Author's Note: Personal Confession Time: I really love the idea of a story that explores Eddie and Beverly's friendship, as these two were my favorites out of all the Loser's Club in Stephen King's IT, so this is kind of my attempt at exploring their relationship in a tough situation. Summary: Bev and Eddie are walking to school when they are kidnapped by Henry Bowers and his gang and have to work together to find a means of survival and the shared trauma they endure will test their friendship in new ways when Henry starts testing the boundaries of what he can get away with. Side tangent: Pennywise is in this a little bit (meant mostly to scare Eddie and Beverly), but he's not the main focus, and the main threat of this story is going to be Henry Bowers and his goons.

Chapter One

As usual, seventeen-year-old Beverly Marsh was running fucking late. It took her thirty minutes to drive through town to get to the school, given she and her Daddy lived in the apartment complex on the east side of Derry, and that was only if she speeded and didn't get in Henry Bowers' way or some stupid crap like that, and it was the last day of high school, her last summer with the rest of the Loser's Club before they all started thinking about where they wanted to go to college. Bev was thinking as far away from her daddy the slum lord and pervert as she could get.

She furrowed her brows into a frown and clamped another bobby pin in her mouth, diving for her backpack and catching a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirror she had hung on the back of her bedroom door, giving a curt little nod of approval. Dressed in an olive green maxi wrap dress with flouncy short sleeves, floral embroidery detailing on the bodice, with a tie at the waistline, and a femme flowy high-low bottom hem, the very epitome of femininity. She ran a brush through her red hair, which was cut into a graceful long bob that cascaded in natural waves and layers, grazing to just past her collarbones.

Beverly wasn't beautiful in the classical way, no flowing golden curls or ivory skin; no piercing eyes of green. She was pale, almost so white that most were afraid to touch her, wondering if they reached out a hand to graze her skin, would they meet only the air, as if she were nothing more than a ghost, an apparition. She was shorter than average and certainly larger than a catwalk model, but in her ordinariness she was stunning. Something radiated from within that rendered her irresistible to both genders. She had a couple guys at school already asking her out.

Not that Daddy the slum lord would ever allow a guy to date me, Beverly thought bitterly, pursing her lips into a rigid scowl, toying with one of the rings she wore on her right hand, looking at her reflection.

Her makeup looked good. Usually she didn't wear it, but today was a special occasion. She figured the last day of class called for a little foundation, a tiny bit of eyeshadow and eyeliner, some pink lip gloss.

Wonder what Daddy is going to think of my new dress, Bev thought bitterly. Her dad, Alvin Marsh, was a bit of a drinker. It's how she'd gotten all her bruises, the ones on her collarbone, one on the top of her left hand. And theoretically, her self-induced scars.

But what hurt Bev the worst was the insecurity. The internal brokenness that only a person exposed to abuse could experience. It was like this: Those mental scars were a tapering factor in the serenity of domestic life. They caused agony that could only be seen on the inside. The pain that no one else saw, because…well, no one cared to see it for themselves. She knew this.

All her life, she was told that she was pretty. Bev knew what guys saw when they looked at her. Though she did not know it, was her eyes aside from her vibrant mane of red hair that they were drawn to. Her emotions were not easily hidden on her innocent face. Her pain was evident in the crease of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her full lips.

But her eyes, her eyes showed her soul. They were a deep pool of restless blue, an ocean of hopeless grief. Whenever a guy at school was fortunate enough to be able to look into her eyes they knew, all the beauty of the universe could not even hope to compete with this simple thing: passion. Passion turned Bev's eyes into orbs of the brightest fire, and in them they read clearly that she would fight to the very last tear for her life. She would not let the world break her.

Sure, she could cry, but she would never let them take her true self from her. She clung to it with passion. Passion that made her beautiful.

Beverly furrowed her brows into a frown as she scowled, trying her hardest to cover up the bruise from the other night when she'd dared to talk back to Daddy after he claimed she hadn't cooked his pork chop thoroughly enough. No amount of makeup would cover this up. The bruise that had begun as a purple stain above her eyebrow had sunk into the socket itself, and so now it had the appearance of a black eye. In truth one of Daddy's rings had caught it when her father had drawn back his hand and slapped her hard enough to sting. She was wary of how fast she explained it and her tone of voice. If she appeared anxious or spoke too quickly, the other Losers might think she was a victim and cast suspicious glances. You'll just have to come up with some other explanation, Bev.

Her reflection stared unhelpfully back at her from the mirror as she attempted to hide or diminish the horrible looking welt with thick makeup. Determining it to be a lost cause, she huffed in defeat and gave up, tossing her brushes and makeup onto her little vanity in the corner.

Beverly slipped on her pair of sandals, grabbing her small compact black nylon backpack, and slinging it over her shoulders and bolted down the hallway, making to head towards the side door of the kitchen that led down the fire escape and out onto the street to make for the sidewalk, when her father's harsh bark of a voice halted the poor girl in her tracks.

"Bevvy," came Daddy's voice, slightly slurred but also alert. "You're lookin' real nice today. As pretty as your momma. What's the hurry?"

Bev cast her gaze downward, feeling her fingers curl into a protective fist over the strap of her backpack. If she had to, she could use her backpack as a weapon against Daddy, since it was stuffed full to the brim with her textbooks she planned to dump into the trash soon as the bell rang. "Th—thank you, Daddy," Bev whispered, feeling the heat creep to her cheeks. She flinched as Alvin Marsh's towering form cast a shadow over her as she gingerly reached out a hand, stretching for the doorknob.

To sweet, sweet freedom. It was her goal this summer to spend as far away from this shithole and Daddy as possible. Bev bit her bottom lip in a slight pout and hated that her palms had begun to shake and tremble.

"You're still my little girl, aren't you, Bevvy?" her father growled, a low warning growl escaping the back of his throat. Bev drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs and visibly flinched as she felt his fat, sausage-like fingers absentmindedly toy with a lock of her hair. "You're getting' older every day, you know. More'n more like your momma you look."

That's what he says every day, Beverly thought, clenching her eyes shut and feeling her facial muscles in her jaw tense and lock up, bracing herself for Daddy to hit her whenever he got riled up about her 'beauty.'

Bev's fingers twitched and she balled her free hand into a fist to keep from lashing out at something in anger. Such a response would only invoke her father's violent temper even worse. She didn't want that.

She was already going to be late as it was, and the rest of the Losers, Bill, Stan, Richie, Eddie, Mike, and Ben, would all be wondering where she was. Beverly swallowed past the lump forming in her throat and meekly nodded, hating that her Daddy had the ability to render her legs to mush, and a horrible, hot, seething anger welled deep in the pit of her stomach. "Yes, Daddy," she whispered hoarsely, keeping her eyes fixed on anything but Alvin Marsh. Bev hissed and flinched as her father withdrew his hand from her hair, but not before leaning down and sniffing it, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle and her lavender shampoo.

"You know I worry about you, Bevvy," Alvin said, shaking his head in disbelief as he glanced at his teenage daughter's outfit. "You're a young woman now, an' boys—especially your age—only got one thing on their mind. I know," he growled. "I know all too well, Bevvy. Don't we?"

"Yes, Daddy." Bev bit her bottom lip hard enough to crack and bleed.

Her father smiled, though it did not reach Alvin's cold, blue eyes. He scowled, pursing his lips into a thin line, and turned back towards their little breakfast nook, tossing his truck keys onto the little wooden table.

"You eaten yet?" he murmured by way of response. "An' coffee doesn't count, Bev. Gotta eat if you're gonna be a strong woman."

So that I can handle more of you nightly fuckings? She thought.

The words tumbled out of Beverly's mouth before she could stop herself. "No, Daddy, but it does whenever you're in a rush. Why do I have to eat breakfast in the mornings if you don't, Daddy?" she snapped.

Beverly watched as her backtalk hit their mark and her father's face paled in anger and he sneered, balling his hands into a fist. "Because you gotta earn the right to ruin your own fuckin' life," Alvin Marsh snapped.

Beverly glowered at her father, huffing in frustration, and stomping her foot in anger, folding her arms across her chest. "Daddy, I gotta go," she whispered pleadingly, still biting that bottom lip. She wasn't even aware it was bleeding until she took a glance in the side mirror and saw the blood. "Please, Daddy, I—I'm gonna be late," Beverly begged.

But her father shook his head no, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger as though he was fighting off a splitting fucking headache.

Glancing towards the clock that hung on the mantle above their kitchen sink where Bev did most of the dishes in the evenings, Alvin let out a growl. He was running on ten minutes late because of Beverly.

Work was going to have to wait a few minutes. She would be punished for it later, but right now, he just needed to make sure she ate.

His girl was getting too goddamned skinny for his liking, her cheekbones had a sallow, gaunt, almost sunken in look. Made her look ill.

Alvin's lips pursed into such a thin line they almost disappeared as he stomped over towards the fridge and pulled out the milk and poured Bev a bowl of cereal, thinking this was a fucking joke if he failed her that much as a father, that she wouldn't even fucking eat in the mornings.

Beverly swallowed past the lump in her throat as Daddy gave her that look from the kitchen table and pointed towards her usual chair. It wasn't a request. That look he was currently giving her was the one he reserved for her whenever Beverly was being 'stupid' in his words, not listening to him. If she took it far enough, sometimes Daddy would use the switch.

"Eat," he snarled, pointing towards her bowl of untouched cereal. "I'm not gonna come an' get you from the school today if I get a call from the nurse sayin' you passed the fuck out again. I can't keep an eye on you all goddamned summer long, Bevvy. Some of us have to work."

"Breakfast of champions," grumbled Beverly tersely as she took a bite of Lucky Charms. She scowled, though she looked away from her father.

"It's that or the fuckin' air." Alvin pretended to contemplate on the matter further and he frowned as he noticed the bruise he'd accidentally given her had turned a nasty shade of purple, and Beverly caught him staring. "You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't love you so much."

Bev froze, almost dropping her spoon back in the bowl with a loud clatter. "I—I know, Daddy," she whispered, surprised she could find her voice at all. "I—it's really not that bad. I bruise easily. We know that."

Beverly knitted her brows together in confusion and felt the tension in her shoulders leave her body as she exhaled slowly through her nose, recognizing defeat and nodded her head meekly, knowing when to give in. Alvin Marsh grinned, though his smile was almost fucking predatory.

Like a wolf, his daughter thought and repressed a shudder as it traveled down her spine, chilling her, and freezing her insides. She felt…cold.

Cold and alone, fuming in her anger at her current living situation.

In her nights, Alvin Marsh was Beverly's own personal fucking monster and in her days, he was the same. There were times when she couldn't tell the nightmare of her reality from the fiction of her nightmares. Sometimes there were clues the young teen only caught in retrospect.

The apartment would be different, or he'd developed a supernatural strength almost each time his hand would reach out to strike at her. There are moments Beverly's gaze would often fall on the road that passed their apartment complex and headed out of Derry, Maine, and follow the cracked and dappled grey to the bend in the road where it twists out of sight. Sometimes, Beverly wondered what might happen if she were take a step on it and just keep going. Momma always said there was love out there for everyone and Beverly just assumed Daddy was it.

Bev wished she could go stay with her aunt and uncle in Portland, but there's no way Daddy would ever allow that. Not even for the summer.

She sighed, slipping her little black backpack off her shoulder, and plunking it at her feet, crossing one leg over the other, and she had forgotten about the leg slit in her dress that went all the way up. Bev winced, her spoonful of Lucky Charms not even halfway to her mouth as she felt Daddy's spindly fingers that felt more like a spider's leg drift over the smooth skin of her leg. "Wh—what are you doing, Daddy?"

"If you tell anyone of our 'little games,' Bevvy, they'll take me away, lock me up and make me sad. You love me too much to let that happen, little pumpkin," Alvin growled, toying with a lock of Beverly's fiery red hair. "I'm all you got now that your mother's dead. So, I'll tell you what, Bevvy. You keep our…little secret, and I'll take you out for ice cream this weekend. You an' me, we'll go to the Dairy Queen or something. Get the chocolate blizzards you love so goddamned much. If the cops take me away if you squeal, then our ice cream trips will just go away. I know you don't want to do that to your poor old dad, do you, Bev? So, what'll it be this weekend, then, little dove? The Chocolate Extreme or the Oreo?" he grinned, flashing her a white smile that had started to yellow, thanks to all the cigarettes he smoked. Bev swallowed past the lump forming in her throat as her stomach gave a painful little lurch.

She could taste the bile coating her tongue and she swallowed it. "I…the chocolate, Daddy," she whispered, bowing her head in defeat.

"Good." Bev hissed, the noise barely audible as she felt her father's strong hand drift towards the back of her neck and linger there, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm runnin' late," he snapped, the momentary warmth of his voice completely gone. He pointed towards her bowl of Lucky Charms. "Promise your old man you'll finish that? Remember, girl, I get one more call from the school sayin' you're tryin' to starve yourself or this is just some attention seekin' bullshit, you'll get worse than the switch. You know what happens when you piss me off?" Alvin demanded.

Beverly blearily lifted her head as her father's hand came to grip underneath her chin and cup it in his hand, tilting it upwards and forcing his daughter to look him in the eyes. Her blue eyes flashed, her gaze unabashed and unwavering, and although her voice trembled and shook as the words tumbled out of her mouth, not once did she break eye contact. "I promise, Daddy," she answered steadily, exhaling a sigh of relief as she felt her father violently release his ironclad grasp on her chin.

"Then I'm headed out. Be home late. Leftover pizza in the fridge if you want some. Don't stay out too late with those goddamned boys," here, Alvin Marsh spat the words as if it were poison that had settled on his tongue. "I want you home by six. You ain't here by 5:59, I'm callin' the cops. Still don't like you spendin' the whole summer with a buncha goddamned perverted boys," Alvin Marsh snarled, sounding disgusted.

"Y—yes, Daddy," Beverly whispered, her voice cracking as she blinked back briny tears. "I—I know the rules. No boys here. I promise. Y—you don't have to worry, I—I promise. They're just friends. N-nothing r—romantic between us at all, Daddy. I—I swear it, Daddy."

"Good." His daughter flinched away from his touch as he gingerly pressed his lips to her forehead, either completely ignoring how Beverly's body seemed to tense and stiffen at his tender touch or was oblivious. "Have a good day, Bevvy," he breathed, his hand lingering longer on her shoulder, his fingers feeling more like claws, than she would have liked.

Satisfied that he had played the role of father to the best of his abilities given his immense time constraints, Alvin Marsh grabbed his truck keys and promptly quit the kitchen, slamming the door on his way outside.

By the time he had backed his pickup truck out of the apartment complex where they lived, his head was already immersed in his work.

Alvin Marsh was so caught up in a world far away from their shitty little hovel that dared to call itself a fucking apartment, where at that very moment in their little kitchen nook, his daughter stood up and scraped the remainder of her cereal into the trash can without ever taking a single bite.