Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12189009.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      IT_-_Stephen_King
  Relationship:
      Patrick_Hockstetter/Eddie_Kaspbrak
  Character:
      Patrick_Hockstetter, Eddie_Kaspbrak, Victor_Criss, Belch_Huggins, Henry
      Bowers
  Additional Tags:
      Gang_Rape, Character_Death, Asphyxiation, Torture, Bullying, Child_Abuse,
      Canonical_Child_Abuse, Semi-Canonical_Character, Animal_Abuse_
      (mentioned), Masturbation, Blood_As_Lube, Disturbing_Themes, Object
      Insertion, Hurt_No_Comfort, Sadism, Rape, Verbal_Humiliation, Implied
      Mind_Rape, Language, Book_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-25 Words: 3467
****** Bad Break ******
by Ambiguous_(Roomies), Darling_(Roomies)
Summary
     Patrick Hockstetter wanted things to go differently with Eddie that
     one day in July 1958, so he revisits it in his mind.
     A/N: was originally a multi-part story, but converted to one-shot 10/
     13/17 so Darling can focus on other things.
Patrick Hockstetter was warm in his bed, his top blanket pulled to his chin,
his hands resting on either side of him. He laid like that, breathing,
contemplating, but not doing much else. His fingers twitched, but he had to be
disciplined and not touch. When these sorts of days happen, the act of
pleasuring himself became a sort of ceremony. He had to do it just right or it
would be ruined, wasted, empty.
Breathing slowly, Patrick began to rub himself. It was only with his palm to
get him warmed up without moving things too fast. 
The first part of the ceremony was simple enough: close his eyes, and begin the
fantasy. Imagine the body first, and then, as he examined every wound, every
bloated part, he would imagine what happened to them. What it must have felt
like. What they must have done to try and escape. Normally his fantasies
involved the animals in his fridge -- the fridge in the dump that the adults
couldn't see. He imagined how they must have cried and clawed, panicking as the
realization that they were going to die settled in. This time his mind had
something juicier; something more boy shaped.
Eddie Kaspbrak was nobody to him before today – just another kid, if he even
got that much recognition. When they had caught him outside of the candy store
sipping on a Pepsi like he hadn't been throwing rocks at them not too long
before, Patrick only had hopes for some light amusement. But seeing Eddie
writhing beneath Henry as gravel was shoved in his mouth, hearing his cries of
distress and pain, well... They made Patrick feel pleasant. They made him feel
just about as pleasant as one could feel. Eddie was delicate and lovely, and
his face when Henry finally broke his arm -- oh, such a sweet face -- had
stayed with Patrick all day.
It was nice, but it wasn't enough. There needed to be more of it.
In a way, Eddie had become real. Not like Patrick real – but real all the same.
He wasn’t useful, like the Hockstetter’s; he wasn’t important, like Henry. But
Eddie was something else now. If this were a funnybook, Eddie's character would
finally have a name. Eddie had become more, and… ooh, the thought of taking
whatever that was – that thing that made him more – had sat quietly in the back
of Patrick's mind for the entire day, waiting for the ceremony.
Patrick felt himself approaching the second part, speaking of which. He put his
hand back down to his side, his hard on visible even under the thickness of his
bedding. But he didn’t dare touch. Not until the right moment. When that moment
came, he would allow himself release. But he had to see everything through
until then. It was like the pudding after his mom’s meatloaf, or summer break
after a year of school. You had to ride it as long as you could, feel it as
long as you could, and make every second count.
Like an author, his fantasies needed simple composition. A who, what, when, and
where. He had the whoand he had the when. He closed his eyes and drew from
memory the what and where. He drew the feeling of the summer sun, and the smell
of the Maine air - the Derry air, he thought to himself, chuckling at his wit.
Henry was grabbing Eddie, picking the smaller child up by his arm. Eddie was
making a squealing noise as his arm was twisted around his back and pushed up
at a painful angle. His thin legs trembling—
—The world in Patrick’s room was starting to float away. He could feel Vic’s
arm as Patrick passed by him, brushing slightly against each other. He could
feel it more than he felt the mattress at his back. If he just concentrated
enough—
 
Patrick raised his hand. Vic and Belch stared at him curiously. As he walked
forward, he felt pressure against his palm, but it had texture. It was like
trying to cup the breeze in your hands, or riding downhill on a bicycle. It was
shapeless, invisible force.
          (hi ho silver)
He closed his eyes, concentrating. He could hear roller skates in the distance,
and a forgotten Pepsi bottle rolling along the concrete; hear it more clearly
than the fan blowing in the window. He could smell Belch’s sweat, the odor of
onions and moss; smell it more clearly than the bleach his mom cleaned the
bathroom with. And he squinted as the sun struck his eyes. His palm tingled as
Patrick walked forward, walking into that barrier, feeling it wash over him
until, with a pop, he was between Eddie’s legs. He latched his fingers into
Eddie's waistband, bedroom all but forgotten.
Tears burst from Eddie’s eyes as soon as Patrick’s fingers brushed against his
belly. Patrick laughed when Eddie’s knees twitched. He tried to cross his legs,
to block Patrick. Vic and Belch were suddenly there, grabbing one leg each,
prying them as far apart as was decent. Patrick was vaguely aware of a nearly
empty Pepsi bottle rolling into his tennies.
"No, please, let me go," Eddie begged. His voice sent shivers down Patrick's
belly all the way to the tip of his dick, which was hard as stone. Patrick
looked down at it. He could see it bulging through his jeans, as plain as the
nose on his face. When he looked back up, Eddie’s eyes darted away.
 He had been looking too. Somehow, Patrick knew what Eddie was thinking.
"Blow you for a quarter," Patrick whispered. 
Eddie's eyes widened in recognition.
Oh. Oh Eddie. Oh little sweet Eddie Kaspbrak. What did he know of it? Would he
be the sort of boy who knew what bigger boys liked to do? Not the ones who
tickled the pickle after a Rita Hayworth flick. No, would Eddie know what boys
who broke the rules liked to do with each other under the canal? Or what grown
men would do to them under the porch of the house on Neibolt? Where did Eddie
go in the afternoons, pocket full of change and head full of wonder?
“Hey, I got an idea,” Patrick said, tugging gently on Eddie’s pants. “I’ll give
you a quarter if you blow me instead! How about that, hm?”
Patrick didn’t know what he expected, but Eddie growing calm, and quiet, wasn’t
it. There was still fear in his eyes, but Patrick suspected it wasn’t for him
anymore. Henry grunted as he teased Eddie’s arm, but the smaller boy barely let
out a breath. He stared through Patrick, beyond Patrick, and into something
else. Something that Patrick couldn't see. Something Patrick knew he didn't
want to see. 
This… this was not how this was supposed to go. He did that with Henry, not
Patrick. Patrick was supposed to be more important.
Patrick's mouth curled up in anger, and, without warning, he struck Eddie's
face. A nice meaty slap.  
“Or…” Patrick said. Eddie flickered back into existence. He gave Patrick a sly
glance, an expression that said I know more than you do. “I got a clear
picture: we take you to that creepy fucking house where the hobos live. We find
ourselves some with real nasty infections and give you to them. Pay them a buck
each to give us a show. They’ll see such a tender little virgin, and they will
eat you right up. Eat you right up!”
Vic, Belch, and Henry all laughed, but it was hollow. The three of them had
fake smiles plastered on their faces, stretching them. The truth was in their
eyes… Patrick was suddenly aware that their eyes were the only thing moving of
their own accord. 
The thought of their minds, trapped, as their bodies did Patrick's pleasing
would be a good fantasy to revisit later. 
Beads of sweat were forming on Vic’s forehead. His laugh took on a higher
pitch. He almost looked like he was in hysterics. Belch looked confused.
Henry... Henry was the only one who fixed his gaze on Patrick, knowing and yet
unknowing. He had the glint of an idea that might become an understanding, but
these things weren't for him to know.
They were just for Patrick.
“Have themselves a Little Eddie rump roast,” Henry added, giving Eddie’s arm a
quick yank. Eddie’s back arched and he threw his head back. Henry barely dodged
it.
“One porker up the ass, the other in your mouth, they would take turns
pumping,” Patrick continued. “They’re gonna fuck you until the cracked and
peeling skin of their dicks slides off inside you, chokes you. You'll be so
full of pus and semen you could pop! Just like a balloon.”
Eddie looked horrified. Then, strangely, he gritted his teeth together. His
nostrils flared. He was throwing himself forward, not caring if Henry breaks
his arm. Henry held him steady.
“It lives there! And if you go there, you’re the one who’s going to get eaten!”
Eddie's voice was a deep growl. Well, as deep and growly as it could be. It was
cute how tough he was trying to be, but Patrick didn't have time for it. He
needed Eddie to concentrate. Patrick’s fist slammed into Eds' stomach hard. The
boy tried to double over but Henry dutifully kept him straight. Henry knew his
place, but Eddie still seemed lost. He was going to say more, but Patrick
struck him again. All that escaped was a bit of spittle, and a whistling,
wheezing breath. His creamy white skin had a faint pink mark. Patrick found
that very pleasant to look at, so he tore Eddie's shirt up the middle, and then
enough on the side that he could see it without effort. Very pleasant indeed.
It was his fantasy. He didn’t have to say words, Henry already knew what to do.
He wrapped his free arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and leaned in, pressing his
lips to Eddie’s neck. Patrick didn’t know how Henry did it, but somehow, he
drew a gasp from Eddie – it was the same sound his mother sometimes made when
she and dad excused themselves to the bedroom. His knees kept pointing to one
another, but Vic and Belch held on, awaiting further orders. Eddie looked so
much smaller in that moment, so completely helpless – if Patrick’s dick could
have gotten any harder, it would have.
“I guess we’ll have to find another way to entertain ourselves, then,” Patrick
said, calmly. 
With one solid yank, the shorts and underwear were around Eddie’s ankles. It
didn’t surprise Patrick that puberty hadn’t even glanced in Eddie’s direction
yet – he was as hairless as a Ken doll, and nearly just as smooth. Henry
sometimes said that Mrs Kaspbrak was turning her son into a little girl, and
right now, Patrick would believe it. Patrick traced the skin around Eddie’s
balls with his finger, loving as his victim shivered at his touch.
"Not winning any prizes, are ya, Eddie?" Patrick asked. Belch and Vic chuckled
as Eddie's face turned red. He struggled with them again, so Henry reminded him
what what would happen if he moved, and jerked Eddie's arm upwards. Eddie
yelped, his arm strained, and Patrick spread Eddie's knees wide.
The thoughts were coming to him all at once. So many things he could do, that
he wanted to try. Eddie was displayed before him like birthday present, and no
one was going to stop them. The adults wouldn't see him, just like they didn't
see his fridge -- and Henry wasn't going to stop him. They were in Patrick's
world now, and completely his to control. 
The sound of glass scraping concrete dominated Patrick's brain. He looked down
at the Pepsi bottle. Eddie had bought it as a treat, and dropped it as
Henry stole away his only happy moment for the day. Patrick picked it up,
turned it over, and watched the last of the soda pour out of it. Vic and Belch,
like Henry before them, immediately knew what to do. Taking turns, they
finished removing Eddie's shorts, and tossed them to the side. Without
thinking, Patrick set the bottle upright on the ground, beneath Eddie. Then, he
looked at Henry, and the three boys began their work. Vic and Belch grabbed
tight to Eddie's ankles and calves, and started dragging them to the side.
Meanwhile, Henry started pushing down. Eddie very slowly began to do a split.
Eddie’s screams – no, they were so much more than screams. They had become
shrieks as pure and piercing as a banshee’s on a cold Irish evening -- were
background noise as Patrick watched the muscles in his legs twitch, straining
to hold everything together as they were being pulled apart. He swore he could
see tendons popping; swore he could hear the sound of tearing. And the way
Eddie's belly moved as panic settled in -- in and out, fluid, like a belly
dancer. The way the red mark sat against his belly button, and the little
mounds his skin creased on his hips as he legs went wider, and wider.
Patrick could have stared forever, lost in that moment. But this wasn't the
moment he needed. This wasn't the final part of the ceremony. This was still
just the appetizer. 
Patrick guided the bottle; Henry applied the weight. It took more than Henry
would care to think about later for the tip of the bottle to push into where
Patrick wanted it to go. Eddie tried to wiggle away as his butt touched the
bottle, but he didn't get very far. Patrick used one hand to grab Eddie's hip,
steady him, and the other to make sure the bottle didn't move. Henry pushed,
hard. Vic looked absolutely horrified. The bottle went in to where it just
started to get wider than a good stick, and blood went out. Eddie's face was
red and puffy, snot and tears were flowing freely, and underneath that, there
was an expression of unspeakable pain.
Eddie’s shrieks became words: “GETITOUTGETITOUTGETITOUT—“
The mark on Eddie’s stomach became redder as Patrick struck it again. The
bottle scraped against the concrete as Eddie’s middle swung back from the
force. When the bottle was again flat against the sidewalk, Henry pushed down
again; Vic and Belch moved their hands up to hook just over Eddie's knees, and
they also began pushing down. Another inch went in.
Eddie began to thrash with a strength no one expected him to have. He threw his
head back and this time got Henry right on the nose. Henry let go, hands going
instinctively to his face. Vic lost his grip at the same time Belch thought to
yank. Without Henry there to steady him, Eddie’s leg went one way, and his body
went the other. He almost completed his split – ironically, it was the bottle
that stopped him, jamming up at an awkward angle and causing him to jump, twist
his body in response. His head struck the concrete beside Vic, and Eddie
stopped moving.
Belch would later tell Henry he felt Eddie’s leg twitching in his grasp. Victor
would claim that Eddie had looked right at him – right into his soul.  The
truth was that neither one stayed around long enough to realize there hadn’t
been enough force to crack Eddie’s skull, that he was only dazed. 
It was Victor’s turn to scream. He pushed himself backwards, scraping some
leaves into the back of his jeans as he scrambled to get away. Belch stared
stupidly before dropping Eddie’s leg and then bolting in the opposite
direction. Neither Patrick nor Henry tried to stop them. Henry was too busy
blowing bloody snot onto the street, and Patrick had an idea blossoming in his
mind.
Something was telling him to stop; something else was urging him on. His penis
ached beneath the heavy denim of his jeans, reminding him that this was his
fantasy. This was the final part of the ceremony. Patrick could finally cum.
Patrick gently rolled Eddie over onto his back, and spread his legs. A dark
color was spreading along Eddie’s inner thighs where his tendons had ruptured.
Patrick had never seen anything more beautiful, or more erotic. Not even the
disembodied legs modeling nylons in his mother’s mail in catalogs had made him
long for release like the destruction he had wreaked on little Eddie Kaspbrak.
The bottle came out of Eddie bloody; it shattered as Patrick threw it aside.
Henry stumbled over, still under a spell, and placed his hands on Eddie’s
shoulders. Eddie moaned, his eyes fluttering open. He was caught somewhere
between painful consciousness, and sweet sleep. He tried to move his legs, and
the noise that fell from him, from some deep part of him, was not human. It was
the mewling of a dying cat; the terrified cry of a baby before it’s face was
pressed against a pillow.
Patrick’s zipper was undone, and his penis was over the band of his underwear.
Henry looked away as Patrick hitched one of Eddie’s legs over his hip, and then
slid himself in.
Eddie was sticky with blood. It felt like warm jelly against Patrick’s dick,
and made it hard for him to push all the way in. But he persisted. Fresh blood
flowed around him and out of Eddie, pooling beneath them. Patrick shifted and
put his knee in it. When he felt his balls brush against Eddie’s ass, he pulled
out halfway, then thrust himself in hard enough that he heard the smack as skin
struck skin. It felt so good he had to do it again.
“No…” Eddie’s voice was small. His elbow twitch and Henry pressed down, drawing
a squeak. “They need me…”
Patrick didn’t know what he was talking about, but also, he understood
completely. Eddie wasn’t going anywhere near the sewers, or the barrens, or
anywhere that Patrick felt like he shouldn’t. He wasn't going anywhere ever
again. 
While Eddie had already realized that Patrick had something more final in mind,
Patrick was just beginning to get the thought in his head. 
Eddie was just a bug beneath Patrick’s boot, a puppy in the fridge, and his
life was no longer worth bargaining for. Patrick was eating his more, and Eddie
was fading, but Patrick was suddenly aware that Eddie could still tell on them.
Could still get Patrick in trouble. 
Eddie’s back arched as he cried out. Patrick had pushed farther into him than
he thought was possible. His penis was completely enveloped, and every shudder
that ran through Eddie’s body sent wonderful vibrations through Patrick. Henry
looked around nervously, but didn’t see anyone else. Curiously, that didn’t
seem to matter, because Eddie kept on talking. “Help me! Please! It hurts! It
hurts…”
Henry should have laughed at poor, delusional Eddie. He didn’t. Instead, he
stared at Patrick, realizing perhaps for the first time that he was no longer
in charge. The torch had been passed. Patrick moved his hands up to Eddie's
throat, silencing him with a squeeze.
Patrick felt so close. Eddie choked. Patrick pulled out. Eddie’s face was
turning purple. Patrick thrust in again. Henry slammed a knee into Eddie’s
hand, and it swelled up in response. Eddie barely noticed.
Out. Eddie’s eyes rolled up. Drool was running from the corner of his mouth.
In. Patrick was surprised as Eddie’s canvas shoe dug into his hip in some
desperate attempt to break free. He bumped it away, finding the Eddie’s
strength was all but gone. Out. Eddie opened his mouth and a horrifying,
breathless sound broke free. Henry would have nightmares about it, but then,
when his head was straightened out, he would think back and know that sound
marked the exact moment when he became invincible.
In. Blood dripped from Henry’s nose into Eddie’s mouth, striking his lip as he
went. Patrick squeezed harder. Out. Eddie stopped moving. His eyes stared
upwards, at Henry, unblinking and unseeing. In. Patrick pressed his lips into
Eddie’s while they were still warm, lapping up Henry’s blood, making Henry look
away again.
Patrick pulled out one final time. That was the moment. The perfect moment. He
pushed himself in, releasing everything into Eddie’s corpse—
 
—and all over his blanket.
With a pop, Patrick was back in his room. His hand was sticky as  jizz ran over
it. Normally, he felt tired but satisfied after such an amazing fantasy. This
time, though, he felt empty, like something had been drained from him.  Feeling
much too sticky and sweaty to think about what it might be, Patrick kicked off
his blanket. He stood up, realizing he could still taste Henry on his tongue.
Patrick continued onto the bathroom, a smile breaking across his face.
 
~~~.
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