Notes/Updates: ...And yeah, so what if this installment turned out the length of a short story, ending where it does? I have plans to revisit the 'EdITs' AU in its own multiparter spinoff, First Is Worst. Might as well make a properly sized prologue out of "Inversion". Lots of loose ends, but that's deliberate.

Take heart. One more doesn't mean I won't finish ITerations (reunion epilogue and all), or give up on starting Wiindigoo, or abandon Otherwise. Having a few projects in the works keeps things interesting for me. I hope the same goes for my readers. Penny-centric IT AUs are my jam, and I'm not sorry.

Out.

Despite what other people may say, Eddie Kaspbrak liked to think he was usually a fairly decisive person. Sure, he was the excitable sort. Maybe he occasionally tended to veer toward the obsessive, almost the manic, when it came to getting hung up on details. He tended to spend a lot of time on weighing risks versus rewards.

Too much time, some might have said.

What of it? He was simply one of those guys who liked to know what they were in for. Some people were just like that, and he counted himself among them.

All of this was true, while omitting the fact his frenetic, need-know behavior was often on par with that of a caffeinated jackrabbit's. But he could no more help that conditioning than he could change the person who had bore him into this world.

Pfsh. Honestly? Your Mom's long beyond helping. Meanwhile, there's plenty about this mindfuck you call life you can help, Eds. Remember, don't gotta play the hand you're dealt. Sneak a card from the deck, here and there, and you might be surprised at the outcome.

So Richie Tozier would always claim.

Or Stanley Uris, in less vulgar terms.

Make that... a very peculiar mix of the two.

Because, unnaturally-naturally, his current circumstances had Eddie paying far more mind to the peculiarities of mixing, and remixing, the ingredients which comprised his life as he now knew it.

Again, who could blame him for feeling a little rightfully daunted?

To his knowledge, he was the first of a 'kind'. His feet were treading unfamiliar territory, the likes of which no man on the planet had ever seen. There were no established standards to hold himself to, no studies taken, no warnings to heed, no pills to take, no nutritional-

"'- requirements are met in order to facilitate healthy- growth.'"

Reading the usage directions off the bottle, aloud, Eddie halted, then felt a shivering tremor race up his spine. Scowling, his shoulders gave an involuntary hunch, seemingly of their own accord, but he refrained from commenting long enough to give It a chance to explain the tic.

And the accompanying gut churn of disgust.

Ugh. Why does that word mAke me shiver, the way you're saying it?

"What? Growth?" Innocent as he tried to make it sound, the effort was for naught. Eddie flinched again, shoulders arcing high enough to press against his ears, as though he were fending off someone trying to tickle him from behind.

Scowling, he froze. He breathed in, held it, gritting his teeth, and reminded himself (what was left) to stay calm, to try and relax. Losing his cool here only made their emotions churn all the more.

With a decided wrench, he forced his arms back down. "For fuck's sake, sorry. If you think I meant anything, by the way it sounded, I didn't."

You paused beFore you saId it.

So?

...You pAuSed.

Tapping the bottle idly against the sink's edge, Kaspbrak frowned. Fixation on the inane, inconsequential details. Check. Dryly delivered sarcasm following a thoughtful hesitation. Check. Forget hypothetical comparisons. He had the proverbial Richie/Stan mix right on hand, in his head, in every last fiber of his being.

It was it.

Lovely.

"Yeah, I paused. So what if I did? I- " Sighing through his nose, Eddie cut the tirade short. Arguing further was totally moot. He tossed the bottle back into the cabinet, taking care to not slam the mirrored door shut. It still clanked a bit too loudly for his liking.

There, he stopped, listening for any changes from down the hallway.

Gradually, as though someone were raising the volume, his ear caught the white noise of the television, playing in the curtained living room. Some daytime soap opera was running full tilt, complete with overly-melodramatic pining by one of the female leads.

What she was bemoaning, Eddie stopped paying full attention to as soon as he sensed a new prickle of agitation, mantling at the back of his skull. Once, twice, a third time after an irregular pause.

Someone else's idle hands were drumming on the proverbial table again.

It was bored.

As seemingly-bored as his host.

Slumping forward, Eddie rested his crossed arms on the sink's edge, perching his chin atop his wrists. Tilting his face down, he stared up, into the mirror, from under his dark eyebrows. It was a vaguely intimidating cant to glare from, or so he hoped.

It had to see so.

I don't have to sAy it.

"Yeah, you don't. I wasn't kidding. Things have been pretty dull, besides... you, turning up again. This is what comes with me trying to use everything within arm's reach to keep my mind off of... of things. Like the week after Bowers tried running me down."

Which incLudes reading- medication labels?

"Gotta work with what you have." The teen shrugged, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, a halfhearted massage job. He was going for blasé. Troubling as these talks were, they were preferable to the tense, headache-filled silences in between. "It makes me feel better to look at something familiar, y'know, normal and ordinary? ...Sue me if you don't like it."

You're duCking the inevitable.

Studies have shown this is highly unadvisable.

Eddie scoffed, tilting his head. His reflection did the same, nothing off-puttingly peculiar about its appearance - thin as ever, but his color was back. He ran a palm across his cheek, appreciating the clear, dry skin. With no anxious sweats or profuse shakes, this was undoubtedly the best he had looked, and felt, in a month.

Amazing. All it had taken was a decent night's sleep. Being lost in the dark, deep abyss had never felt so blissful. It seemed to clear up the yellow blemish of his irises, and every other ill feeling at the time, vanishing as though they were never even present.

Besides the very-definite voice, still chattering away in his head, he felt completely back to his usual self.

No, no. Ignoring the probleM doesn't make it go away, Eds. Not for you.

(Besides the voice, we said.)

"Oh, how would you know? You've been on this ride before? ...Nah, didn't think so. We ignore it long enough, it might just."

It never went away - befoRe.

"The hunger? Pft. Well, before, it was you... and you alone, right?" Eddie pointed out, trying for the neutral-yet-optimistic angle. Quashing the offense he felt, morally, at even taking up the topic as one worth discussing, he hashed out another likely possibility: "Right? ...Who knows, then? Maybe a- a mixup was what you needed, like a- a new mold to be recast in. The pangs we're feeling might be- vestigial, at best. Like, you don't need the same food you once did."

A change in appetite? ...No. It's not the sAme for me as it is you.

"So you keep saying. Close enough, so we might- we could try and change that. I mean, you could be a real candidate for... domestication, more than ever before, now."

Doh... doh-messs-tick-a-

The word cut itself off in a low, roiling moan. Eddie was still puzzling over the cause when he felt the reason why a millisecond later.

As though someone took the very ground beneath his feet and heaved upward, his once-quiet stomach rolled mid-pronunciation. A sickly-sweet taste washed through his mouth. He choked mid-inhale, midriff giving a foreboding clench before a fierce burning surged forth.

Holding off the need to curse, Eddie whimpered, choked, and clapped a hand across his lips.

His eyes screwed shut, willing himself to stay quiet, to not pitch forward and spew in the sink, whatever the discomfort, whatever its cause. Common sense said it was only stomach acid, acid and nothing more, nothing to be concerned about. He remembered the bout of vomiting he had suffered a few years hence, when public speaking became a very mandatory point of delivering book reports before his fifth-grade English class.

Robbed of the ability to yell aloud, he did so internally.

The- t-the fuck is this about, now, dude? I use one big word, among the m-many you already know, and it's too much for you to ha- han-

An invisible hand, utterly unsympathetic, reached in for another heartless squeeze and twist of their innards.

Coiling against it, resisting the urge to bend double at the waist, Eddie gagged and couldn't stave off the next retch. His shoulders bucked. Something like bile, slimy and thicker than the wash of acid dousing his teeth, welled up, pooling in the back of his throat. Worse, it flooded his sinuses in kind, forcing him to cough and clear his airway.

Like the snap of a slingshot let loose, he spat the oily-tasting mixture into the sink, frantically blinking his suddenly-teary eyes. Shuddering, hacking as softly as he could, he gasped and drew another tortured breath, wiping at his mouth and nose, trying to get ahold of his violently-quivering self. A new feverish chill overtook him. Cold sweat broke out across his brow and temples.

Fuck. ...Fuck, that hurt.

The next he looked, what Eddie had thought would be a bloody splatter in the basin turned out to be a viscous black mess. Staring in disbelief, eyes pinched and starting to dry, he saw the outermost drops of brackish ooze begin to separate and flow.

They defied gravity to follow the curve of the sink, upward, instead of down, into the drain.

Watching them squiggle about, Eddie shivered again. He wiped at his fouled mouth, looking at the smear left on his hand, as the ache in his middle vanished. He felt both violated and somehow relieved in the same instant.

Alien symptoms.

To match a very alien ailment.

Gradually, he became aware of the slight spinning, the residual vertigo making his knees weak. Elbows locked, he braced his palms on the sink to keep from a total collapse.

After some delay, he noticed the telltale pressure in his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the residual dizziness.

He wasn't dizzy. It was still reeling.

Distantly, he thought heard the volume of the TV, dialing down.

Any second now, he'd hear the call: "Eddie, are you all right?"

He felt his skin pale. Shit. Shit, no! Don't let Mom hear me. Don't let Mom hear me. Calm- calm down, c'mon, calm. Relax. Hey, settle down. She hears, sees us- m-me puking like that, this kind of stuff, and I- we're as good as sunk.

After what seemed like forever, the volume went back up.

"...will return after this commercial break..."

Eddie exhaled, wiping his brow with the back of one hand. Gradually, the spinning leveled off. Woozily, It finally answered in a dazed, breathy whisper.

Sh... she won'T. Soh-sorry, Eds.

Very belatedly, the nausea gone as quickly as it had set in, Eddie thought to turn on the tap. Grabbing the soap from the dish, he started scrubbing. The soapy water washed the gunk away in one splash. Fervent in his need to clean up, he overlooked the fuzziness lingering at the corners of his eyes. He grimaced at the thick, wrong aftertaste coating his gums.

Tooth brushing. That would come next.

Cripes. Get- get a grip, Pen. ...Christ. You're not... not that hungry, are you?

To this It made a fluttery, lightheaded sigh, reorienting his attention as best he could. He sounded like a car running on empty, its tank depleted and engine rapidly petering out. The evidence in the sink certainly matched the look of a ruptured oil line.

I always- was, Eddie. And in fuLl control of myself. Those were my... senses to fight, not your's. The signaLs now are- they're all... crossed, muddled. Colors. Noises. Hues. Pitches.

What are you saying? You're... like, peaky? Sick?

Heh... you might sAy so.

How? From being hungry? You get the dry heaves from that?

Sometimes. From being tired. You've seen as much, before, at the park, before... Fatigue- is eaSy to set aside when it's only your- own to cope with.

I thought... last night, we got some sleep, though?

You got some sleep. You needed it, Eds, more badly tHan you even knew. ...I'm not- tired of being aWake. I'm...

"Tired... sick and tired, of being hungry?" Eddie finished, soft and lamely. The only good the realization did was bring back the nervous, hot flush to his skin, dispelling the cold. "Shit." He looked up from his sudsy, mostly-clean hands to the mirror. There, in the immaculate surface, he saw the tacky smears under his nose, adorning his mouth.

The congealing mess made him look like he had chugged a quart of engine grease. His now-empty guts clenched at the comparison.

And where the substance had manifested from - he didn't want to know.

Morphing had been a cakewalk by comparison. Skin fracturing and flaking away in disintegrating particles. The wet crunches of bones twisting and stretching, made pliable by the act of his very molecules imploding. Suffocating as if a high wind were keeping him from breathing. All while feeling as though he had been sealed in a man-sized oven for a whole ten seconds.

Looking out from behind his friend's wide brown eyes, It apparently arrived at the same conclusion.

They didn't have to look sick to feel their ills in full.

I'm tired of hurting, Eds, and I'm even more tiRed of you hurting becauSe of me.

Well. That's one of the side effects of being friends with anyone, dude. You bear each other's hurts.

Heh... But if there's any way to make it hurt lesS, without- Maybe... we ought to arRange a doctor's visit now?

"Why? Because Stan is never guilty about dishing out bad advice?" With renewed vigor, Eddie scrubbed the remnants from his hands, procuring a washcloth to wet and wipe at his face. He let the taps keep running, using the noise of the faucet to mask his words. "Bill got it wrong. I say anything to Mom about this, that's it - she'll have doctors from all over the northeast wanting to haul me- us away for- for testing, scans, X-rays, sample taking. And they would only be the first, whether they see you as- you are, or another new disease without a name. Who knows what else, orwhoelse- "

I can't keep us hiDden from her forever, Eds. Not without-

"Quit, I get it," Eddie snipped, hackles rising and falling with unease, running his tongue across sullied teeth. He looked at the stained cloth in his hands, listening to the hissing spray of the running water. As he stared, the spots in the saturated fabric faded away, leaving it as pristine as before. Nothing amiss about it.

If only satisfying the demands of this new, unavoidable dietary plan were as simple.

He reached for his toothbrush.

Acing his algebra assignment was small recompense for what followed. He went truant the day afterward. Thursdays were good for that. Without involving the greater ranks of the club, he could explain his solo absence from school far easier than four or five of them might.

Understanding though he was trying to be, Eddie couldn't completely thwart the urge to fret.

Old habits died hard.

So messed up. Somessedup. Soveryveryverymessedup.

"Quiet, Eds, pleAse," It growled, as aloud and still under-his-breath as the entity could manage in such an unfitting body. "It doesn't woRk if you're not."

Can't believe we're doing this. I can't-

"You're not doiNg anything. This one's aLl me, remember?"

Oh, trust me. I won't be forgetting anytime soon. If this weren't you, there's no way I'd be caught dead on this side of town.

"No?"

No way whatsoever.

"...You'd be dead in fiVe minutes."

Heyyy. It's flat, ribbing rebuke did the trick, evoking just enough indignant offense to bring Eddie back from the oh-so-scary edge of hysteria. And for a second, he was happy to indulge. Come on, I'd... I'd last a little longer than that... Maybe?

"With Richie and the others to back you up, sure." One of It's borrowed arms shrugged. He kept their eyes averted from those of passersby on the sidewalk, pressing onward with riveted determination. A few odd looks from blue-collared adults were easy enough to rebuff when one didn't meet their eyes, it seemed. "By yourself - noPe. You'd be easy pickIngs for most."

Breath stilling, Eddie felt his chest tighten at the notion.

Well... okay, invisibility does have its advantages, then, I guess. Out of sight, outta mind. ...Slowly going out of my mind. With every passing minute-

"Relax, Eds. You're as safe as cAn be, under the... circumstances."

They reached a corner, a crosswalk in the warehouse-overrun industrial 'district' on the southeastern fringe of Derry. Rust-spotted pickup trucks spewing diesel smoke rumbled by. Eddie felt the thrum of their engines - the same close-yet-faraway vibe - but tried not to let trivial, singing nerves stand in his way.

Their way.

Odd as it may have looked to see any kid his age prowling about in the early evening, he took solace in knowing he wasn't the one actually doing said hunting. He was just along for the ride.

Ever-sensitive to his friend's doubts, and when they were running high, It tried for reassurance: "I know my limiTs, Eds. Been doing this a lonnng time."

Hah. Eddie wished he had control of his eyes to roll. If that was supposed to comfort me, it didn't. This is still... as wrong as it gets.

"To a human, of course," It sneered. He sounded almost dismissive now. Something had caught his eye, tickled his nose, and Eddie could only tell because the surfacing gruffness in It's voice heralded another recognizable-yet-not tic. He couldn't tell what it was piquing It's interest, a bare whiff of scent was all it took to get the drool flowing.

Much more drool than any boy like him should have been capable of.

Gross, but no more than he seen It do in the past.

Eddie was more frightened of the gravelly, heedy rumble It's tone took on. He had heard it once before, upon confronting It in the cistern, and once was the only time he thought he would ever have to hear it. At the time, he shared none of the feelings of voracious hunger or molten anger or a near-compulsive urge to tear apart everything before his very eyes.

Now that he did, in a very not-human capacity, It was all the more unnerving.

As It himself was quick to point out.

"But tHEn- you anD I, we dOn't reaLly count as that, do wE?"

What happened next, while secretly spectacular, Eddie would write off as a textbook case of getting cold feet.

With one Sonia Kaspbrak in attendance, he counted it lucky no one else of their neighborhood were out in their yards to witness his impossible feat.

Barricaded by who knew what force, It seethed via a series of grumbles and incomprehensible stammers before going quiet. The befuddled entity hadn't counted on having control abruptly yanked out of his hands. But like so many other two-way streets they had found themselves following as of late, it seemed as though Eddie could spring the unpredictability trick when necessary.

Tonight he did so by teleporting - without any warning whatsoever - back to where he had started.

Because, like the puking episode, he had wished so badly to be anywhere except where they were headed. Just as It's greatest fear was, seemingly, being completely tamed, Kaspbrak's was just the opposite - losing himself to the wild, savage senselessness masquerading as benevolence during daylight hours.

Polar opposites converged.

One moment It was ducking through the rotted-out doorway of a warehouse, intent on rooting out where a peculiar thud-thump sound was emitting from.

The next Eddie was standing - nearly swaying from side to side, more like - trying to keep his feet as if he had spontaneously parachuted back into this own front yard. He lurched forward upon trying to take a single uncoordinated step, catching himself on the short staircase's railing.

Whoa.

That was pretty unexpected.

The second after he did, he got his bearings and footing back. The front door swung open, he looked up, and there was his mother's round, bespectacled visage. The rest of her expansive, bathrobed self soon joined it.

"Eddie bear, where wer- oh, your face," Sonia gasped. She leaned down and virtually pulled him over the steps, a bear whisking her cub to safety, back into the house. From there, she steered him down the hall, into the waiting bathroom. "Where on Earth were you?"

He almost staggered his way into a fall under her brutish touch, thinking of the best, most mundane lie he could, on the fly. "Just- just o-out for a walk, Mom. Like- I said." Ever-annoying as her fawning once was, Eddie tolerated this time, as it was yet another increasingly-rare moment of normalcy. He clung to that comparison like a floundering swimmer would a life preserver.

"Did you fall? Where did all this- dirt come from?"

Eddie wanted to believe it was dirt, whatever it was caked all over his face. Directed to sit on the edge of the tub, he clenched his hands against the ceramic sides as Sonia took a wet washcloth to his brow, cheeks, ears. The tan, slightly-pilly fabric soon came away smeared with black stains.

It's impotent growl rasped and raked against his eardrums, unseen clawtips squealing on invisible glass. The pressure behind his eyes doubled, spreading through his temples and down into his cheekbones. Eddie swallowed another urge to retch, closing his eyelids tight as a ever-more-bewildered Sonia continued to clean the hellish flakes of dead skin away.

He thought he had been ready.

Ready to get it over with.

Clearly, they weren't.

Right back where they started, come Friday, neither of them thought to cut class. There was nothing to gain from doing so. Eddie suffered the latter half of the morning with only a mild case of the spins, but as lunch hour rolled around, taking his place at the table also proved welcomingly uneventful.

Or it was proving uneventful until Richie - sitting across from him - felt a need to bring up the shorter boy's now-ever-present conundrum. Neither of their attending friends had yet dared, only sparing Eddie a concerned look here and there. Ben sat to his right, Stan to his left. Up until that point, they had dwelled on lunch and discussing homework.

Uncalled for as the topic was, at least Tozier tried to be nice about it.

"Hey, Doc?"

"What?"

"Feeling a bit better?"

"Sure, sorta. Thanks."

"Yeah? You look it. ...So. You tell Stripes to take a hike yet?"

"No," Eddie retorted, with a decided flatness. His eyes remained fixed on his lunchtray. The carrots and mashed potatoes were already gone. He stared at his untouched portion of meatloaf as if it were laced with arsenic. "Tell him yourself, douche."

Elbows on the table, Richie twirled a plastic fork between his fingertips and shrugged. The edginess was of no offense to him. "I just did, then - if he's still rooming with you, as we speak."

"He's... napping," Eddie said, crisply, mostly to satisfy the curious looks Stan and Ben paid him. As much as he rather wouldn't have answered, refusing to comment would only mean enduring more questions hurled his way. "Or doing a really good job of- pretending to. Hasn't said a word to me since last night."

True to form, Ben only raised an eyebrow by way of reaction.

"Why's that?" Stan dared to ask. To his credit, he was trying to make it sound nonchalant. Coincidentally, he resembled a fidgety avian, perched on a fence, unsure of which side to jump down on. "You two... you're getting along okay?"

"Okay as can be, con-considering." Almost writing the answer off as casual, Eddie dared to take a closer look at his gravy-laden meatloaf. Nothing looked outwardly wrong about it. The thing was served practically cold, but this dish was, most days. Warmed up, it may have had a detectable aroma.

Experimentally, he sniffed.

Somewhere over his shoulder, he heard Ben try to speak up: "Eddie, what's wro- "

Then, face screwing up in sheer disgust, Kaspbrak abruptly pushed the tray away, almost to the center of the table. The far edge bumped against Richie's with a clack. Gravy sloshed about, bleeding over into the emptied spaces.

Almost as an afterthought, Stan reached over to stop him. "Eddie- "

Richie sat up straighter, bracing a hand on his tray, lest his meal end up in his lap.

He stilled, eyes never leaving Eddie's face. He noted the transition before the other three boys realized what had occurred.

"Yeesh. Not quite your... taste, is it, Twitchy?"

Glaring him down, Eddie heard a noncommittal, pouty-sounding grumble before the sudden swell of pressure in his head eased. He blinked the feeling away, features relaxing, sheepishly reaching forward to pull his tray back.

"S-sorry, Rich."

Tozier's expression softened. He shook his head, combing fingers through his shaggy hair. "'T's okay, dude. I didn't think you were behind that."

His innocence still intact, Eddie managed a small smile, but it felt brittle at best. While glad It only risked a minor tantrum, the act still planted a seed-sized bit of concern. A worrying portion of misbehavior that would soon grow into a sizable issue.

Mild.

That was a very mild reaction compared to the events of the last few days.

Eddie swallowed, trying to loosen his tightening throat. While the others reluctantly turned back to finishing their meals, he glanced around at the cafeteria. Packed to the brim with students, the full high school spectrum of ninth graders to seniors.

...Targets.

No.

Students. Classmates. Peers.

No.

Prey. Bodies. Food.

Wrenching his drifting focus back, Eddie tried to busy himself with finally slicing up the meatloaf. Wolfing it down in four decisive bites, he paid scant attention to actually chewing it properly, or the way his insides coiled at the taste.

(Stan, looking on in incredulity, pointed out how he did so later the same afternoon. "I thought for sure you'd choke on one of those pieces." )

Eddie didn't marvel. He had bigger troubles to dwell on, even if It wasn't.

Especially if It wasn't.

If there wasn't an alternative way to excise the problem, what would be the consequences of neglecting It?

By latching on, the entity had inadvertently proved there was such a thing as 'death' for someone like himself. He was no longer capable of sustaining his own life force, seemingly. Eddie had deduced this much as true, or else It would have ceased to be entirely.

But if he perished now, had he rooted in too deep? Would It take his host with him?

Even if there was only so much his puny mortal mind could know, Eddie thought to press It for more information. Yes, the incorporeal beast knew his limits. But did he know the parameters of this one in particular? How long before It tired past the point of help? What if something a little more severe than nausea manifested, at exactly the wrong place and time?

Post lunch, but before class, Ben Hanscom found the place Eddie thought to steal away to. He hadn't gone far, as the nearest alcove lay just outside the cafeteria doors. The germaphobe was quietly fretting, eyes down, squashed into the gap between two banks of lockers.

Lika a very improvised set of horse blinders. Or a falconry hood with no eye covers.

A minute must have elapsed before Kaspbrak actually looked up to see the former new kid was standing there, practically waiting to be noticed.

Funny. Everyone else was tending to overlook him these days.

Oh, that kid? Just a trifle possessed, he is. Nothing to concern yourselves with.

Despite the sardonic thought, Eddie forced a shaky smile, hoping it passed for normal. Or a very good imitation of it. "What's up, Ben?"

"Nothing, besides..." The bookworm trailed off, looking the considerably-thinner teen up and down. Or, more up than down. "You... have you measured yourself lately?"

Eddie blinked.

Tuned out as he temporarily was, the out-of-left-field query even got It to perk up.

...WhaT?

"Guys, seriously - it's not- hey. C'mon, we're all getting to that age growth spurts will be hitting when we least expect. It's not so unusual."

Backed against the trunk of a birch tree in the Barrens, Eddie watched, hands at his sides, as Stan reached over his head to mark the bark with an uncapped Sharpie. He didn't have to stretch far or at much of an angle.

Not like he had for Ben, moments earlier.

Turning around, Eddie squinted at the two ink marks on the tree.

"Not unusual?" Beside him, Richie gaped at the discovery. Their gazes met again, with eyes oddly more level than either of them could immediately ever recall being. "It is when you... suddenly go two inches taller overnight, Eds."

"Another side effect," Eddie surmised, later, in the privacy of his bedroom. "Has to be. Between the morphing and the- the teleporting, I guess we got lucky this one isn't too far out there in the weirdness theatre."

A sulking It wasn't moved by his argument. While there was no mental shrug or attempt at an eyeroll, the near-dejected hum and undertones to the entity's following words spoke volumes:

You think it'll stop theRe?

Frowning, Eddie pushed away from the desk. Homework could wait. "No." He stretched his arms out. They reached the same length, insofar as he remembered them being last night. The same went for his knee-socked legs. "But I don't feel any taller."

Hmm. Must looK it, then...

As It failed to continue, Eddie stole a glance at his desktop mirror. Stranger and stranger. If it was possible for one's reflection to metaphorically turn their back on the bearer, that was what he felt like.

This wasn't him being ignored out of mere petulance.

It was flagging. The words were a touch fainter than before.

"Hey. ...Hey. Don't zonk out on me again."

Why not? The quietEr I am, the less you hurT, the happier you are.

"Happy? Don't be stupid. Dude, you know we're well beyond any chance of a- fix, a-a happy ending."

It answered with a perfunctory grunt, like the thud of a dropped book hitting the floor as though its potential reader gave up before even opening it.

But there it sat, off the shelf.

Picturing said book, wondering just what hidden information lay between its covers, Eddie tried for some basic curiosity, without the fretful emotion tied in along with it. He wasn't very studied at the art of compartmentalization, no, but he could try.

Maybe... a little more receptiveness was just what the doctor ordered?

"What happened to- to showing me?"

ShoW you? Show you, what?

"What you're about? You said you would."

I did? ...You still want to know?

"Heh, I may not want to, but to some degree, I have to."

You already know, Eds. You'Ve seen enough - about what I am, what I do. And I know you don't liKe what you see. ...You didn't like it before. When I- when PatricK went missing.

"N... no, but- "

Why? Why shouLd I humor myself anymore? Humor anyone? You're miserable because of me, at the thought of me, everything. And that's- what I do- did, but- I'm not- I'm not even me anymOre. I can't be. Not like befoRe.

Low as It sounded, verging toward the same scary impartiality that made his core facets so unnerving to see, Eddie still tried for some encouragement. He kept his eyes on the mirror, speaking softly, yet firmly - the same way he had seen Beverly do countless times. "Hey, you and me both, right? You're- c'mon, we've barely started piecing this together, and you're already sounding like we can't make it work."

NeitHer of us knows iF it can.

"Right now, no, we don't. No one does. ...The hell if I'm gonna let that stop you, though."

If I do, if you did, maybe it'd be for the betTer.

"Pft. The better? Neither of us knows what 'better' would be, either. And after spending a year on befriending me and the others, putting up with all of your- Deadsense, you really think we'll let you off that easy?"

Silence.

Without and within.

Eddie smiled and went for the proverbial kill. "Dude. You won't even let yourself off that easy. We had to beat that lesson into you, too. Among other things, it turns out you're a glutton for self-annihilation, too."

There.

That was more in line with the language It spoke.

I... am? I... I didn't know there was such a thiNg.

"Trust me, pal, there is. You epitomize it, as much as anything else. Now can we get past the flirtation and come up with a plan, please?"

Messed up as the demand sounded, once they got past the initial jitters, the incredibly-awkward tryout, who was to say it would be so bad?

Whatever counted as their sense of humanity didn't need to be abolished.

But it could certainly be put on the backburner.

Pep talk accomplished, Eddie went into the weekend feeling somewhat encouraged. It wasn't one to plan anything overly elaborate, even when asked. But it was one dial adjustment closer to finding a harmonic frequency for them to operate on.

Tempting as it was to involve the others, the duo could agree on the necessary exclusion factor, too. There needn't be any more hands on this till than absolutely needed. The remainder of the club simply couldn't know what it was to cope with this debacle, one on one. So they were better off kept in the dark.

This didn't stop Richie from trying to interfere, nevertheless, and he promptly managed to around nine o'clock Saturday morning.

Why?

Because there was some unwritten law of the universe drifting about somewhere that demanded he make a thorn out of himself.

Especially when it came to situations involving Eddie Kaspbrak.

Pulling onto the shoulder of the street, Eddie pumped the brakes of his bike, jolting to a stop. He braced a leg in lieu of his kickstand and glanced over his shoulder. "Y'know, Richie, Pen and I may not be getting along on everything, but we can definitely agree you are being as much of a pain in the ass as- posSible about tHis - on - puRpose."

Scowling, Richie skidded to a halt beside them. Undissuaded by the merge of voices, midsentence, he reached out to grab the other bike by its nearest handlebar. "Exactly. No one else is gonna take the job, you numbskulls. No one wants it. Tell you that for free. ...What else d'you expect me to do, politely sit on my hands?"

It'd be a start. Exchanging another mutually exasperated glance, Eddie was pleased to see his onboard counterpart execute a well-honed eyeroll. Maybe it was the barely-repressed fearful concern emanating from Richie keeping It from another fadeout.

But at the moment, neither boy or entity were complaining.

"Sit on youR hands. ...Wasn't the firSt thing to cRoss my mind, but if you're offering- "

"Buzz off, Spooky."

"But Richarrrd- "

"I didn't miss your whining, wise guy. Put Eds back on the phone. Now."

It gave a wry, twisted smirk Eddie could never remember levelling at anybody throughout the course of his life. Their eyes narrowed. "Oh? What if he doesN't want to talk?"

"I get the feeling he does, and you're not letting him."

"He's leTting me talk. And I'd do tHe same for him."

"You'll forgive me if I don't completely believe you."

"...You'Re forgiven."

"Tch. Funny, Creepster. Letting this and not wanting that. How do I know you're not bullshitting me, regardless?" Richie fired back, his tone bordering on acidic. His hand lifted to grab the collar of Eddie's pale yellow polo. "For all we know, you're moving in for good and kicking him out."

It's smirk dropped.

"You- don't know shit, man. Like always." Snapping back to the fore, frowning, Eddie wrenched the other boy's hand aside. The transitions were only getting smoother with practice. Prying off his friend's tightly clenched fingers was more of a struggle. "No one's moving - or kicking - anyone - out of anywhere, Richie. Fuckin' A." Stalemate reached, they stared each other down, two to one, a moment longer before Eddie heaved a sigh. The sun was a trifle too hot on his forehead. "Sheesh. At this point, you're starting to worry even more than I am."

"Good." Richie, ever the doubtful holdout, kept fretting. But he looked visibly glad to hear his counterpart's original voice again. "Someone oughta be, Eds, I mean- especially if you're not."

"Worrying isn't getting us anywhere."

Looking somewhere between desperate and furious, Richie wrenched Kaspbrak's handlebar over, so close the front wheels of their bikes touched. "But that's what you do, man. You worry when the rest of us don't. And yeah, most times it's annoying as hell, the pissing in our ears with all the health warnings and the useless statistics, but how you seem to- to be warming up to this- idea. It ain't right."

Insert painfully-obvious double-meaning here.

Inured to the inherent levity, Eddie's brow dropped, along with It's phantom imitation. Neither of them opted to do so much as giggle.

It.

Not right.

"...No, it's not."

"So, does that mean you have a fix in mind you're just not telling us?"

"Wait and see."

"...That's all?"

Eddie shrugged. "Until I see a sign telling me different."

Heart, body, and overly-blended soul taxed as they were, his compulsive dwelling on the negatives was only exacerbating the nausea, sweats, and aches.

Something Richie had yet to take under consideration for himself. "Are you listening to yourself anymore? ...You wear out the panic button on your brain's control panel, with too many presses, or did he disconnect it?"

Grateful for whatever balm of calmness It kept drawn over the situation, Eddie pondered this a moment. Then, looking down to see Richie's hand was still on the handle, gripping tight, he pulled back. Hitchingly, the other boy's fingers let go. "It's just another... lesson in sharing, Rich, when you set all the other clutter aside. What's so weird about that?"

"What's so wei... Edward, you stop talking this not-you nonsense, right now, or so help me, I- I'll- "

Don't let him fiNish that thought. He's thinking-

About phoning Mom? I heard that one, loud and clear. Before he goes totally ballistic-

It quieted, concentrating, while Eddie locked eyes with Richie and voiced the command: "Richie. Chill."

Of his own accord, or by the power of subliminal suggestion, Tozier froze. His suspicious squint eased. The tension went out of his shoulders.

Eddie waited a few seconds, waiting for the effect to dispel (as only seemed subconsciously right to do), then tried for a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm kinda messed up. But, look, I'm not dead. Pen's not going anywhere... and neither am I. We just... we're kind of a work-in-progress."

"Sure. One with no visible end," Richie croaked. A hint of dismay crept back across his face. His hands kept on gesturing, futily and as unable of grasping the scope of the apparent-non-problem as much as his mind. "I mean- damn it, Cackles, when it was just you, we at least had a timetable, something to go by, to know how long you'd be around. Now, you've gone and gotten Eds involved in some Invasion of the Body Snatchers fantasy you never told us was even a- a possibility. You can't blame us for being upset, or feeling like you lied."

On this, It kept very deliberately quiet, practically emotionless.

No denials, but no confirmations, either.

"How could he lie if he didn't know it would happen, either? ...The alternative was never seeing him again," Eddie explained, as he had at least five times over the previous Wednesday, as most of the club, sans Beverly, gathered in the park. "We can't know different, and I can tell you by what I've seen in here- " He tapped a finger against his temple. "He would've faced a death sentence, that much was the truth."

Lacking any better a rendition to offer, It went even quieter. But like a tension fissure splitting a glacier, some sensations leeched out. Eddie felt his tear ducts twinge, but the tears didn't flow. The entity's myriad of emotions were too many to name.

"They gave him an option, and he chose what felt right at the time. I can't get mad at him for making a poor choice. We've all made bad calls."

"Yes, but... Stripes, couldn't you have- picked someone else?"

Asked point blank, It blinked with Kaspbrak's eyes, before recoiling completely. The crack narrowed, but was left ajar just wide enough for Eddie to know It wasn't completely closed off, trying to avoid responding entirely. As yet, no one had been brave enough to dare word such a question this way.

Waiting, Eddie wasn't surprised to hear nothing then and there.

It was still tired, easily disoriented, hungry.

Sick.

Why pick the person you did? Why burden them more so than you already have?

Who would want to answer such a loaded question on an empty stomach?

What a thing to aSk. ...And he's still comiNg along?

He doesn't give up that easily. We both know this.

It's just a... hoSpital visit.

Please. You know who we're gonna see there. Don't pretend indifference.

...You're still okay wiTh it?

Not in the least. And she won't be, either, if she knows at all. But this is one loose end I know you want tied up.

How arE we gonna shake Richie, then?

...You heard of bait and switch?

"Shit. Eddie...? Eddie, you- where did- where are you? ...Spooky? ...Either of you?"

Minding enough to keep silent, Eddie was surprised at how nonchalantly he stood, smack dab in the center of the hallway, and Richie - barely six inches away - looked right through him.

A moment ago, they had stood side-by-side in the elevator.

The next, as the doors parted, Tozier stepped out first. Eddie followed, taking a lighter step than was probably necessary on a freshly-waxed floor. His cautiousness proved rewarding as he watched Richie's overpronated foot skid against the linoleum.

With a muttered curse, Richie flailed and reached for a nearby gurney, sidled up against the hallway wall, to keep from doing the splits.

The next he looked back, angry look primed and ready to defend his moment of clumsiness, the agitation swept itself off his face. His eyes went wide.

Still standing there, yet somehow not, Eddie blinked, mildly startled, unable to help a head tilt.

Whoa. Disappeared that fast, did we?

It's only answer was a brazen chuckle.

Regaining his balance, Richie paced one way, then the other. There were more than a few closed doors along this wing. He chanced opening one or two, tentatively calling after his missing company, even going so far as to recall the elevator for a look inside.

As the metal doors slid apart to reveal an empty car, Richie's shoulders slumped.

"You fuckers, you bailed."

The deadpan finality in his voice got a dry laugh out of Eddie.

Not the first time Pen's ditched you. Get over it.

Straightening, Richie gave up his search with a resigned huff. He squared his posture, chest puffing out. "Right, fine. Leave me to show up without so much as a box of flowers or some gentlemanly shit by way of a get-well gesture. Bev'll love that."

Feeling just as resigned as the Trashmouth sounded, ignoring his pseudo-courageous stance, Eddie made no move to call him back. The mere mention of Beverly saddened him as much as it rekindled It's barely-repressed aggression.

She'll be happier to see you than she would us, man.

...For what we haVe in mind, defiNitely. DeFiniteLy will be happier to sEe him.

...You think any more on what you'll want to say to her, afterward?

Ever on the contrary, It said nothing.

Looking back, Eddie saw a muted, eye-level flash of yellow in his blurred, warped reflection off the elevator.

With a cheerful ding - without a once-necessary button press - the elevator doors opened a third time.

This... pretty sure all this violates a health code of some kind, somehow. And in the hospital, with so many regulations to keep up with, if some inspector was to find their way down here...

Slinking about the many rooms comprising the basement level of the Derry Home Hospital, It's concerns were nowhere near as municipal. Let off the leash, the creature had already scented who it was they were after. He wasn't sparing any more time for small talk.

And, keeping to his word as they closed in, It spoke less and less.

Somehow, that was more bothersome than the chatter Eddie had once found so latently annoying. All of a sudden, he was wishing they were where they had been a shy twelve hours prior. For him, the preshow jitters were back, with a vengeance.

He wanted to hide and puke again, not be tossed out on the stage.

Alas, it was fast proving too late for second thoughts.

...A-a- look, there goes a rat. Pretty sure I saw a rat go scuttling under that linen rack just now, Pen.

The cursory diversion did them no good. It's scoff of irritation bled over into a throaty growl. Sweating the same cold sweat he had come to know, dread, and try to bear all in the same week, Eddie felt his chest cavity reverb with the unnaturally-deep force.

Then, drawing to a stop, he spotted what sign the demonic presence had already pegged. His hands balled into fists, fingernails scraping his palms. Brow falling, his lips peeled back in an ugly snarl.

An open door, squirreled away behind the protective screen of two sets of supply shelves, leading to a maintenance closet.

Listening with ears far sharper than what he was accustomed to using, Eddie winced at the high-pitched whine emitting from within. It's hearing spectrum was who-knew-how-many-times greater than his own. And whatever acoustic dampeners the entity once used to block the full scope of soundwaves off from his host's awareness - those had promptly been ripped out and cast aside.

And besides the cool, closed-in smells of mildewy rot of aged dust and rusty, leaking pipes, there was one other prominent scent, all about the basement. The musky aroma of sweat, hormones, and clothes too long lived in. It was strongest here, just outside the near-hidden door, and the din of a small, portable box-sized television broadcasting from inside said here was where their prey would be found.

Wilting at the seams, Eddie felt the furnace within kick on. Gauge needles swung over into the red. The sweat on his skin evaporated. The pressure set in, undeniable and intense, all throughout his form. Once-frail fingers lengthened into smooth, black claws, scissoring in anticipation. Teeth, growing pointed and curved, row upon row of them surfaced, lined themselves in successive bands down the back of his gullet.

Ready as he was never going to be, Eddie Kaspbrak closed his eyes against a blast of light from behind the eyelids.

Make it quick.

It reopened them in a blaze of amber-gold. The ensuing grin split their face, stretching from ear to ear.

CaN do, Eds.

Sparks caught. Their physical imitation of self burned away, caught up in a primordial fireflash. Eddie - or whatever semblance of him was left, having surrendered to the supernatural tempest - ducked against the levy, feeling the heat tear past, then through him, without scalding his skin. He huddled as one would to avoid the shockblast of a meteor strike.

Duck and cover.

The door banged open, striking the wall with such force its hinges were wrenched from the frame. The TV was knocked off its stand, striking the concrete floor with such force its screen broke out in a shower of sparks. A chair overturned as its former occupant's brown beer bottle shattered. Shards flew.

Alvin Marsh never knew what hit him.