I am pointedly aware of the scowl that mars my father's features as he ducks inside the Byers' home, but I am able to ignore it as Jonathan's hand squeezes occasionally around my own. While my father talks to Joyce, and darts the occasional sour look my way, I stick close to Jonathan's side, listening in as much as we can from the living room, where Callahan and Powell are keeping watch over us…

It would be a lie to pretend I am not chafing beneath the weight of their attention, but since I know I am already pushing the limits of my father's patience by being here, instead of at school, I simply grit my teeth, the fingers of my free hand curling–uncurling–curling again–in a half-hearted attempt to calm my nerves.

"Cami–Jesus, calm down."

"Wh–what?"

"Let's–let's just–sit down," Jonathan suggests, squeezing my hand again, and dragging me over to the couch with a singular look that stops my impending protest in its tracks. I hate that he has to do this. That he has to take care of me because I am such a wreck, when in reality, it should be the other way around. I should be taking care of him. Reassuring him. Not sitting in his living room mid-panic while he is the voice of reason, once again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so–I'm so, so sorry."

"Sorry for–sorry for what?"

"For being such a grade A mess," I sigh, reluctantly allowing Jonathan to tug me against his side, my head resting on his shoulder as an almost convincing laugh escapes him in response to my remark, "Shut up, Byers, I'm trying to have a moment, here."

"Wow. You, having a moment? Should I alert the media?"

"I kind of hate you, you know that?"

"No. You don't," Jonathan declares, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as he gives me a light nudge, and causes me to scoff not long after, "You love me."

"That's debatable."

"Jerk."

"Jonathan?" I murmur then, tilting my head back so that it still rests on his shoulder, but I am better able to look him in the eye, "Are–are you okay? I get that it's–that it's a stupid question. But–"

"I will be. Once–once we find Will."

"Well they–they're gonna have search parties. I mean–I mean my dad is always saying nothing ever happens here, so something like this, it–it's huge."

"My family isn't exactly the most popular one in town, Cami."

"That doesn't matter! It doesn't! A missing kid is a missing kid, and you and I are going to get on one of those search parties and we're gonna find Will."

"No. What the two of you are gonna do is stay inside. Where it's safe," A familiar voice growls, the sound causing me to straighten from my position leaning against Jonathan's side, though his hand never once relinquishes its hold on my own, "This isn't up for discussion."

"But I–"

"Not up for discussion, Camille. End of story."

Frowning, I fall silent and avoid looking my father in the eye, my foot shifting to nudge against Jonathan's in a clear show of how I have absolutely no plan to obey this recent edict, despite what appearances may suggest. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jonathan manage a small nod, and, satisfied that we are in agreement, I force myself to look back toward my dad, maintaining the best poker face I can enact as he watches me for a moment longer before turning to look at Joyce, instead.

"You talk to Lonnie yet?"

"Hop, he's got nothing to do with this," Joyce says, clearly ignoring my father's look of blatant disbelief, and then turning to give Jonathan a look that has me biting down on my lower lip as I try to avoid acknowledging how my best friend tenses almost immediately at my side, "There's no way Will is with him."

"You sure about that?"

"He's not with him," Jonathan speaks up, the determination that is so apparent in his tone bringing an unexpected smile of pride to my lips, at least until I realize my father is eyeing me with another scowl, and I duck my head down not long after to avoid drawing any more unwanted attention.

"Yeah, well, I think I'm gonna go have a chat with him anyway. Just in case."

"He isn't going to talk to you–"

"We'll see about that."

"I'll go."

"What?"

"I'll go," Jonathan repeats, startling us all with the surety behind the soft-spoken words, my stomach doing an odd little twist at the thought of him dealing with his father at all, "I'll talk to him about Will. See if–see if he knows anything."

"You're not going anywhere, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"I can go with him–"

"NO!" My dad exclaims, dragging a hand through his hair in clear exasperation, the volume of his one-worded declaration causing both Jonathan and I to flinch before we can stop it, "No one is going anywhere. Least of all the two of you."

"Dad, I need to–we need to help."

"No, Camille. What you need to do is get yourself out to the car and wait for me to drive you back to school."

"But–"

"Now, Camille. I'm not going to ask again."

Gritting my teeth, I manage a tight nod, knowing I will only be causing more trouble than I apparently already have if I say anything more. I do risk a glance at Jonathan as I skirt past him to head to the door, some sort of wordless understanding passing between us that tells me he knows that I will be coming back as soon as I am done with school. And, not long after accepting another hug from Joyce, even in spite of my father's muffled grumbling in response to yet another delay, I trudge out to the waiting car as instructed, clambering into the passenger seat, and shutting the door behind me with a soft huff not long after.

I do not particularly enjoy the idea of being forced to go back to school, but as I sit in the car, waiting for my father to leave Joyce and Jonathan behind, I find myself faced with another certainty, altogether…

The car ride that I am about to endure with my father is about to be even longer, and more unpleasant than anything Hawkins High could throw my way.

My father and I manage a surprising chunk of the ride to school in a barbed silence, my fingers drumming anxiously on the fabric of my jeans the entire time. I do not know if he is deliberately dragging this lack of conversation out as part of my punishment for skipping school, or if he is truly at that much of a loss for what to say. But before I can fully decide whether or not I want to try and break the silence first before he can find the means of doing so himself, I find the opportunity wasted, my entire body tensing as my father speaks, sterner than ever.

"You wanna tell me what the hell you were doing today?"

"Not really."

"Camille–"

"What, Dad?" I retort, finally turning to get a better look at my father's expression, and clenching my fingers into fists, the sharp sting of my nails digging into my palms distracting me from the cowardly part of myself that wants nothing more than to find some reason for looking away, "What is it that you want me to say?"

"How about the truth, for one."

"Is any of that even going to matter to you?"

"Why the hell wouldn't it?"

"Because the way I'm seeing it, you've already made your decision on what I was doing. So really, all I have to do is wait for you to lay down the law."

"That's really what you think this is about?" My dad asks, something in the way he says the words causing a pang of guilt to shred its way through my chest before I can stop it, "Me looking for a reason to yell at you? To punish you?"

"Isn't that what you're about to do?"

"What I'm about to do is be a concerned father, wondering why the hell his daughter skipped school today!"

"Is that really what matters here?" I demand, incredulity lacing my tone and causing my voice to crack around the words as I stare at my father in dumbfounded astonishment, "Will is missing."

"Yeah, and you were wandering around by yourself on the way to his house!"

This time, I cannot hold back my flinch in response to the frustration apparent in not only my father's tone, but his expression as well, my fingers shifting to dig into the fabric of the passenger seat as I look down to investigate my jeans for want of anything else to do. Swallowing thickly, I try to ignore the burning at the corners of my eyes, and the stinging sensation that has wedged itself at the center of my chest. Because I know, even though he hasn't said it out loud. I know exactly what kind of thought is lingering in my father's mind…

He's thinking of me, going missing like Will. Gone, forever, just like Sarah.

Shit, I think I really messed up here.

"Dad, I'm–I'm fine. I made it to Jonathan's in one piece, and–"

"And you are not going to do anything that stupid again. Right?"

"Dad–"

"Right?" My father persists, taking the turn into the high school parking lot perhaps a bit more roughly than he intended, his eyes suddenly drilling into me as he coasts to a stop beside the curb, "I need you to say the words, Camille–"

"Yeah. Yeah, Dad. I won't–I'm not going to do anything stupid like going off on my own again."

"Alright. Then it won't cause too many problems if I tell you you're going straight home after school. Get Barb to drive you."

"You're not–you're not picking me up?"

"Can't, kid. Gotta take care of getting the search party together."

"Oh. I–right," I manage, nodding fervently in hopes of eliminating the lingering skepticism in my father's expression, and forcing myself to manage a tremulous smile for his benefit before going on, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll go straight home."

"Promise?"

"Of course."

"Because if you don't–"

"You'll murder me yourself, and hide the body somewhere where I'll never be found. Got it, Dad."

"Actually, I was gonna say if you don't, your punishment is only going to get worse."

"And what punishment would that be, exactly?"

"I'm still working on that," My dad states, the slight humor behind the statement causing one of my eyebrows to hike upward, my astonishment only growing as I notice a twitch at the corner of his mouth before his expression settles into seriousness once again, "Get to class, Camille. We'll–we'll talk later, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," I agree, scrambling to get out of the car before I lose my nerve altogether, only to turn back to my father at the last possible second, only a moment's hesitation holding me back before I am blurting the question that I am honestly not too sure I want the answer to, if the worst should come to pass, "Um–Dad?"

"Yeah, kiddo."

"You're–you're gonna find him, right? You're–you're going to find Will?"

"I'm sure as hell gonna try."

Nodding, I close the passenger side door behind me and turn to head towards the school, my apprehension over the attention turning up in the middle of the day will bring forced to the back of my mind in favor of another thought altogether. Regardless of what my dad says, I still have every intention of going back to Jonathan's after school. Of helping him search for Will. And after all, it's not like I'm breaking the promise I made by doing that. Not really.

This time, I will not be going off on my own.

School seems to drag by in spite of how I will each moment to pass with gritted teeth, my impatience only growing as I must endure periodic quips from my teachers over my lack of attentiveness to their class. Somehow, though, I make it to the end of the day anyway, my relief almost palpable as I duck through the throngs of students making a break for the exit just as I am doing, myself. But just as I nearly clear it, breaking free of school altogether, a familiar voice hollers after me, the sound causing me to cringe, even as I realize I am slowing to a stop despite the fervent instinct that urges me to ignore that voice, and keep on moving.

"Hopper! Cam! Hey–hey, slow–oh. You stopped."

"Yeah. Thank you for stating the obvious," I quip, folding both arms across my chest and tilting my head back to look Steve Harrington in the eye, a part of me marveling over how stupid he can possibly be to be seeking any sort of interaction with me, given our encounter from earlier in the day, while another part–a part I try to squash as viciously as possible–thrills over the attention whether I really want it or not, "What do you want, Steve?"

"I didn't–earlier, you ah–you kind of gave me the idea that you weren't coming back to school."

"Yeah, well, here I am."

"Did something happen?"

"If by 'did something happen', you mean did my dad find out and drag me back here to finish up the day, then yes."

"Ouch," Steve winces, falling into step beside me as I turn back to the task of walking out into the parking lot, a sigh of exasperation escaping me as I realize he clearly has absolutely zero intention of leaving me alone, "That's gotta suck. So, what, are you gonna be like–under house arrest, now?"

"Don't know. Probably."

"You don't really seem all that concerned, Cam."

"Probably because I've got bigger things on my mind."

"Like?"

"Listen, I don't–I don't have any time to explain it to you, okay?" I grouse, whirling to face Steve head-on, and suppressing the tiniest hint of admittedly childish glee as he recoils in next to no time at all, "I just–"

"You need to go."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Then I'm driving."

"What?"

"I'm driving," Steve says again, clearly not quite picking up on the exact level of my surprise, and completely missing the flinch I give as his hand grabs my elbow to steer me over to his car.

"Steve, wait–I don't–stop!"

"Why?"

"I think that's really a question I should be asking you," I deadpan, tugging my arm away from Steve's grasp, even in spite of the frustrated groan he gives me in response, "Why the hell do you think I need a chauffeur?"

"Maybe because if you keep walking around all of Hawkins, you're gonna ruin your shoes."

"You're doing this for my shoes."

"And for other reasons, yeah," Steve shrugs, once again ignoring my skeptically raised brow as a gust of wind tousles his perfect hair, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek as vengeance against my foolish, stupid, silly brain for thinking of his hair when I am supposed to be focusing on getting back to Jonathan's to help find Will. I don't want Steve's concern. Not really. Not when it only weakens my resolve to continue pushing him away. But as much as I try to scramble for some last-ditch effort to get him to back down, I also come to a realization that suddenly seems far more beneficial, regardless of the potential damage it might bring to my already wounded pride.

"So you'll drive me. Wherever I want or need to go. No questions asked?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I–I guess."

"To save my shoes."

"And other–"

"Other reasons."

"Yep."

"Okay," I relent, aware of Steve's apparent relief, and forcing myself to keep my expression neutral despite how a small part of me wants to laugh at the expression on his face, "Fine. But you're going to do just that one thing. Drive. We aren't going to talk. You aren't going to question or judge. And tomorrow, we are both going to pretend like this never even happened. Got it?"

"Cam–"

"Got it?"

"I–yeah. Yeah, got it," Steve confirms, nodding as if to add extra weight to the agreement, and moving toward the passenger side door of his car to unlock and open it before I can reconsider. I honestly have no idea if this is the right thing to do, and a part of me does feel incredibly guilty for essentially using Steve to suit my own needs. But it's not entirely different than anything he's ever done to any other girl that gets sucked in by his charm. His parents' money. His looks, and that hair…

And this time, it's for a good cause. The less time I waste walking to the Byers' home, the more time Jonathan and I can spend searching for Will.

Maybe, if I tell myself that enough, I will actually start to believe it, and I can leave the lingering guilt that haunts me behind for good.

Well hello, everyone! And welcome to another chapter in Cami's tale! I have to admit, I seem to be on a bit of a Stranger Things kick lately, obsessing over the plots for both of my stories in that fandom pretty much non-stop. So I hope none of you mind all that much, because I can promise that the fun is only just getting started!

As always, I am so, so very grateful for each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story thus far! And special thanks to Leahashroy and TheLadyAranel for leaving such lovely feedback the last time around! I truly do appreciate your support more than you know, and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last! I truly cannot wait to hear your thoughts!

Until next time, angels…

MOMM