Confused, you cautiously thanked Hannibal; holding the mysterious book with the palm of your hands before carefully flipping open the historic novel. "June 1989, Derry Maine. Case File: Bill Denbrough." You read aloud with a curious tone of voice, your eyes scanning the first section of said chapter while sitting back down in the secondary office chair, starting to focus more on the book now instead of him.

"It was raining. It was October, 1988. I was pulling pages from my notebook, to make him a paper sailboat. He was looking outside at the rain. It's all my fault. I told him I was dying, being dramatic, even though I was just sick. It's all my fault. I told him to go get the wax. He asked in the cellar? I asked him "You want it to float don't you?". It's all my fault. He said fine, and hurried downstairs. It's all my fault. I talked to him on the walkie-talkie, and told him to hurry up. It's all my fault. I told him that "She's all ready, Captain." It's all my fault. He questioned my response and asked "She?". It's all my fault. I told him that "You always call boats "she"." It's all my fault. He thanked me and said: " "She". Thanks, Billy." . It's all my fault. I hugged him. I tickled him. I made him laugh. It's all my fault. He grabbed the walkie-talkie. He said "See you later. Bye." He took the boat. He left the room. I stood up to look out at my bedroom window and watch him. It's all my fault. He spots me. He waves at me. I told him to be careful. It was all my fault."

"His name is Georgie." You murmured uneasily, continuing to follow the strange storyline and not questioning the unusual diary report whatsoever. "He's my little brother. He was 7 years old at the time. And it was all my fault. People believed he was dead. But I didn't. I didn't believe he was dead. Because I knew he wasn't. At least not at first. But what I did know was that it was all my fault. All. My. Fault. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. No matter how many times I defeated IT. Because I was too late. I told him that she could float. I told him that she could sail. But all I did was make him sink instead."

"Oh..." Feeling awkward, you faintly nodded; glancing to the side as you slowly began placing the dots together. "People didn't believe this guy. Whoever this "Bill Denbrough" was, they thought that his younger brother had passed away. That this "Georgie" person had unfortunately bit the bullet. But that's clearly not true. Something must've happened. Something must've—"

"Yes. And I think by now it should be fairly obvious who this Bill Denbrough character was talking about." Hannibal explained in amusement, returning to sit down opposite you whilst twirling his pen around his fingers.

"This Bill boy had a thing against Pennywise...?" You whispered in surprise, shocked by your recollection and realisation.

"Indeed. It was just as you say, IT. He needed to feed, and therefore killed a bunch of kids, just like Krueger did -slash- does. Except his method of feeding is, or rather was, excessively different when it came to Krueger's." The psychiatrist tried to inform you smoothly, finding your stunned expression to be silently entertaining and sadistically cute.

"Wait, you told me earlier that Penny wasn't used to the power of feeding he's been trying to practice at this very moment. What's that supposed to mean...? What's he been "attempting to learn", instead of "feeding off of fear"...?" You firmly inquired, shutting the book before placing it delicately down onto the desk.

"Well, I wouldn't say that he's been necessarily attempting to learn it." Hannibal mused over your words casually, the dark-haired male flicking open the history book and taking time to remember more of Pennywise's genuine past. "I'd say that IT accidentally taught himself - what with his unintentional enlightenments - and his sudden, empathetic teachings."

"He does seem a lot less...malicious, than when I first met him. Not to mention he hardly even mocks me anymore." You thought aloud in a quiet manner, mulling over how it was mostly Freddy who taunted you within the group now. Well, Norman never ever did, Jason was just too...wholesome to be a threat to you, and Michael was a stalker from the start. Not to mention how overwhelmingly obsessive Billy & Stu had begun to behave. Speaking of which—

"I hate to interrupt our most recent conversation, but what time is—?" Before you could finish talking to Hannibal, a few knocks suddenly sounded at the front door; reminding you to internally curse and sigh on the inside. "...It...?"

"Eleven thirty-five precisely. Is there any specific reason why you ask, bellissima?" The psychiatrist answered patiently, waiting for your reply as soon as he'd responded.

"Oh...No special reason." You commented with an embarrassed tone, lowering your voice and heading towards the hallway as fast as you could. "But thank you...for giving me a heads-up about Pennywise. I uh...I appreciate it."

"Of course. Anytime." Hannibal politely agreed, flashing you an incredibly charming smile before following you downstairs. "If you need anymore insight on IT's personal background, I'd be more than happy to—"

"A-And just WHAT are T...THEY doing here, HUH...?" Norman snapped viciously, stepping purposely in front of you and growing jealous once more.

"I told them that they could visit me on weekend mornings and afternoons. Remember...?" You tenderly reminded Norman, giving his hand a gentle squeeze so that you could move past him and quickly open the door to let the other two in.

"I-I guess..." Norman muttered moodily, crossing his arms and flicking his head to the side so he didn't have to witness you socialising with Billy and Stu.

"Surprise, (Y/n)!"
"Good Morning, (Y/n)!" They both chorused excitedly, each of them deciding to engulf you in a cuddle and hug you close in the end anyway. "How are you feeling today...?"

"Oh, uh, Good Morning to you two also." You shyly greeted, wrapping your arms around Billy and Stu once at a time and wanting to be hospitable. "I'm feeling fine, thanks. How about you too...? Everything okay with you both...?"

"I'm feelin' just fine ." Stu stated lovingly, shooting you a very sweet smile before taking a careful step inside the house and paying no attention to the rest of the slashers whatsoever. "I just deal with insomnia fairly often, so I end up becoming pretty tired a lot of the time."

"You and me both." Billy added with an amused chuckle; his response reminding you of how those two continuously seemed to sometimes carry dark-bags under their eyes, appearing wearily more unhealthy as time heavily passed. "You're not the only one who's being messed with here, y'know."

"Hold on a minute, do you mean to tell me that Freddy's been—"

"No need to worry 'bout it. We can handle that fuck-rag, no problem." Billy confidently retaliated, shrugging it off while he entered the hallway and followed you into the living room. "He's nothin' but a sad mockery for a horror movie slasher after all. Ain't that right, Stu?"

"Absolutely." Stu chipped in smugly, siding with Billy and insulting the dream demon without a second thought. "Just a faker."

"Well, I'm sure Krueger will be positively delighted to hear that." Hannibal angelically announced; leaning against the doorframe before focusing his attention back on you, smiling. "Don't you agree, (Y/n)?"

"Um, actually, I don't think anybody enjoys getting hurt by insults..." You unhappily argued, your voice growing quieter due to how awkward you were beginning to feel.

"Speaking of which, how come the doll's still here? And in the lounge of all places? I thought that you were planning on selling it sometime at the university." Stu wondered carelessly, sitting down on the sofa before poking at the toy's shoulder without any kind of tact or thought. Freezing up, you suddenly panicked, tossing a scared glance towards Hannibal as you silently deliberated on what to do or say to keep Chucky from being discovered. What were you supposed to do? What were you supposed to say?