Jailbird || Stranger Things

thirty-two ➵ the lion type

Ever since she first sat in the Camaro, Teresa knew Billy's stereo to have a cassette that would play only his favourite tracks. She'd made more than one mixtape for it, but there was a specific list of songs that were almost necessary to be included.

    When she sat in the car for the first time in over a year, she couldn't help but let out a breath of relief. She blamed a number of things for that, but none more than the fact that she felt more at home in that car than she did in Diane's house. In reality, that was quite a sad existence, she perceived. Nothing that could be helped, though.

    When Billy got his car, it had come as a patch up job, but one that Susan and Neil bought as a way to buy the boy's affection. Billy soon paid for it from his own pocket (and Reese's) in order to not owe his 'parents', since he knew his father well enough.

    As she sat in the back seat, holding Steve's head, Teresa couldn't help the memories that invaded her. The smell of the leather, the feel of the seats, the way the car even turned, the sounds of the engine. It was full of memories and full of trauma. But it was what she identified as home.

    She could clearly remember when Billy first turned up with the car. She remembered the exact chapters she was studying for her physics final, and she distinctly remembered exactly what the weather was like. She even remembered that his lips tasted like mint from the gum he'd chewed on his way over in an effort to hide his smoking from her stepmother.

    That afternoon had finished with a sunset drive along the beach, the windows wound all the way down, and with the sound of the Scorpions drifting onto the street.

    Teresa wasn't sure she'd ever felt so free as in that moment.

    Definitely not sat in the back seat of the same car, cradling Steve's head as she pressed a towel packed with ice to his swelling black eye.

    After the fight, Steve had fallen unconscious just a few seconds after his last words, giving Teresa the chance to make the final decision in what had to be done. Having realised they were in just as much danger at home, she believed Mike's plan was their best shot, so she patched Steve and herself up as much as possible, cleaning dried blood from his skin, and reapplying tape and bandaids to their cuts.

    She tried to ignore the blood on her knee which had turned black, a purple bruise blooming around her kneecap as she cleaned it off and covered it up as much as possible. She used Billy's keys from his pocket—leaving him on the sofa—and ushered the kids out into the Camaro, tossing the keys to Max.

    That was how they'd fit two of the boys and Teresa in the back, Steve laid over their legs as Lucas guided a driving Max in the front.

    Maybe this was Teresa's worst idea, but this way, she could look after all of them.

    Max did exactly as asked, pushing on the books set against the pedals to keep the car going fast. Her driving was smooth enough, though Teresa was sure they could hear the tires screeching all the way out at the cabin.

    The older girl continued to hold the wrapped ice to Steve's face, occasionally reaching out to hold onto the passenger seat in front of her. She didn't want to think about the last time she held onto that seat, for completely different reasons. Or how many other people had since.

    Suddenly, Steve's eyes started to open, though narrowly, as if the minimal light was painful. Mike looked over, Teresa's hand keeping Steve's head up, ice on the still swelling eye Billy had done a good shine on.

    "Nancy?" Steve mumbled, Mike's eyebrows pulling together in both annoyance and confusion.

    Teresa let out a short laugh, holding down Steve's hand as he groaned and tried to reach up and touch his head. "Here," she reached into the pocket of her jacket, popping out a pill.