Kissing Habits.

19. Put To Rest

Chapter Nineteen
Put To Rest

THE CAR RIDE BACK WAS SILENT. All Dustin wanted to do was rave about his interaction with Dart, but he knew there were more sensitive things at hand. This time, Steve was behind the wheel, and Camila had taken up the passenger's seat.

Nobody called shotgun, just piled into the back wordlessly.

They knew it would be daft to begin talking as if nothing had happened, about the Demodogs chasing them down the tunnel, about the headlights growing blinding as they emerged from underground.

Although their feats were to be celebrated, a friend had to first be mourned.

From the passenger's seat, Camila gave a soft snuffle, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks stained with tears, both old and new. Even her hair seemed to be an accurate depiction of her mental state, frizzy and messy. She was a mess.

Hands firm on the steering wheel, Steve Harrington glanced over at her, his bruises and bleeding coming to a slow. It would go down in a few days, hopefully - nothing worse than anything he'd already done before, by the hands of another person.

A ride much smoother than the one led by Theodora Özdemir, Steve pulled into the Byers estate, coming to a stop outside the house, of which owned a couple new returned cars; Will was back, and hopefully better, and Hopper and Eleven had closed the gate.

"You go on in, kids, I'm just gonna... chat with Camila," the driver announced softly, looking at the kids in the back through the rearview mirror.

They weren't stupid, they knew what their chat was going to be about, and they were quick to file out of Billy's stolen Camaro, eager to greet everybody.

Now alone in the front of the car, engine and headlights rumbling offline, Steve's gaze lingered on Camila. The way her messed hair fell over her dark eyes, tired eyes. The way the orange light from the bungalow illuminated the half-dry lines down her cheeks. The way her bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly, trembling.

"How are you holding up?" He hummed, one hand on the mobile steering wheel.

It took a few beats for Camila to respond, drowned too far into her own grief. "How the fuck do you think?" She finally managed to muster up, voice a croak. But she wasn't angry, not even accusing; just plain in despair.

But Steve didn't seem to reply, his lips tugging into a thin, regretful line.

"She didn't deserve to die like that," she spoke up again, just as quiet as before, voice barely above a whisper. "What am I supposed to tell her parents?"

When she turned to look at him, Steve's expression saddened. From this new angle, it was impossible to miss the way she was taking Theodora's death; her entire face had changed, with dark circles appearing under her eyes, and frown lines resting in her skin.

Once again, Steve couldn't think to reply, only softly nod. He gave a short sigh, and sat back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know if this will help you - I don't know if this will help you out, at all - but Nancy used to have this friend. Barb. Barbara. She just loved Barbara, cared more about her than me, I think. They were round mine and Barb just disappeared completely. At the time, I brushed it off like an asshole, but now that I think about it, it must have something to do with the strange happenings in Hawkins. Obviously your situation is different, but Barb's parents thought she just disappeared, and Nancy thought so, too. I know it may not feel morally right, but maybe you just have to tell them you didn't see her after you left Henderson's for babysitting. If you tell the story how it really is, no one will believe you, unfortunately."