𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍. ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳⁱⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿ ¹

031

031. 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲.

  "𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈! 𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓!" Dustin yelled from the end of the hall.

She drowned out the sound of his voice as she rose the wet cloth, focusing hard on the blood around his lips. It was cold in the Byers' house now, a product of leaving the front door wide open for running between the car and the house as the kids prepared for the tunnels— her arms tingling with tiny goosebumps. It smelled of gasoline, partly from the blue Camaro that was still running in the driveway, and partly from the open tins of gasoline sitting by the door, ready to be brought out. The house was a mess, there was blood on the floor and the drawings of the tunnels were out of order from the fight, there were shards of plates in the kitchen and broken dishes on the linoleum. The tension in the air had dissipated, but the aggression still lingered in the air— the images of Steve getting beaten were still playing over in her mind as she wiped the blood from his lip.

While drawers were pulled and closets were raided for any sort of materials, Lori sat cross-legged on the couch beside Steve's unconscious body— that they'd pulled up onto the cushions as common decency— trying to clean off the blood from around his mouth and his hands. Of course she'd only been a few minutes in when the kids were ready to go, because they were fast and on a strict time schedule. But nevertheless, she still sat with her hand latched to Steve's limp palm as she wiped the blood from his forehead.

Her mind was racing uncontrollably now, but one thing stuck out to her among the cacophony of worries— and that was the panic she felt when Steve's body fell over onto the ground, and his eyes shut. The only times she'd ever felt that kind of worried were when she'd been in the shed with Dustin, and when Steve had been attacked outside the bus, back in the junkyard. Her chest ached when she thought of these three occurrences, these three times where her body had practically gone numb with panic and pain. As she rose her hand and lightly patted an open gash beside Steve's eyebrow, her mind switched to the realization that she'd never been worried about other people before. She'd never really been worried about herself, let alone another person.

And then she settled on the idea that, maybe, possibly, these people meant something to her. That maybe, just maybe, Steve and Dustin meant the world to her. And that was a damn near impossible thing for Lori Philbin to accomplish. And it terrified her more than ever.

"Lori!" Dustin urged, interrupting her thoughts.

"Will you buzz off, Hagar?" Lori snapped her head in his direction, seeing him standing there in the hallway, backpack and equipment all ready to go. "Just give me a damn minute!" she shouted, her voice angry.

"Dustin, I got the towels!" Mike called from down the hall, as a closet door shut. "Max and Lucas got the car ready! I think?"

"Put em' in the trunk!" Dustin called back. Then he turned back to his cousin. "Lori, I'm serious, we have to go."

Lori let out a groan and delicately patted the gash under Steve's eye. "If you tell me to hurry up one more time, you won't have a goddamn curl left on your head when this is over. Got it, shortstack?" she spat. "I said just give me a fucking minute. He's full of blood."

She let the wet cloth fall beside her on the couch, and she grabbed Steve's shoulders with both hands. She leaned back and trailed her eyes over his appearance, as if evaluating him.

Mike came around the corner of the hall right then, ready to rush out the front door, but stopped when he saw Lori and Steve. He watched them for a moment, at how Lori was evaluating Steve's state— as if she were trying to decide if he was alright to bring with.