FF: It: Chapter Eight

[aerisjade@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx]

Title: IT 
Chapter: Eight/? 
Rating: R 
Spoilers: Up to and including the last season shown. 
Beta Reader: Scotty Welles 
Shadow Mage

Summary: Alt-Buffy/IT verse and crossover. What if Willow was the
seventh member 
of the choosen group instead of Ben. 

Disclaimer: Nope, don't belong to me. 

<><><><><><><> 
Summer Of 1989 
<><><><><><><> 

Willow stood slightly away from the other five, watching them absently
from her own position under the gigantic tree. They'd come down into
the Barrens after lunch hoping to talk, but the bright sun had been too
much even for their young bodies. 

She frowned softly as they waited quietly for Big Bill to tell them
what to do. 

This clown business had them all on edge and they were now looking for
guidance from the one of them who had lost the most to the monster. 
Bill was standing with his back to them, staring off into the distance.

She wanted to tell them what she knew about Pennywise, but something
inside her was saying that it wasn't time yet. So she waited, for
what, she didn't know. 

"W-w-w-we c-can't t-t-tell t-t-the p-police, o-o-or o-our p-p-parents,"
he reasoned, as they listened patiently. "T-t-they're t-t-too
o-o-o-old t-t-to u-un-understand." He looked over at them, trying to
see if they understood what he was saying. 

Willow nodded thoughtfully. "It's like Peter Pan. As you get older,
your imagination shrinks, suddenly you don't believe in Santa Claus, or
the Easter Bunny, or faeries anymore, and you can never go back to
Never Never Land. Well, unless you want to be a stinky, mean ol'
pirate." 

"Ex-ex-xactly." 

<><><><><><><> 

Mike was from the only black family in Derry, and a small town whose
mentality still lived in the early 50's wasn't a good place for them to
live. For the most part, people in the town were at least polite, but
then there were the Bowers. Mike's family lived in the farm next to
the Bowers, a family that was crazy and violent - a bad combination,
all in all. 

Mike's father was blamed for any bad occurrence that happened to
Bowers, and their animals had paid the price for most of it. They'd
lost a number of chickens a while back, when Bowers killed them and
left them on their doorstep as a 'present'. The sheriff had tried to
get Bowers to pay for the damages he'd caused, but that had been
futile, one man's word against another's, with no evidence of guilt. 
Instead, they'd had to turn to their insurance. 

The worst blow had been a year earlier when they'd found their family
dog dead. The vet said that Mr. Chips had been fed meat laced with
insect poison. Mr. Patterson had assured Mike that his dog hadn't
suffered, but when the vet had taken his father into the back, he'd
overheard the truth. Mr. Chips had died a slow, painful death. 

The worst of it was the tearful rage he'd felt towards Henry ever
since. He had been after Mike ever since, probably trying to get his
father's approval in some twisted way. Now was no exception. He had
been heading home with his father's photo album, having gone to the
library to try and find more history on each of the historical
pictures. That's where his trouble had started. 

As he was getting ready to leave he'd spotted the four boys that
followed Henry. Vic, Belch, Moose, and Peter. All of whom were known
for their tendency for violence. 

"There's the nigger. Get him!!" 

That was all the incentive that he needed, and before the muscular but
slower boys had taken one step, he was off and running. He kept the
thick album in his hands as he raced through the streets of Derry. 

Mike knew from experience that the people in Derry had a talent for
turning their eyes from anything that threatened to put them in the
middle. He had no choice but to try to get back to the safety of his
house, fast, which meant a short cut through the coal pit. He turned
into the train yard, winded and tired. He knew he wouldn't last much
longer, and he was still a good mile from home. 

<><><><><><><> 

"I kn-know w-w-where t-t-the b-b-bastard l-lives." 

"The sewers," Beverly said from her spot next to Willow. 

"I asked m-my f-f-father ab-bout th-them." 

"What'd he say, Big Bill?" Richie asked, plopping down on Willow's
other side, winking at her. 

"The c-c-canal h-h-holds t-t-the K-k-k..." 

"Kenduxkeag?" Stan asked. 

Bill nodded. "But i-i-it's a d-d-drain, for w-w-when it
floods a-a-and during s-s-storms. The m-m-m-morlock
h-holes d-d-down her a-are sump pumps t-t-that control t-t-the
d-drainage. 

"T-t-the m-main pipes a-a-are anywhere from s-s-ix f-f-feet
t-to three feet in d-d-diameter. He s-s-said that w-w-when
they put in th-the n-n-new system that t-t-they built
it o-over t-t-the old ones. B-b-but the blueprints d-d-disappeared
i-i-in n-nineteen thirty-s-seven, so they h-h-have n-no
idea w-where any of t-t-them g-g-go." 

Stan shook his head in his usual serious demeanor. "Man, one wrong
turn down there and you could get lost for good. Probably end up
wandering around down there in the dark until ya die of starvation or
something." He glared at them, coming back to himself. "What makes
you think it lives in the sewer, anyway?" 

Willow sighed loudly, knowing it was now or never. "Because that's
where everything goes back to in one way or another. Don't you see,
when Bill's brother was killed, they found him halfway into the sewer
drain on their street, the arm in the drain ripped clean off to his
shoulder. The mummy Bev saw was standing on the canal, the one Stan
saw was at the stand pipe, which is also connected to the sewers and
close to the canal. The werewolf that Oz saw was in the basement where
all the plumbing is. Even the werewolf that was after me and Oz the
other night was across from here where all the pump stations are." 

"Wait. What were you doing out at night?" Beverly asked sharply. 

"I was doing research on our friend." 

Bill leaned forward with a triumphant sparkle in his eyes. "A-a-and?" 

"It's a Glamour. At least that's the Gaelic name for it. What we're
dealing with is well known throughout several cultures and countries. 
Different names and ideas, but the facts are the same. It was known to
have evil magic. It would read the victim's mind to find out what he
or she was most afraid of and assume that shape. However, he also had
a main form which he took most often."

"Like a default shape?"

She nodded at Bev. "Right. In the ancient societies that believed in
gods taking shapes of animals, he would pick an animal and use it's
shape. Like the Trickster from old Indian myths. There were even
stories of it possessing grownups that were too naive to believe
anymore. It was the originator of the vampire and were-beast myths." 

"H-h-how d-d-do w-w-we k-k-kill it?" 

Willow slumped back and glared up at the bright sky. "One of the
websites I found was documenting the life a shaman from the Navaho
tribe. During his lifetime, his tribe was the target of a Glamour. He
was a boy at the time, 11 years old. Him and six others his age had to
find their way before they were able to destroy it." 

"H-how?" 

"They went on a vision quest, but in the end they used an ancient
ritual. The Chud." 

"W-w-what do w-we n-n-need t-t-to d-d-do?" 

"One of us has to bite its tongue while it's biting ours, and then you
tell jokes until one of you lets go." Willow's brow furrowed in
concentration. "At least that's what I think the translation says." 

"EEWWW!!" Richie jumped up and hopped around making spitting noises. 
"I do NOT want any monster spit in my mouth! And do you realize what
would happen if you stuck your tongue down it's throat?" Oz glared at
her with concern. "With those teeth it would bite your tongue off,
then what would you do." 

"W-w-what h-happens i-if y-you l-l-lose?" 

"Then the Glamour gets to eat your soul," Willow said calmly. 

Oz puffed out his chest and planted his fists on his waist. "This
sounds like a job for...The Trash Mouth!" His voice sounded like the
announcer on an old Superman series. "The Man of Two Thousand Jokes
and Pranks! But I only work from three to four." 

"Oz, sweetie, if we send you down there, you'll get us all killed." 
Willow made a face. "A loooooong, torturous, painful death." 

The others laughed at the pout on Oz's face, but Willow took note of
the flush on his face. She couldn't help it, it seemed like every time
she hugged him, or gave him a peck, or even just referred to him by
cute little nicknames, that he would blush a deep red from his neck to
his ears and become shy. "Hey, don't you have some firecrackers?" she
added, taking pity on him.

Oz grinned at her, forgetting his embarrassment. "Yeah. Come on,
let's go up to the old coal pits and shoot them off." 

Willow let him and Bevy to help her up, and fell back in between them. 

She glanced around with a frown as she felt an unpleasant tingling
sensation in her mind. The only other times she'd felt it was when she
had a run in with Pennywise... She slowed down and scanned the
Barrens. 

"Hey, are you coming?" Oz asked. 

She started to nod, but stopped as she noticed the morlock hole fifty
yards down. The lid was pushed up and she could see two yellow eyes
staring at them. The thing that unnerved her was that there was two
feet between the eyes. 'My god, just how large is the damned thing?' 

She ran to catch up with the others, but she kept her eyes on the pump
until it was out of sight. 

<><><><><><><> 

Mike made it to Neibolt Street and sped up. He couldn't understand
what the hell was going on. Yes, Henry and the others hated him. Yes,
they had on occasion taken a few swings at him. But usually by now
they would've given up the chase. It was like something was driving
them to catch him. 

He flew towards the ten-foot-tall metal fence blocking off the coal
pits, and threw the album on the ground so that it slid under the
fence. He leaped up as high as he could and began to climb up. He
gripped the thick metal pole at the top, and rolled over it, landing on
his feet on the other side. He gritted his teeth against the sharp
aching in his ankles and grabbed his book, taking off in a slow sprint.
It was all his tired body was capable of. 

He missed the slope into the deep pit, and found himself in a painful
roll. The coal darkened his skin and clothes, scraping at his exposed
skin. He struggled onto his knees and looked up at the other side, the
way he needed to go. 

Six shadows were standing there, side by side, facing Henry and his
friends as they slid down into the pit after him. 

"Help me... Please..." He scrambled up the side, too weak to scream as
someone grabbed his hand and hauled him up. 

Bev smiled kindly at him. "Get behind us." 

Stan grabbed his other arm and helped him the rest of the way up. 
Together they all turned back to face Bowers and the others at the
bottom of the pit. 

Henry glared up at them coldly. "We're only after the nigger. You
stay out of this, and we'll let you walk away. At least for today." 

His groupies laughed, as Vic spoke up. "Yeah, we want to see how a
nigger dances with a couple Black Cats in his shoes." 

Bill stepped protectively in front of Mike. "N-n-no. T-t-there are
s-s-six o-of us a-a-and o-o-only f-f-five o-o-of y-y-you." 

Mike threw his album a few feet away, where it'd be out of the way. 
"Seven." 

Everyone looked at him solemnly, feeling complete all of a sudden. 
Willow smiled darkly at Henry. "If you walk away now, then maybe we
won't have to put you in the hospital." 

Henry racked his eyes over her body and snorted. "Damn, bitch, why'd
you cut your hair? It was sexier long." 

Willow laughed. "Exactly, pig fucker." She pulled her arm back and
bulleted the large chunk of rock, hitting Henry in the left shoulder,
sending him reeling back a few steps. Beside her, Richie let out a
loud sow's squeal, letting lose his own rock. 

In seconds the two groups were in an all-out rock fight. Rocks hit the
seven in their arms, legs, knees, and shoulders, but they didn't
notice, too intent on a battle. It didn't feel like they were fighting
a town bully, but like they were battling the Glamour. 

Willow's daze was broken by the tear-filled cry of pain from Beverly,
and she stormed silently in a blinding rage at the fist-sized rock that
hit Bev in the arm, drawing a long thick line of blood, dripping down
her arm to the gravel. 

She spun around letting lose a bellow, freezing everyone mid-throw. 
Without regard to her own safety, she charged down the slope towards
Henry like a ticked-off defensive linebacker, ignoring the numerous
rocks being thrown directly at her. They bounced off, unnoticed, as
she leaped two feet from Henry, tackling him around the waist to the
gravel floor. 

The painful whimper that escaped his lips as the coal and gravel dug
into his back reinforced her rage, and soon she was on him, punching
him in the face over and over again. She felt hands on her arms trying
to pull her off, but she struck out, sending the grabbers falling back
out of range, only to go back to hitting a now bruised, bloody Henry. 
Her fist connected with his nose in a sickening crack that caused a
joyful voice in her head to celebrate. 

She felt punches connecting with her chest and face, but was too
engulfed to notice. She saw the swings Henry threw in futile hope, but
she knew nothing else. Blood ran down her face, dripping onto him; dim
thoughts recognized it as her own, but she didn't care. He'd messed
with Bev, and he was going to pay. 

"Willow...!" 

Oz clamped a hand on her elbow, stopping her mid-punch. "Hey, it's
over. We won." 

Willow blinked up at him, her rage still demanding justice. Bev
kneeled down beside her and smiled, giving her a quick peek on the
cheek. "Thank you." 

The rage melted away, and she allowed Bev and Oz to lift her off the
badly beaten Henry. She laughed through the tears now running down her
cheek. Scrawny little Willow had done that without any help. 

"Come on, let's go." Bev gently led her away from the scene, with Oz
strutting protectively on her other side. 

"It's a good thing you got to him before me," he declared loudly. "I
would've killed the son of a bitch." Everyone giggled as he weakly
punched his left hand and shook his right out in pain. "Okay, so I
would've noogied him to death. You go with what works." 

Willow leaned onto them, feeling the pain she was in. It was more than
the beating and pelting she'd taken, it was the recognition that Mike's
addition to their little group meant that matters were drawing to a
head.

She'd mentioned that the boy from the Navajo tribe had six others with
him, but hadn't really stated that seven was the required number for
such rituals. For a while, the fact that the Losers' Club had only six
members had been a comfort to her, as it meant they didn't have to go
through the ritual just yet.

But this was it, all of them were here, which meant time was running
out. 

<><><><><><><> 





" I signed the release waiver, 
so feel free to put things in my slot anytime."

- Charles Angels.

Odo: Madam Ambassodor, I'm not like you.
Every sixteen hours I revert to a liqiud.

Lwaxana Troi: I can swim.

- DS9: The Forsaken.

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