#beviwise

Pairing: Beviwise

TW: a little bit of cornballness

Like a bat out of hell, Beverly flung the sleeping bag off of herself and clamored to her feet. “BENNIE?” she yelled—a ragged sound. Her arms pinwheeled and she ran, twisting around the corner of the living room and bolting down the hall. Horrible screaming tore at her ears. Horrible, potent fear rushed through her veins like liquid fire. 

“BENNIE?” she yelled again. She clutched at the doorknob to her bedroom and yanked. Her eyes blew wide when it didn’t give away. No, no, no, no, no. “Bennie?! Baby?” Beverly began to pound on the door, a rapping sound that jolted the frame. The young woman scrambled and finally started throwing herself against the door desperately. 

No, no, no, no, no. Not Bennie. Never Bennie. 

Beverly gritted her teeth as she threw herself against the frame again and the door came tumbling forward with a smash. She scrambled to her knees and then to her feet, dragging a hand through her hair. She practically threw herself at her daughter’s bed when she ripped away the sheets. 

Pink sheets stared back at her. The outlining of a small body was all that was left. 

Beverly pivoted on her heel and to her horror, she saw the window was opened. The yellow shades knocked against the wood and flitted in the steady breeze. Her heart stopped. A red balloon was tied to the desk chair in all its crimson glory. She crossed the room and finally came face to face with it. Scrawled upon it was: Welcome home, Beverly! 

Pennywise. 

For a moment she stood there, frozen, her heart battering against her rib cage. 

Beverly drew in sharp hot breath and then in a rage, swept everything off her desk and strode to the window. The shades were drawn up and the window was open, she grasped the window with claw-like hands. “YOU STUPID SON OF BITCH.” she screamed into the night.  

Her daughter. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t be. It's too soon. It's not been 27 years. It’s not awake. 

But her daughter was gone and the red balloon was here. It was here. It had taken Bennie. 

Her mind began to whirl. Words of impossible, Tom, Bennie, Pennywise, death. All of these things hacked away at her brain. Her legs worked automatically while her mind spiraled. 

Her first concrete, real thought was: I need a weapon. 

Her hair was in her eyes as she clamored to the kitchen and reached to the top of the fridge. Sure, enough she felt the cool, cold steel of a .38. On the kitchen counter, she grabbed a flashlight. Her mind tried to grasp what had happened in Derry all those years ago but they came in waves, waves that didn’t come fast enough. But one thing you could never forget about Derry was the blood, the loss and especially the eldritch nightmare inducing being that lived underneath their feet. 

Without another thought, Beverly wretched open the apartment door and fled into the night. 

And the thought struck her that she didn’t have a car. Fuck. Beverly was standing out on the stone porch, leading out to the street with only her pajamas. She didn’t care nor did she even notice this as she ran out into the drizzle that was beginning to pick up. The rain slid across her freckled skin and down her back. Frantically, she turned her head back and forth. A bike. A bike. Any bike. She spied one leaning against the building and she rushed over. 

It was a faded blue bike with rust on the handles—worn but loved. The grass was soft on her feet, almost in a dreamy way as she tugged on it. The bike didn’t budge. Her gaze flitted around in the dark until she saw in the gloomy light: a bicycle lock ensnaring the tires. No, no, no, no. Beverly knelt and examined it in her clammy hands. Her hand slipped on the chain and she cried out. Hot pain bit into her fingers. She gasped as hot blood gushed from them. 

You’re going to be too late. 

Beverly stumbled to her feet and took off. 

TOO LATE TOO LATE TOO LATE TOO LATE.

Her bare feet slapped against the pavement and her arms swung at her sides as she ran. The streets were dark, the houses darker and the sky above swollen with rain. Not a single soul was stirring and no cars passed by. Droplets ran their wet fingers through her hair as she hung a left at Canal Street, the place she’d grown up and continued down Kansas Street. She did not turn down towards Richard’s Alley, the place where her father ran her down. The storefronts passed her by, the library, the warehouses, the abandoned truckers building. The whole run felt like a blur, one great blur of greys and blacks as her feet began to bleed. 

Soon, she found herself in the Barrens, tumbling about in the underbrush. She could smell the stink of the canal. The stink which led to Its home. Beverly swept her red hair from her face as she braved the treacherous greenery. A part of her, a small part felt her heart tugging towards the clubhouse, the safe haven. But she did not relent. 

Bennie. Bennie. Bennie. 

It had to be there…with her. 

It always went to the same place. Her pace slowed as she stepped over a fallen log. While it was terrifying, she couldn’t give it credit for its cleverness. It had a home base. That’s where it lived. It wouldn’t have changed. No, no, it couldn’t change. 

Beverly tried to shake the thoughts from her mind like a wet dog. She did in fact look like one. Her green and black plaid pajama paints were stained with grass and mud. Her red hair hung in clumps around her face and was plastered to her neck. The revolver in her hand was slick with rain and sweat. 

Idly, her hands reached out for various trees to brace her as she walked through the scrubland. Her flashlight’s yellow illumination bobbed and wobbled as she walked. She hadn’t realized it until now but she was trembling, badly. Her teeth were chattering and cold, uneasy chills were running up and down her body, it was as if a single finger was oscillating up and down her spine. 

Gore, limbs and guts splattered across her mind’s eye. Screaming, the kind which pierced your ears. The lovely voice of her daughter had been mutilated. 

Stop. 

The urge to collapse, to sink into the ground pulled at her. Surrender. You’re too late anyways. 

No. You can’t. 

Beverly soldiered on, her steps clumsy with fear and her eyes shifting nervously from side to side. What if It was waiting in the underbrush for her? She was but a gazelle in an open field, prime for feasting. 

But it wouldn’t matter, no, it wouldn’t matter if she were dead. Bennie had to stay alive. Had to be alive. 

There was no other reality. There could be no other reality apart from her child in her arms, watching her grow, watching her thrive. There was no world where a monster, the one from her childhood and dreams would cut it short. 

She would not let it be. 

As if she were in a dream, she ran through the undergrowth and followed the river. The water chuckled beside her like an old friend. The trees bent their crooked branches and cast their shadows over her small body. Mud splattered across the stones on the trail as her bare feet hit the ground. She fled. 

Like she was beating the Devil. 

Beating it or running towards its all too generous maw? 

As the rain poured down from the sky, she saw it: the pumping station–the same one she had descended eight years ago. A sort of slimy feeling crawled over her as she approached it with measured steps, her feet flattening the overgrown grass underneath her. Every fiber of her body was trembling as she neared it and finally peered into its yawning mouth. Even after eight years it still hadn’t been fixed. 

That same dead silence greeted her the same as when she was a child. Except then she had had her friends, her people. The lid of the pumping station lay abandoned in the weeds where the boys had toppled it off its throne. Moss was creeping down the edges of the descent and the rain was still relentless. It would be treacherous to get down there. Very much so. 

Beverly swung her leg into the cylinder when lightning sliced the skies open. Her heart leapt up in shock and she almost tumbled down from her great height if it weren’t for the iron grip her hands had on the rim. Then her gaze spied in the fleeting light a furry thing in the grass. For a moment she thought it was alive, a living squirming thing caught in the storm—but then she saw its artificial look. The white belly, the round ears, the button doll looking eyes: Pinky. 

A strangled gasp escaped her.  

Bennie. Bennie. Bennie. 

“No, no, no.” She whispered. Clamoring, she rushed down the rungs of the ladder, her steps uneven and her breath ragged. Fuck, no, no, no. The numb mosaic of her mind became thunderous. The onslaught of thoughts returned. Her vision became hazy and blurred like how summer days melted away. Summer days. Summer days of terror and despair. 

Her grasp slipped as she reached the 5th rung down. All of her breath whooshed out of her in one horrifying moment. Pain, deep searing pain bolted up her leg and bit viciously into her bones. White roses bloomed across her vision. “Shit!” she screamed. Amidst the noise and the pain and the thoughts she swore she heard a musical crack slice through the air. 

Like a fish out of water, in a sense literally, she hurried to her feet. Grey water sloshed around her dirtied pajama pants and soaked her to the bone. A stink rose, rancid and vile and coated her with all its sludge. As she moved to continue down into the sewers, her right foot came down and a cry ripped from her throat. 

Beverly looked down, even in the darkness and knew: Fuck. No, she couldn’t afford this. Her ankle couldn’t be broken—not now, not ever. 

“Oh Bevvie!” a voice called out, deceptively playful. 

Beverly’s gaze snapped up and narrowed. Without paying any mind for her broken ankle, she stumbled ahead into the dark, raging and screaming: “Give her back right now, you son of a bitch!” 

“Oh ho ho. I don’t think so.” 

“I’ll fucking kill you.” she brandished her revolver, it flashed silver in the dark, in what little light the moon pitched in from above. “We hurt you before. I’ll do it again. Make it permanent. How about that?” Her eyes darted all around the sewer. With her flashlight in her hand, she shone it around the area trying to spy that obnoxious trademark of red and silver. Her finger stayed close to the trigger of her revolver. 

“Bevvie. Bevvie. Bevvie. Can a poor old clown not play a game once in a while?” 

“Where is my daughter?” she yelled. 

“Oh, you’re no fun, Miss. Marsh. No fun. No fun. No fun at all.” It giggled in the dark. 

“Where is my daughter, you miserable piece of shit?!” Beverly darted further in and then cried out, stepping on her bad foot. 

“Safe and sound. Safe and sound. Safe and hearing sound. Poor little Bevvie’s sire. Cursing and cussing all for little Bennie to hear.” 

“Shut up. Shut up. Just shut up! I don’t believe you.” Beverly leveled the revolver. 

It was as if Pennywise’s voice was bouncing off all of the walls, meeting the center and coming from no particular direction. She was lost—a ship without a compass. 

Her eyes scanned the terrain and as her flashlight bobbed, she swore she saw a shadow, one that didn’t belong. 

“Believe? Oh, Bevvie, Bevvie, Bevvie. Don’t you know belief is everything?” 

Beverly furrowed her brow. 

The shadow was familiar, reflected in the light. A tuft of hair, a distinct shape—one she could never forget. 

It's behind you. 

“Too bad I’m a nonbeliever.” Beverly gritted her teeth and spun around. Her finger was feather light as it pulled the trigger. A shot rang out through the tunnel and a yell, a strangled cry echoed. The thing, It, which had been standing behind her the whole time stumbled back a few feet in the stagnant water. Its orange eyes were flaming, angry. It held a hand over a hole in its silver suit. Smoke drifted up from the barrel of her revolver. 

“Is this real enough for you?!” It shouted and lunged. Beverly, panicky, pulled the trigger again. Before the bullet ever left its cask, she felt claw-like hands slam into her shoulders. The shot went wide. 

Snarling filled her ears. Beverly was thrown back and now It was on top of her, Its hands dug into her shoulders, stinging painfully. She bit down on her tongue, hard and muffled a cry. Defiantly, she stared up at It back into those vengeful eyes. Its porcelain face was a mask of rage. It raised a hand and for a moment true fear struck through her, like an arrow. 

The hand transformed, long harsh looking nails poked through the cloth gloves and then it all melted away into an ugly reptilian looking claw. Beverly fumbled around for the revolver again and then realized she was pinned very literally. Fuck. Her arm was trapped under his body weight and the revolver was clenched uselessly in her hand. 

Then the teeth began to change, to sharpen into razor points. No, no, no. She was back there again, thirteen again, in that cave, in Its lair as the deadlights slashed into her mind. For a moment, she wanted to close her eyes, to not see It, to accept her fate. Instead, she stared back. She tried to move her hand again with the revolver. But she was just a squirming animal, trapped in a cage. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” she bit out. And for a moment, belief washed over her, like refreshing water from a spring. And for a moment, It may have believed that as well. Its expression changed. Its mask fell away into something else, Its eyes widening, Its grip on her loosening. 

Beverly took her chance and swung her good leg into the side of its body. She thought it would be a fruitless effort, that she was dead meat either way but to her great surprise, It fell away to the side. Beverly was able to squirm out from beneath its grasp and she crawled out, through the water, gasping. She didn’t dare to turn back. 

When she did, she was still gasping. Beverly gripped the wall for support. In the dark she could see It, Pennywise standing like a dark shadow. All that she could make out was its burning orange eyes that bore into her like pillars of fire. It didn’t speak as It crossed through the muck. 

Beverly raised her arm, the one which held her revolver but it was empty. No! Panic swept through her and she tore through the water again. She fell to her knees, grasping in the water for it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid girl. 

Her gaze darted around wildly and then settled on Pennywise. Its head was cocked and beside It, another shadow stood, a smaller one. Her heart stopped. Bennie? Her throat felt dry and her hands fell limply by her sides. 

The delicate silence was sliced open when It spoke finally, “Have your brat back.” It spat. It roughly shoved the shadow forward and into the light. Beverly could see her face, Bennie’s face—scared, yes scared but alive. Her child tumbled forward and Beverly rose to catch her. The sobs wouldn’t come, no, not yet, Beverly stood there like a deer in the headlights, clutching her daughter in her arms. 

“See you soon. See ya real soon, Bevvie.” In the darkness she swore she saw a glimmer of white teeth—a smile.

In a blinding flash of white, the sewers disappeared. 

Beverly’s eyes flew open and she was back in her apartment. The shades to the kitchen were drawn and the mother-daughter pair were clutching each other, kneeling on the kitchen tile. “Oh baby, oh sweetheart.” The words tumbled out of Beverly’s mouth before she could stop them and she began pressing chaste kisses to the top of Bennie’s head. 

Her dry head…Beverly stared down at her daughter and then herself. They were dry. Clean. The pajamas which had become almost unrecognizable during the course of the rescue were clean…as if she’d never left the house. 

A million thoughts and feelings raced through her. Relief, relief was the one that mattered. They were home. Home? Beverly stared around the kitchen. 

Her daughter. Her precious daughter was alive. 

Why? 

They were home. 

Why? 

Was it home? Was it another of his tricks? 

Panic pumped through her veins anew. She tore herself away from her daughter but did not stray any further from her daughter then the threshold of the kitchen. Her hands flung the kitchen shades open and nothing but the bleak Derry skies blinked back at her with its flashes of lightning. It wasn’t a trick. Was it? No, no, it was home. As if it had never happened. 

Beverly rushed back to her daughter. Bennie looked up curiously at her mother. “Oh God, are you okay?” She embraced her daughter in for another hug, pressing her body as close to her daughter as possible. It was as if she let go, she would lose her again, lose her to the murderous elements of Derry. 

“Yes,” Bennie said plainly. 

Beverly drew back from her embrace and gave Bennie a puzzled look. “What?” 

“It was fun.” Bennie said.

“What?” Beverly stared. 

Her eyes were starry. Bennie piped up: