Fallout || Stranger Things [2]

twenty-three || gulags and guns

Billy, still sat on the trunk of Jonathan's car as the morning light tapered in, smoked a cigarette alone. Sleep begged for him underneath his eyes, but the desire had yet to break through his stream of thoughts.

The radio. Her voice. The Jeep.

Billy, I think she's still alive.

For the first time since July 4th, 1985, the words had been spoken out loud. They always beat around the possibility, never willing to give themselves enough hope to crush their souls even further.

We watched it happen. We watched her die.

"Stranger things have happened," he murmured to himself between deep drags.

Only a few of the first words Tate had ever spoken to him in the Hawkins High parking lot, but enough to seal his fate.

Billy flicked his burnt-out cigarette to the ground and dug for another one, lighting it swiftly as if he might float away if he didn't. He wasn't quite sure what to think of anything. How? How could she possibly have survived when he watched the blood pool out of her body and the light leave her eyes? Her blood was on him for days after, unwilling to scrub off in the shower no matter how hard he tried. The way her hand let go of his was a sensation he could never shake, and it chilled him to the core as he raised the cigarette to his lips and pulled.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Steve asked as he emerged from the apartment in cozy sweats, slowly making his way down the stairs. "It's freezing," he said, squinted eyes glancing around the parking lot as he approached Jonathan's car. "And why are you on Byers' ride?"

"Will was out here with me originally," Billy replied, voice steady despite the thoughts pounding behind his eyes. "He went to bed a little while ago, but I haven't moved."

Steve scoffed gently, tucking in his arms as he lingered in front of the trunk. "Yeah, because you're probably frozen to that thing."

Tell him. Just say the words, out loud. Billy glanced over to the rising sun, the Bloomington sky littered with hues of pink and orange. "Steve, I think-"

Tires screeched to their left as an SUV veered into the parking lot and slammed to a stop in front of the freshmen. The side door swung open, a man in a well-loved sweater and jeans emerging hastily.

Billy's eyes widened, catching his cigarette before it could tumble out of his mouth. "Jordan?"

Steve struggled for words, his own brows drawn in as he pushed through his sleepy gaze. "Mr. Rivers? What are you doing here?"

Fresh off a redeye flight from Seattle and lacking his typical styling, Jordan stopped short of the front of the vehicle. "Billy, I need you to pack a bag."

"I...I - what?" he asked, all he could manage to muster in the eeriness of Jordan's presence in Indiana after so long away. "What do you mean? I have class tomorrow."

Jordan waved an absent hand, almost out of breath as he rested the other on his hip. "Forget about that, it'll be fine." He pointed up to the apartment. "Pack a bag. A couple days. I'm sorry, I can't explain."

Billy hesitantly sunk off of the trunk, taking another pull of his cigarette before snubbing it out on the ground. "What do you mean you can't explain?"

"I wouldn't even know what to tell you," he said with a shake of his head, eyes flickering between the boys. "I just know that we need to go, now."

"I've got an apartment full of kids," Billy countered, unnerved by his urgency. "Everyone's here for her birthday."

Jordan sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek briefly. "As much as I love that, I really need you to come with me."