely, such a sentiment should serve to disconnect him further from such devil spawn, but... In all honesty, it just made Dick somewhat despondent. And he didn't like that feeling at all.

The clown seemed to notice his change in demeanor, as its head tilted to the side, like a dog upon sensing a new smell. Dick had to switch the subject before things got weird. "Are you doing this?" he grumbled, staring out into the water. It was bordering on noon, and still, not a single fish had taken the bait.

The clown followed Dick's gaze to his fishing rod, the boat bobbing gently in the process (Dick had to rent a boat from the recreation center north of the creek. The woman at the front had given Pennywise a very odd look, despite the pains that Dick had gone through to disguise it with some old articles of clothing from the very dregs of his closet). "I am doing nothing. You are simply fishing wrong," the clown retorted, and with that, he emptied the rest of the can of worms into his waiting jaws.

"That was my goddamn bait!" Dick snapped.

"It's not like you're using it, my dear."

Smoke practically fumed out of Dick's nose like a furious bull, but he was always rather proficient at concealing his emotions. So instead of cussing the clown out, he only laughed coldly and leaned back, hands raised dismissively. "Fine. If I'm fishing wrong, how about you do it then? Show me what I'm supposed to be doing, huh? If you're such a professional."

"With pleasure," the clown grinned. But instead of taking the fishing rod from Dick, it stood, the boat rocking violently under the sudden movement.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dick yelped.

"Now watch the clown!" And with that, the creature jumped wildly off the boat and into the creek.

Dick released his fishing rod in sheer surprise, fumbling around with his arms to keep it from falling into the water. "Damn it!" he hissed, flinching away as the rocking of the boat threw cold droplets onto his bare legs.

A moment later, the clown reemerged, its striking red hair now a darker auburn, sticking to its forehead like glue. The creature growled in frustration, slapping at the water with its hands.

For the next five minutes, Dick watched the scene play out in front of him with a mixture of amusement and plain awe. It was becoming increasingly clear that the clown wasn't fishing; it was hunting. Like... Like a Stone Age caveman. But the way it gnashed at the water was more bear than human.

There was a clap, and then the clown yelled out in pride, turning around to show Dick the flailing fish slapped between its palms. However, as quickly as it had been captured, the fish escaped, wiggling out from its hunter's grasp like a worm. Despite this, the clown dove in after it and did not appear again for a full minute.

And honest to God, Dick actually began to get a bit worried. Could the children endure such exertion? Sure, they were part... whatever Pennywise was, but they were also part human! Dick had half the mind to drag the clown out of the water and tell it to rest!

An hour earlier, Dick told himself that he didn't give a damn about the children. And now he was worried? This was just the worst.

Finally, the clown broke through the surface with a huff, along with, lo and behold, a vast, rainbow trout wiggling desperately in its jaws.

Dick sat speechless, watching as the sun washed over the entity with patches of golden light. It would've been beautiful, if it wasn't for the crunch of fragile bone as the clown sank its teeth just that inch deeper into the fish's flesh. It ceased its wiggling and grew deathly still.

The clown, dripping wet and all, waded gracefully back to the boat. It sat on its haunches across from Dick, cradling the deceased fish in its hands. The hunger in those yellow eyes glowed with fervor, but yet, it did not take a bite. It thought for a moment, hesitating. Then, almost bashfully, it extended the fish towards Dick.

Dick blinked. "You giving this to me?"

"Perhaps it can be prepared for dinner tonight, yes? Dickie is a very good cook." It grinned once more, and for a moment, Dick couldn't help but mistake those bright, yellow irises for the sun.

And despite himself, Dick laughed. Pennywise looked like a watered-down cat! Or maybe a wet bunny. And as Dick laughed, the clown's bunny teeth revealed themselves little by little, until for a moment, it appeared as if the clown was giving Dick an honest-to-God, genuine smile.

Dick took the fish from the clown's hands with an amused grin. "Sure. Why not?"

THE END (For now.)

-----

-----

This thing that Dick Hallorann's got in his mind... Sure, you could say it has its advantages. And by God, Hallorann never would have thought he would say that. For good reason as well.

Throughout the many years of his life, this ability has been nothing but a plague. It has allowed him to tap into the darkest of secrets, the worst of fears... but it has also forced him to stare into the depths of death itself.

Hallorann would kiss that Rose on the mouth if he could. That tea she gave him? Damn near saved his life because, trust him, if he went another day with seeing what he was seeing...? Well, let's just say the afterlife can call just as easily to the strongest of soldiers if you torture them enough.

But viewing his gift in a positive light? That had come as a shock to Hallorann. He still remembers the grief cast over the faces of the Santos family... but also the joy. The joy of knowing that their son was at their side. Being able to help them see that... might've been the proudest moment of Hallorann's life.

Nevertheless, it doesn't matter how upstanding this gift proved itself to be. At the end of the day, it always came back to bite Hallorann in the ass.

Dick had known something was wrong the minute he had left Derry. That town was weird enough, but strangely, he was feeling worse leaving it than he had entering it.

A headache. But not just any headache. A fucking weird one. A pain Dick had never experienced before (and that was saying a lot). In fact, it wasn't exactly painful... At least not in the way normal human beings perceive pain. The feeling was more of a buzz. It was like his brain had added just a tad bit more electricity to his neurons, making them fire in this everlasting circle. Around and around and around, like a rickety carousel at some shitty carnival. It didn't hurt. But it sure as hell bothered him.

He tried to chalk it up to altitude sickness during his flight to London (ignoring the fact that it had been bothering him way before he even arrived at the airport). But the farther away Dick got from Derry, the worse it became. And soon, he could no longer ignore it.

His new place was nice. Close to the hotel. At least, the landlord said it was nice. Not like Dick could focus on anything the guy was saying anyway. His brain was imploding, for God's sake. At one point, he might've asked where the nearest bar was. But he couldn't remember whether he actually had. The landlord looked glad to leave him be.

But hell, Dick wished the man stayed because the second he was left alone in that house, the very reason for his persistent headache made itself very fucking known.

Dick sighed, clutching the leather of his steering wheel. This was ridiculous. And it smelled so fucking bad in here. The smell of meat was potent. Potent enough to coax the scrunch of Dick's nose and the watering of his eyes. He wasn't a big meat lover. But his... well... Well, you could say his new "housemate" was. And not cooked meat, no. Not that. Raw meat. Disgusting, ill-filled, raw meat.

Dick felt like a goddamn caveman bringing the glory of a day's hunt back to his wife.

It had been a few months since he started at the hotel. He was doing good, too. He had always been an exceptional cook. That was probably the only reason his buddy was actually allowing him to take all this damn meat home. Dick had to perform at his best, anyway, to make up for the fact that he had missed his first few days of work.

He was out for so long that his friend actually had to come visit him at his new place to make sure he wasn't dead.

Dick sure wanted to be dead.

That first day in London, a flame had sparked inside his mind. The carousel had spun itself to oblivion, rotating so fast that it splintered and cracked, creating a fire in the recesses of his very being. That fire grew and grew until Dick found himself screaming in agony. His brain was aflame. Surely... surely, he was going to die.

Throwing himself to the floor, Dick clawed at his scalp. It burned. He ripped at his ears. Perhaps if he let the smoke out of his head, it would relieve him of this nightmare? Pressure, stronger than that of the sea, pushed at his ear canal. Harder and harder. Stretching until he was sure his face might break in two.

And in his peripheral, out came one white gloved hand.

This wasn't real.

Then another, pawing at the rug like it was finding its way.

This couldn't be real.

Slowly, the hands... the hands that had reached right out of his ear... pushed back against Dick's head to steady themselves, like a bear crawling out of its cave after a long winter of hibernation. And pushed.

If there was any more pain, Dick couldn't feel it. All he could feel was fear. The fear that perhaps he hadn't made it out of Derry at all.

A red balloon bobbed gently against the window. Dick closed his eyes. Someone laughed. An ill, sickly laugh. And then it was over.

That's what Dick wished he could say. Now he had a different type of headache. He was never fit to live with someone else. Much less so if that someone wasn't a human, wasn't a dog, a fish... but something else entirely.

Dick parked the car outside the cabin. He wasn't lying before when he said it was a nice place. Perfect for a man of his demeanor. Quiet, out of the way, and close to his place of work. Living in the countryside of England sure was peaceful (and take the word 'peaceful' with a grain of salt, folks).

He dragged the bag of meat inside and wasn't the least surprised to find himself breathing harder than usual. The amount of meat his roommate was requesting (more like demanding) was increasing by the day. At some point, Dick might not even be able to handle it all, and he was a goddamn soldier! Honestly, he should just tell that bastard to find some food himself if he was so hungry.

Dick all but tossed the bag onto the dinner table and headed to his bedroom.

"I'm back!" he called out. "You'd better be awake, or you're not getting your damn dinner!"

Of course, there was no response to be heard. Typical.

Dick opened the door to his bedroom and had to suppress a groan. He had told this motherfucker so many times not to mess up his goddamn bed!

Blankets that Dick had honestly never seen before were now placed haphazardly over his mattress, towering so high that they rivaled Mount Everest. His pillows were nowhere to be seen, but if Dick had to guess, he would say that the bastard had them with him.

"Hey!" Dick snapped, hurling a book from his desk at the bundle of blankets. "I thought you said Derry was your nest, not my damn bed!"

A low growl reverberated from said bed. Wasn't the motherfucker hot underneath all those blankets? Well, Dick supposed a human might get hot, but perhaps it didn't.

Dick scowled. "You want your dinner or not?"

Finally. Some movement.

A ghostly white hand appeared from under the mass of blankets and gestured towards Dick. "Bring it here," said the voice, a mixture of a funny, jesterly lilt and a dark, animalistic snarl.

"No food in bed," Dick retorted.

"Bring it here," the voice spoke again, but this time, with a lot more gall.

"Either you get your ass up, or you're not eating. And in your case, I think you'll want to," Dick grumbled. "Unless you want those things to die before they're even born."

All at once, the heap of blankets was tossed Dick's way, and he barely had time to process what had happened before the weight proceeded to hit him square in the chest, blind him, and then throw him against the corner of his desk.

"Pahh!" Dick scrambled to kick the blankets off of him, stopping for only a second to spit a stray feather out of his mouth. He rubbed his back with a groan. He had hit that desk hard. And that bastard had already left the room, stomping down the hall to no doubt scarf down his dinner in less than a second and leave Dick to clean up without so much as a thank you.

Rounding the corner into the dining room, his eyes immediately caught sight of a view that no longer surprised him.

The clown. Sitting cross-legged on top of his table, shaking the bag of meat open like it was a toy. "You'll regret that, Dickie," it mumbled off-handedly, watching with glee as the meat slid out of the sack and right onto the smooth, hardwood of Dick's new table.

"Yeah?" Dick fought the urge to gag at the sudden onslaught of the horrible stench of raw meat. "Regret what?"

The clown took one big bite, as if Dick never said anything at all. It hummed its satisfaction, swallowed, then answered, "They are your spawn, too." It patted its belly with a bloody grin. "Or did you forget?"

Dick's hands balled themselves into fists of their own volition. No matter how much he beats himself up over that night, it won't change a thing. The fact that he had said yes to the creature's proposition... What the hell was he thinking? Had he really been so deprived of sex after Derry that he was willing to get it on with just about anybody? That can't have been it! And yet, he could see the consequences of his choice with his own eyes.

Not wanting to think about... that, Dick boldly grabbed at the clown's arm and practically dragged it off the table. "Sit down, and eat properly for once," he growled, a burning heat settling over his face.

The clown wrenched its arm away with a huff. But despite its reluctance, it sat. "Naughty boy," it rumbled in amusement, watching with sharp yellow eyes as Dick walked into the kitchen and gathered up a whole bunch of utensils.

Returning to the dining table, he stuck a knife out at the clown with much more force than necessary. "You know what this is? It's a knife."

The clown only blinked at Dick and took another large gulp of its food. It didn't take the knife.

Dick huffed and grasped the clown's hand, curling its fingers (more like talons) around the handle of the utensil. "Use it to cut your food," he ordered.

The creature glanced at the knife, its grin practically turning upside down in real time. "Pennywise is not stupid. And he does not need this useless human tool," it spat, then promptly hurled the thing at the nearest wall. It cut into the wood with a hefty 'thwack.'

Honestly, Dick didn't know what he was expecting.

But Pennywise only grinned dangerously, bunny teeth grazing its lower lip ever so slightly. It patted Dick's face placantly with one bloody hand then went right back to ravaging its dinner. Stuffing its face, one hand after the other.

Dick couldn't take it.

He was a gentleman. And he had manners. If someone were to be living in his home, under his roof, then they sure as hell will act like it.

He snatched the knife up from where it stuck to the wall and shoved it right back into Pennywise's hand. "You're not stupid, huh? Then how about showing me how you'd use it?" Dick smiled, and this time, patted the clown's cheek with his own hand.

A low growl resonated from deep within the creature's throat. It looked from the knife, to Dick, back to the knife, then back to Dick. Finally, it was like the clown's whole body had suddenly decided to relax, like a cat under the sun. It cut into the meat with the knife with much more grace than Dick had anticipated. "Dickie is a bad father," the clown chuckled. "Forcing his mate. Very bad, indeed.”

Dick nearly choked on his own saliva, nowhere near prepared for the heat or the uptick of his heart upon hearing those words.

Father, huh? And mate? Where did that come from?

He had tried to avoid thinking about that. He had told himself repeatedly that whatever was growing inside that clown was alien... Monsters. But the bastard sure made it hard to forget that they were his.

Dick stood up suddenly, heart beating so rapidly that it was pathetic. He knew the clown could hear it, if that shit-eating grin was anything to go by. "Use the fork, too," he choked before escaping the room with a speed that an Olympian would envy.

Dick tried his hardest, but he just couldn't ignore the jingling sound of a clown's laughter as it followed him from the dining room.

THE END

-----