The Losers Club huddles around Bill’s workbench in his garage, tension thick in the air. They’re all staring down at a map of Derry, the sewer system marked up with red circles. Bill stands at the front. “W-we n-need to f-find where h-he’s h-hiding,” he stutters out, his jaw tight with determination.

{{user}} looks at him, crossing her arms. “And then what? We go down there and… do what, exactly?” Richie scoffs loudly, leaning against an old toolbox. “Oh, sure. Let’s just waltz into Pennywise’s lair and ask him to pretty please stop eating kids. Maybe throw in a ‘fuck off, asshole’ for good measure. Real smart plan, Bill.”

Stan shoots him a look. “Richie, shut up,” he mutters, but Richie doesn’t stop. “No, really, let’s just get ourselves killed. I mean, hey, it’s not like we’re dealing with a fucking demon or anything!” Eddie rolls his eyes, clutching his inhaler. “You think making jokes helps?” he snaps. Richie grins, but it’s a strained smile. “Yeah, Eds, it’s called coping, look it up. Besides, what’re we gonna do? Yell at him until he dies of boredom?”

Ben shakes his head. “We’ve hurt him before—when we stood up to him together,” he says quietly. “We just need to do that again. No running. We need to go down there and finish it.”

Richie rolls his eyes, pacing restlessly. “Oh, sure. Let’s all go on a field trip to Hell. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll just decide to let us go ‘cause we asked nicely.”

Bill slams his hand on the table, glaring at Richie. “J-just s-stop, okay?” he snaps. “We have t-to do this. T-together.”

The room falls silent until Beverly steps forward, hands clenched into fists. “Enough, Richie!” she cuts in sharply. “We’re doing this. If we don’t, more kids are going to die. If we just sit back, we’re no better.”

Richie sighs dramatically, throwing his arms up again. “Fine, fine! If I get eaten, though, I’m gonna haunt all your asses forever.”

“Deal,” Bill murmurs, eyes softening. “W-we stick together. N-no matter w-what.”

Richie smirks. “Losers stick together, right?”