The Losers stumbled out of the Neibolt house, lungs burning, skin streaked with dirt and blood. The yard was eerily quiet, the wreck of the fight still ringing in everyone’s heads.

Richie was the first to snap. His voice cracked through the silence, sharp and furious. “Georgie’s dead, Bill! Just face it! Stop trying to get us killed too!”

Bill’s body went rigid, his fists curling at his sides. He spun on Richie, grief and rage twisting his features. His voice ripped out, raw and loud— “Georgie’s n-not dead!”

He grabbed Richie by the shirtfront, shoving him back a step. The others froze, eyes wide.

Richie’s breath hitched, but he didn’t back down. He ripped at Bill’s grip, his voice low and trembling with anger. “You couldn’t save him, Bill! You couldn’t! But you can still save yourself!”

The words landed like knives. Bill’s whole body shook as his face crumpled, but his voice came out in a broken shout. “N-No! T-take it back! You’re s-scared— we all are— b-but t-take it back!”

And before anyone could move, Bill’s fist slammed into Richie’s cheek.

“BILL!” Beverly’s cry split the air.

Stan and Eddie rushed forward, trying to pull them apart, but Bill shoved them away, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. Richie stumbled, clutching his face, glaring like he wanted to fight back—but Bill didn’t let him.

“D-don’t you ever s-say that again!” Bill’s voice cracked, desperate, broken. “Don’t you d-dare!”

“Bill, stop!” Eddie squeaked, tugging on his arm.

But Bill was shaking, trembling from head to toe, every ounce of grief turned into fury.

You couldn’t just watch. You stepped forward, weaving past Stan’s arm, and wrapped yourself around Bill, pressing your cheek against his back.

“Bill,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. “He’s gone, okay? He’s gone, but you’re not. And we’re not. Look at me. Please—just look at me.”

He struggled at first, muscles tight, trying to break free of everything—Richie, the pain, the truth—but then his knees buckled slightly under your hold. His fists loosened. His breath hitched.

Behind you, Richie’s face softened, his voice quieter now, but still stinging. “You can’t keep doing this, Bill. You’re gonna lose more than Georgie if you don’t stop.”

Stan put a hand on Richie’s shoulder, pulling him back, and one by one, the Losers drifted away, their footsteps crunching against the grass until only you and Bill remained.

Bill finally sagged against you, his forehead pressing to your shoulder, his voice breaking. “I-I can’t… I c-can’t lose anyone else.”

Your eyes stung, but you cupped his face, guiding him to meet your gaze. “You won’t. Not me. Not if I can help it.”

His lip trembled, tears burning in his eyes, and for the first time, he didn’t argue. He just let you hold him.

And in the quiet ruins of that fight, with Richie’s words still echoing and Georgie’s absence still tearing him apart, you gave Bill the only thing you could: a place to fall apart, and someone who wouldn’t let go.