FIXATION

ELEVEN

ELEVEN: FLICKER
november 4th, 1984

"And you mocked me for bringing a first-aid kit, MadMax."

"Bragging does not look good on you, Stalker."

Rosalie could hear the two kids bicker with one another inside of the Barricade Bus. On the outside of the cold bus, was only her and a very passive aggressive Steve the monsters were long gone, but she still felt fear bubble up whenever she looked at his storming expression. He had barely muttered a word to her after seeing bloodshed. At first she thought it was fear, or out of shock, the same feelings she had felt, but she soon realized that he was angry. For what, she wasn't exactly sure, but it was something bad enough to make him not speak - no sarcastic comment about her being a clumsy dumbass nor bickering at the kids like he normally would. This was new. He hadn't said one word to her.

After realizing she had a wound, Steve ordered the kids to stay inside the bus to wait while he fixed her up. His eyes stayed shut when he ordered, with tight lips for them to, "just.. stay put, in there, count your flash lights, and try to see if you can get a signal to call the Chief." He had told the three kids those very words after grabbing Lucas' first aid kit from him then shoving the three kids back into the bus. Rosalie, on the other hand, sat on an old lawn chair, clutching her bloody side. For the most part she felt fine, her body was buzzing, but that must have been due to her adrenaline. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rid her vision of the dots that reappear again and again in her vision.

Dustin lingered at the entrance of the Barricade Bus and trailed his slow focus from Steve to Rosalie. She'd never seen sadder eyes. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"She can hear you," Rosalie spoke up then turned her head to Dustin. She plastered a convincing smile on her face, one that could maybe distract her from the slight sting of her cut. "I'll be okay, Dustin, get inside so Dr. Steve can fix me up."

Dustin snickered and leaned against the door, his sadness virtually melting away, his eyebrow shot up in disbelief and pure shock, "you're shitting me, right? You're gonna trust Steve to try and"-

Steve shoved Dustin back in the bus before he could finish his persuasive argument. "Shut up and start counting flashlights."

He hadn't uttered another word after walking over to Rosalie and handing her a flashlight. With a firm grip he instructed her to, "hold this."

Now, in the angry silence of the night, Rosalie sat uncomfortably on the lawn chair that Dustin had hauled across the junk yard for her the second he thought she was in pain. She sat in front of Steve, staring at his angry face and holding up the light, while he sorted through the small red first aid kit. He laid out little four alcohol pads, some white gauze, Q-tips and bandaids. The bat that belonged to him laid beside hers, in their reach. His eyes never left the items, nor the ground, or the bats - which he'd glance at every time an owl would hoot a little too loud or too close. She decided to try and make a joke, and brighten the mood, "I didn't know you had a PhD in giving the silent treatment."

His brown eyes flickered to hers, almost lighting up for a moment, then back down to the ground. She could understand why he was mad she got hurt. She was mad at the situation too. Whatever bastards released those demodogs deserved to rot in Hell.

"Steve," Rosalie sighed as she adjusted her grip on the flashlight. Her sweaty palms were the only true sign of her fear.