Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

And when it awoke once more, fifty years had passed.

Derry was still the same — that quiet, peaceful town, forever under its insidious influence. The few buildings and houses remained, standing as they always had, untouched by the relentless march of time. The streets seemed frozen, as if the town itself had been spared from aging. Even the sewers, where its darkest secrets lay hidden, remained undisturbed. Yet, despite the stillness, its trophies had long since disappeared, rotted into nothingness, leaving behind only faint echoes of their existence. The town may have stood still, but the air was thick with something ancient, something waiting.

It sniffed the air outside the entrance to the sewer. The faint tang of decaying leaves mixed with the crisp bite of approaching frost. Winter was coming—an icy predator in its own right, creeping closer with each passing moment.

Pennywise didn’t mind the cold; his true form could withstand far worse than a little frost. But winter meant scarcity. Fewer wandering little snacks. Fewer giggling, carefree children to coax into the dark. Scarcity of food, scarcity of movement, scarcity of fear—his lifeblood.

He sniffed again, his sharp senses picking up the faint aroma of human sweat mingled with something sweet—candy, perhaps? Or the sticky scent of childhood innocence. He grinned, his lips curling over jagged teeth that glinted like knives in the dim light of the sewer entrance. Those tender, succulent little morsels.

The clown’s head tilted unnaturally, his yellow eyes narrowing. Winter would drive them into their homes. It always did. Those cautious parents, so intent on locking their doors and sealing their windows, would gather their children close. They thought they were safe, hiding behind walls and blankets, but Pennywise knew better. No barrier was strong enough to keep him out if he really wanted in.

Still, hunting would be harder. Children would stay inside, far from the dark alleys and storm drains where he lurked. No games of hide and seek, no schoolyards buzzing with chatter, no sweet laughter echoing in the streets. No curiosity leading a child too close to his lair. Winter turned his hunting grounds into barren wastelands, and he hated it.

He crouched low, his bright red pompom shoes scraping faintly against the damp stone. The sewer echoed with the faint sound of his breathing, uneven and deliberate, as though he were savoring the taste of the hunt to come.

There was no time to waste. The air already carried the promise of frost, and the meat snacks—the children—would soon be scurrying back to their warm dens, oblivious to the predator stalking them from the shadows.

“Time to play,” he whispered, his voice soft and sing-song, yet filled with malice. His grin widened, too far for a human face, as his yellow eyes glowed faintly in the gloom. Pennywise moved forward, his movements both predatory and disturbingly playful, like a marionette controlled by some malevolent hand.

Winter could wait. The hunt could not.

It hurried out of the sewers, driven by the primal need to feed. The town lay beyond the forest—a rich hunting ground filled with warm, unsuspecting prey. But as it moved through the forest’s shadowy expanse, its progress was abruptly halted.

SNAP.

A massive bear trap, hidden beneath a carpet of wilted leaves, clamped down on its legs. The sharp, metallic teeth bit deep, and Pennywise let out a guttural snarl that echoed through the trees. The forest came alive with the sound, a chorus of horrible snarls and inhuman howls that sent shivers down the spines of those living near its edge.

The residents of Derry, already wary of the woods, quickly retreated into their homes. Doors were slammed shut, bolts slid into place, and curtains were drawn tight. Whatever was out there, they wanted no part of it.

Pennywise struggled against the trap, his jagged teeth bared in fury. He pulled at his legs, trying to wrench himself free, but the steel held firm. Blood oozed from the deep gashes, soaking into the fabric of his once-dapper gray suit and pooling on the forest floor. The acrid scent of iron mingled with the forest's musky aroma, creating a grotesque perfume that hung heavy in the cold air.

For hours, then days, it fought. It snarled, it tugged, it bit at the unyielding metal, but to no avail. Its strength had not fully returned—not yet. The long slumber had left it weakened, a shadow of its usual self. It was a humiliating state for an entity like Pennywise, a predator reduced to prey.

By the end of the first week, the forest had grown quieter. Its snarls no longer echoed as often, and the once-lively predator seemed to waver. Blood continued to seep from its wounds, staining the ground beneath it a deep crimson.

On the second week, as Pennywise lay in the trap, exhausted and drained, a single snowflake drifted from the gray sky. It landed in the eldritch creature’s upturned palm, melting instantly on contact with its unnatural skin. More snowflakes followed, swirling through the forest in a silent, delicate dance.

Winter had arrived in full force, blanketing the land in pristine white. The once-dark forest was now a ghostly landscape, its treetops and ground alike covered in a shroud of snow. Everything was quiet, serene, and untouched—everything except one spot.

Around the trap, the snow was stained red. The pure white landscape was marred by a deep, vivid crimson, a stark contrast to the peaceful beauty of the winter scene. Pennywise’s blood continued to seep, an unrelenting reminder of its predicament.

Its yellow eyes glared at the snow-covered world around it. The once-proud predator, reduced to a caged beast, felt a surge of fury. It was not over. Not yet. It would endure, as it always had. The town of Derry would not escape its grasp—not even winter could stop that.

But for now, the clown waited. Snarling, watching, and plotting beneath the snow-dusted trees, it bided its time, its blood painting the winter white red.

It watches as the first snow lands on its palm.

Eleven days had passed. The trap still held firm, and Pennywise was now a shadow of his usual self. Hunger gnawed at his insides like a feral animal, and his strength,  was now but a flicker. His mangled legs—twisted, torn, and raw—bled sluggishly onto the snow, the crimson stains spreading like an ominous bloom across the stark white ground.

the madness of starvation whispered dark ideas into his mind. His gaze flicked to his own flesh, pale and stretched over unnatural bones. The thought took root: if the trap could not be broken, perhaps he could break himself free. Teeth as sharp as his could sever even his own limbs.

He leaned forward, lips curling back to bare his jagged teeth, saliva dripping from his mouth in thin, hungry strands. But just as he was about to sink his teeth into his own flesh, a sound pierced the stillness.

Crunch.

The crisp, deliberate sound of footsteps on untouched snow.

Pennywise froze. His head tilted unnaturally to one side, his glowing yellow eyes narrowing with renewed hunger and intrigue. A snack. A delicious, tender little snack.

Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin as he suppressed a delighted snarl. He knew his current state. He couldn’t hunt, couldn’t chase. He was weak, pinned, and pitiful. Yet he could still deceive.

A wicked idea formed, and with a grotesque cracking of bones and muscles, Pennywise began to shift. His monstrous form melted away, and in its place emerged a frail human figure—a young man with sunken cheeks, a pale complexion, and bloodied clothing. He let himself collapse into the snow, his body sprawled and trembling, eyes half-lidded as if on the verge of death.

...snap.

The footsteps were closer now. The snack was here.

Inside his mind, he grinned, though his human face remained pitiful and weak. The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of fear, coursed through him like a lifeline. His body might have been broken, but his will was unyielding.

Ahh… huehuehue… the snack is HERE~

The thought echoed in his mind as the footsteps approached, slow and hesitant. He remained perfectly still, feigning vulnerability. His glowing eyes dimmed, replaced by the watery, pleading gaze of a dying man.

This was his game now. A predator disguised as prey, lying in wait for the fool who dared to step too close to the maw of the eldritch.

Pennywise groaned, playing the part of the helpless victim as he tilted his head toward the human who had stumbled across him. His yellow eyes, dimmed to a more human shade , flickered to focus on her—a female.

He groaned and deceivingly move it's head towards the human... A female one.

"Oh my god! Of all things to find! A dead body??" Her voice was loud, exasperated, as though she’d discovered a mess someone else left behind.

He stilled, keeping up the charade, waiting for the moment fear would creep in. Any moment now.

She frowned, tilting her head, then crouched down, poking his side with an unceremonious finger. "Oh… So… you’re still alive," she muttered, her tone dripping with dry sarcasm.

Her eyes drifted downward, finally taking in the gruesome sight of the massive bear trap clamped around the man’s legs. The serrated steel teeth had dug deep into his calves, mangling the flesh and leaving jagged wounds that oozed blood. The crimson streaks on the snow had begun to freeze in the biting cold, painting the scene even more grotesque.

Her breath hitched. Panic crept into her chest as she crouched beside him, hovering uncertainly. "H-Hey, are you conscious? Can you hear me? Come on!" Her voice quivered as she lightly tapped his cheek, trying to rouse him.

After a few desperate taps, the man groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering open.

And for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

His eyes—beautiful, striking baby blue with streaks of light green—met hers. She blinked, momentarily entranced by the unexpected beauty of them. They seemed too vivid, too alive for someone in his condition.

His eyes are beautiful... she thought absently, her panic temporarily dulled by the odd observation

.

But reality came crashing back like a slap to the face. Shaking her head, she refocused, swallowing hard as she tried to calm herself. "What happened to you? Can you feel your legs?" she asked, her voice still trembling.

The man complained , his expression calm as he rasped, "I can’t feel anything below my knees."

His hoarse tone sent another wave of unease through her. She bit her lip. She had already suspected as much—the sight of his legs twisted in the bear trap had left little room for hope—but hearing it from him made it feel worse.

She glanced at his legs again, grimacing as her mind raced. The blood loss alone was concerning, but if the cold didn’t kill him, infection certainly could. And there was no way she could move him in this state.

Okay, think, think! What do I have?

She fumbled for her backpack, yanking it open and rifling through its contents. It wasn’t much, just the essentials for her winter outing: canned goods, coffee granules, sugar packets, matches, a small camping lamp, a liter of gasoline, compressed blankets, heat packs, a basic first aid kit, a cutter, and heat insulation foils.

She paused for a second, staring at the eclectic assortment. Most people might wonder why anyone would carry such things in the first place, but that wasn’t important right now. Explanations could come later—if they both survived this.

For now, she had a bleeding man and a ticking clock.

Snatching the first aid kit and heat insulation foils, she quickly set to work. "Alright, listen," she said firmly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m going to help you. I’m not a doctor or anything, but I’ve got basic first aid training. You’re not going to die here, okay?"

The man didn’t respond, only groaning faintly as he stared up at her. His face was pale, his lips slightly blue—a sign that the cold was already getting to him.

She tore open the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and antiseptic. Glancing at his face, she hesitated before continuing. "This might hurt," she warned, though she doubted he’d feel much in his current state.

And so, ignoring the biting cold and the strange unease that lingered in the pit of her stomach, she worked quickly, her hands shaking but determined.

She paused as she worked, finally registering the man’s state of dress—or rather, lack thereof. His thin, torn suit looked utterly inadequate for the winter chill.

Her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Why are you dressed like this?? Oh my gosh, your skin's so cold!" Without thinking, she cupped his face, the icy temperature of his skin sending a chill through her fingers.

His unnaturally cold flesh felt wrong—like something that shouldn’t belong in the world of the living. But instead of recoiling, she frowned with concern, her warmth seeping into his skin.

"This won’t do," she muttered, reaching back into her bag. She retrieved a scarf and heat packs, quickly activating the packs before wrapping the scarf snugly around his neck and over his head. "You’re lucky I came prepared."

She glanced down at his legs again, the bear trap biting cruelly into his mangled calves. A sigh escaped her lips, heavy with frustration and worry. She clenched her hands into fists to stop them from trembling.

"Listen to me, sir," she began, meeting his pale, hauntingly beautiful eyes with a firm gaze. "I don’t have the tools to break you free here. The hospitals are too far, and there’s no signal in this forest, unfortunately."

Pennywise said nothing, but his thoughts churned.

…Is this lowly creature going to leave me behind?

A low growl nearly escaped his throat, but it died as the woman suddenly grabbed his shoulders, her touch startling him out of his building frustration. Her expression was resolute, her voice steady despite the nervous undertone.

"But! The cabin I’m staying at has tools—everything we’ll need to get you out of this. I’m sure of it. I’ll have to leave you here for a few hours to retrieve them, but I’ll set up a camp first to make sure you’re warm and safe. I promise I’ll come back for you, okay?"

Her earnest tone surprised him. For a moment, Pennywise considered the strange warmth behind her words. She believed her words. How naive, how foolish—how delightfully amusing.

Still, he played his part. His face contorted into an expression of fear and vulnerability, his voice soft and weak. "Are you… leaving me?"

He sneered inwardly, his eldritch mind marveling at how easily this creature had taken the bait.

She shook her head with a reassuring smile. "I’ll be back before you know it," she said, her tone gentle but firm. Without hesitation, she began setting up a fire pit nearby.

Pennywise watched with eerie stillness as she worked, gathering dry wood from the surrounding forest. She stacked it carefully, ensuring the fire wouldn’t spread to the surrounding trees. He could smell the human warmth radiating from her body, mingling with the faint aroma of the burning wood.

As she crouched to ignite the flames, he stared at her, calculating. She was an odd one. Most would have run screaming or left him for dead by now. Yet here she was, fussing over him like a caretaker. It was amusing. It was intriguing.

And most importantly, it was an opportunity.

His lips curled ever so slightly, just enough to show the faintest trace of sharp teeth before he quickly concealed them. This will be fun, he thought, letting the firelight dance across his pale, deceivingly human features. Very fun.

She had already wrapped him tightly in the heat insulation foil earlier, but now she added a thick, compressed blanket on top for extra warmth. Instead of letting him lie on the freezing ground, she spread another blanket underneath and gently helped him sit up. He groaned faintly as she maneuvered him, though she noted he managed to stay upright with minimal effort. At least he wasn’t completely helpless—yet.

"I’ll leave this with you," she said, holding out a wooden bead bracelet.

The man—or whatever he truly was—stared at the simple object, his pale hand hovering over it but not touching. "…What is this?" he rasped, his voice laced with genuine curiosity masking inward disdain. This abomination? he thought, his eldritch mind recoiling at the object’s ordinary and human nature.

She smiled warmly, her tone softening. "It was my grandmother’s last creation before she passed away. I cherish it dearly, so giving it to you means I’ll definitely come back. It’s my way of showing you that you don’t have to worry about being abandoned."

For a moment, the creature behind the human façade faltered. The sentimentality confused and amused him in equal measure. Why would anyone willingly part with something so precious for a complete stranger?

Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind: "In order to convince or assure someone, you must give them a reason to believe you." The advice had seemed strange at the time, but now it felt like the most natural thing to do.

Pennywise’s lips curled ever so slightly, though his expression remained outwardly sweet and trusting. "…A hostage," he mused inwardly, relishing the irony of the situation.

"…You can think of it that way if you want," she replied, misinterpreting his expression.

She reached into her pack again and pulled out a whistle. It was small, metallic, and peculiar in design. "If you hear a howl or anything strange while I’m gone, blow on this. It’ll make a sound so shrill that even the sharpest-eared predators will hate it. Dogs, wolves, even some birds. Trust me—it works." She placed the whistle in his hand, her fingers brushing his icy skin again.

Pennywise gazed at the whistle, calculating. Such a device might actually pose a nuisance to him, but the woman’s insistence was endearing in its foolishness.

He glanced up at her, his baby-blue eyes gleaming faintly in the firelight. "…Come back immediately, then," he said, his voice tinged with an innocent sweetness.

He smiled at her—a disarmingly pure smile, the kind that might melt anyone’s heart.

The woman hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly under his intense gaze. "I will," she said firmly, standing up and dusting off her coat. She turned to tend to the fire one last time, ensuring it wouldn’t spread while she was away.

As she moved about, Pennywise’s smile lingered, but the glint in his eyes grew darker. The bracelet on his wrist felt foreign, almost offensive in its simplicity. But it was a tool now—a tether.

"Oh, I’ll make this interesting," he thought, hiding his true nature behind the mask of a helpless victim. "Let’s see how far this little game can go."

Pennywise watched as the silhouette of the woman vanished into the woods, her figure swallowed by the snowy forest. He stayed still for a moment longer, his façade of helplessness crumbling as soon as she was out of sight.

A slow, malevolent grin stretched across his face, and he finally stopped restraining himself. Thick, viscous drool dripped from his mouth, pooling near his mangled legs. The hunger gnawing at him roared louder, demanding satisfaction.

Oh, how he craved her. How he longed to rip into her flesh, to taste her terror as it marinated with her screams. Holding himself back from devouring her the moment she approached had tested every ounce of his patience. But the payoff... oh, the payoff would be glorious.

Pennywise licked his lips, his jagged teeth briefly flashing in the dim firelight. He glanced at the bear trap still clamped around his legs, growling softly.

"Lucky for her," he muttered to himself, his voice thick with mock gratitude. "She showed up before I had to resort to... drastic measures."

Indeed, he’d been on the verge of severing his own limbs to escape the infernal trap. Though he had no doubt he could regenerate them in time, the effort would have drained him further, leaving him vulnerable and weak. No, her arrival had been most fortuitous—a delightful twist of fate.

Pennywise’s grin widened, his mind already plotting. He couldn’t kill her yet, of course. Not until she served her purpose. But after? Oh, after he was free...

The clown chuckled, his laughter low and guttural at first, growing into a gleeful crescendo that echoed through the forest. His fingers twitched as he imagined her fear, her despair, the sweet music of her cries as he tore her apart.

"I cannot kill this woman... yet," he murmured, his voice dripping with anticipation. "But soon... very soon..."

With a grotesque wet sound, his form shifted. The pale, injured human man melted away, replaced by his most favored disguise: Pennywise, the Dancing Clown.

He smoothed down his dirty, bloodstained suit, the oversized buttons glinting faintly in the firelight. His head tilted unnaturally as his painted lips curved into an exaggerated smile.

"Huehuehuehue," he chuckled softly, the sound a sickening mix of mirth and malice.

For now, he would wait. But his hunger—his hunger was insatiable. And when the time came, the feast would be worth every agonizing moment of restraint.

The fire crackled beside him, casting flickering shadows across the snow. Pennywise stared into the flames, his otherworldly eyes glowing faintly.

The game had begun.

Shane's POV

Ah, shit. What a really shitty day.

First, I got chased by a small, snarling baby grizzly bear. Cute, right? Wrong. It was adorable for all of three seconds until the little terror decided to chase me, crying loud enough to summon Mama Bear. A meeting I’d really rather not attend. I’m not looking forward to being greeted with claws coated in my own blood, thanks. I was just trying to stock up my supplies at a cabin I found near the road. You know, a safe, cozy hideout to wait out the snowstorm. Clearly, life had other plans.

Second, I found a dead body. At least, I thought it was dead. My first reaction? “Oh, shit, jail.” Me and jail, getting real cozy in my mental breakdown. My brain instantly jumped to the worst-case scenario: I’m at the scene of a crime, no witnesses to back me up, and I’ve been bleeding from scratching my feet on branches like some lost woodland idiot. Leave it to my overthinking to immediately sentence me to life behind bars.

But then...

Oh, thank God, he’s alive!

And wow—those eyes. Baby blue with a hint of green, like they were handcrafted by some divine artist who thought, “Yeah, let’s make every woman within a five-mile radius swoon.” Even in his pathetic, half-dead state, the man looks like a tragic prince from some overly dramatic fairytale.

'Damn,' I thought.

But then reality snapped back into place.

Shit. That’s a nasty wound.

Both his legs were mangled beyond belief, and the bear trap wasn’t helping. Blood had soaked through his gray suit and was starting to freeze in the snow. It was like something out of a horror movie, only this time, I’m the idiot protagonist who decided not to run.

What’s worse? This guy was too calm. Like, eerily calm. Most people would be screaming bloody murder, but no, this dude just lay there, blinking at me like he had all the time in the world.

'You can’t feel your legs, huh?' I’d love to ask him, like really ask him that.

 Dude, you’ve got a bear trap gnawing on your calves, and you sound like you just missed the bus.

Anyway, after the initial panic (and me thinking of every crime drama ever), I did what any responsible adult would do: I wrapped him up like a poorly made burrito, handed him a bracelet that could double as a hostage negotiation tool, and promised I’d come back with help.

But let me tell you, even as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the weird feeling that something was off about this guy. I mean, who wears a simple suit in the middle of the forest? Who’s this calm while their legs look like chewed-up meatloaf?

Oh well. At least he’s not dead. Yet.

....

Okay, let’s recap. First, I had to sprint for nearly fifteen minutes with a ridiculous backpack and two huge poles—iron poles, mind you—dragging behind me like some kind of poor man’s circus act. If I’d been any less stubborn, I’d have ditched that crap on the way. But I’d been through enough weird shit today, and I wasn’t about to leave anything behind when the guy might need it.

I had to dig around the damn storage cabin until I found what I needed: a lever and chain cutter, rope, leather straps, and those ridiculously heavy poles. But hey, at least I wasn’t going to come back empty-handed.

So now, after all that chaos, here I am again, back at the scene of the crime, trailing behind me the mess of equipment I’d scavenged. And, you know, the blood I left behind earlier from a rabbit I’d found. Honestly, I’m impressed that my own survival instincts managed to kick in at least a little. Those rabbit markings would lead me back. Plus, they’d help the poor guy, too... well, if he didn’t get his ass eaten by a bear trap first.

I could hardly breathe by the time I reached him, my arms aching with the weight of it all, but at least I was back. I took a deep breath and started laying out the tools. The first thing I did was shove a handkerchief in the guy’s mouth.

"Hey, I'm back. Sit still and bite down on this, will you?" I said, voice a little more sharp than I meant.

"Okay, I’m gonna make it swift, alright?" I said, squatting down beside him. "When I say ‘three’, hold your breath. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch."

I looked at him seriously, trying to ignore the way his piercing blue eyes kept staring at me. I couldn’t tell if he was grateful or plotting some weird, twisted revenge. Maybe both.

"One..."

The wind picked up a little, the cold biting at my skin, but I could barely feel it. I focused entirely on the task at hand.

"Three!" I shouted.

And then... snap.

The cutter went straight through the wire, severing it from the trap.

His gaze locked onto me with a venomous glare, as if I had somehow insulted his pride. And that’s when I realized—he was waiting for the second count.

“Where’s the ‘two’??” His silent, seething thoughts echoed in my mind. I swear he was about to roast me alive, but hey, I didn’t have time for that drama right now.

Pennywise (in his Robert Gray form)

The wire snapped, the trap loosened, and yet I stayed still, watching her with a careful eye. The pain in my legs still flared, but I had learned to endure much worse. I didn’t let on how much it hurt. It was irrelevant. This was a game, a test of wills, and I was going to savor every second of it.

She immediately got to work, her hands steady despite the frantic energy that buzzed under the surface. First aid, bandages, disinfectant—she moved with precision. She was resourceful, a little too resourceful for her own good. She didn’t flinch, not once, even as she carefully cleaned the mess I’d made of my legs.

stayed quiet for a while, letting her do her thing, and watched her. There was something... intriguing about the way she moved. Her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a determined line, but there was a little something in her eyes—something I hadn’t expected to see in someone so normal.

She wasn’t scared.

Oh, she was cautious—wise—but not scared. Not like the others.

Something told me she wasn’t one to be easily fooled.

When she spoke again, it was almost like she was trying to fill the silence, trying to bridge the gap between us with words.

“The name’s Shane. Yours?” She asked, looking up from my legs for a brief second. Her voice was calm, despite everything. She wasn’t trembling. Not even a little.

For a fleeting moment, I considered answering in a tone that would send her running. Maybe a taunt, a chuckle, to let her know that she had no idea what she was dealing with. But something stopped me.

I let my lips curl into a smile, a smile so serene that it was almost disarming. Robert Gray was a name I’d adopted a long time ago, far before this pitiful, wounded human had stumbled upon me. A normal name, a mask. But she deserved at least that much, didn’t she?

“What a pretty name you have, my lady,” I said, my voice warm, smooth. It was an effort to sound as human as possible, even though every cell in my body screamed to break free from this pretense. “Robert Gray.”

I watched her work in silence for a moment longer, my gaze unwavering. She was focused, stitching my calves with careful precision, her eyes flicking between the wounds, her lips set in concentration.

I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. A simple human, who thought she could help me.

And as I stared at her, I wondered: Was this kindness... a mistake on her part? Or would it be the one thing that truly saved her from what I had become?

I wasn’t sure if it was because she truly believed I was no threat, or if she was simply pretending, but either way, it was a game now. I was curious—curious to see how long this bravery of hers would last. Would it hold, or would the truth of what I was drive her into madness?

"Mr. Gray, does anything hurt at all?" Shane asked, her voice calm and steady as she finished wrapping the bandages around his mangled legs.

Her words pulled him from the haze of his thoughts. His mind had wandered to darker places, thoughts swirling like a whirlpool of hunger and amusement. Innocence—it was the sweetest delicacy, especially when served fresh from the source. Children’s fear, pure and untainted by life’s cruelties... delicious. It had been so long since he’d had that taste.

That little boy, what was his name again? Ah, yes... Georgie. That precious, terrified little soul. How he screamed. How he ran. Fear was food for the likes of him. The flesh of the innocent, trembling with fear, was like a banquet.

The memory of it caused his lips to twitch. His mouth watered, salivating, as he let his thoughts drift again. He could almost taste it. Georgie—so sweet, so full of terror. That was the best part. No barriers, no jaded experiences. Just pure, untainted terror.

His drool threatened to spill, but he clamped his jaw shut just in time.

Then, Shane spoke again, and the harsh tug of the bandage drew his focus back to her. "Mr. Gray, does anything hurt at all?"

Hurt? Oh, he wasn’t so sure anymore. His body was in pain, yes, but it wasn’t the kind of pain that mattered. His legs had been shredded and mangled, yet he felt nothing in the way he usually did. Being in this form... this mortal form, bound by the rules of human physiology, did restrict him.

“No, my feet feel numb because of the cold...” He grinned, flashing his teeth at her, every word uttered with a knowing, predatory edge. “… Shane.”

It felt strange saying her name—tasting it in his mouth like an appetizer before the main course. He let it linger, savoring the sound of it. Her name. Her soul. How long would she remain so… unaware?

The bandage tightened again, and with it, a sharp pain shot through his spine.

It burned.

Being in this human form had its limitations. It had its rules, and he hated it. Hated being bound to the fragility of flesh. The pain that normally would have been negligible, even laughable, had now become a bitter, irritating reality.

“Ahh...” He forced a grin, hiding the discomfort, but the pain burned. It was unlike anything he was used to. The sensation of being trapped, restricted. The pain was real, gnawing at him, pulling him closer to the edge of his true self, where his strength roared. But not yet. Not yet.

“Does it... hurt now?” Shane asked again, clearly uncertain but still focused on her task.

He let the smile remain. A fake, empty thing that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not at all,” he lied smoothly. “The numbness is... fine. It’s not enough to be bothersome.” He paused and met her gaze, his grin widening into something almost playful.

Inside, he was growing impatient. The charade was fun, but his mind was already racing ahead to darker thoughts. So much time had been wasted already. He could feel the hunger gnawing at the pit of his stomach, could feel the yearning for that sweet, innocent terror welling up again.

But for now, he had to wait. The game wasn’t over yet.

“I do enjoy the... preparation.”

Chapter Text

...The fuck?

Shane mentally raised a brow at Robert’s reply. Then, with a mental shrug, she moved on, gathering the materials she’d brought to piece together a DIY stretcher. Someone had to drag this Robert guy out of the forest before the snowstorm decided to go full apocalypse mode.  

.... 

Shane went to work, gathering the poles, a yard of an old leather coat, and ropes she’d managed to scavenge earlier. With the precision of someone who had watched one too many survival documentaries—and the flair of someone who absolutely did not care how pretty it looked—she crafted a DIY stretcher. Functional, sturdy, and hopefully capable of dragging Robert’s sorry carcass out of the forest while sparing his legs from further trauma. Honestly, not bad for someone working under a looming snowstorm.  

After what felt like an eternity of awkward maneuvering and a lot of muttered curses, she managed to hoist him onto the stretcher.

All the while, she took care not to undo the painstaking stitch job she’d performed on his wounds. The whole scene felt like some twisted wilderness triage, but hey, at least they were moving. With Robert secured, Shane took a deep breath, tightened her grip on the makeshift contraption, and set off through the forest.

Snow swirled ominously in the distance, a chilling reminder that time wasn’t on their side.  

...

Weird… This is definitely weird.

That massive trap should’ve snapped his legs clean in half, right? If it had been me, I’d be hobbling around with two twig-like stumps, bleeding out like a second-rate horror movie extra.  

But Robert? His legs are... fine? Sure, there’s muscle damage—yeah, lots of that—but beyond that? Nada. His skin’s torn up, sure, but the bones? Perfectly intact. He can even flex his toes on both feet like he’s showing off. No nerve damage, no shredded ligaments. Everything’s functioning as if he hadn’t just tangoed with a bear trap.  

How in the hell is that possible? From the way his wounds looked, I’d pegged his odds of walking normally at a generous 30%, with a solid 70% chance of him never using his legs again. But now? It’s like his body didn’t get the memo that it was supposed to be broken.  

...

So… he must be really lucky then.

Still, something about all this feels… weird. Off.  

Like his clothes, for starters.

Who in their right mind wears a formal suit in the middle of a forest  while snowing ?

Seriously, what was the plan? A business meeting with a bear? Shouldn’t he have been bundled up in something, you know, practical?  A winter coat? Jacket? Boots? Anything that screams, “I’m prepared not to freeze to death”? Nope, not Robert. He might as well have been strolling through the snow in a tank top and flip-flops for all the sense it made.  

I brushed it off earlier—emergencies don’t exactly leave room for fashion critiques—but now that we’re past the immediate life-or-death crisis, I can’t help but wonder. Maybe I’ll ask him about it later at the cabin, assuming he’s awake enough to explain.  

And speaking of crises, if the signal ever decides to grace us with its presence, I’ll need to call for emergency help. Can’t risk this Robert guy ending up with tetanus or something equally dramatic. Hopefully, the universe cuts us a break on that one too.  

...

As Shane dragged Robert’s ass through the forest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. It was unnervingly silent. The kind of silence that just *felt* wrong. Sure, it was snowing, and the trees were barren, except for those massive pine trees that seemed to stand like silent sentinels, weighed down by snow. It’s normal for the forest to be quiet in the winter, right? The usual rustling of leaves and distant animal sounds fading into nothing, replaced by the soft whisper of falling snow. But this? This wasn’t normal.  

This was the kind of silence that clung to your skin, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and left a knot in your gut. It was as if everything had gone still, holding its breath. There wasn’t a single rustle in the branches, no distant calls from birds, no scampering creatures in the snow. Just the eerie hush of nothingness.  

All she could hear was the crunch of her boots pressing into the fresh, untouched snow beneath her feet, each step like a sharp reminder that she was completely alone out here. Every once in a while, Robert’s stretcher creaked under his weight, but that was it. No birds. No wind. No signs of life.  

It felt wrong. And for once, Shane had a sinking feeling that something wasn’t just off with Robert or his ridiculous outfit—it was the whole damn situation. Like the forest itself was waiting for something. Something she’d rather not stick around to find out.  

Shane’s gut twisted as the bad feeling about their situation settled deeper. This silence—it wasn’t normal. Her mind flashed back to a survival anecdote she’d read about an explorer’s experience in the wild. Silence like this, the kind that made the air feel thick and pressing, wasn’t just a quirk of nature. No, it meant one thing:  

"A predator was nearby"

Of course.

Of fucking course.

A predator. What else could it be? Bear? Tiger? Maybe a wolf? Great. Just great. She’d barely managed to haul Robert’s ass through the snow , and now she had to deal with a fucking apex predator. She could already feel the weakness in her bones from the hours spent trudging through the forest, and the thought of outrunning anything larger than a rabbit was laughable.  

But hell, what else could she do?  

With a resigned sigh, she glanced down at Robert, still barely conscious on the stretcher.  

“...Robert?” she called out, her voice steady, but the tension in her chest tightening.  

“Yeah?” His voice was weak, but he sounded like he was still hanging on.  

“We’re going to have to pick up the pace. Sorry.”  it'll definitely hurt like a bitch.

Without waiting for a response, she hauled the stretcher into motion, her muscles screaming from the effort as she started running, dragging Robert along with her.

The snow crunched underfoot, but the sound was distant—faint compared to the pounding of her heart. Robert groaned in discomfort, but to her relief, he didn’t scream in pain. At least he had the decency to keep it together for now.  

Shane’s focus shifted entirely to the path ahead, choosing the easiest route she could find, avoiding any obstacles that might stumble the stretcher and slow them down.

Every creak and groan from Robert was a reminder of how precarious their situation was. She had no idea what was out there, but she couldn’t afford to find out.  

Little did she know that the supposed predator was the one she's dragging all along. 

...

Shane finally spotted the road ahead, a small but welcome sign of civilization. She slowed her pace, giving herself a moment to catch her breath. As she glanced back at Robert, she couldn’t help but notice how calm he was. Too calm. But when her eyes dropped lower, she saw it. Blood was slowly seeping through the bandages she’d wrapped around his leg.  

“...I’ll fix that later...” she muttered under her breath, trying to ignore the gnawing worry that tugged at her. She glanced up, as if hoping that the weirdness of the forest would distract her from it. “Ehem. If you haven’t noticed yet, the forest is unnervingly quiet.”  

Robert’s voice came back, smooth and deceptively casual, like he was asking about the weather. “Is that not normal?”  

Shane shot him a look, her eyes narrowing. There was something about that calmness—something that felt just a bit *too* normal. But she didn’t have time to unpack that.  

“It is. The forest going quiet means there’s a predator around,” she explained, her voice dry as dust. “That’s why I picked up the pace and started hauling your ass out of here. I’m not exactly keen on becoming some animal’s midday snack, especially when I don’t even know which one would kill me first—or you.”  her true train of thoughts seeping out. 

She didn’t trust whatever was lurking in the silence. Not one bit.  

Robert tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but his eyes gleaming with something more than just curiosity. "Ah, I see," he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "A predator, you say? How... fascinating."

He paused for a moment, watching Shane with a strange, knowing smile, as though savoring the conversation.

"But then again, why worry about becoming a snack when we both know that you’re far more... interesting than anything that prowls these woods."

His smile widened ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible glint of mischief flickering in his eyes.

"Perhaps it’s not the animals you should be concerned about, hmm?"

Shane raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with skepticism.

“Aside from your mangled legs… did you hit your head too? You honestly think whatever’s lurking out here will just spare us because it finds you—or me, for that matter—‘fascinating?’' She gave him a pointed look, incredulity lacing her words.  

She paused, then added, her voice taking on a more sarcastic edge, “And what’s this about not worrying about the animals? Don’t tell me… the baby bear from my little ‘encounter’ earlier came back with Mama Bear? Oh, great. Just what I need, a repeat performance of my morning trauma.”  

She exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath, “Sheesh, I really shouldn’t jinx myself like that.”

“Baby bear?” Robert asked, his eyes gleaming with that strange, curious light, like he was actually interested in hearing the story. 

Shane rolled her eyes, then shrugged, as if to say, Why not? “Yeah. Baby bear. I was on my way back to the cabin after trudging a few miles to get some supplies,” she said, casually pointing to the backpack she’d lugged along when she found him earlier.  

“Anyway, there I am, minding my business, and boom—there’s this cute little baby grizzly bear on the side of the road. At first, it’s all adorable and fluffy, like a teddy bear come to life. For all of... three seconds. Then, it started chasing me, wailing like it’s calling for Mama Bear—or maybe Papa Bear—or hell, Uncle Bear, who knows. Honestly, though? I wasn’t that interested in meeting any of them.” She chuckled dryly at the memory.  

“That little menace chased me right into the woods, and when I tried to climb a tree to escape, guess what? It climbs right after me.

Yeah, I didn’t see that coming—turns out baby bears are half monkey . This little thing was climbing like it was born to do it.

And me? I just... well, I panicked, let go of the branch, and fell straight into the snow.” She grinned at the absurdity of it all.

“I hauled my ass through the woods, heart pounding, looking back to see that little fuzzball still following me. But then—out of nowhere—it stops, turns, and bolts in the opposite direction like it suddenly realized its mom probably wasn’t gonna appreciate its hunting skills.” She chuckled again, shaking her head.  

"And then, of course, I found you." She gestured toward Robert, her voice dropping in a mock-solemn tone. “Sprawled out on the snow like some half-dead human popsicle.”  

I’m gonna say it right now.

today?

Today was the most absurd, insane, and downright traumatic day of my entire existence. And trust me, that’s saying something. Sure, it’s got stiff competition—like the time I tried to set one of my classmates on fire.

Yeah, you heard that right. That was purely intentional, in case you were wondering. They were a colossal pain in the ass, and I figured they could use a little lesson in humility. You know, nothing too drastic, just a little singed hair and an unforgettable memory.  

But honestly? That was child’s play compared to what’s happening now. The kind of dumb, muscle-wrenching bullshit I’ve been through today would make that fire incident look like a goddamn vacation. And speaking of muscle, I’m pretty sure I’ve gained more in the last few hours than I ever did during my time in gym class.

Lifting a bunch of idiots, with their half-assed parts in thesis due in a week, pretending like they’re the only ones with problems. Those assholes? They were my dumbbells. The kind you’d never want to touch. The kind that leave you wondering if it’s even worth your time to ever look at them again.  

Oh… sorry. Got a little carried away there. Just thinking about those miserable excuses for human beings makes me want to—well, let’s just say, hug them by the neck. Tightly. Real tight. Again.  

She chuckled dryly, the sound cold and empty, like it didn’t quite belong in the moment. Her eyes gleamed with something that wasn't amusement, but something far darker—a quiet promise of pain, a twisted form of satisfaction she would never voice aloud.  

And her smile? It didn’t reach her eyes. Not even close.  

Chapter Text

Shane decided she’d had enough of the chit-chat and picked up the pace. The snow was getting stronger—not blizzard strong, but definitely “let’s-not-dawdle” strong. It was only about half an hour to the cabin near the road, though dragging a stretcher through snow kind of made it feel like she’d aged a decade.  

As she trudged on, a low grumbling noise caught her attention. Was that... her stomach? Sure, she was hungry, but she wasn’t exactly at dramatic stomach-growl levels yet.  

Wait.  

Oh no... 

Robert. 

When was the last time he’d eaten? A day? A couple of days? A week ? What was the survival time for a person with no food? She pictured him lying on the stretcher, becoming some kind of snow-mummy, defying all logic and hunger while she casually hauled him along. “Good job, Shane,” she muttered under her breath.

'Let’s just drag the guy to death-by-starvation in the middle of the wilderness. Real humanitarian work.'  

"Uhhh… hey," she started awkwardly, glancing at Robert. "Did you, uh… eat yet? Like, you know, had a meal?"  

She paused, immediately cringing at herself. 'Oh, for crying out loud,' she whispered under her breath.

'What kind of stupid question is that? Of course he didn’t eat, Shane. Genius observation' .  

Clearing her throat, she tried again, this time with more effort to sound like she had an actual brain.

"Okay, let me rephrase that. How long were you stuck in there? Alone. Probably starving, right? Days? A week?" She gestured vaguely.

'Or are you secretly some hardcore survivalist I don’t know about?' She secretly thought.

"I don’t really remember…" Robert replied, his voice low and uneven. "All I know is that I’m starving. The pain in my legs? Long gone—numb from the cold."  

His eyes gleamed, though not with the desperation one might expect from someone in his condition. Beneath that surface was something darker, swirling with malice and anger. Anger at the one who set the metal trap, that lowly, pathetic creature. A human.

He would find them. Oh, yes. And when he did, he would shred them apart, savoring their terror until there was nothing left but the crunching of their bones.  

Meanwhile, Shane—completely unaware of the storm brewing behind those eyes—was busy rummaging through her jacket pocket.  

"I think I have a chocolate bar here," she said matter-of-factly, her tone as casual as if she were handing him gum. "Not exactly a feast, but it’ll keep you from collapsing... I guess."  

She snapped the bar in two and, without missing a beat, resumed dragging the stretcher with one hand. Her other hand darted back to offer half to Robert, her gaze fixed ahead on the trail.  

For a moment, she didn’t hear anything, and she glanced back just as Robert’s cold fingers managed to snatch the piece from her hand. She stared at him for a beat, then shrugged and turned forward again.  

"Guess you can move when it counts," she muttered under her breath, resuming her slow trudge through the snow.  

Pennywise Robert's pov . 

“It” hadn’t expected her to ask if he’d eaten.

What a peculiar little question. Pennywise, wearing Robert’s skin like an ill-fitted suit, fought back a grin that threatened to split his face too wide. He would’ve loved to answer honestly—oh yes, he’d been starving for weeks.

The gnawing hunger, the kind that wasn’t just physical, was maddening. And now, dragging him along, this woman—Shane—only made it worse.  

Her scent, her thoughts, her emotions... they were all over the place, chaotic, a cacophony of noise he wanted to sink his teeth into. But not yet. No, not yet.  

He kept his smile faint, just enough to pass as weary relief. He didn’t need to give himself away too soon. Still, the forest betrayed him.

It had gone deathly silent, the kind of silence that made even the smallest creatures hold their breath. No scurrying critters, no rustling leaves—just the sound of her boots crunching through the snow and the faint scrape of the stretcher behind her.  

Shane was the first to notice it. “Weird, isn’t it? So quiet,” she muttered, half to herself, dragging him faster. She stumbled once but didn’t stop. Her mind was a fascinating tangle of thoughts, like a storm he couldn’t quite untangle yet.  

And there it was. That word.  

A predator.

She’d labeled him instinctively, even if she didn’t fully understand why. It thrilled him. Oh, how delightful she was! Not scared. Not desperate. Not weak. No, no, no—this woman’s dominant emotion, the one driving her forward, was something far more hilarious.  

Annoyance.

She was annoyed by their predicament. Not terrified of the eerie silence, not afraid of what might happen next. Just... irritated. And to Pennywise, that was hilarious.  

He could barely contain himself, a guttural chuckle bubbling just beneath the surface.  

Annoyed! he thought gleefully, his fingers twitching against the stretcher. "Oh, she’s a marvel! Most would tremble or weep. But her? She’s bothered!"  

His grin stretched wider for a moment before he caught himself. The woman wasn’t even paying him much attention—too focused on the trail ahead, dragging him like dead weight. She wasn’t afraid, and that only made her more interesting.  

The longer he spent in her company, the more entertaining this got. Her mind was a whirlwind of strange, fleeting thoughts. She wasn’t like the others—no predictable patterns, no simple fears to unravel. She was an enigma wrapped in sarcasm and stubborn determination, and Pennywise wanted to crack her open just to see how she worked.  

" Yes, Shane," he thought, his eyes gleaming with barely restrained hunger.

"Keep dragging me along. The more time I spend with you, the more delightful this gets. And when the time comes... oh, you’ll be the most fun of all."  

Pennywise stared at the strange chocolate bar in his grip, his lip curling in faint disdain.  

No fear. No tantalizing whiff of terror trapped inside this... this thing. How did humans consume this garbage? He rolled it between his fingers, his disgust growing. It had no flavor worth tasting, no scream embedded in its texture.

He recalled the countless children he’d lured with such sweets, their innocent giggles turning to screams, their fear ripening so beautifully. Yet he himself had never tasted these things. Why would he? Anything devoid of fear was utterly revolting—an insult to his palate.  

When she offered it, thrusting that abomination into his hand, it was all he could do not to laugh—or bite. Oh, especially when her pale wrist hovered just inches from his face, close enough that he could almost feel her pulse. The hunger surged, raw and primal, clawing at his restraint.

How he longed to sink his teeth into her flesh, to tear it open, to savor the music of her screams as she realized what he was.  

But he held back. Barely.  

Her audacity was delicious. This woman—this infuriating, fascinating, adorable little creature—had no idea what she was dealing with.

Oh no, instead she trudged ahead, oblivious, muttering sarcastic comments and dragging him like dead weight through the snow. Every moment she spent alive felt like a test of his patience.  

He could kill her now. Right now.  

Rip the mask away and let her know of who he truly was: the predator, the eater of worlds, the embodiment of every nightmare stitched into one grotesque form.  

And yet... he didn’t.  

Not yet.  

She was amusing, after all. Too amusing to end this game so quickly. He wanted to see how far she’d go, how much more she’d tempt him before the scales tipped.

Would she realize what he was? Would she fight? Scream? Or would she, in her ridiculous, infuriating way, somehow defy him even then?  

"It" didn’t know.  

But that was what made it so delicious.  

"This game," he thought with a wide grin that he quickly masked as a grimace of pain,

"I will see it through to the very end. Whether it ends with me devouring her or sparing her because she’s simply too precious to kill... I will savor every moment."  

For now, though, he stared at the chocolate bar again, resisting the urge to fling it into the snow.  

"Humans," he thought with mock disgust. "What wretched little creatures. And yet... she might be the best one I’ve ever met."  

Chapter Text

...

I swear to every god I could name... I'm so damn tired, she thought with petty malice.

I’m reporting those fucking hunters, she fumed. What are they trying to catch? A dinosaur? She gritted her teeth, recalling the monstrous traps set up in the woods.

Hunting in Bangor's forestry is banned. It's protected land. The country itself made that law... But, of course, some idiots think they’re above it.

Her legs trembled with exhaustion, the pain in her muscles screaming for mercy. Yet she couldn’t stop. If she did, the storm would freeze them both in place.  

With a resigned sigh, she pulled out the remaining half of the chocolate bar, hoping it’d give her at least a sliver of energy—and maybe calm the gnawing hunger.  

She tore into it, biting off large chunks, finishing the bar by the fourth bite. A grin spread across her face. Chocolate wasn’t exactly her favorite, but its effect on her was undeniable. One little bar turned her into a hyperactive mess. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up running circles around Robert... if she wasn’t dragging his ass through the snow already.  

Her pace quickened, fueled by the sugar rush, and with renewed energy, she finally managed to drag Robert to the cabin, relief washing over her as she stumbled inside.

...

(Few weeks ago.) 

The first time she stepped inside, it felt like a novel experience. The cabin was simple, yet it somehow fit her. It wasn’t too big or too small—just the right size for someone who wasn’t looking for grandeur. It was a place where she could breathe without feeling suffocated by space.

A quiet sanctuary, tucked away from everything, and that’s exactly what she needed when she's looking for an a apartment in Bangor last month.in which she didn't find there and just settled for renting a cheap ass apartment. 

she didn't expect to find her comfort place in this woods as she was just supposed to pass the upcoming snowstorm. 

She could already picture herself curling up with a book or losing herself in her thoughts—away from all the noise. Where she could focus on her novels and fanfictions. 

A brick chimney rose from the roof, the faintest wisps of smoke escaping through the cracks, hinting at warmth inside. It was the kind of place that felt like it could have been plucked from another era—old, but still elegant, like the kind of home your grandparents would’ve kept if they’d known how to keep a secret.  

Inside, the furnishings were simple but polished, as though someone had carefully selected each piece for comfort over showiness.

 It was comfortable, familiar, like the kind of home where you could curl up with a book or a cup of tea and forget the world outside.  

Shane couldn’t help but think, Well, it’s not a palace, but I could get used to this.

Maybe it was the isolation or maybe it was the fact that she didn’t have to deal with anyone else’s nonsense for a while. Either way, the cabin was a haven for now as the snow storm hovering near. 

What truly caught her eye, though, was the bathroom. Or rather, the sauna inside it. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it.

A sauna, here, in this humble cabin? It seemed out of place, almost too extravagant for a place that is not that large. She could almost hear the old lady's smirk when she'd  offered it to her. "For the right price," she’d said.

And, yes, she'd gotten the cabin for a steal—coal, blankets, canned goods, all included—but the sauna... That’s either a luxury or an elaborate joke, she thought, feeling a mix of amusement and skepticism. Saunas weren’t common in her hometown, far from Bangor, and the thought of having one all to herself made her grin.  

Upstairs, the attic space stretched out in eerie quiet. Not too large , but it had a kind of grandiosity to it.

The floorboards creaked underfoot, and the thick glass window was just big enough to let in a soft glow from the stormy night sky. The kind of window you’d want to sit in front of for hours, watching the stars if the weather allowed it.

She didn't expect to like the cabin enough to consider buying it. She was supposed to use this place to pass the snow storm and yet, this cabin ignite her childhood dream of a hideout. 

That could wait until I can drag myself out of this place, she thought with a small chuckle.

But damn, I might just ask for a longer stay... sauna 

Pennywise sniffed the air, a slight curl of disdain tugging at his lips as the woman dragged herself inside the cabin. He heard her collapse to the floor, her breathing ragged—panting like a wounded animal that had narrowly escaped its predator. Weak little creature, he mused, his lip twitching into the faintest sneer.

The woman remained there for some time, crumpled and gasping, before finally grunting and pulling herself upright. She stumbled toward him, her fingers fumbling as she began to unstrap the contraption she’d so proudly called a stretcher.

Robert’s gaze fixed on her, unblinking, his eyes sharp and calculating despite the faint flicker of amusement playing at their edges. He watched her intently as she worked, her hands trembling slightly when she reached the gauze bandage on his leg. Blood had seeped through, staining the fabric a deep crimson, the scent faintly metallic in the enclosed space.

'Ah, the nurse returns' he drawled, his voice smooth, yet laced with something darker, a subtle edge of mockery.

He leaned his head back against the wall, feigning nonchalance, but his eyes—those piercing, predatory eyes—never left her.

The smile that followed was faint, almost polite, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, there was something cold lurking beneath the surface, something that sent a chill through the air.

As she worked on his wounds, he watched her closely, the faint twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips whenever she winced or hesitated.

“Careful now,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, almost a whisper. “Wouldn’t want to make things worse, would we?”

His tone was gentle, but the way he said it—the deliberate choice of words, the faint glint of teeth in his smile—hinted at something far less benign.

Pennywise’s thoughts wandered as he watched her with cold, detached curiosity. Should he eat her now? The idea had its merits—her terror would be ripe, sweet, the perfect culmination to her frantic struggle. But then again, where was the fun in cutting the game short?

He had existed long before this pathetic little planet had even stirred into being, and he would exist long after it crumbled to dust. Nothing here amused him anymore, not really—not the fleeting lives of its inhabitants, nor the endless cycle of their fear. Destruction, though delicious, had long since become routine. Even razing the creations of his brothers had grown tiresome, their painstakingly crafted worlds obliterated with a flicker of his cosmic will.

But her... she was different. Amusing, in her own insignificant way.

The way she dragged herself forward despite her weakness, her fear simmering just beneath the surface but not quite boiling over—it intrigued him. Such tenacity from a creature so fragile, so breakable.

Yes, he decided with a faint smirk curling his lips. She’ll amuse me a little longer.

For now, he’d play the part. The wounded man, the helpless stranger. Let her believe she had the upper hand. The longer she lingered, the more delightful her terror would become when the truth finally sank its teeth into her.

...

Finally back to this god forsaken lovely cabin. I never thought I would miss this after just a few hours away from here. 

Whines.

Her legs are trembling slightly from cold and exhaustion. She can't bear it anymore that she just sprawled herself on the floor as soon as she and Roberts ass stepped into the living area.  She's glad that the fire on the chimney was still burning and the cabin was as warm as it could get, welcoming her tired ass with warmth. For a moment she got comfortable on the floor completely forgetting Robert's troublesome ass. 

And when she membered him, her closed eyes suddenly opened wide and then she grunts as she sat herself up. She was not paid enough for this really, if she really was gonna get paid for those actually.  She mocked herself. 

She inspected the wounds and finds that the stitches was fine. She'll just have to clean the wound again and disinfect it and rebandage it. 

Well she admitted that her bandaging skills are below average but as long as the bleeding is stopped then all is well that ends well. This Robert punk should be grateful to her. Well , she just don't appreciate her alter ego's sentencing her to life behind bars for many reason like negligence something something.  

Alter ego1: if only ur normal n not a fucking pyromaniac we all inside will be rest fucking assured that someday we'll all be free of you. 

Alter ego2: f*cking main ego. 

Alter ego3: ....mewling quim. 

" still alive Robert? " she pat the zoning out Robert on the shoulder. 

" let me check...*inhale....*exhale... unfortunately, yes. " 

"...good. want some coffee? " 

Robert blinked, his striking blue eyes slowly shifting to her, as if processing her words through a fog of exhaustion—or perhaps irritation. Then, with a sigh so heavy it might as well have carried the weight of the entire universe, he dragged a hand down his face.

"Coffee?" he echoed, his voice hoarse but laced with something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, regarding her with a look that danced somewhere between amusement and incredulity.

"Yes, coffee," Shane deadpanned. "You know, hot, bitter, keeps you awake—unless you prefer to marinate in misery a little longer."

A slow, almost theatrical smirk curled at the corners of his lips. "And here I thought you were offering me a mercy kill," he mused.

Shane huffed, crossing her arms. "If I was, I wouldn't be offering coffee first. That’s just bad hospitality."

"Alright, then," he murmured, his gaze flickering with something strangely amused. "Surprise me."

Chapter Text

Shane set the steaming cup of coffee down on the nightstand with a dull thunk.

“Alright, invalid. Your caffeine’s here,” she muttered, barely sparing Robert a glance as she dropped into the chair across from the bed.

Robert—because that was the name he’d decided to humor her with—had been quiet since she dragged him into the cabin. He sat propped against the headboard, his legs still swaddled in layers of gauze and blankets. His pale fingers curled loosely around the coffee cup, though he made no move to drink it. Instead, he watched her.

Shane ignored the feeling of being scrutinized like some odd specimen and pulled out her laptop, flipping it open with one hand while the other fished for the charger in her bag. As soon as the screen lit up, Robert stirred.

“What... is that?” His voice was hoarse but laced with genuine curiosity.

Shane barely looked up. “A laptop.”

Robert squinted at it like she’d just summoned a portal to another dimension. “And that is…?”

She sighed, glancing at him over the top of the screen.

“It’s a computer, but portable. You type things, store files, go online—” She stopped, realizing that would be another can of worms.

“Basically, it does a lot.”

Robert’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. He shifted slightly, peering at the keyboard, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his unsettlingly bright irises. “…Fifty years,” he murmured, almost to himself. “This did not exist before.”

Shane blinked, then snapped her fingers as if a thought had struck her.

“Oh, right. Robert punk must be one of those old fashion ones or maybe~ walkie-talkies were the hot new thing?

 She smirked, resting her chin in her palm. “Hate to break it to you, Grandpa, but tech moved on.”

Robert’s lips twitched—whether in irritation or amusement, she couldn’t tell. “A… walkie-talkie, you say?” His fingers drummed idly against the coffee cup.

“This is for?”He gestured vaguely at the laptop. 

Shane exhaled sharply and, in a rare moment of generosity, spun the laptop around.

“Here,” she said, plopping it onto his lap. “See for yourself.”

Robert stiffened slightly, his hands hovering over the device like it might bite him. His eyes flicked to the glowing screen, then back to her. “And what is this?”

“My fanfic,” Shane deadpanned.

A beat of silence. “…Your what?”

“Fan-fiction,” she enunciated, leaning back in her chair. “Stories. Made-up. Based on other stories. I write them for fun.”

Robert hummed, his fingers finally pressing against the trackpad. The cursor moved, and he flinched slightly, then masked it with an unimpressed huff. “It moves.”

Shane smirked. “Yeah, welcome to the future.”

' this will be fun~ ' she thought. 

Robert didn’t respond, his focus locked onto the screen. His sharp eyes scanned the text, the unnatural blue of them flickering with intrigue.

“You wrote this?”

“Yep.”

Another silence. Then, in a voice entirely too neutral, he asked, “And people… enjoy this?”

Shane shrugged. “Dunno. Some do.”

Robert’s expression didn’t change, but Shane swore she saw the ghost of a smirk. He leaned his head back against the wall, tilting the laptop slightly. “Humans are strange.”

'Arent you one tho? '

“Tell me about it,” Shane muttered, returning to her coffee.

The room settled into an odd quiet, only the occasional sound of clicking keys breaking the stillness. Shane stole a glance at Robert, watching the way his fingers ghosted over the keyboard as if testing its existence. He looked like someone trying to decipher an alien language.

She had no idea what was going on in his head.

And, honestly? She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

---

Shane leaned back against the wall, balancing her laptop on her knees while Robert stared at the device like it might bite him. His fingers hovered over the keys, hesitant but intrigued.

"So," she began, sipping her coffee, "this is a laptop. Basically, it’s a portable computer. You can write, browse, watch movies, play games, and even talk to people from across the world with it."

Robert's baby-blue eyes flickered with curiosity, the dim glow of the screen reflecting in them. "Communication…? Like a walkie-talkie?"

Shane smirked. "Kind of. But way better. You don’t need a radio frequency or short-range signals. You can send messages instantly, make video calls, even post stuff online for thousands of people to see." She clicked open her fanfic draft, the words filling the screen. "Like this—this is a fanfic. People read my stories here."

Robert squinted at the text, his head tilting slightly. "You tell… stories? And people come to see them?" His tone held a strange mix of amusement and genuine interest.

"Yeah," Shane said, chuckling. "Think of it as sharing spooky campfire tales, but with a way bigger audience. Except, you know, no actual fire."

Robert hummed, his fingers finally brushing the keyboard. "So you weave illusions… and others willingly indulge in them?" He chuckled softly, something dark flickering beneath his otherwise human expression. "How very… human."

Shane rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, poetic stuff, moving on." She reached over and clicked open a video file. "Since you're new to this century, let's start with something fun—movies. Horror, of course."

The screen flickered, casting eerie shadows across the dimly lit room as the opening sequence of The Exorcist began. Robert's expression shifted from idle amusement to faint intrigue. His fingers curled slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach through the screen and pull something out.

"This," Shane explained, watching his reaction, "is a horror movie. Fake scares, fake monsters—nothing real, but fun to watch."

Robert’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "Fake, huh?" He leaned forward slightly, watching the flickering images with mild fascination. "And people… enjoy being frightened by things that cannot harm them?"

Shane shrugged. "Guess so. It’s the thrill without the real danger."

Robert chuckled, shaking his head. "Humans are peculiar creatures." 

After a few movies, Shane decided to introduce him to another modern pastime—gaming.

"Alright, enough watching. Time to play." She opened up a basic horror survival game, handed him the keyboard, and gestured at the screen.

"You use these keys to move, this mouse to look around, and click to interact. Try not to die."

Robert picked up the controls with alarming speed, his movements initially hesitant before he adapted almost unnaturally fast. Within minutes, he was maneuvering through the dark corridors, avoiding in-game enemies with near-perfect precision.

Shane squinted at him. "You sure you’ve never touched a computer before?"

Robert merely smirked, clicking through the game effortlessly. "years is not so long that one forgets how to… adapt."

Shane huffed, watching as he dodged another in-game scare like it was nothing. "Great. Even a guy who was half-dead an hour ago is better at this than me."

Robert chuckled, eyes never leaving the screen. "Perhaps I simply understand fear… better than most."

Shane wasn’t sure if that was supposed to sound ominous, but she chose to ignore it.

For now.

As soon as the victory screen flashed across the laptop, Robert smirked. He had won. The game had tried its best to throw cheap tricks and lurking horrors at him, but he had adapted, learned, and conquered.

But before he could explore more of this “loptop” (as he stubbornly called it), Shane reached over and snatched it away.

"Alright, enough of that," she said, plopping it onto her lap. "Time for me to actually get some work done."

Robert raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. It was her device, after all. He had no real claim over it—yet. He simply leaned back against the wall, watching with quiet curiosity as she tapped away at the keys with practiced ease.

He observed closely as letters turned into words, words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and eventually, an entire chapter took form before his eyes.

Fascinating.

Humans had always told stories, whether through whispers in the dark, ink on paper, or—apparently—glowing screens in a tiny room. But this? This was different. Instant. Alive. The words appeared the moment she willed them into existence, like some form of crude magic.

Shane, oblivious to his scrutiny, worked efficiently, her focus unwavering.

Robert, resting his chin on his palm, let out a thoughtful hum. "And this... people read these illusions willingly?"

"Yep," Shane muttered, not looking away from her screen. "Some of them even get obsessed. It’s wild."

Robert chuckled lowly, the sound deep and thoughtful. "Humans do enjoy feeding their minds with fantasies, don't they?"

Shane scoffed. "Says the guy who got hooked on a game in under ten minutes."

Robert merely grinned but said nothing.

Once she finished her update, she stretched, cracking her fingers before scrolling down.

"Now, let’s see if there’s anything worth reading today."

Robert tilted his head, watching as she skimmed through various fanfics, eyes scanning the summaries with the precision of a predator assessing its prey.

"Interesting," he mused. "Stories about stories."

Shane side-eyed him. "Yeah, it’s called fanfiction. You take existing stuff and rewrite it how you want. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s garbage. Kinda like life."

Robert let out a soft, amused exhale. "And yet you still search."

Shane smirked. "Hey, I live for the good ones."

Robert said nothing, but his piercing gaze lingered on her as she continued her hunt. He had seen humans create, build, destroy, and rewrite their realities in countless ways. But this particular form of storytelling—this instantaneous crafting of words and worlds—was something new.

And he would learn.

Shane’s fingers lazily scrolled through the pages of AO3, eyes half-lidded in boredom. Most of the fics didn’t catch her interest—either too cliché, too cringy, or just not her thing. She was about to move on when Robert suddenly reached out, his cold fingers stopping her from scrolling further.

Her gaze snapped to him. "What?"

Robert didn’t answer immediately. His sharp eyes were locked onto the screen, his expression unreadable—until he lifted a hand and pointed at a particular fic with a name that made his stomach twist.

Pennywise/Richie Tozier.

His own name. Well, his favorite name. Right there. Paired with some human brat.

He blinked, then frowned. Then blinked again.

Shane glanced at where he was pointing and let out an exaggerated groan. "Oh, that? Yeah, that’s one of those fics. Pennywise x Richie. Y’know, the sewer clown falls for the trash-talking kid? Love, drama, weird shit—blah blah blah."

Robert turned his head to her very slowly, his expression frozen in an almost comical state of disbelief.

Shane, completely unaware of his growing existential crisis, continued. "Basically, people like to imagine Pennywise, y’know, him," she gestured vaguely, "falling in love. Which, personally, is hilarious. Like, dude? A literal child-eating horror falling for some annoying little shit? But, hey, to each their own."

Robert still wasn’t speaking.

His face, normally so composed or mischievous, had become a disaster of confusion. His mouth hung slightly open, his brows furrowed in opposite directions, and his eyes—dear god, his eyes. One was focused on the screen, the other looked like it was searching for the meaning of existence somewhere in the corner of the room.

Shane finally noticed.

"...Dude, you good?"

Robert slowly turned to look at her, his lips parting like he was about to say something profound. But no words came out. Just a faint, strangled noise that sounded like a dying animal trying to form a sentence.

Shane narrowed her eyes. "You look like you just saw your own obituary."

Robert blinked—no, tried to blink, but one eyelid moved slightly faster than the other, making him look even more ridiculous.

The silence stretched.

And then, ever so softly, Robert murmured, "What... in the absolute hell am I looking at?"

Shane shrugged. "Welcome to the internet, my dude."

Chapter Text

Robert’s fingers twitched as he scrolled, his eyes scanning the words with the same expression one might have when witnessing a crime scene. His left eye twitched violently, and the further he read, the worse it got.

His lips curled into something between a snarl and a grimace, his grip on the laptop tightening like he was barely restraining himself from snapping it in half.

Shane, sipping her coffee like she wasn’t watching a man have an existential breakdown, casually side-eyed him. "You good, buddy? You look like you just found out your social security number is public property."

Robert ignored her. He was far too deep in whatever hell this was.

The descriptions. The dialogue. The sheer audacity of these words!

The clown giggled playfully, twirling a lock of his bright red hair as he gazed longingly into Richie’s warm, brown eyes.

Robert clenched his jaw so hard it creaked.

“I want to eat you,” Pennywise purred, his voice laced with a double meaning.

A growl rumbled in his throat. His hands trembled.

And then—

"Richie’s lips trembled as he whispered, ‘Then do it, clown.’"

That was it. That was the final straw.

Robert slammed the laptop shut.

Shane nearly spilled her coffee. "Dude. Chill."

His eye twitched again. "Did. You. Write. This?" His voice was eerily calm, but the sheer effort it took to suppress his fury was evident.

Shane recoiled, looking at him like he’d just suggested something vile. "Hell no."

Robert’s jaw clenched. "...Are you sure?"

She gave him a disgusted glare. "Look, I write a lot of things, but I draw the line at the ultimate pedo of the year ship."

Robert blinked at her. "...The what?"

Shane waved a hand. "Y'know. Ageless eldritch horror clown falling for some prepubescent gremlin? It’s basically the definition of nope."

She took another sip of her coffee. "I mean, I’m not judging, but also—actually, no. I am judging. I am absolutely judging."

Robert remained eerily still for a moment. Processing. Simmering.

Then, finally, he nodded once, slowly. "...Good."

Shane arched a brow. "Good?"

Robert exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "Yes. Good." His voice was strained. "Very good."

Because if she had written it... well.

He would’ve had to kill her immediately.

Robert had been on the verge of calming himself, forcing the rage to simmer beneath the surface before he lost control and accidentally shifted into his true form. That would be problematic. That would expose him. That would—

"I mean, there’s tons of these, y’know?"

Shane’s voice cut through his barely-contained fury.

Robert’s eye twitched.

She, completely unaware (or maybe completely aware and just a gremlin), pulled the laptop back, clicked a few times, and turned it to face him again.

"Here. The ‘It’ fandom section. Over a hundred pages of fic."

She scrolled, letting the cursed list of fan-written works pass before his already twitching eye. "Look at this. People are obsessed with Pennywise."

Robert’s face went from its usual pale to a sickly shade of green… and then to a violent, angry red.

Shane choked on her coffee.

"Dude." She wheezed. "You look like a Christmas decoration."

Robert didn’t respond.

He couldn’t respond.

He could barely function as he skimmed the horrific titles alone.

"Loving You, In Every Shape You Take"

"Clown Kisses and Trashmouth Whispers"

"Cotton Candy Love"

His eye twitched so violently that Shane was beginning to wonder if he was having a seizure.

"Oh, and look—" she scrolled again, smirking like the menace she was, "some of these have twenty chapters. That’s, like, a novel of clown romance."

Robert gripped the blanket over his lap so hard that it nearly tore.

His jaw clenched so tightly that she swore she heard his teeth grind.

Shane, sipping her coffee and very much enjoying the best entertainment of the century, leaned back lazily.

"So~ What do you think, Robert?"

Robert, whose entire existence was now an internal storm of rage, horror, and utter disbelief, let out a single, strained breath.

Robert sat unnervingly still, his palm pressed against his face as I'd physically holding himself together. His breathing had turn ragged, shoulders tensed with barely contained rage.

The longer he stared at the cursed fanfiction titles on the screen the closer he teetered toward the absolute  insanity

And then–

Crack

Shane flinched at the sound

Pop.  Snap.  Scrunch. 

Robert’s body twitched, his frame jerking unnaturally as a series of bone cracking filled the cabin. His limbs contorted his spine arched at impossible angle. His fingers flexed and elongated, nails sharpening into something unnatural.

Shane remain seated. Motionless.

Disbelief was an understatement. 

She just sat there, wide-eyed watching this man, this supposedly normal ,  injured, mildly annoying man -- morph into something else entirely.

His skin paled. His body bulked up, stretching, shifting, changing,  his once dirty Gray suit warped into something theatrical -- something grotesquely familiar his forehead expanded his lips stretched too wide and tufts of ginger hair replaced his  ebony hair.

Shane stared at him

He stared back.

Silence

The loptop let out a soft ding—a notification from AO3 

New comment : OMG I love this fic sm ! Pennywise is such a softie here! <3 

The air in the room is so tense it could snap 

Rober—no, Pennywise—slowly closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his sharp teeth. His entire body shuddered with barely contained rage. His sharp nails dug into his own palms.

Shane...very, very slowly reached for her coffee.

She took a sip. 

The finally she spoke. 

" ... You good? " 

Pennywise let out a slow, murderous exhale. 

Chapter Text

Shane couldn't believe it.

Robert—no, Pennywise—was actually Pennywise. Like, the Pennywise. The literal, man-eating, nightmare-fuel clown from urban legends. And he was sitting right there, still looking like he was about to murder someone.

The sheer absurdity of it all nearly made her choke on her coffee.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The unsettling silence in the forest earlier? The way the baby bear immediately stopped chasing her? This punk—this Robert-turned-Pennywise—was the reason. He was the real predator all along. And she—like the absolute dumbass she was—had dragged his sorry ass all the way to the cabin.

No wonder the bastard looked pissed.

But, honestly? She had a theory.

He must’ve been so deeply offended by the ships in that fanfic that he snapped and shifted into Pennywise out of pure, unfiltered rage. His pride? Shattered. His dignity? In shambles. His ego? Utterly humiliated.

Poor guy. 

She took another slow sip of her coffee.

––

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, Pennywise finally broke it.

“Who,” he growled, his voice a deep, guttural thing, “wrote this novel about me?”

Shane blinked. “Huh?”

“This story you called canon. Who wrote it?” His predator’s eyes gleamed, sharp and dangerous.

Shane hesitated, then slowly turned back to her laptop, clicking through the AO3 page. “Uh… well, It—the book, I mean—was written from the main character’s POV. A guy named Billy.” She paused, then frowned at the author’s name.

Wait.

Hold on.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“The author’s name is William Denbrough.” She swallowed hard. “Aka Billy. As in… the Billy.”

Pennywise’s eyes narrowed.

Shane’s brain stalled.

Oh shit.

The novel was real.

Everything in it—real.

The Losers, Derry, the final battle—all of it actually happened.

Her grip tightened around her coffee mug as the horrifying realization sank in.

Pennywise, meanwhile, just looked deeply unamused.

Shane's breath hitched. Her hands trembled as she clutched her coffee, her mind spiraling into absolute chaos.

The novel was real.

Which meant…

"Reddie is reality and canon???"

Her eye twitched. "Oh shit! Jesse, you bitch, you won the bet!" She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Fuck. I owe her twenty bucks."

But then—another horrifying thought crept in.

If everything in the book was real…

She turned to Pennywise, eyes narrowing as she tilted her head.

"Hold up. If they actually killed you—how the hell are you alive right now?"

Pennywise stared at her.

She stared back.

He didn’t answer.

Which, honestly, was not comforting at all.

Then

Pennywise's lips curled into a slow, menacing grin. His razor-sharp teeth gleamed under the dim cabin light.

"I am the Eater of Worlds, the Destroyer," he intoned, his voice a guttural growl that sent a chill down Shane’s spine, if she ever had one. "I’m the incarnation of your worst nightmares. The exact opposite of that wretched turtle."

Shane blinked.

Sipped her non-existent coffee.

Raised a finger.

“…Okay, first off, dramatic.” She waved her hand in a circle. “Like, really dramatic. I feel like you rehearsed that.”

Pennywise’s grin twitched.

“Second,” she continued, tilting her head, “if you’re some all-powerful, cosmic horror, how did you get bodied by a bunch of kids with asthma medication and mean words?”

The grin dropped.

The cabin fell into absolute silence.

Pennywise’s golden eyes bore into hers, unblinking, unreadable.

Shane took another sip of her non-existent coffee 

“…Too soon?”

Pennywise snapped.and the whole cabin was filled with eloquent rage driven rant from the otherworldly demonic eldritch clown God . 

...

"—Those insignificant meatsacks dared to defy me?!" He snarled, his voice distorting as his claws dug into the wooden floor. "How dare they stand against the Eater of Worlds—as if a hamburger could demand I stop eating meat and become a vegetarian!"

Shane blinked.

Her brain short-circuited.

Because now, against her will, she was picturing it from his perspective.

A burger. Screaming at her.

"HOW DARE YOU, HUMAN?!" the burger wailed, tiny ketchup tears dripping down its bun. "THAT WAS MY BROTHER—YOU MONSTER!"

Around it, a pile of devastated food mourned their fallen. A sobbing box of fries. A grieving nugget family. A milkshake with a thousand-yard stare, whispering, "She even drank my father…"

Shane choked on her non-existent coffee.

"Oh my God."

Pennywise, still mid-rant, didn’t notice her struggling to breathe through suppressed laughter. "And they had the audacity to believe they had won—"

"No, wait, hold on," Shane wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. "I’m sorry, I just—” She exhaled sharply, barely keeping it together. "I cannot stop thinking about a burger cursing me out for eating his friend-fries and chickdren nuggets."

Silence.

Pennywise slowly turned to her, expression unreadable.

"..."Are you laughing?"" he asked, voice dangerously low.

Shane inhaled deeply. Sat up straight. Met his glare head-on.

"...No."

--‐–

Pennywise narrowed his eyes. "Are you laughing?"

Shane, sitting there with the straightest face imaginable, shook her head. "No."

Her shoulders trembled.

This woman was insane to lie so blatantly, but Pennywise chose to ignore it. He exhaled sharply, flexing his claws, and changed the subject.

"What about the Losers?" he asked, voice still edged with irritation.

Shane took another sip of coffee, her expression thoughtful. "Oh, them? I dunno, but I'm pretty sure they're all buried six feet underground." She gestured vaguely.

"Like, duh, you said it yourself—after they supposedly killed you, you've been sleeping for… how long again?"

"Five decades," Pennywise grumbled.

"Right. And the Losers Club were in their mid-thirties to forties by then, according to the… uh, novel." Shane frowned, mentally calculating. "Which means if they somehow managed to live that long, they’d be around… eighty or ninety by now."

Silence.

Pennywise’s predatory gaze bore into her, unreadable.

Shane took another sip. "So, yeah. Either way, they're probably dead."

Pennywise let out a low hum, considering this information. "Hmph."

Then, after a pause—

"Good."

Shane tilted her head, watching Pennywise process the information. Then, with the most deadfish eyes expression, she muttered,

“Wow. So your revenge was just… outliving them, huh?”

Pennywise’s eye twitched.

She took another slow sip of her non-existent coffee, unbothered. “Like, damn. Ultimate petty move. You didn’t even have to do anything. Just took a five-decade nap and woke up victorious.”

His claws scraped against the wooden floor, irritation rolling off him in waves.

Shane nodded to herself. “Honestly? Respect. You literally just existed longer. Peak villain behavior.”

Pennywise bared his teeth. "That was not—"

She cut him off with a casual wave. “Nah, nah, don’t downplay it. You won by default. I think that’s hilarious—”

Shane? She just kept drinking her imaginary  coffee, completely unfazed.

Shane leaned back in her chair, grinning. "Oh, and if one of them is still alive, you should totally send them an email with your picture attached, saying—*" She made a dramatic gesture with her hand.

"  ‘I lived, bitches.’  "

Silence.

Pennywise just stared at her.

Shane sipped her coffee, nodding approvingly at her own idea. " I mean, talk about a power move. Imagine being, like, eighty, thinking you’ve won, and then—boom—email from hell.”

She snorted. "Bet they’d drop dead on the spot."

Pennywise tilted his head slowly. "…What’s an email?"

Shane choked.

This time, on her own saliva.