𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫

𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚎 - 𝚋.𝚖. [𝚙𝚝 𝚒𝚒]

pairing: (aged up)bill denbrough x (aged up)(fem)reader

warnings: AU, cursing, underage drug use

word count: 1760

song preference: me and your momma, childish gambino

requested? [yes] [no]

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The air inside of the gas station was significantly cooler than outside, and it smelled of aftershave and gunpowder. It was interesting— such a rinky-dink exterior withheld many surprises, including a pool table sitting next to the cash register. It was oddly placed and the green felt was peeling, but other than that it seemed well kept.

Nervously, Bill glanced back at the cashier, a sour looking man with a face full of stubble and a death metal shirt on. Bill sent him an awkward smile, only to be returned with a frown and a pair of crossed arms. He sighed and turned to the shelves lining the small convenience store. Everything looked off to Bill and he was becoming nervous just standing there.

"Excuse me?" a gruff voice spoke, the sudden call in the silence of the store making Bill jump a little. He turned around to face the cashier, who'd been eyeing him the whole time. "Are ya lookin' for somethin'?"

Bill nodded and walked up to the counter, praying that the man wouldn't suspect him for being underage. Although Bill had grown taller and more mature looking as his teenage years dragged on, he still looked young. All he could count on was the man's flexibility with the law.

The stuttering teen gently placed his hands on the rim of the counter, swallowing dryly before opening his mouth. "Good afternoon. Where are the beer p-packs?" His eyes darted down to the man's name tag. It read "CHICO" in bold red lettering. Bill swiped his tongue across his bottom lip as Chico sized him up before pointing to a large metal fridge in the back of the store. "In that fridge over there in the corner."

Bill nearly breathed a sigh of relief as the man set his hand down. "Thanks."

As he walked to the far corner, Bill suddenly wondered where Richie was. As much of a pain in the ass as he was, his friends cared about him as much as they cared about each other. Bill grabbed a pack of beer and then quickly scanned the aisles for Richie. The bespectacled boy was nowhere to be found, leaving Bill with his final objective of finding a pack of cigarettes.

He glanced up at the cashier once more, who was now flipping through a magazine, and wondered why the cigarettes weren't behind the register. The local gas stations usually did it that way, but Bill wasn't one to judge. Less likelihood of him getting caught, anyway.

He swiped a pack of smokes off the countertop, careful to make sure they weren't an odd flavor, and then approached the cashier. He placed both items on the counter and then kept his arms firmly at his sides, feeling the familiar warmth of sweaty palms.

Chico, the man behind the counter, paused, his small brown eyes shaded by his medium length black hair. The tension thickened for a moment longer before Chico relaxed his expression and began sizing up what Bill had brought to the counter. "Good evening, that's all?" he asked with disinterest.

Bill nodded, wiping his palms discreetly on his jeans. "Uh, yeah, th-thats all." Chico began ringing up his items as Bill fished for cash in his pocket, hoping the funds his mother had given him for "Halloween candy" was enough to suffice. As he did so, his eye caught a "WANTED" poster stapled beside the entrance. His brows furrowed at the photo, seeing a poorly drawn sketch of a man with clown makeup on. He had tufts of hair sticking out above his ears and a devilish grin on his face, highlighted by dark lip paint that streaked upward toward his eyes. The most disturbing thing was the man's eyes themselves; bulging and manic, they looked like they could suck the very soul out of Bill.