Chapter Text
Pennywise knows he's the one with total control over Derry. He has more power than the town's humans know, let alone dream of. Some of them are aware of him, however consciously. Other's are not. But deep down, everyone knows Pennywise's the one in charge. He's the keeper of the town, somewhat of a protector, and-most importantly of all-he's the main fear factor. His domain is curruption, terror, and all things unpleasant. He breathes it, he lives it, and he is it. He is fear.
So when he wakes to find fear tangent enough in the air for him to taste it on every breath, he's less then happy.
Pennywise doesn't mean the average fear humans seem to carry around them like it's an accessory. Humans will scare themselves with nightmares-especially the little ones-and worries about mundane things. No. He's talking about the kind of fear that goes on for years. The kind that sticks with you. The kind inflicted by other beings.
Pennywise wonders what is it this time. Another enteity? Unlikely, since Pennywise made sure that no creature could mistake his claim on the town. He hoped it wasn't another war. The last one he was around for had been brief, as Pennywise only woke for a few days. The sounds of bombs landing above had awoken him. They hadn't landed on the town, thankfully, but it had been annoying all the same. Humans did like their wars, for some reason. Hopefully this time it was just some human causing mischief.
Pennywise's stomach gave a growl at the thought.
He decided he would take a look, and perhaps get a snack along the way.
— — —
“No!”
Pennywise paused, listening carefully as the voice echoed through the pipe. A little boy, he decided. Very, very young. Distressed. He moved in the direction of the voice.
Along the way, a few feet from where he knew where a storm drain was, he found a paper boat. S.S. Georgie. He considered it for a moment, then he saw a tiny hand reaching into the drain.
“Bill's gonna kill me.”
Pennywise wasn't an idiot. He could put two and two together.
He stepped up to the drain, somewhat accidentally scaring the boy. The boy retracted his hand like he'd been burnt and scuttled away from the railing. Pennywise adopted bright blue eyes, knowing they would soothe the boy. They did, a little.
“Hiya, Georgie,” he said, trying to put on a reassuring smile. “Is this your boat? It's a nice boat.”
It was. He'd seen plenty, if not hundreds, of paper boats. As long as they could float, he thought they were all nice.
“Yes. My brother made it…” Georgie replied, hesitant. He was speaking though, which made Pennywise smile wider.
“Where is he now?”
“In bed. He's got the cold because he was…” Georgie stopped, suddenly looking guilty.
Pennywise's eyes narrowed. “You can tell me, Georgie.” Still the boy hesitated, so Pennywise added, “I won't tell anyone. Promise.”
Georgie leaned forward, holding his hand up to the side of his mouth like he was spreading gossip. “Everyone says that he fell into a lake, but he was actually pushed into it. ”
Pennywise also leaned in to hear, his eyes going from blue to burning amber. “Who did it?”
“Victor Criss,” Georgie said, quickly and quietly, “but you can't tell anyone!”
Pennywise smiled. Georgie was a good kid to tell him. “I promised I wouldn't, Georgie, and Pennywise never breaks his promises.”
Which was true. He didn't make promises often because of how inconvenient they could become, but this one he knew he would have no trouble keeping. After all, one shouldn't speak ill of the dead.
“Pennywise..?”
“That's me! Pennywise the dancing clown!” he exclaimed with glee. “Pennywise, meet Georgie. Georgie, meet Pennywise!”
The kid giggled. Cute.
“Here,” Pennywise said, holding out the boat to Georgie, “you can have it back.”
Georgie's face lit up. “Thanks!”
“Do you want a balloon, Georgie?” Pennywise asked. “Give it to your brother. It'll cheer him up.”
“I'm not supposed to take things from strangers…” Georgie paused, then smiled. “But we're not strangers anymore!”
“Exactly.”
A balloon suddenly appeared. It's ribbon bumped into Georgie, who softly gasped. He looked up and saw the balloon slowly spin until the words ‘I heart Derry’ faced him. Georgie grabbed the ribbon before turning back to the drain.
“Well, Georgie, I've got to go,” Pennywise said, thinking of Criss and how the he would fill the clown's stomach quite nicely. “Important clown business.”
“Wait!” Georgie cried. Pennywise paused. “Will you come back?”
Not for another 8 months, but Georgie didn't need to know the exacts. “I will.” Pennywise smiled at the boy's hopeful expression. “Keep the balloon safe and I'll come back.”
Georgie nodded. He looked determined in that way only kids could be with such a minimal task.
“Bye-bye, Georgie,” Pennywise chuckled.
“Bye.”
Pennywise slinked away into the darkness.
— — —
Georgie brought the bright red balloon with him. He was estatic, so he couldn't quite understand when Bill was less so.
“Wuh-wait, Georgie. W-w-who gave you tu-t-that?”
Georgie huffed, having already told him. “Pennywise! The dancing clown. He was in the drain. I forgot to ask him why.”
Bill shook his head. He stared at the balloon, a crown on his face.
“He said he had important clown business,” Georgie continued, “but he said he'll come back if we take care of the balloon!”
Bill's frown deepened.
“…You believe me, right, Bill?” Georgie asked, shrinking in on himself. He hadn't told their parents about Pennywise, as he knew they wouldn't believe him. They were stuck in their respective little world's, their dad with work and their mother in the bottle. Didn't have much care for Georgie's ‘imagination’.
Bill smiled, then ruffled George's hair ruthfully, much to the complaint of the smaller boy. “O-of course I d-do, georgie.”
Georgie beamed, no longer minding the hand in his hair.
“W-why d-d-don't you tell me h-how she was?” Bill asked, indicating to the boat.
“She was amazing Bill!” Georgie said, instantly latching on to the new topic. “You should've seen her!”
So he regaled Bill with how fast the boat had been, clutching on to said boat and the string of the balloon with equal grips.
— — —
A few days later, Victor Criss' face would be on every corner of the town, right under the words ‘MISSING’.