this chapter contains mild hints of child abuse. please be wary if this may trigger you x

---

"Okay Mike. Where the fuck do we find our tokens?" Eddie spoke up, throwing the haircap between his hands, back and forth. 

You sat on a rock beside Beverly, after climbing out of clubhouse. You had all collectively decided that being in there was causing unnecessary pain, so you all moved to sit out on the forest floor, waiting for Mike to continue explaining what you had to do.

"Listen, with all due respect, dude, this is fucking stupid. Why do we need tokens? We already remember everything. Saving Bev, defeating It. We're caught up!" Richie asked Mike, rather harshly. 

"It's not everything. We fought. But what happened after that? Before the house on Neibolt." 

You began trying to rack your memory at his words- but nothing came up. That section of your life was like a black hole, sucking away any chance of remembrance.

"We can't remember, c-can we?" You asked softly.

"There's more to this story- our story. Something happened that summer. And those blank spaces are like pages torn out of a book, and that's what we need to find."

The whole group fell silent, and various sighs were heard around. You stole a glance at Bill, who was standing beside you and rubbing his eyes in exasperation.

"Splitting up is the only option. You each need to find your artifacts, alone. That's important. And when you do, meet me at the library, tonight."

Your blood ran cold the moment he spoke the words 'alone'. 

Not alone. Not alone. You didn't think you could handle that. Apparently the group was just as apposed as you were, because Eddie and Richie spoke up quickly.

"Yeah, no way. Looking at survival scenarios, I know for a fact we're better off as a group." Eddie accused, and Richie made a sound of agreement.

"Mhm. Splitting up would be dumb, man. We're going together. We were together that summer, right?"

"No." Bill interrupted, and you turned to look at him again. "Not th-that whole summer."

---

Why the fuck were you doing this?

Shortly after splitting up, you'd considered your best bet to be the town- there was a raging festival, and you couldn't be attacked by the clown if there were other people, right? So you slowly began making your way to the main street. You tried keeping your head down, thinking of places you could find your token. What had been important in your childhood?

But as you walked down a familiar sidewalk, your eyes were drawn to a missing poster hung up on the window of a bakery.

It was of a little girl. She had brown hair, and gorgeous chocolate eyes that were bright with youth. A rush of sorrow ran through your fingers- you knew exactly what had happened to her. 

You chose to ignore the poster, running a hand through your hair. You didn't need to freak yourself out even more then you already had.

You tried to think of places you'd gone that summer- and the first thing that came to your mind was the beach. The beach you'd always sat by when you were alone. You wondered if it had changed.

You began walking down the familiar route towards the place- but you paused when you realized what street you were walking down. 

At this point, the festivities were way behind you- you'd walked down an alleyway, ignoring the looks from the older men looming inside, and when you came out the other end you'd been on a familiar street with houses on either side of the road. It was quiet, empty- almost alienated.

You walked carefully down the sidewalk, and when you turned the street, your eyes were drawn to a familiar white-painted house.

And you could remember everything. The sirens. The crying. The fear. 

You hesitated before making your way closer to the house.

When you arrived out the front, you saw a eroding sign placed out the front. It read "FOR SALE", but the house looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

You sighed quietly, before walking down the familiar stone path towards the front door. When you stepped onto the veranda, you tried to open the door, only to realize it was locked. 

You huffed, shoving your hands in the pockets of the sweater you'd borrowed from Eddie. It was dark red and warm- but it didn't help your current situation. 

But there was another way inside, you quickly realized- you couldn't stop the soft smile from making it's way onto your face when you walked down the path, and around to the side fence that blocked the outside world from seeing the backyard. 

"Here goes n-nothing." You murmured quietly, before gripping the fence and hoisting yourself up over it. Just like you'd done all those years ago, when your aunt used to lock you out of the house (she claimed it was an accident, but you knew otherwise).

And suddenly, you were a little kid again.

It was almost dark. You had been out at the barrens with Stan and Bill- Stan had dragged the two of you along with him to help him bird watch. But now, you were riding your bike home, feeling the wind in your hair and sighing rather happily.

You had dropped your bike on the front lawn, running up to the front door and pulling quietly- expecting it open. You were shocked when it didn't. You'd been locked out.

You huffed in annoyance- but you knew better then to knock on the door. Your aunt was in custody at the police station, as she had been for the past month or so-  your older cousin had been looking after you, and she wasn't much different then your aunt.

From listening to adult's conversations- you had learned your aunty had been busted for both fraud, and illegal drug use.

A part of you had known she deserved the jail time she was faced with- she had treated you horribly your whole life. But another part of you worried what would happen to you when your she went to jail. What if your cousin didn't want to watch you anymore? You'd have to be sent to an orphanage, maybe a foster family, and the closest one was a 6 hour drive away. You didn't want to leave your friends. 

You had pushed the sad thought away, running a hand through your hair, before jogging to the fence down beside your house, that led into the backyard.

It was easy to climb over it- it didn't take much work- and when you landed on the other side of the fence, you had jogged out into the backyard.

It was empty, as usual, with only a lone, empty clothes line that never got used blowing in the wind. You'd shivered at the cold air that began to blow, and made your way towards the back door- it was never locked. A part of you wondered whether it was a good thing you were able to get into your locked house so easily- you shrugged off the thought.

When you pulled the back door open without any difficulty, you walked inside carefully. The house was dark, except for the faint glow of a light coming from the kitchen. You made your way over, hoping to run into your cousin.

When you didn't, you had looked around, confused. She was usually laying on the couch or sitting in her room, and she usually came out to scold you for coming home late. She always had. But now she wasn't.

Stealing a glance at the clock, the time was 5:45. Prison meeting hours ended at 4. She definitely should've been home by now.

Where else could she be? You tried to stop the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, but you couldn't. You had found yourself walking from room to room of the small house, trying to find signs of any of your cousins. You found nothing.

When you arrived at the door frame of the last room, opening the door softly, you were quick to realise the house was completely empty. You were alone. You didn't know why that made your skin prickle over with fear.

You stood at the doorway, running a hand through your hair. 

You jumped when you heard the sound of a something smashing from the kitchen. 

"Hello?" You called after a moment of pulling yourself together, walking on tiptoes towards the sound. The house was silent again, and the only sound you could hear was your own laboured breathing.

You walked down the hallway, the light of the kitchen growing brighter the closer you came to it. 

When you were just outside the door, the light flickered, and you jumped back. With a burst of adrenaline, you quickly pushed the door open, listening to the way it banged against the wall from the force. 

You peeked inside, looking for any signs of life. Perhaps your cousins were just playing a prank on you. Your blood ran cold when your eyes landed on the kitchen wall. 

I'LL COME BACK FOR YOU ALL

 The writing was scratched into the light blue paint with shards of a broken plate- you fell backwards, landing on your backside, ignoring the pain and pushing yourself against the opposite wall. You're heart was beating in your ears. 

You thought you'd defeated Pennywise. Of course you had, you'd all killed him, right?

The thought was interrupted when demonic laughter echoed around the small kitchen, and the door slammed shut, locking you inside. You watched in pure horror as the scratched words on the wall began glowing red- but you were quick to realise it was blood.

Blood was oozing out from between the cracks of paint made by the horrible words. It began dripping down the wall. You didn't think twice before letting out an ear-piercing scream, covering your eyes with your hands and curling up into a ball.

"(Y/n), what the fuck are you doing?!"

Lizzie's yell snapped you from your terrified state, and you looked up at her with wild eyes. Her, Matthew and Emmaline were standing at the now open door, looking at you like you were crazy. 

You snapped your head around frantically, noticing everything was gone. The words, the laughter, the blood. It was all gone. Like it had never existed.

"There- there was..." You stuttered, barely able to get the words out. You stood. 

"Save it. What the fuck are you even doing?" Matthew accused, moving past you to place a bag of groceries on the counter top. 

"I-I..." You continued to stutter. The room was spinning around you, fear and adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

So, you didn't say a word, just turned and ran past your cousins, down the hall and into your bedroom.

The horrifying scene of your childhood seemed to play out in front of your eyes as you stood in the middle of the empty kitchen you remembered.

It was dark, with only the light from the window setting a spooky vibe at the house. You could tell no one had been in here for years, from the way dust had piled up on every available surface. You'd even spied bugs, and a few rats. 

You walked carefully down the familiar hallway, trailing your fingers along the wall. Dust collected on your fingertips, and you wiped it off when you reached your old bedroom. 

Opening the door, wincing at the way it creaked, you breathed in the familiar scent. It felt uncomfortable and strange.

"You're a pig! You ruined my life!" Your aunty screamed as she hit you, over and over, with a coat-hanger. Every hit left you crying out in pain.

"I hate you! I hate you!" She continued her cry, not stopping her punishment. 

She had gotten too drunk again, and you'd knocked over one of her antique vases- now, you were paying to consequences.

You took a sharp intake of breath at the memory. You tried to push it down to the depths of your brain, where you wouldn't think of it again. 

Your sneakers tapped against the wooden floors as you made your way over to where your bed used to be. You stood there, in that corner, looking out over the empty room, trying to remember what you're token might be. 

You gasped out loud to the quiet room when you remembered.

The book. 

During the summer, you faintly remembered keeping a diary. You poured your heart and soul into the thing, opting for writing it down rather than saying it out loud. You were quite content with keeping the thing, and you must have written in it during that summer.

And you think you know where it is.

You find yourself dropping to your knees, right in front of an air vent that used to be blocked by your bed. A faint smile makes its way onto your features as you dig your fingernails into the edges, pulling at it in vain- trying to make the front cover fall off.

After a few tries, it does, and you reach inside with fumbling fingers. You feel cobwebs and dust. 

You sigh, reaching in the vent deeper- and your fingertips brush against something hard.

Something close to excitement bubbles up inside of you as you grip the object, pulling out the familiar leather book with your initials written hastily on the front.

"And w-what's this?"

You turned questioningly at Bill's voice, from where you were putting away clothes in your dresser. He had come over to your house while your cousins and aunty were away for a few nights- you had the house to yourself. Right now, Bill was sitting on the edge of your bed, your diary in his hands, sending you a knowing look. You were quick to snatch the book from him. 

"It's none of your business."

"C-Come on, you can t-tell me. I th-thought we told each other e-e-everything?" He stuttered, reaching for the book again. You just sent him a warning look.

"It's just... A diary, okay? Now leave me be."

"Th-that's adorable. Let me read it."

"No-" You didn't have time to deny it, because he was snatching the book out of your hands. He held it high above your head, moving it every time you tried to grab it back.
You eventually gave up when he flicked to a random page somewhere in the middle.

"William Denbrough, give that back!"

He ignored you, and your face felt hot with embarrassment, and you covered your eyes. You didn't see the way he smiled at you when he read the contents of the page. 

"B.D + (Your initials here). H-How adorable." He teased, letting you snatch the diary from his hands.

"Will you shut it? I wasn't talking about you."

"Bullshit."

He wrapped his arms around your waist, just above where your bandage over your healing burn was, and pulled you to fall onto your bed. He stared at you with a soft smile, which you returned.

Sometimes you wished you could go back to the way things were.

You traced the familiar, faded scrawl of "B.D + (Your initials here)" with a sad look. 

Maybe, if you could go back in time, you'd stop yourself from moving 6 hours away to the nearest orphanage, after you oldest cousin had been rendered unfit to be your guardian. You'd stop yourself from leaving your friends and old life behind, only to inevitably forget all about them. You'd try to stay.

Resting in your hands, the book felt heavy and warm, and you immediately knew that this was what you were looking for. 

---