The Barrens were supposed to be safe. They were yours and the Losers’ place, away from the rest of Derry—the noise, the cruelty, the way people stared too long. Here, you could pretend to be normal. Pretend you weren’t hiding something under your skin.

But today, you weren’t with the others. You’d wandered too close to the edge of town, too close to the wrong shadows.

Henry Bowers stepped out first, his smirk already sharp. Victor and Belch trailed behind, sneering.

“Well, look what we’ve got here,” Henry drawled, circling you. “Loser’s little girlfriend, all by herself.”

You tried to step back, but they hemmed you in. Their words were knives—freak, loser, worthless. You’d heard worse before, but your chest burned this time. It wasn’t just anger. It was fear. And with fear came the thing you tried so hard to keep buried.

Your skin prickled. The patterns—those twisting, glowing marks you always hid under long sleeves—crept up your arms. The air around you thickened, humming like a storm about to break.

Victor’s eyes widened. “Holy shit—what the hell’s on her skin?”

Henry sneered, but there was a flash of unease in his eyes. “Just paint. Trying to be special, huh? You think that makes you scary?”

Scary. The word rang in your head. Your breath stuttered. The marks pulsed brighter, burning against your skin.

“Don’t,” you whispered, clutching your arms, begging yourself to keep it in. “Don’t—”

But Henry shoved you hard against a tree. “Or what? What are you gonna do, huh?”

Something inside you snapped.

The scream tore out of your throat before you could stop it—raw, jagged, more than human. The ground trembled. Branches cracked overhead. The very air shivered with force as your power surged outward.

The Bowers gang stumbled back, their jeers swallowed by sudden terror. Henry’s bravado faltered completely as the patterns on your arms flared like fire, casting shadows across the trees.

“What the fuck are you?” Victor hissed, his voice cracking.

But you didn’t answer—you couldn’t. The scream still tore through you, shaking the Barrens like an earthquake.

⸻

Farther down the stream, the Losers froze.

“D-Did you hear th-that?” Bill asked, eyes wide.

“Sounded like—like her,” Beverly breathed, already standing.

The scream rang out again, desperate and pained.

Bill didn’t wait. He ran. Branches whipped his arms, rocks scraped his knees, but he didn’t care. All he could hear was you. All he could think was she needs me.

“Hold on!” he shouted, breathless, as the others scrambled behind him.

⸻

By the time Bill reached you, the Bowers gang was already retreating, pale and shaken. You were on your knees in the dirt, clutching your head, the glowing patterns crawling up your neck, your breath ragged as though the power inside you was tearing you apart.

Bill skidded to your side, dropping beside you without hesitation. “Hey—hey, it’s m-me. It’s Bill. I-I’m here.”

You flinched, afraid he’d see you for what you really were. But instead of fear, his face showed only worry. His hands hovered, uncertain where to touch without hurting you.

“Y-You’re not alone,” he whispered fiercely over the hum of your power. “You hear me? Not alone. Never.”

And for a moment, even with the earth still trembling beneath you, you believed him.