Chapter Text
~In this universe, Matty Clement is alive. Takes place after Matty is attacked by the mutant baby in the car. I added a lot of things that does not correspond with the series to fit into the story.~
A dull throb pulsed behind Matty’s eyes. His cheek burned. A chill, damp and pervasive, seeped into his clothes. He groaned, a weak sound, and forced his eyelids open.
Darkness.
Not absolute, but a murky, oppressive gloom. The air smelled of rot, stagnant water, and something metallic, like blood and rust.
He lay sprawled in shallow water, the frigid liquid swirling around his legs, soaking his jeans. The ground beneath him was slick, slimy concrete. He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting, and looked around.
Tunnels. Vast, echoing tunnels, their curved ceilings dripping with condensation. The sound of water, a constant, sloshing sounds, filled the silence.
He was in the sewers. Derry’s sewers.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized him. His breath hitched, quickening into ragged gasps. “Hello?” he croaked, his voice thin and reedy. “Is anyone there?”
Only the sounds of drips of water answered him. His own voice, a pathetic echo, bounced off the grimy walls, then vanished. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying. His head spun. He reached for his face, his fingers brushing against a sticky, crusty wound on his cheek. The creature. The mutant baby.
He remembered the car, the family, the shattered window, the yellow pacifier flying into the river. His pacifier. Gone. The thought sent a fresh wave of terror through him. His only comfort. His only shield against the world. He was truly alone.
A choked sob escaped him, then another, until he was bawling, loud and unrestrained, the sound raw and desperate in the echoing emptiness. He fumbled for something, anything, to soothe himself. His thumb. He jammed it into his mouth, the skin cold and tasting faintly of the sewer water. He began to nibble at the nail, a habit his father despised, a comfort he clung to even as he cried.
The frigid water numbed his legs, but the cold inside him was far worse. He sank back down, hugging his knees to his chest, his thumb a small, pathetic comfort. He just wanted to disappear. He closed his eyes, wishing for the darkness to swallow him completely.
Then he heard it.
A sound.
Not the water. Not his own sobs.
Laughter.
And then, a low, rumbling coo. His heart slammed against his ribs, a frantic drum against his wet flannel. He snapped his eyes open, his gaze darting through the oppressive gloom.
At the far end of the tunnel, where the darkness deepened into an empty void, two pinpricks of light glowed. Orange. A vibrant, impossible orange against the grey. They pulsed, drawing closer, growing larger.
A figure emerged from the shadows, impossibly tall, impossibly thin. A clown. Its face, painted a ghastly white, stretched into a wide, unsettling grin, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp, too numerous. Its eyes, those glowing orange orbs, fixed on Matty, burning holes in the darkness. Tufts of bright orange hair framed its head, and a ruffled collar, stained with something dark, encircled its long, pale neck. It wore an old-fashioned, silver-grey suit, adorned with oversized red pom-poms that seemed to sway with a life of their own.
The clown moved with an unnatural grace, a slow, deliberate stalk. Its laughter, now louder, more pronounced, echoed through the tunnel, laced with a mocking, teasing quality. "Well, well, well," a voice, raspy and saccharine, slithered through the air. "Look what the little stream dragged in."
Matty scrambled backward, his wet sneakers slipping on the slimy concrete. His back hit the cold, hard wall with a jarring thud. He tried to push further, but there was nowhere to go. The clown's grin widened, its orange eyes sparkling with malicious amusement.
"Oh, a little mouse cornered," the clown cooed, its head tilting at an unnerving angle. "Such a brave little mouse." It took another slow step forward, its enormous, gloved hand gesturing. "Running away from home, were we? From Daddy's big, mean voice?"
Matty gasped, his thumb still firmly in his mouth, his eyes wide with terror. How did it know?
The clown chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "And dear Lily. Such a pretty name. Such a pretty girl. But she doesn't want your sloppy kisses, does she, Matty-boy?" It mimicked a soft, disdainful sniff. "Just friends. Oh, the humanity!"
Tears streamed down Matty’s face, hot trails on his cold skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing it would all disappear. The clown’s voice, however, persisted, a venomous lullaby.
"And that lovely shiner on your eye," Pennywise purred, its voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Daddy's little love tap. So much for 'love,' eh?"
Matty whimpered, his thumb a useless comfort against the onslaught. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. He just cried, a pathetic, strangled sound. The clown watched him, its head still tilted, its grin unwavering. Then, it let out a dramatic, exaggerated wail, rubbing its eyes with a theatrical act.
"Boo hoo hoo! Poor, poor Matty-boy! Lost your little blanky? Lost your little...binky?"
Its orange eyes suddenly narrowed, focusing on Matty’s thumb. A low, intrigued coo escaped its throat. "Oh, my! What have we here?"
Before Matty could react, a long, gloved, pale hand, shot out. It wasn't rough, not painful, but the suddenness of it made Matty flinch. Pennywise's fingers, surprisingly delicate, wrapped around Matty's wrist, gently pulling his thumb from his mouth.
"Such a grown-up boy," Pennywise murmured, its gaze fixed on Matty's thumb. It brought the digit closer to its own face, its painted lips parting slightly. "But where's your little yellow friend? Did it fly away? Down, down, into the dirty water?"
It paused, its eyes scanning Matty's face, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
"Tell Pennywise, Matty-boy. Where is your beloved binky?"
Matty shook his head, fresh tears welling up. "I... I just want to go home," he choked out, the words barely audible.
Pennywise’s face twisted into a mock pout, its lower lip jutting out. "Home? But you ran away, didn't you? Why did you get into Pennywise's lovely car then, if you just wanted to go home?"
Matty had no answer. He just stared, his mind a blank canvas of fear.
Pennywise's grip tightened slightly on Matty's wrist. It brought Matty’s thumb to its mouth, its breath, warm and sickly sweet, ghosting over his skin. Its sharp, white teeth, like tiny daggers, hovered just above his thumbnail.
"Such a tasty little morsel," it whispered, its voice a low growl. "Pennywise loves a good snack. Perhaps a little Matty-thumb for dinner?"
Matty screamed, a raw, piercing sound that scraped his throat. "No! Please! Don't!"
He thrashed, trying to pull his hand free, but Pennywise's grip was surprisingly strong, unyielding. The clown’s head snapped back, a booming, guttural laugh erupting from its chest, filling the sewer with its terrifying mirth. The sound bounced off the walls, reverberating through Matty's very bones. It pulled Matty's hand away from its mouth, its grin still wide, its eyes gleaming. Then, with a chillingly deliberate slowness, it parted its lips wider, wider, revealing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth, like a shark's maw. The sight was monstrous, unnatural.
"It was very nice of you to stop by and play, Matty-boy," Pennywise hissed, its voice suddenly devoid of its playful quality, replaced by something ancient and hungry. "But now... it's dinner time."
It lunged, its head snapping forward, its fangs aimed directly at Matty's arm. Adrenaline, cold and sharp, surged through Matty. Instinct took over. With a desperate surge of strength, he splashed his free hand into the foul, murky water at his feet, sending a stream of cold, slimy liquid directly into Pennywise’s face.
The clown recoiled with a surprised snarl, its head jerking back. A hiss, like steam escaping a pipe, erupted from its throat. The momentary distraction was all Matty needed. He yanked his arm free from Pennywise's suddenly loosened grip, scrambling backward, then spun around and bolted. His feet slipped on the slimy floor, but he didn't fall. He ran, blindly, desperately, into the deeper, darker reaches of the sewer tunnel, the chilling echo of Pennywise's laughter chasing him.
Behind him, Pennywise wiped a long, clawed hand across its painted face, flicking away the water. A slow, predatory smirk spread across its features, stretching its already wide grin even further. Its orange eyes gleamed in the gloom.
"Oh, Matty-boy," it purred, its voice a low, excited rumble. "Pennywise loves a good game of hide-and-seek."
The water was frigid, seizing Matty’s lungs with every splash. His worn sneakers fought against the knee-deep current, churning the icy filth as he ran. The air was thick with the stench of decay and waste, the darkness absolute save for the faint, oily shine reflecting the water’s surface. He rounded a corner, then another, the tunnels merging into a terrifying, repetitive maze. Everywhere looked the same—slick, curved concrete, dripping condensation, and the endless, black flow of the river.
He was completely lost.
The frantic echoes of his own breathing were punctuated by a sound far worse: Pennywise’s voice, following him, surrounding him, impossible to pinpoint. It was a melodic, mocking chorus that seemed to emanate from the very walls.
"Come out, come out wherever you are!" the voice sang, high and lilting, then dropping into a deep, theatrical rumble. "I’m gonna find ya, Matty-boy!"
Matty stumbled, his hands scraping the slimy wall for balance. He was running on pure panic, fueled by the memory of those impossible teeth.
"Such a naughty, naughty boy," the clown crooned, the sound vibrating closer. "Running away from his new friend! Aren’t you tired, little runner? Pennywise knows you’re tired!"
Matty pushed harder, his chest burning. He needed a hiding spot, a side tunnel, anything. He rounded a tight bend, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
And then, he stopped.
The tunnel ended. A solid, unyielding wall of concrete blocked his path. A dead end. There was nowhere left to go.
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He was trapped. Exhaustion and despair overwhelmed him simultaneously. His legs gave out, and he collapsed into the cold, stinking water, his head hitting the wall behind him. The pain was secondary to the crushing defeat.
He lost control. The fear that had been building since the moment the mutant baby attacked erupted in a violent, infantile tantrum. He screamed, a high, strangled sound, pounding his fists uselessly against the surface of the water.
He wailed, tears mixing instantly with the sewer water. "I HATE THIS! I HATE YOU! LET ME GO! I WANT OUT!" He kicked his feet, sending sprays of foul water into the air, completely consumed by the desperate, twelve-year-old meltdown.
He didn't notice the silence descend, the echo of his own frantic cries drowning out the world. He didn't notice the soft splash as Pennywise stepped out of the shadows, the clown’s tall figure illuminated by the faint, diffused light from a distant grate.
The clown stood over him, eyes glowing orange, an expression of profound, amused disdain on its painted face. It watched the boy’s thrashing, messy display of despair.
"Dear, oh dear," Pennywise drawled, its voice dripping with false sympathy. "Such a mess. A temper tantrum, Matty-boy? That simply won't do." The clown crouched slightly, bringing its face closer to the sobbing boy. "It’s not nice to run away from your new friend. Did you think Pennywise wouldn't find his little mouse?"
Matty flinched, his sobbing hiccuping to a halt as he registered the presence above him. He scrambled backward, pressing himself flat against the unforgiving wall, trying to melt into the concrete.
"P-please," Matty whimpered, tears still flooding his eyes. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone. I promise!"
Pennywise let out a sharp, piercing burst of laughter. "Oh, Matty-boy. You are so entertaining when you are terrified."
The amusement faded, replaced by a deep, rumbling hunger. The clown’s grin stretched, becoming impossibly wide, splitting the white paint. The teeth began to elongate, growing into rows of shimmering, razor-sharp points. Its eyes turned molten gold, burning with predatory intent. Drool dripping down his painted face.
"Playtime is over," Pennywise hissed, its voice thick and wet. "Now, it's time for the feast."
The clown lunged.
Matty screamed, a purely animal sound of utter terror. He curled into a tight ball, burying his face in his knees, hands clamped over his ears, waiting for the searing impact of the bite, the tearing of flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable.
But the impact never came.
Instead, the terrifying snarl was replaced by a low, drawn-out sound of curiosity.
Pennywise, frozen mid-lunge, its monstrous teeth inches from Matty’s shoulder, had suddenly stopped. Its golden eyes, still blazing, dropped from the cowering boy to the water swirling around its feet.
There, gently bobbing in the current, caught against a small piece of debris, was a flash of bright, defiant yellow.
Matty’s pacifier.
The clown’s transformation reversed instantly. The monstrous teeth retracted, the face smoothing back to the chalky white mask, the golden eyes softening slightly, though still radiating cold. Pennywise lowered its head, its gaze fixed entirely on the small, waterlogged piece of plastic.
With slow, deliberate care, Pennywise extended a long, gloved hand, scooping the pacifier from the water. It held the object up, turning it over, examining the yellow silicone nipple and the ring with intense, chilling focus.
A sound escaped the clown’s throat—a soft, unsettling coo, like a mother calming a distressed infant. Pennywise looked from the pacifier to the whimpering, sobbing boy huddled against the wall, his thumb still trembling near his slack mouth.
Food was fleeting. A satisfying crunch, a quick gulp, and Matty would be gone, forgotten. But this… this thing the boy relied on, this secret shame, this desperate comfort, offered a deeper, more lasting pleasure. A way to twist the boy’s mind, to break him completely, to make him a permanent, pathetic fixture in the sewers of Derry.
The clown's wide, painted grin returned, but this time, it was slow, thoughtful, and utterly deranged.
"Oh, Matty-boy," Pennywise whispered, the voice laced with a chilling realization. "You won't be dinner."
The clown stood up straight, towering over the shaking figure. He held the yellow pacifier, a tiny, pitiful trophy.
"You are going to be my little experiment," Pennywise announced, its voice booming slightly in the confined space. "My little pet. My little… baby."
The laughter that followed was not the hungry roar of a predator, but the delighted, unhinged glee of a scientist who had just discovered a fascinating new specimen. It was the sound of Matty Clement’s life, as he knew it, ending, and a new, terrifying existence beginning.
Matty remained frozen, a pathetic, trembling knot of red flannel and fear submerged in the icy water. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly the lids hurt, and his hands were pressed hard against his ears, trying to block out the world, trying to block out the threat. He waited for the tearing, the pain, the final, consuming darkness. The absence of the attack was almost worse than the attack itself.
Pennywise watched the display, the yellow pacifier dangling casually from his long, clawed fingers. The clown’s face was a mask of delighted contemplation. He needed to secure his new toy before going out to hunt. This little project required a clean, controlled environment, and the boy was soaked and shivering.
With a soft coo, Pennywise knelt slightly, the water rippling around his stained, silver suit. He reached out, his movements surprisingly gentle yet utterly inescapable. His fingers, cold and strong, curled around Matty’s wrists, peeling his hands away from his ears.
"Shh, shh, Matty-boy," the clown murmured, its voice a smooth, unsettling blend of mockery and false comfort. "No need for all this noise. Pennywise doesn't like loud boys."
Matty’s eyes snapped open, wide and bloodshot, meeting the clown’s glowing orange gaze. He was trapped, utterly helpless.
"Look at Pennywise," the clown commanded, tilting Matty’s chin up with one finger. "See? Everything is fine. We're just going to have a little chat."
Pennywise withdrew his hand, then, with a flourish, he dangled the yellow pacifier directly in front of Matty’s face. It swung gently, catching the dim light, a beacon of forbidden comfort.
Matty stared. His eyes widened further, disbelief warring with the terror. His binky. He thought it was gone, swallowed by the river. A desperate, primal urge to snatch it surged through him, only to be immediately crushed by the overwhelming fear of the clown.
"Surprise, surprise!" Pennywise chirped, his grin stretching. "It came to find you. It missed its little boy. Didn't you miss it, Matty-boy?"
Matty could only whimper, his throat tight with unshed tears.
"Now," Pennywise said, his voice becoming firm. "Open up."
He brought the pacifier close, the rubber nipple hovering just inches from Matty's trembling lips. Matty clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head violently, refusing the offering. He knew this was a trick, a horrible, humiliating game. He wouldn't give in.
Pennywise sighed dramatically, the sound like deflating bellows. "Oh, dear. Such stubbornness. We can't have that, can we? This is what you need, little one. It makes the scary things go away."
The clown leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper. "Open. Now.”
Matty squeezed his eyes shut again, shaking his head even harder, tears splashing onto his cheeks. "No! I don’t want it! Leave me alone!"
Pennywise’s laughter was sharp, high-pitched, and filled with sadistic amusement. "You do want it! You know you do, Matty-boy! It’s your secret friend! Your little comfort!"
The clown’s patience, always paper-thin, snapped. He pressed the pacifier forcefully against Matty's sealed lips, pushing against his teeth. Matty fought back, pressing his lips tighter.
"Naughty, naughty!" Pennywise scolded, the playful tone masking genuine menace. He grabbed Matty's jaw with a surprisingly strong hand, squeezing just enough to force the boy's mouth to part in a gasp of pain.
The pacifier was shoved inside. The silicone nipple hit the roof of Matty's mouth, silencing his protests instantly.
The immediate, overwhelming sensation of the familiar rubber was shocking. It was wet, cold, and tasted faintly of sewer water, yet it also carried that deeply ingrained sense of comfort, a response his mind couldn't override.
Matty whimpered around the obstruction, the sound muffled and pathetic. He tried to spit it out, his tongue pushing against the nipple, but Pennywise held his jaw firm, his orange eyes boring into Matty’s.
"No, no, no," the clown cautioned, shaking his head slowly. "Don't spit. That's for babies who don't know any better. You keep that right where it belongs. It makes you quiet. It makes you safe." He released Matty's jaw, but kept his gaze locked, daring the boy to try and remove it.
Matty’s lower lip trembled, the rim of the pacifier digging into his skin. He couldn't scream, he couldn't talk, he could only breathe around the rubber. Defeated, humiliated, he stopped fighting the plastic in his mouth, the instinctual urge to suckle, to soothe, already starting to assert itself. His eyes brimmed with fresh, silent tears.
Pennywise beamed, clapping his hands softly. "Good boy! See? Much better. No more naughty noise."
The clown moved swiftly, before Matty could fully process his new humiliation. Pennywise scooped the boy up from the water, one massive arm wrapping around Matty's back, the other sliding beneath his knees. Matty was lifted effortlessly, the movement startling him into a muffled gasp around the pacifier.
He was hiked up onto Pennywise's hip, the way a parent would carry a small, tired child. The height difference was vast, leaving Matty dangling awkwardly against the clown’s stiff, silver-grey suit.
"Oh, Matty-boy, you are so cold!" Pennywise cooed, bouncing him slightly, a sickeningly maternal gesture. "And look at your clothes! Soaking wet! We can’t have Pennywise’s new little guest catching a chill, can we?"
Matty was rigid with terror, the pacifier keeping his screams trapped inside. He tried to pull away, to slide off the clown’s hip, but the grip was iron-tight. His face, bruised and scratched, was pressed against the rough fabric of the clown’s suit. He could smell the sickeningly sweet scent of cotton candy and decay that clung to Pennywise.
"Don't worry," the clown assured him, his voice soft, almost genuinely caring. "Pennywise will fix you right up. New home, new clothes, and lots of lovely things for a good little boy. We're going to have so much fun, my little one."
Pennywise turned, heading deeper into the many of tunnels. His large, silver-shoed feet splashed rhythmically through the water. Matty could only cling to the clown, utterly petrified, his humiliation complete, the yellow pacifier the only thing keeping his sanity from fracturing entirely. The dark, echoing tunnels swallowed them whole.