Fallout || Stranger Things [2]

thirty-four || wind and wishes

Fading winter sun kept the pages of a cheaply bound book lit for Tatum in the mid section of their transport van. She'd stopped checking her watch hours ago while crossing through a state she'd never been to.

     A small but rough finger slid under one of the yellowing corners and flipped the page over, both her body and book jostling in sync with the bumps in the highway.

     A book. Her first book in ages.

     It wasn't anything special. She'd picked it up at a gas station from a small selection before they crossed out of Virgínia, but it was a half decent spy thriller that kept her attention.

     She wondered if her father had kept any of her books from home, or if they'd been donated during the move.

     Soft snores came from the back of the van and to the side of her, the two combined winning out over the driver's radio as Tatum's background noise. Steve had sprawled out on the back bench seat, laid flat on his stomach with his head off the edge of the cushion. Although separated by a space between them, Billy absently held Tate's legs that were draped over his lap, his short curls smushed against the window where he'd settled five hours before. Besides the movement of the vehicle, Tatum wasn't sure he had as much as twitched since falling asleep.

     Tate's eyes flew through the tiny print of the novel, the skill long dormant but not forgotten. If she wanted to be picky, she might not have liked the plot very much at all, but she didn't want to be picky. It didn't feel like something she could afford these days. She cared more about the smell of the pages and how they felt under her hands, the scraping of paper against skin so quiet only her ears could hear it. Just the fact that the words were strong enough for her to see into the story kept her happy.

     The right side of the van dipped hard as the tire ran through a pothole, a soft drop in Tate's stomach enough to make her mumble as she lifted the book on the second tire's bounce.

     A yelp echoed from the back, followed by a soft thud.

     Steve's hand grappled for the back of Tate's seat, a swear and an apology leaving his mouth as he pulled himself up off of the floor and onto his knees. His head snapped up between the two middle seats, squinted eyes set out the windshield as he jostled with the van. He ran a hand along the back of his head, searching for a dent he was sure the cup holder had left. "Where...uh, where are we?"

    She had to stop a soft laugh, Steve only inches from colliding into her legs across the aisle. "That's a great question." Her eyes narrowed as she lowered her book and turned her head to the right.

     Steve followed her line of view through the side window, angled just over her shoulder with his knees still on the rough carpet floor. "Shitty Indiana trees for sure," he hummed mildly until a vibrant green sign flashed past bearing BLOOMINGTON 10 MILES. "Ah, beautiful, we're almost there," he said with a sigh as he lifted up enough to sit on the edge of the third row bench.

     Tate slid a gum wrapper between the pages of her book before she closed it and set it on her lap. She absently tucked her arms to her chest as she looked to Steve. "You sleep okay?" she asked, quietly thankful for someone to talk to.

     "Uh," the words stopped as he turned his head and met her gaze. They flickered between each gray iris, the strange eyes still surrounded by familiar features. Tate. His lips closed and parted again, but no words came until he cleared his throat. "As good as you can sleep on hard leather in a moving vehicle." He ruffled the back of his hair as he leaned into the backseat, still able to see Tate from the shoulders up. "What about you? Did you sleep at all?"