Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[...] It's clear to me,
he is a real monster,
and not because of his abilities [...]

********
For the first time, he was outside. Truly outside. It was dark, very dark, and the heavy rain made it even harder to see the outlines of trees, branches, and roots.

But he didn't stop running.

Even when branches scratched his face, arms, and legs, leaving burning trails on his skin. Even when he tripped over a root and fell face-first to the ground. He didn't stop running. He couldn't. This was his chance. His only chance.

It was freezing, the thin, soaked hospital gown offering zero warmth or protection against the storm. He thought he knew what to expect when running away on a night like this. But now, with water flooding his mouth, blurring his vision, and turning each step dangerous on the slippery moss, he began to doubt. Had using the storm to cover their tracks really been a good idea?

"W-we actually made it, Seven," the girl beside him said, gasping for air.

He could feel the emotions radiating from her. Fear, hope, dread, happiness, desperation, euphoria, doubt. A whirlwind that shifted every second, each feeling as intense as the last. Being so close to her in that state was problematic. Her emotions mixed with his, clouding his thoughts and blurring his focus.

"Focus, Eight," he said, equally breathless. They weren't safe yet, not even close. It was only a matter of time before the soldiers regrouped and the hunt resumed. Papa would want them back at any cost, especially now that he had shown what his powers were capable of — a string of men and women dead, not by his hand, but by their own. Suicide, driven by a wave of despair and sorrow so overwhelming it made them turn their weapons on themselves.

No one expected this from him. To everyone, he was the small, quiet, weak Seven. He knew it. He saw and felt it. They despised him. "Seven is the weakest." "He can't lift or crush big things." "He can't push the others out of the circle." "He can't find people." "Disposable." "Useless."

They believed his powers were limited to subtle emotional manipulations and weak telekinesis. That's what he wanted them to think. Being underestimated was his weapon. Because, unlike his siblings, he knew the truth. He knew about the cruel plans, the dark thoughts others had about them.

To everyone, he and his siblings were nothing more than experiments. Test subjects that needed to be studied. Some even thought of them as monsters.

And Papa… Papa was the worst. He delighted in how suffering fueled evolution. He savored how his influence shaped them, how his fake kindness and love made them strive for his approval. He loved tearing them apart and watching how the pieces fit back together.

Bad, Papa was a very bad person. So, while his siblings sought to please him, Seven sought freedom. He wanted to see the sun, feel the warmth of a family, eat delicious food, have friends, a warm room full of toys, and above all, he wanted to feel love, the most beautiful feeling he had ever seen anyone have.

That's why he endured everything. The hours of isolation, the physical punishments, the contempt, all the attempts to break him. All so that one day this dream could come true.

"Eight... we need to split up." His lungs burned as he spoke, and he stopped running, leaning against a tree to catch his breath.

"What?! No!" Her response came quickly, filled with indignation and fear. "Why would we split up? Together we have a better chance!"

Seven clenched his teeth, feeling the weight of her emotions. Having used so much power, his tolerance for other people's feelings was weakened. "No, we'll have a better chance apart," he said while subtly using his power to reduce her fear and boost her confidence. "They'll think we'll get lost in the forest or head to the city. That's why we need to go to the road and find a car to get far away from here." He pointed west. "You'll go in that direction, it leads straight to a road. It should be easy for you to hitch a ride with your powers."

Eight's eyes widened, surprise and doubt building inside her. "How do you know—"

"We don't have time! Just trust me like you did before, okay? I know exactly what we need to do to escape."

"I... I..."

Seven increased his influence. "Go, Eight. This is our chance to be free."

Eight looked at him, her face wet, her body trembling. For a moment, it seemed like she would say no, like she would grab his hand and refuse to let go. But then she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and nodded.

"I will." Her voice was almost a whisper as she turned west. "Seven... are you sure?"

"Go!"

With one last glance, she whispered, "Thank you," and ran, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

He stood there, staring at the spot where Eight had vanished for a few seconds. Her gratitude, and the pure emotions behind it... it was the first time he had ever felt something so beautiful directed at him.

'This feels good...' Closing his eyes, he took two more deep breaths and started running again. Not in the direction he had told Eight, but toward the city. The most obvious place, and for that very reason, the safest, if he played his cards right.

********
[...] It doesn't matter how hard you try to hold him.
It doesn't matter what prison you try to put him in.
Forcing his mind into submission is impossible [...]

********
After minutes that felt like hours, Seven spotted the first houses. They were small, old, with crooked roofs and peeling walls. They wouldn't do. He needed something specific: a house with money, no children, inhabited by people trapped in monotonous and disillusioned lives. He kept to the edge of the forest and moved deeper into the town.

The houses gradually grew larger and better maintained, with neatly trimmed gardens and bright lights. He expanded his power, sensing the emotions of the residents. Blood trickled from his nose from the strain, but he kept searching for the right one. The one where he would plant his roots.

Then he found it. The house backed conveniently onto the woods, with a pool full of water in the backyard and the inside brightly lit. Inside, a man and a woman sat silently watching TV, their emotions as flat as the program on the screen. It was perfect.

Seven crossed the yard, circling the pool, and stopped in front of the glass door. "Now, everything needs to be perfect..." He wiped the blood from his nose, leaving red streaks on his cheek to appear even more vulnerable, if that were even possible.

He raised his hand and knocked on the glass. The woman turned, her mouth opening in surprise and fear when she saw him, the man reacting the same way. They both stood up and rushed to the door, the woman hesitating for a moment before opening it. "O-oh my God, what happened to you? Y-you're all hurt."

Seven let his body fall forward, and the moment his small, trembling hand touched the woman's arm, he was no longer standing at the doorway. He wasn't even himself anymore.

********

"Mary, what happened?" a sweet, caring voice asks gently.

"I... I broke her, Mommy," she answers tearfully, showing her favorite doll with one of its arms detached from the body. She doesn't understand how it happened; just a second ago, everything was fine, and suddenly the arm simply fell off.

"Oh, sweetheart. Let Mommy see." The woman kneels down, her brown hair falling over her shoulders, and gently takes the doll into her hands. She turns the toy, examining the damage, and tries to reattach the arm. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. "Hmm... I think we'll have to buy a new one, honey."

"No!" she exclaims, overtaken by anger and sadness. "No, no, no! I want this one!"

********

Seven hated this. He always had. Using his power to see someone's memories was, above all, troublesome. First, he had no control over what he would see, being limited to a person's most striking memories, like: a happy Christmas with family, a first kiss, the pain of losing someone, a betrayal, a passion, a victory, a defeat.

He experienced memories of all kinds, both good and bad. But that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was that he wasn't just a spectator. When Seven touched someone and saw their memories, he became that person.

The love. The touch. The pain. The joy. The misery. He experienced it all, so vividly that, for a moment, he would forget who he was. And when he returned to his body, the emotions stayed, as if they were his. For days, sometimes weeks, he carried pieces of another person inside him.

The feeling was... horrible.

********

The scene shifts, as if someone had turned a page. Now, Seven is no longer a little girl. He's a teenager, years older, sitting at a candlelit restaurant.

Her heart races, anticipation bubbling in her stomach. Across the table, a man smiles. He's so handsome, so romantic. It's only their third date, but with his large hand holding hers, she feels like he's the one. The man she would spend the rest of her life with.

Then, the memory shifted again. She was now sitting on the bed, in a dark room, holding a stack of letters addressed to her husband. Beautiful words, promises, declarations of love. But they weren't from her.

Each line was a stab to her heart, each word a kick to her stomach. She put her hand over her mouth, muffling a scream of pain and betrayal. How could he do this to her? So many years together, so many battles overcome, an entire life built side by side. Did all of that mean nothing?

She should leave him. It was the right thing to do. But the thought paralyzed her. What would people say? The gossip would spread like wildfire. Her image, carefully built over years, would be tarnished. And worse, she still loved him.

How could she not? They had been together for most of her life, so much so that she couldn't even remember what it was like to live without him by her side. She was a fool, but there was no other way... she would have to swallow the pain and have a serious conversation with James.

The memory shifted again. She was in the bathroom, sitting on the cold floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Desperate cries escaped every few seconds, echoing off the walls. She had gotten her period again, another cruel reminder that she had failed to get pregnant once more.

She had tried so many times, secretly stopping her birth control without James knowing. But nothing worked.

Each cycle was a new defeat, each month another crushed hope. She was getting older, her best years slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Misery wrapped around her like a dense, suffocating fog.

********

Seven came back to himself with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and realized he was crying in Mary's arms. All of her pain, sadness, and disappointment were overwhelming him.

"Calm down, calm down. It's all right now," Mary said gently, though her emotions screamed fear, uncertainty, and compassion.

He tried to speak, but only small, choked sobs came out.

"Poor thing..." Mary murmured softly, holding him tighter against her chest.

It was warm. Her embrace was warm, soft, and comforting, so different from anything Seven had ever known. He had never been hugged or experienced anything like this. The warmth of her body against the cold that made his bones ache felt so good that, for a moment, he forgot all about his plan and just wanted to stay there forever.

"Come on, Mary," James said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Bring him inside."

Mary stood up with him in her arms. Seven flinched a little as he was lifted off the ground but didn't resist and allowed himself to be carried into the house, away from the cold. Little by little, the tears stopped, and he began to observe his surroundings. The living room was very different from the sterile setting of the lab. There was a fluffy carpet, a TV, a radio, a large sofa with a wooden coffee table in front of it, and a bookshelf filled with books. He liked what he saw.

"We need a blanket, James," Mary said as she settled him onto the sofa. "Look, you're safe now, okay? But I'll need to ask you a few questions so we can help you. Can you do that?"

He quickly nodded, keeping his eyes on James, who was heading upstairs.

"Good boy. Do you know where your parents are?"

"I don't have parents," he replied, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"Oh…"

Seven felt her compassion growing stronger.

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but James returned at that moment. She quickly took the blanket and wrapped him in the soft, warm fabric. "Better now?"

He nodded again, snuggling beneath the soft material.

Mary exchanged a quick glance with her husband before continuing. "Did you run away from a hospital?"

"From a bad place," he answered, instantly sensing the strong wave of concern coming from both of them.

"So... you ran away from a bad place?" she repeated.

"Yes."

Another glance was exchanged between Mary and James. This time, it was longer and filled with tension.

"Mary, we need to call someone," James said quietly, but Seven heard everything clearly. He couldn't allow that to happen.

In a second, he tasted the metallic flavor in his mouth again, having pushed the blood into his nose using his telekinesis.

Mary hesitated. A protective instinct began to override her reason as compassion, pity, and empathy flooded her senses. "What's your name?"

He pulled his arm from beneath the blanket, revealing the 007 marked on his skin. "My name is Seven."

Mary covered her mouth in shock. "J-James."

"My... god..." James murmured, looking over Mary's shoulder. "We really need to call someone."

"And who exactly are we going to call?!" she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

"I-I don't know! But look at him! Hurt, skinny, shaved head, and that tattoo... maybe the military?"

"N-no. Please," Seven looked at them with innocent, frightened eyes. "If you call, the bad men will find me. They always do."

They stared at each other again. And Seven knew he was making progress. Still far from fully convincing them to keep him, but closer.

"I don't know..." James said, uncertainty clear in his voice.

Mary shot him a sharp look. "He's scared, James. We need to help him." She spoke firmly, almost defiantly, then turned her eyes back to Seven. "No one is going to hurt you here, okay? I promise."

Seven nodded, feeling the sincerity in Mary's promise.

****
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

He was less than an inch from the window, his nose nearly touching the cold glass. His eyes scanned the forest outside, where the trees swayed under the morning sunlight. It had been two weeks since he escaped the laboratory, but fear was still a constant companion, nestled deep in his chest.

Especially because sometimes, he felt people lurking around the forest. He wasn't sure if they were soldiers from the lab. Probably were, considering what Papa was like. On those days, he'd curl up under the bed and prepare himself. To fight and kill again. Those were the worst nights, robbed of sleep until Mary came into the room, calling him for breakfast.

Other than that, life at the Harringtons' house was paradise. There, he could eat until his belly hurt, sleep without a set time to wake up, and watch TV — so many fun cartoons that he didn't even know which one to pick, switching channels every few minutes. He also got to wear real clothes for the first time, so different from the hospital gown from the lab.

No more punishments, needles, or collars. No one forced him to use his powers or stay connected to wires for hours, being watched by cold, contemptuous eyes. It was like living a dream. So perfect that, sometimes, he feared closing his eyes and waking up back in that sterile white cell.

Thankfully, that never happened.

"Oh, you're already awake."

He turned and saw Mary entering the room, holding a steaming mug of chocolate milk. The sweet smell made his stomach growl. He was crazy about that combination, so much so that he begged Mary to make it for him at least three times a day.

"Another sleepless night?" She frowned when she saw him standing there, a mix of concern and mild irritation in her voice. "We've talked about how important it is to rest."

"I just woke up, Mary," he said, walking toward her, eyes fixed on the mug.

Mary lifted the mug when he reached out his small hand to grab it. "What did you just call me?"

He stopped, feeling the expectation radiating from her. "I meant to say Mom."

"That's right." Mary smiled, satisfied, and lowered the mug for him.

Seven took it with both hands. He blew on the steam and took a sip, the sweet taste filling his mouth. For a moment, it was just him, the mug, and the pleasure that drink gave him.

He had to work hard to convince the Harringtons to adopt him. Since his powers couldn't make someone simply like him, he had to make them truly feel it. Mary was easier. She wanted a child. She already had the desire to be a mother and the fear of never being able to. He only used those feelings to his advantage.

James, on the other hand, was a challenge. His distrust was a tall, solid wall, always undermining every bit of progress Seven made. That's why he had to keep influencing him constantly: a touch of calm when James's fear peaked, a softening of the anxiety when his eyes locked on the 007 on his wrist.

Seven knew why the man was like that after seeing his memories. James was, above all, selfish. Everything revolved around himself—his desires, his convenience. Helping someone? Only if there was something in it for him. He didn't even truly love Mary, his memories revealing a trail of betrayals. The only reason he stayed married was money, afraid of losing everything in a divorce. And since Seven had nothing to offer besides problems, James wanted him as far away as possible.

But little by little, with the influence of his powers and Mary's persistence, James stopped talking about doctors or authorities—and eventually, he agreed to adopt him.

"Is that good?" Mary asked, running her hand through his hair.

He closed his eyes, savoring the cafuné along with the warm milk. "Wonderful."

"I'm glad."

********

[Three days later]

Seven stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his fingers adjusting the collar of the button-up shirt that hung loose on his body. He tugged at the fabric, trying to close the last button, his heart pounding in his chest. Today wasn't just any day. It was the day. The most important one of his life. He and the Harringtons would travel to Chicago to pick up the papers that confirmed his adoption—the documents that would make him, officially, part of a family.

He didn't know how James had pulled it off. Something about a friend with connections, old favors, arranged paperwork. The details didn't matter. Because from now on, he could go outside… today he… he would finally… "From today on I-I..." He stared at himself in the mirror, eyes shimmering with tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. "From today on, I will be Steven Harrington. A-a normal child, with a normal life. Not a number. Not an experiment. Just… a person."

The tears fell freely now, but he didn't wipe them away. They were tears of relief, of victory. He could leave the lab behind and have a life. Steven smiled at his reflection—his first real smile, the first of many, he hoped.

"Steven, are you ready?" Mary's voice echoed from downstairs.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, taking a deep breath to pull himself together. "I'm coming."

As he came down the stairs, he found Mary in the living room, holding a folded blanket in her hands. "We're late. Let's go."

Steven followed her to the garage, where James was already in the driver's seat, the engine purring softly. Mary opened the back door and looked at him, her expression serious. "Just like we agreed, okay?"

"Yes," he replied, lying down in the back seat. Mary then spread the blanket over him, covering him completely. That was necessary because the story James and Mary had told their friends and the community groups in Hawkins was that they were going to adopt the son of a distant cousin of Mary's, who lived abroad and had died in a tragic car accident. A simple narrative, but effective enough to ward off inconvenient questions and avoid suspicious looks.

"All set?" James asked with a low grunt.

"Yes, let's go," Mary said, settling into the passenger seat.

********

Steven had never ridden in a car before. It was disorienting at first—the sensation of movement, the unpredictable bumps, the way the sound of the road kept changing—but it soon got boring, especially since he couldn't see anything.

"You can come out from under that blanket now. We're well out of town—"

Before James could even finish the sentence, Steven tossed the blanket aside and sat up, pressing his face to the window. His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw how the world opened up in vastness.

Golden fields stretched all the way to the horizon, rippling under the wind. The sky, a deep shade of blue, embraced everything, dotted with white clouds. In the distance, a line of low hills curved gently, and the sun shone brightly, casting long shadows that danced across the earth.

In that moment, Steven understood just how big and beautiful the world was.

********

He hadn't even noticed time passing as he kept his eyes glued to the window, mesmerized by the world rushing by. But slowly, the fields gave way to buildings, and Steven's wonder began to fade. By the time they reached Chicago, he was curled up and overwhelmed in the back seat.

The light, peaceful mood of the road had been replaced by something heavy and claustrophobic. There were so many people, so many emotions clashing around him all at once.

He lowered his head and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to block out the flood. It was too much. His tolerance for other people's emotions couldn't handle the cacophony of a crowded city. What were his own feelings? Where did he begin and where did he end? Outrage, regret, shame, contempt, guilt, excitement, loneliness, happiness, anxiety, gratitude, pride, and more. All mixing together at once, suffocating him.

Steven wanted to scream, to cry, to run away. He wanted to go back to the open road, where the world was vast and quiet, or to the silent safety of his home in Hawkins. Anywhere but here.

Then suddenly, just when he thought he might explode, a hand touched his leg, grounding him.

"Are you okay, Steven?" Mary's voice cut through the chaos, and the direct contact made her feelings rise above the rest.

Concern, compassion, and a hint of curiosity. Her emotions were like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. Steven looked up, meeting her gaze. "I... I'm just a little scared."

Mary squeezed his thigh gently, her face softening with an understanding smile. "Well, a big city can be a bit overwhelming the first time. Right, James?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so," James replied absentmindedly, slowing the car and stopping at a light.

"Can I... hold your hand?" Steven asked, afraid she might say no.

"Of course you can," Mary said with a smile, taking his hand. "Better?"

"...yeah."

********

Steven didn't really understand what a hotel was—he just knew it was a place where you could stay for a while. It seemed confusing, but he decided he'd ask Mary about it later. For now, he just followed the Harringtons, stepping into a lobby that left him speechless. The place was beautiful, with a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, casting golden lights that danced on the walls. The air smelled clean and slightly sweet, so different from the heavy stench of the city outside.

At the reception, James was talking to an elegant woman. Mary, beside him, spoke with a man wearing a strange hat who was stacking the luggage onto a gleaming cart. Steven looked away from them and saw himself reflected in a large mirror on the wall.

The oversized shirt hung from his thin frame, making him look a bit ridiculous, but what really caught his attention was the hair. Tiny strands had started to grow, slightly covering his scalp. He reached up to his head and noticed it no longer felt so rough. Steven didn't even know that was possible.

"Come on, Steven," Mary called, offering her hand. James was already by the elevator door, his face closed off.

Steven ran to catch up with them, but when the doors slid open, he froze, remembering the last time he'd been in an elevator— Blood pouring from his nose into his mouth. Flashing lights. Eight's terrified screams. A line of bodies down the hallway—

"Steven, hurry up," James's harsh voice broke out, and Steven returned to the hotel lobby. He rushed into the elevator and apologized, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. The doors closed, and as the elevator ascended, he eased James's irritation and the worry that had begun to show in Mary. He really didn't want to open his mouth for the next few minutes.

When the elevator doors opened again, he made sure to stay close behind them all the way to the room.

********

Steven was facing a big challenge.

Since he was alone in the hotel room — James and Mary had gone to get the adoption papers — it was up to him to order dinner.

Mary had explained how room service worked before they left, saying it was super easy. But it wasn't! There were so many options, he didn't know what to choose. Something salty? Or sweet? He really wanted to try the chocolate cake, but he was also curious about the pizza. Maybe both? James wouldn't be mad... right? He had said Steven could order whatever he wanted!

He stared at the menu for a few minutes before making a decision. "I'll get both!"Steven turned around, grabbed the phone awkwardly — he had never used one before — and dialed reception. He heard a strange ring, then another, and finally someone picked up.

"Hello, you've reached the kitchen at the Plaza Hotel. How can I help you?"

Steven pulled the phone away from his ear, gave it a suspicious look, then pressed it back against his head. "Hello?"

"Yes?"

Weird. Very weird. For as long as he could remember, Steven had always felt people's emotions when he spoke to them. But through the phone, he felt nothing! It was scary, like walking in the dark with no light at all. "Hi... hum. I'd like to order food."

"Of course, sir. What would you like?" the voice asked.

"Um, uh." His mind went blank. He glanced quickly at the menu. "I want a pizza and a chocolate cake."

"What flavor?"

"What?"

"The flavor of the pizza, sir."

Pizzas had flavors too?! Steven looked at the menu again and saw the list of flavors under the big "Pizzas" heading. "I... I'll have a pepperoni one."

"Okay. One pepperoni pizza and a chocolate cake, correct?"

"Yes."

"Anything to drink?"

"... do you have chocolate milk?"

"... Yes, we do."

Even without being able to feel the woman's emotion, Steven had the distinct impression he was being judged. "I'll take it."

"Which room should we deliver it to?"

"Hmm... 304."

"Okay, sir. Your order will be delivered in a few minutes."

"Thank you."

"Our pleasure, sir."

"...."

"...."

"Anything else, sir?"

"No."

"Then please don't forget to hang up."

"Oh, right, sorry." Steven put the phone back, his face flushed with embarrassment.

********

A few hours later, Steven was sprawled out on the bed with a bloated stomach, his face marked by a mix of satisfaction and mild regret. The room service tray sat on the table, with pizza leftovers and a piece of cake staining the plate. An empty mug, with traces of chocolate, rested beside it.

The door to the room clicked open, and Steven lifted his head to see Mary and James walk in. Mary carried a folder full of papers, her emotions seeming to light up the room. James, on the other hand, was frowning, his eyes scanning the mess on the table.

"Oh my God, Steven, what did you eat?" Mary exclaimed, laughing as she walked over to the bed. She sat at the edge, placing the folder down beside her and looking at his belly with a mix of amusement and concern. "Looks like you overdid it... again."

Steven gave a shy smile. "I think so," he murmured, half-sleepy.

James huffed, already grabbing the tray with an air of impatience. "Next time, clean up when you're done," he grumbled, taking the tray to the corner of the room and dumping the crumbs into the trash.

Mary didn't seem to notice her husband's grumpiness. Her eyes were shining as she opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Steven, look at this!" she said, practically vibrating with excitement. "These are the adoption papers! Everything's here, signed and stamped. It's official now — you're Steven Harrington."

She held the documents in front of him, pointing at the lines filled with black ink, the stamp in the corner of the page. Steven sat up, his heart racing as he looked at the papers. It was real. Not a dream, not a fragile promise — it was proof that he belonged somewhere.

Now, his roots in society were planted. But it still wasn't enough — he needed to go deeper, so that pulling him out would be impossible without leaving a gaping hole.

He needed to become known.

***

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Steven and Mary went out together to buy him some new clothes. They had gone by car—not theirs, since James had taken that one to meet up with some friends. This one was yellow and, for some reason, had been waiting outside the hotel. That was yet another thing Steven would have to ask about later.

As the car moved through the streets of Chicago, Steven kept his eyes glued to the window, his hand tightly holding Mary's. Without the city's flood of emotions suffocating him, Chicago seemed... fascinating. The streets pulsed with life: people rushing by in colorful coats, tall buildings that looked like they touched the sky, shiny store windows filled with things he didn't even know existed. It was nothing like the endless golden fields along the highway, but it was beautiful... in its own way.

The car kept moving for a few more minutes before stopping in front of a stylish store, with mannequins posing behind a wide window, displaying all kinds of clothes and accessories. Mary paid the driver, and Steven quickly followed her out, slightly afraid the man might drive off with him still inside.

"Look, Steven, this is RCHLO—heaven for women and a nightmare for men," Mary said, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous smile.

Steven tilted his head, confused. "Why? Am I in danger?"

Mary brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. "No, of course not. It's just that... men usually don't like going shopping for clothes with women. We tend to take a long time."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because choosing is hard," she replied, as if it were obvious, gently pulling him into the store.

Steven didn't understand, but as soon as they walked in, everything became clear. A smiling saleswoman greeted them, guiding them through aisles filled with shelves and racks overflowing with clothes. There were plaid shirts, wide-legged jeans, jackets, wool sweaters in mustard and dark green tones. It was a sea of colors, fabrics, and options that left him stunned. Picking just a few seemed impossible!

The saleswoman, a woman with curly hair and large glasses, began piling up clothes for Steven to try on. "How about this polo shirt? Or maybe a sweater? It's great for fall," she suggested, holding up a bright orange piece that made Steven wrinkle his nose.

"Um... I don't know," Steven murmured, his eyes bouncing between the options, completely lost. A denim jacket hanging on a rack looked cool, but the blue and white striped shirt had caught his eye too. And those brown pants? Or were the gray ones cooler? He brushed his fingers over a t-shirt with a vibrant print of a race car, hesitating. "Which one is... the best?"

Mary let out a light laugh, noticing the confusion written all over his face. "There's no such thing as a 'best one,' Steven. You pick what makes you feel good. Let's try a few and see how they look on you."

The next hour flew by in the blink of an eye, with Steven going in and out of the fitting room, each new outfit bringing a mix of awkwardness and curiosity. At first, he thought it was all a bit silly — the shirts, the shoes, the high-waisted pants, the colorful fabrics. But little by little, he began to see himself in them, as if the clothes were pieces of a new Steven coming together.

Eventually, the saleswoman brought over a black polo shirt and a pair of straight-cut jeans, which Mary approved of with an enthusiastic nod. "How cute! You look like a little city gentleman!" she said excitedly, adjusting his collar.

Steven looked at himself in the mirror, uncertain. "Do I... look nice?"

Mary knelt down to his level, pride surrounding her. "Nice? You're more than nice, Steven. You look amazing!"

A soft smile appeared on Steven's face when he heard that.

"Ohh, your son is just adorable, ma'am," the attendant commented, watching the interaction between them.

"He really is," Mary said with a wide smile.

********

When they left the store, Mary was carrying several shopping bags while Steven held a single one in his left hand — his right hand firmly gripping Mary's wrist. He wasn't sure why she radiated so much happiness mixed with a deep sense of contentment. But if he had to guess, he'd say Mary had always wanted to live moments like that with her son.

They walked along the busy sidewalk until they reached a shop with small, shiny objects displayed in the window. The two of them went inside, and Mary guided him to the counter with a smile. "Hello, my son needs a watch," she said to the clerk, a man with a thin mustache.

"Of course, just a moment..." The man grabbed a yellow measuring tape from behind the counter. "I just need to measure his wrist."

"Steven, raise your arm," Mary instructed, casting a look that made it clear which arm he was supposed to show.

Steven let go of her wrist hesitantly and raised his right arm. The man measured it quickly, disappeared through a door in the back, and after a few minutes, returned with several watches.

Mary examined the options carefully before pointing to the one with the largest strap. "This one." The clerk nodded and began to wrap it up while Mary paid.

From there, they crossed the street and entered a cosmetics store, the air thick with floral perfumes. A clerk wearing bright red lipstick and a high bun came to greet them. "Good morning, miss. Can I help you with anything?" she asked with a smile, but Steven could feel a clear sense of envy and irritation radiating from her toward Mary.

"Yes," Mary replied. "My mother asked me to buy her a concealer, but I forgot which shade she uses. Can you help?"

"I can try. Do you have similar skin?"

"Oh, no, I take after my father. But my son has similar skin. You can use him to find the shade, right?" Mary said, making Steven turn his head toward her, completely lost.

'What is she planning?'

********

Back at the hotel, Mary placed the shopping bags on the bed and pulled Steven toward the couch, holding the concealer and the watch in her other hand. "Now, pay close attention," she said as she opened the concealer tube, dabbed a bit on her finger, and gently turned Steven's left wrist upward. "Starting today, you're going to do this every morning."

With a careful motion, she spread the concealer over the 007. Steven watched, eyes wide, as the mark that had defined his life vanished, leaving behind nothing but smooth, ordinary skin. He leaned in close, then pulled back, then leaned in again, unable to believe what he was seeing. The number that branded him as an experiment, an object, was gone. He was just... Steven.

"Do you understand, Steven?" Mary asked seriously. "No exceptions, okay? Every morning, you do this. And then..." She took the watch and slid the strap over his wrist, completely covering the spot where the tattoo used to be. "You put the watch on top. Got it?"

Steven opened his mouth, but no words came out. His chest felt tight, not from fear, but from something bigger — gratitude, relief, maybe even love. He looked down at his wrist, now hidden beneath the watch, then up at Mary. Without thinking, he threw himself into her arms, hugging her with all the strength his small arms could muster. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked, tears streaming freely down his face. "Thank you for everything, Mommy."

********

[2 months later]

The last two months had been a rollercoaster of emotions and discoveries for Steven. Mary had taken it upon herself to teach him general knowledge, introducing everything from the most famous movies to the differences between dollar bills. Each thing he learned was another brick in the construction of his identity, and little by little, he began to feel less like an outsider and more like someone who belonged in society.

He had also accomplished two things he'd wanted badly ever since he saw them in a scientist's memory: swimming and riding a bike. James was reluctant at first to teach him, but eventually gave in after much insistence. The learning process, however, was an adventure on its own. Steven swallowed more water than he'd like to admit and took a few memorable falls off the bike. But he did it.

Still, among everything that had happened, one thing stood out above the rest. For the past two weeks, Steven had been trying something new with his powers: creating some kind of "barrier" to block out emotions. The idea had been sparked by what happened in Chicago, which made it painfully clear just how overwhelming it was to receive the emotions of thousands of people at once.

The problem was, Steven didn't understand his powers beyond what he did by instinct, and trying something that innovative was like flying a plane without a radar. He had no idea what to visualize, how to focus his mind, or what sensation to look for. As a result, every attempt came with a splitting headache, like his brain was being squeezed from the inside out.

Sometimes, he felt a faint tingling, like he was close to something, but the pain would force him to stop, leaving him frustrated and drained. He even started to wonder if he was doing everything wrong—and maybe his powers weren't capable of such a thing. But he didn't give up.

********

[1 month later]

"Okay, cover your eyes," Mary said, full of excitement. Steven obeyed, feeling a bit uneasy about the spray can she was shaking in front of him. He wasn't quite sure what Mary was planning, but according to her, it had something to do with "taming the wild mane" that now grew in messy tufts on his head.

"Relax, Steven, this is going to look amazing," Mary said as she ran the comb through his hair, working out the tangles before releasing three spritzes of the spray. The sweet, chemical scent filled the air, making Steven wrinkle his nose. "You just need three or four sprays. This is the Farrah Fawcett spray—technically for women, but that doesn't matter if it works. You can open your eyes now!"

Steven slowly opened his eyes and turned to the mirror. His reflection startled him. The strands that had grown in uneven waves were now styled into a voluminous haircut, with soft layers falling over his forehead and sides, glistening under the bathroom light.

"And then, you just brush it like this," Mary continued, running the brush through one more time, adding even more shape and volume. "Done! Now you're ready for the whole day. What do you think?"

Steven tilted his head, studying the reflection. "I like it," he said, reaching out to touch his hair, curious about the texture—but Mary gave his hand a light smack.

"No way!"

********

[3 months later]

Steven was a genius—or at least, that's what the tutors James had hired kept calling him. History, geography, math, reading, writing, grammar, or science—it didn't matter what it was, he soaked up knowledge like a sponge.

What should have taken several months to cover the entire elementary school curriculum, Steven mastered in just three.

********

[1 months later – September 15, 1978]

Steven stood in front of the bedroom mirror, frowning at his reflection. "Hmm... nope, I look like a nerd," he muttered, yanking off the plaid button-up shirt and tossing it onto the bed, where three other discarded attempts were already piled up: a polo that was way too bright, a t-shirt with a print that looked childish, and a brown sweater that made him look smaller than he was.

It was his first day of school, and picking the perfect outfit felt like an impossible mission.

He rummaged through the closet, quickly scanning the stack of shirts. Finally, he grabbed a plain gray t-shirt that seemed to go well with the jeans and white sneakers. He took a step back, eyeing his reflection critically. "Okay... I think this works."

Steven then tilted his head to check his hair. The dark brown strands, now longer, were styled with the Farrah Fawcett spray Mary had taught him to use. He ran his fingers through it carefully, making sure every piece was in place. 'I love this hair.'

His gaze dropped to his left wrist, where a brown leather watch covered the 007 tattoo, hidden under a layer of concealer. He adjusted the strap, making sure it was snug, and took a deep breath. "This is gonna be a breeze..."

"Steven, you're gonna be late!" Mary's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"I'm coming!" he shouted back, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He ran down the stairs, sneakers thudding fast against the steps, and burst into the kitchen, where the smell of warm pancakes and maple syrup filled the air.

Mary stood by the stove, flipping a pancake with a spatula. "There are some ready," she said, nodding toward the plate on the table.

Steven didn't waste time. He grabbed a pancake with his hands, folded it in half, and stuffed it in his mouth. "Hey! Where are your manners, young man?" Mary exclaimed, raising an eyebrow.

"Sowwy," he mumbled with his mouth full.

Mary shook her head. "If James were here, you'd be getting a lecture till tomorrow."

Steven swallowed with an audible gulp, laughing. "Good thing he isn't," he said, already grabbing another pancake and taking a big bite.

Mary let out an exasperated sigh, but Steven knew she wasn't really annoyed—if anything, the exchange seemed to cheer her up.

She stepped closer, wiping her hands on her apron. "Look, you're not that late, you know? You can eat in peace."

"I wanna get there early," Steven said without slowing down, stuffing another bite in his mouth.

Mary smiled. "Alright, alright. I won't stop you then."

He finished the pancake, wiped his hands on a towel Mary tossed to him, and started heading to the garage. "See you later, mom."

"See you—wait! Did you take your lunch money?"

"Yep!" he replied, already in the garage, where a blue bike leaned against the wall. He hopped on, adjusted the watch on his wrist one more time, and pedaled out of the garage, the September morning sun warming his skin.

The street was quiet, filled with birdsong and the distant hum of a lawnmower. Steven took a deep breath, soaking in the freedom of the moment. "This is gonna be a breeze..."

********

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

Leaving his bike locked in the rack, Steven paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the vibrant movement in front of the school. Boys and girls arrived in groups, stepping down from noisy yellow buses or getting out of cars pulling into the parking lot. Clusters gathered in circles, laughing and chatting excitedly, while others hurried toward the entrance.

Steven closed his eyes, feeling the emotions flow in a chaotic mix of joy, nervousness, boredom, anxiety, excitement, and even anger. Despite months of trying, he hadn't managed to create the mental barrier to block them. Maybe his powers weren't capable of it, or maybe he still lacked the necessary control, but whatever the reason, that time hadn't been wasted.

Steven had learned to navigate his powers better, like a sailor beginning to understand the currents of the sea. He not only felt more resistant to the emotions of others, but had also discovered new "tricks." And now, standing in front of the school and focused on his goal of becoming famous, he knew exactly what to do.

Taking a deep breath, he dove into the emotional storm around him, searching for the brightest ones — happy, lively, confident, and vibrant emotions. Once he found them, he pulled them toward himself. The difference was instant.

It was hard to describe the feeling of being flooded with positive emotions. If Steven had to guess, he'd say it was like being under the effect of some drug — no, a thousand times better than a drug. It was a euphoria that danced through his whole body, making him feel light and invincible. Part of him feared becoming addicted to it, but for now, it was exactly what he needed.

He adjusted the straps of his backpack and, with a wide smile on his face, walked confidently into Hawkins Middle School. As he crossed the doors, he was swallowed by the chaos of the hallways. Blue metal lockers slammed shut, groups of students crowded together between laughter and shouts, and the scent of floor wax mixed with the sweet perfume of the girls. Colorful posters covered the walls, announcing a fall dance, basketball games, and other events.

Steven kept a steady pace and followed the hallway to a half-filled classroom. A few desks were occupied, some students resting their heads on their arms or scribbling in notebooks, while others leaned against the walls chatting. Steven chose a desk in the center, where he could observe the room's dynamics, and let his backpack slide to the floor before sitting down. He crossed his arms, feeling some eyes on him with curiosity, and others with caution.

He memorized the faces of those who seemed curiosity and turned to the boy on his left, who radiated boredom and disinterest. Steven decided to take a chance. "Hi, I'm Steven Harrington, but my friends just call me Steve," he said, offering his hand with a friendly smile.

The boy looked up, first at the extended hand, then at Steven's face. For a few seconds, nothing happened — and just as Steven thought he might be left hanging, the boy shook his hand. "You're new here, right?"

Steven laughed, letting go of his hand. "It's that obvious, huh?"

"Kind of," the boy said with a shrug. "I'm Tommy. Tommy Hagan." He straightened up a bit in his chair, boredom giving way to curiosity. "Where are you from?"

"Los Angeles."

Tommy widened his eyes a bit. "Ohh, that's far. What brought you to this middle of nowhere?"

"I was adopted."

"Oh..." Tommy looked away, scratching the back of his neck, visibly awkward. "Man, that's... like, cool, right? I mean, Hawkins isn't LA, but... uh... do you like basketball?"

Steven smiled inwardly, enjoying the conversation. "Of course I do. What about you?"

********

After a few minutes, the sound of the bell echoed through the school, and a mustached man entered the room, closing the door behind him. Steven paused his conversation with Tommy and turned his attention to the newcomer, who was practically screaming excitement and enthusiasm.

"Hello, class! First of all, a very warm welcome to Hawkins Middle School!" the man said with a wide smile. "I'm Scott Clarke, your science teacher." He lifted a stack of papers. "I've got your schedules here. So, I'm going to ask each of you to stand up one by one, say your name, share a few hobbies, and come pick them up."

Steven felt the nervousness sweep through the room.

"So, who wants to start?" Clarke asked, his eyes scanning the class "Come on, folks! No need to be shy. We'll be spending a lot of years together, so we might as well start getting to know each other!"

The students glanced at each other, each one waiting for someone else to take the lead.

'...I guess this is the moment,' Steven raised his hand.

"There he is," Clarke pointed at him.

Steven stood up, feeling everyone's eyes on him. "My name is Steven Harrington, but my friends just call me Steve. I'm new in town, so I hope I can get to know all of you. As for my hobbies, I like basketball, hanging out with friends, and lately I've been trying to learn how to play the guitar—though I have to admit my fingers aren't exactly cooperating."

A few students chuckled, and Steven felt their nervousness ease up.

"Well, Steve, let me also welcome you to Hawkins," Clarke said, smiling at him as he extended him one of the sheets. "I'm sure you'll be very happy here."

Steven walked over to him and took the sheet. "Thank you, sir." He returned to his seat and sat down, pleased to see that everyone's interest in him had grown.

********

[Three Months Later]

In the blink of an eye, three months had passed, and Steven had never been more satisfied with his life.

School was going great. He stood out in P.E. class, where his agility and precision in shooting caught the basketball coach's attention—who already saw him as a promising addition to the team. In regular classes, Steven impressed the teachers with quick, always accurate answers, quickly becoming a model student.

Socially, Steven was a hit. He knew pretty much all the "popular" sixth graders, from future athletes to aspiring cheerleaders. His way of talking, a blend of humor and confidence, naturally drew people in. That wasn't hard when he knew exactly when to crack a joke, listen closely, or flash a smile to defuse any tension.

But real friends—the kind he felt truly comfortable with—were few. Tommy was the main one. Since the first day of school, Tommy had become his adventure buddy, always ready for a hangout or a game of basketball. The two spent hours together, whether playing, riding their bikes around Hawkins, or talking about everything from bands to girls.

The other person who was always around was Carol Perkins, a sharp-tongued girl who spoke faster than she thought. Steven had met her through Tommy, who'd known her since kindergarten. Carol was like a storm—unpredictable, loud, and impossible to ignore. At first, Steven found it hard to deal with her constant teasing and biting remarks, but over time, he learned to tolerate her presence. Sometimes, he even liked the chaos Carol brought. Just sometimes.

********

Winter had hit Hawkins hard, and for the first time, Steven witnessed the aftermath of a snowstorm. He and Tommy were standing on the street in front of his house, the ground covered in a thick layer of snow that shimmered under the pale sunlight, squeezed between gray clouds. The cold air bit at Steven's cheeks, but he couldn't take his eyes off the landscape.

The snow looked like something magical — as if the world had been wrapped in a white blanket. He thought he'd hate it when the snow came because of the color, but this was a different kind of white than the lab walls. It was alive, bright, almost welcoming.

He crouched down, scooping up a handful with the wool gloves Mary had insisted he wear, and watched the flakes slowly melt against the warmth of his hands. 'Incredible...'

"Uhh, so cold!" Tommy grumbled with a trembling voice, stomping his feet on the ground to try and warm up. "Why are we even out here, Steve? It's freezing!"

"Quit being dramatic," Steven said, eyes still fixed on the snow.

"Dramatic? Dude, this stuff kills!"

"I know..." Steven shaped a snowball, a little clumsy, and held it like it was something precious. "It's just... I've never seen snow like this before. So can you shut up and stop ruining my first memory?"

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't it snow in LA?"

"Not for as long as I can remember," Steven replied, tossing the snowball into the air and watching it fall apart on the way down.

Suddenly, the rumble of an engine broke the silence. A green Chevy Impala, its paint chipped in places, pulled up beside them. The driver's window rolled down, revealing Tina, Carol's older sister, a cigarette dangling from her lips and the look of someone having a rough day. Steven could clearly feel her frustration and impatience.

Carol stepped out from the passenger seat, a large bag slung over her shoulder. "What are you two idiots doing out here?"

"Don't look at me!" Tommy said indignantly, pointing at Steven. "It's his fault!"

"Nobody forced you to follow me!" Steven snapped.

"And what was I supposed to do? Sit alone in your living room?"

"Why not?!"

"Hey!" Carol interrupted, stepping in front of them with one hand on her hip. "Can we have this conversation inside?"

"Great idea," Tommy exclaimed, already heading toward the house.

Steven began following him alongside Carol, but Tina's voice made him stop. "Listen, I should give you a speech about how you need to be responsible and blah-blah-blah. But I'm not in the mood. Just don't do anything that lands you in jail or the maternity ward, got it?"

Steven felt his face burn as a wave of intense embarrassment surged from Tommy and Carol at the same time.

"See you tomorrow, Carol," Tina finished, stubbing out her cigarette in the car's ashtray, rolling up the window, and speeding off in the Impala, which left behind a trail of smoke and churned-up snow.

The three of them stood still, watching the car until it disappeared around the corner.

"Carol, why does your sister always have to be such a jerk?" Tommy asked, breaking the silence.

"Because she was born that way," Carol replied, huffing. "Ignore her. She's been PMSing since 1975."

Steven shook his head and started walking again. "She seems worse than usual today."

"It was kinda hard for us to get here because of the snow. Maybe that made her mood even worse—if that's even possible," Carol shrugged.

The three walked into the house, took off their boots at the entrance, and slipped on the slippers Steven had set out for them. The warmth of the living room was a welcome relief from the biting cold outside. Steven rubbed his hands together to warm them. "So, what do you guys want to do?"

Tommy threw himself onto the couch, stretching out his legs like he owned the place. "I was thinking…" He paused dramatically, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Since the house is all ours, how about we try something new? Like… snooping through your parents' liquor cabinet?"

Carol dropped her bag on the couch and raised an eyebrow, a smile already forming on her lips. "Seriously, Tommy? That's what you call 'something new'? You snoop through your uncle's liquor cabinet every week."

"Hey, that's different!" Tommy protested, pointing a finger at her. "Uncle Frank only has cheap beer and crappy whiskey. I bet Steve's parents have something way more… sophisticated."

Steven frowned. "I thought we were going to… watch a movie?" Since James and Mary were away on a work trip, he had the house to himself for three whole days. And not wanting to be alone, he had asked Tommy and Carol to hang out. But now, Steven was starting to wonder if that had been a good idea.

"We'll do that later, man," Tommy said, springing up from the couch with renewed energy. "First, the drinks. Where do your parents keep them?"

Steven hesitated, a knot forming in his stomach. He knew exactly where the liquor cabinet was, but the idea of messing with his parents' things without permission just felt… wrong. Still, the eager look on Tommy's face and Carol's teasing smile, along with the buzz of excitement radiating from both of them, made him give in.

"Alright," he sighed, gesturing for them to follow. "But if I get in trouble for this, I'm blaming you two."

"Relax, Steve," Tommy said, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. "No one's gonna find out."

'I hope so…'

********

[Two months later]

Since escaping the lab, Steven had learned a lot about human interaction and the countless ways people connected, laughed, and celebrated. But there was one tradition he never quite understood: birthdays.

Why did people make such a fuss over a day that simply marked the passage of time? Why celebrate the fact of getting older and closer to the end? He couldn't wrap his head around it, even after attending a few birthday parties and seeing how genuinely happy the birthday person seemed.

Until February 27, 1979, came.

It was a Sunday, and Steven sensed something was off the moment he went to have breakfast. Mary was buzzing with energy and oddly cheerful—completely out of sync with their usual morning routine. James, who usually slept in, was already up. And to top it all off, Tommy showed up uninvited, wearing a forced smile and claiming he needed help picking out shirts.

Steven didn't buy the story for a second. First, because Tommy would never ask for his help picking out clothes. Second, because of his emotions. Tommy was blatantly lying. Still, Steven decided to play along, following his friend to downtown Hawkins.

The next few hours were a string of odd moments. Tommy pointed at store windows, asking vague questions about shirts, clearly with no intention of buying anything. He also kept changing the subject too quickly, laughed nervously, and even tripped over a sidewalk while trying to act casual.

"You okay, man?" Steven finally asked.

"Me? I'm great! Totally fine!" Tommy replied, his voice rising an octave. He rubbed his hands together and glanced at his watch. "I think we can head back now, right? I'm tired of looking at shirts."

Steven narrowed his eyes but didn't push it. When they returned to the Harrington house, his confusion peaked as he sensed the presence of several people inside. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, fear took over. Instinctively, he reached out with his powers, afraid it might be an ambush from the lab.

But the emotions he picked up didn't match that possibility: a vibrant mix of tension, excitement, and anticipation, with hints of joy. No trace of hostility or coldness. He blinked, staring at the door, trying to piece things together. 'What's going on here?'

"Steve, what are you waiting for? Open the door!" Tommy urged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Steven turned to him, eyes half-closed. "What… is going on, Tommy?"

"Nothing! Just… open the door, come on!" Tommy insisted, his nervousness starting to spill over.

With a sigh, Steven turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. The living room was dark for a split second, and then—

"SURPRISE!"

The lights came on, revealing a burst of color and familiar faces. Mary stood in the center, grinning from ear to ear. Carol was beside her, holding a handful of streamers she tossed into the air with an exaggerated shout. A few classmates were scattered around the room, laughing and clapping. The dining table had been moved into the living room and was covered with a colorful cloth, a chocolate cake glowing with lit candles in the center, surrounded by plates of sandwiches, sodas, and bowls of snacks. Blue and yellow balloons floated across the ceiling, and a hand-painted banner read, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

'What the… fuck'

***

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

The next few minutes were, without a shadow of a doubt, the most embarrassing and awkward of Steven's life. First, he froze in the doorway, completely unsure how to react to the "surprise party." If it hadn't been for Tommy shoving him inside, he probably would've stayed planted there for a very long time.

But then they started singing, and what was already bad got even worse. Steven simply didn't know what to do. Was he supposed to sing along? Or clap? Was it wrong to just stand there like a statue? Was he smiling? Did it look forced?

There were so many questions spinning around in his head that he only snapped out of it when he saw Mary standing in front of him, holding the cake and telling him to make a wish before blowing out the candles.

'A wish...' He lowered his eyes to the candles, fully aware that kind of thing didn't exist. How many times had he wished for freedom? For the endless suffering to stop? For someone to save him or for a miracle to happen? No. No matter how much someone wishes for something, it only happens if they make it happen with their own hands.

But since Steven would never say that out loud, he simply blew out the candles.

********

After a few minutes of cake-cutting and accepting congratulations from everyone who came, Steven made his way over to Tommy and Carol while the room split into different groups—some busy devouring snacks and sweets, others just chatting.

"You should've seen your face," Carol said the moment he walked up, a teasing grin on her lips.

"You looked like a complete idiot," Tommy added, laughing out loud.

'Damn it.' Steven shook his head and took a sip of the soda he was holding, trying to ignore the heat rising to his face. "Fine, laugh all you want."

"The "cool" Steve Harrington turned into a scared little princess," she went on in an exaggerated voice—only making Tommy laugh harder.

Steven frowned. "Am I the only one not finding this funny?"

"Yep."

"For sure."

"Haaa..." Realizing they weren't going to stop anytime soon, Steven tried to change the subject. "So, were you guys the ones who planned this party??"

"Pfft, not a chance," Carol rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't even do that for my dad. Too much work for too little fun."

'...Why did I even bother asking?'

"It was your mom's idea," Tommy said, scratching his head. "She asked me for help, but I suck at this kind of thing, so I called Carol, who passed it on to Tina. She's the one who organized everything."

"Tina?" Steven turned his head toward the brown-haired girl, who was laughing with two other friends near the window. "... seriously?"

[Image]

"Yeah, man. She invited everyone and organized who would bring what—"

"Hold on," Steven cut in, turning his eyes to Tommy. "What do you mean by 'who would bring what'?"

"Well, your mom wanted something simple, but Tina didn't want to leave anyone out. I don't know all the details, just that they agreed each of us had to bring something to eat."

Steven's mouth dropped open, shocked. "You mean—"

"Yeah, besides the gift, I had to bring some cupcakes," Carol said with disgust. "Congrats, Steve, this is the most capitalist birthday I've ever seen."

"Uh..." Steven froze, not sure what to say. James not liking him wasn't news, but to the point of not even funding a simple birthday party and forcing everyone to pitch in? That wasn't a good sign. It also explained why the man wasn't there—he probably woke up early just to leave before people started arriving.

On the other hand, that meant everyone there, those people he had met just a few months ago, chose to come together, spend money and effort to make that day special. It was hard to believe '...how would Papa feel if he knew how far I got?'

********

A few hours later, the house was almost silent, except for the occasional sound of plastic cups being stacked and trash being collected. The party was over, the guests had gone, and Steven found himself next to Mary, the two of them working together to clean up the mess left behind.

"You didn't have to help me, you know?" Mary said as she tossed two disposable plates into the trash.

"It's fine," Steven replied, shrugging. "You've already done plenty."

Mary shook her head. "I didn't do much—it was pretty much your friends. Especially Tina. You need to thank her later."

Steven bent down to pick up a piece of paper. "I already did."

"Good job," Mary turned to him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Steven instantly knew what she was implying. "No, nothing's going on."

"I didn't say anything," Mary shot back, raising her hands in a gesture of innocence.

"But I know what you were going to say."

Mary laughed. "Alright, alright. I won't say anything."

"Good..."

The two of them continued working in tense silence for a few seconds until Mary spoke again, her voice laced with a teasing tone. "Are you two dating?-"

Steven nearly let the trash bag slip from his hands. "No! Of course not! We're just friends!"

"You sure?"

"F.R.I.E.N.D.S," Steven stressed each syllable.

"Okay, friends," Mary relented.

Steven looked away, focusing on the living room, and realized he had already picked everything up. "I'm done. I'll leave the bag in the garage." He had barely taken two steps when Mary's voice made him stop.

"Steven. Do you know why I chose this date to be your birthday?"

"...today makes one year since I arrived, right?" he replied, without turning around.

"So you figured it out."

"Yeah, it wasn't hard once I started looking for a reason behind the party," he admitted, shrugging.

"Well... did you like it? I could've picked another date, but I thought this one was more... fitting," she asked, curious and a little worried.

'If I liked it?... I'd say it was more enlightening than anything else.' Steven looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Yeah, I liked it. Thanks, Mom." He didn't wait for Mary to ask anything else and walked to the door that led to the garage. The air outside was cold, making him quickly toss the trash bag into a corner.

Back inside, he climbed the stairs and headed to his room, his thoughts spinning between the party and Mary's words about Tina. But before he could reach the door, a strange sensation came over him. First, a slight imbalance, as if the floor beneath his feet had tilted. Then, a violent dizziness. The world spun, the walls pulled away, the floor became the ceiling, and the light vanished.

Steven staggered, heart pounding, trying to grab onto anything to regain his bearings. "What—" The word died in his throat as his legs gave out and he collapsed backward.

He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact against the ground, but instead, he felt himself swallowed by a cold, liquid sensation, as if he had plunged into water. Steven opened his eyes abruptly, and panic burst in his chest when he saw nothing but darkness—deep and endless. He was no longer at home.

Steven opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He tried to use his powers, but nothing happened.

Then, all at once, a searing pain burst in his head, worse than anything he had ever felt. It was as if someone were ripping his skull open with a dull blade, from the nape of his neck to his forehead.

'AAAAAAAARGGHHHHHHHHH'

Pain.

A pain that consumed everything.

Pain.

An agony that felt endless.

More pain.

More

And more

In the midst of that sea of suffering, voices began to echo through the void, from every direction, distorted and fragmented.

"You betrayed me."

.....

.....

.....

"Am I not enough?"

.....

.....

.....

"They're dead."

.....

.....

.....

"Now you know who I really am."

.....

.....

.....

"I... will kill you!"

.....

.....

.....

"Scared, Steve Harrington?"

.....

.....

.....

"Hello again, Papa."

.....

.....

.....

"Monster... you're a monster."

.....

.....

.....

"Eleven..."

.....

.....

.....

"How much do you want? I'll pay anything."

.....

.....

.....

"I'm tired of you."

.....

.....

.....

.....

.....

********

[November, 1983]

"Haaah" Pulling his face out of the water accumulated in the sink, Steve lifted his head and stared at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror of the movie theater. His skin was so pale it looked drained of life, almost anemic. The left side of his face was bruised, a consequence of the beating he took from Jonathan Byers. But the physical pain didn't matter—it was insignificant compared to the storm consuming him from within.

Because he had remembered.

Who he was.

Who he really was.

***
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

Steve Harrington never imagined that the weird Jonathan Byers would be capable of hitting him with a punch. A punch that hurt more than he would like to admit. Maybe he had crossed a line when he mentioned Jonathan's mother and brother with that tone of contempt he knew how to use so well.

But what Steve really didn't expect was that, upon receiving the third punch, his mind would be flooded with visions that made no sense at all.

On the fourth punch, he was dragged into a torrent of memories that weren't his—or at least, not those of Steve Harrington. They were memories of a child, marked by horrors inside a laboratory.

Steve saw. Steve felt. All the pain, the suffering, the thoughts of that boy. His fears. His dreams. His traumas.

Year after year, Steve watched the boy's life unfold before his eyes until his first birthday—when an unbearable pain yanked him back to the present.

When the next punch landed, Steve was too dazed to do anything but taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth.

And when he was pulled up by Tommy, Steve was no longer the same person.

********

Memories are one of the fundamental pillars of the human brain—the threads that weave the tapestry of who a person is. They anchor the past, shape present choices, and guide dreams for the future. Through them, a person builds their identity, interprets their experiences, and forms their worldview.

But what happens when memories disappear? Or when part of them does?

The individual begins to develop new habits, tastes, and even values that may differ radically from the person they once were—creating a version of themselves that, in many ways, might seem like a "new person."

And what if, after some time, the original memories return?

The individual is confronted with two life narratives, as if two versions of themselves coexist: one anchored in what was lived during the amnesia, the other rooted in what had been forgotten. This internal conflict can trigger an existential crisis, forcing the person to question who they truly are—or who they're supposed to be.

********

Steve rubbed his hands hard under the faucet, the cold water mixing with the red paint running down the drain of the theater's bathroom sink. The smell of cheap soap irritated his nostrils, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, trying to process what had just happened.

"Hey." The bathroom door creaked as it opened, and the theater manager stepped in, suspicion written all over his face. "Everything alright in there? It's been a few minutes since you went in."

No, nothing was alright. Far from it. In fact, if Steve weren't suppressing his emotions with Seven's powers, he was sure he'd be banging his head against the wall—literally. "Everything's fine," Steve forced a smile, even though his face ached where Jonathan's punches had landed. "It's just that the paint got stuck on my fingers. It was hard to get off."

"Is that so?" The man cast a skeptical glance at Steve's hands, then looked at the bruises marking his face. "You... know what, he problem's been dealt with. Leave and take care of those injuries. Just don't come back here for the next two years—at the very least."

Steve's smile froze. "What—"

"I wasn't born yesterday, kid. I know the look of someone who regrets something. Now go. Get out of here."

Steve thought for a second about defending himself, about saying he genuinely just wanted to help. But he gave up after realizing it didn't really matter what the man thought of him—much less whether he could ever come back to that place. The horrible thing he had written about Nancy had already been erased; nothing else mattered anymore. "Okay, sir. Sorry for the trouble."

Steve left the theater in a hurry and walked to his car, parked a block away. Once inside, he rolled down the window and grabbed a cigarette from the pack left on the passenger seat. He lit it with an automatic gesture, the flame of the lighter briefly illuminating the emptiness in his eyes.

He had already lost count of how many cigarettes he had smoked since he got his memories back—or at least, part of them. It helped him process, along with the lack of emotions, the fact that he was an experiment. He had spent most of his life inside a lab. He was tortured. He had powers. He had already killed.

Nothing made sense, and yet, everything seemed to fall into place. He had always had this feeling that something was missing, an emptiness in his chest that no achievement could drive away. Being popular, dating the most desired girls, standing out in sports—everything a teenager could want, but for him, it was never enough.

Steve had even come up with a few theories about why he felt that way, the main one being the lack of affection from his adoptive parents, who spent more time traveling than at home. But never, not even in his darkest thoughts, would he have imagined that this emptiness was caused by a missing part of himself.

How was something like that even possible? It wasn't just memory loss—of that he was sure. Looking back at the last few years, Steve realized he had never stopped to think about his childhood or his past. It was as if there was a wall in his brain that forced him to look away, to think about anything else but that.

And the powers? Why hadn't he been able to feel anyone's emotions in recent years? That should be impossible. Even without Seven's memories, his powers shouldn't just disappear—Wait, was he thinking about Seven as if he were someone else? ...shit, this was all so confusing.

Taking a deep breath, Steve blew out a puff of smoke through the window. "No. Not the time for this," he muttered to himself, trying to focus. "I need to find Nancy."

Something bad was happening in Hawkins. The suicide of Benny Hammond, the disappearance of Will Byers and Barbara Holland—three events that, to the Steve Harrington from a few hours ago, wouldn't have seemed connected. But to Seven, no. He knew the lab. He knew what they were capable of and that there were no such things as coincidences with them around.

Nancy and Jonathan must have known something. After all, the two missing people had connections to them. Maybe that was why the two were so close—and the reason Nancy hesitated when explaining why Jonathan was in her room last night.

They were in danger, and possibly didn't realize how much.

Or maybe… maybe he was just desperate to believe Nancy hadn't cheated on him.

'Well...' Inserting the key into the ignition, Steve started the car. 'I guess I'll find out soon enough.'

********

Steve took a long time to find them. He had started the search at the police station, remembering how Jonathan had been caught by one of the officers back in the alley. But the secretary—whom Steve had manipulated with his powers to make her more prone to gossip—told him Jonathan had already been released and had left with Nancy, Chief Hopper, and his mother, Joyce.

Manipulating her emotions like Seven used to do felt as natural as riding a bike after a long time. Even so, Steve didn't like it. Using other people's emotions for his own benefit felt… wrong.

In any case, with the police station ruled out, Steve drove to the Wheeler house—and once again, no sign of Nancy or Jonathan. But a black car with two men inside, parked under a tree, confirmed his suspicions: the lab was involved.

More alarmed than ever, Steve returned home, his last hope resting in the phone book, where he looked up the Byers' address. His hands trembled slightly as he flipped through the yellowed pages. He found the name "Byers," and the address jumped off the page: a secluded house on the outskirts of town.

Steve ran back to the car, the engine roaring to life. He drove over the speed limit—maybe way over. The lights of Hawkins quickly faded in the rearview mirror as trees began to dominate the landscape.

By the time he arrived at the Byers' house, night had already swallowed the sky. The moon, partially hidden by clouds, cast a faint light over the property—and more importantly, over Jonathan's car, parked as if he had arrived in a rush.

Steve had finally found them.

***

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

Steve stopped the car with a jolt, turned the key, and shut off the engine. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel and took a deep breath—once, twice, three times.

Now that he had found them, part of him was screaming to get out of the car, run to Nancy, make sure she was safe, and apologize—for not taking her home after the night they spent together, for ignoring her concern about Barbara, for letting Tommy write those cruel words, for doubting her.

But the other part—the one that had spent years in pain and did everything to never be found—ordered him to turn around, slam his foot on the gas, and disappear into the night like he had done years ago.

Because the moment he stepped out of the car, he would be back on the lab's radar. Goodbye normal life. Goodbye to the comfort of just being another teenager in Hawkins. He might have to run again, leave everything behind, create a new identity, another lie just to survive.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Too much is happening at once!" Steve muttered, clutching his head tightly. His powers, which he used to suppress his emotions, began to falter, like a dam cracking under the pressure of a raging river.

Panic came first—a cold wave that squeezed his chest and made his heart race. Then disillusionment, followed by fear, anxiety, and anger. It all crashed inside him like a storm.

Was he Steve? Seven? Or both? Who was he really? Who did he want to be?

'Shit... shit... what am I doing here? I'm gonna go in there and do what?… Earlier my biggest worry was a girl, and now it's the damn U.S. government!' Putting a hand over his mouth, Steve stifled a scream. 'This has to be a dream—there's no way this madness is real... yeah, yeah, it's just a nightmare—'

!!!!!!!!!!

From one second to the next, the world seemed to fall into complete silence. A wrong, heavy silence, as if the air itself had stopped moving. A cold sensation washed over Steve, sending chills through every inch of his skin, from his feet to the back of his neck. 'W-what's happening?' He looked ahead, and his eyes widened when he saw the lights in the Byers' house flickering nonstop.

And then, he felt it.

CRACK!

It was an indescribable feeling, as if a crack had opened somewhere inside the house—a tear, something profane. 'I've felt this before—' Steve cut himself off as he sensed a new presence.

Something was coming through that crack.

Something wrong.

Something that didn't belong in this world.

CRACK!

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, the thing's emotions poured into Steve—it was slippery. Indecipherable and inhuman, a mind wilder than any animal's. Unlike anything he had ever felt. There was something more there, but Steve couldn't make sense of it before the sound of four consecutive gunshots tore through the air, followed by a desperate scream.

"JONATHAN!"

It was Nancy.

Steve didn't think—much less hesitate—when his body moved on autopilot. He leapt out of the car and ran as fast as he could to the door. As he approached, Steve turned sideways and used his momentum to slam his shoulder into the door, which burst open with a bang. Without slowing down, his eyes scanned the room, analyzing the situation in fractions of a second.

The Byers' living room was chaotic: Christmas lights hung on every wall, crisscrossing the room like webs. Black letters of the alphabet were painted on one wall, an irregular hole gaped in the ceiling. But none of that compared to what was happening there.

Nancy was slumped against the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, her eyes wide with terror fixed on him—probably because of the door slamming open. Despite the fear and desperation radiating from her, her trembling hands held the revolver tightly, aimed at the center of the room.

And there, over Jonathan on the floor, was what could only be described as a monster. Its skin was smooth and seemed sticky, as if made of raw flesh—hairless and textureless. Its limbs were long and ended in claws that looked ready to tear. Its eyeless head was dominated by a grotesque mouth that opened like petals, full of sharp teeth, aiming at Jonathan's head.

'What has the lab created this time?' Steve didn't freeze. He slid across the floor, grabbed a bat with nails hammered into the end, and used his momentum to drive it with all his strength into the monster's back.

The thing let out a guttural scream and turned, swinging with one of its arms. Steve pulled back just in time, bringing the bat with him.

"STEVE, WATCH OUT!"

The monster stood up and charged at Steve, who managed to dodge again. He was strangely calm, all the chaos from seconds before melting away, leaving only silence. And somehow, he knew when the thing was about to strike—always when its rage peaked. Steve didn't know how he knew that, but he wasn't about to question it.

The creature launched another attack with its arms, the petals of its mouth opening with a wet snarl, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Steve ducked, feeling the air shift as the claws passed inches from his head. He took the opportunity, pushing himself upward and slamming the bat hard into the underside of the monster's head, making it lurch backward.

Steve didn't stop. He twisted the bat and struck the creature's chest, feeling the flesh give way under the nails. The grotesque sound of tearing skin filled the room as he pulled the bat back, now covered in a thick, dark liquid. With a yell, he swung the bat again, hitting the creature's right rib with full force.

Blood began to trickle from Steve's nose as he dove into the monster's emotions. Even though its alien mind was hard to understand, there were emotions there just like in any other animal. Rage, frustration, hunger.

'Nothing useful,' he thought, as he landed another blow with the bat, the impact reverberating through his arms. Steve then threw himself to the side, dodging another strike.

The monster was getting more irritated, and its movements more erratic. Every missed hit seemed to feed its fury, making the peaks of rage harder and harder to predict. 'Come on, come on. Show yourself.' Steve felt another peak of rage and prepared to dodge, but his foot betrayed him, slipping on a broken piece of a table.

'Oh shit.' The monster didn't waste any time. With a swift motion, it lunged forward and opened its mouth, aiming for Steve's face.

Time seemed to slow down, the world reduced to the sight of that jaw coming closer. Steve wouldn't be able to dodge in time. His telekinesis was too weak to affect something that big. There were no useful emotions to tap into. He was going to die. There was nothing he could do.

But then, just when everything seemed lost, a blur shoved him to the side. Steve hit the ground, and Jonathan fell beside him, gasping for breath. The creature turned toward them with a growl. 'Shit' Steve trying to shield himself with the bat.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Nancy seized the moment, unloading the revolver into the creature's back. The monster whirled around to face her, its mouth wide open in a deafening roar that made the Christmas lights flicker uncontrollably. In that instant, Steve felt something new in the creature's emotions — a tiny spark, almost imperceptible. Fear.

That was what he had been looking for.

Clinging to that spark with all the strength of his mind, Steve pushed his powers to the limit, amplifying the fear like a flame in a sea of gasoline. He shaped it, expanded it, until the monster's savage mind was overwhelmed by an absolute, primal, devastating terror. The creature let out a high-pitched screech and shrank to the ground.

It stayed there, trembling, for two seconds before bolting through the wide-open door, smashing the wooden frame as it passed. Steve felt the creature retreat into the forest, leaving behind only the echo of a roar and the heavy silence that followed.

"It... ran away?" Jonathan muttered, stunned, still lying beside Steve.

"-VE!"

'Did I… do it?' Steve wondered, disoriented, eyes locked on the destroyed doorway. Blood kept trickling from his nose, dripping into his mouth and staining his shirt. But he was too dazed to notice.

"STEVE!"

Two soft hands held his face, pulling him back to reality. He found himself staring into Nancy's eyes— just as intense and vibrant as the first time he saw them — now shimmering with a mix of fear, relief, and determination. She was kneeling in front of him, her trembling hands wiping the blood from his nose and chin.

"Can you hear me? Oh my God, why are you bleeding so much?!" Her voice shook, but there was strength in it — an anchor in the chaos. Nancy brushed his face gently, wiping away the blood, her eyes searching his for a response.

Steve gripped her hand, the warmth of her touch contrasting with the chill still running down his skin. "I... I'm fine. Some wound must've opened up," he managed to say, his voice hoarse, but his eyes never left hers. For a moment, the chaos of the room disappeared. It was just him and Nancy.

"Why did that thing run away?!"

And Jonathan.

***

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

"Why did that thing run away?!"

Jonathan had gotten up and run to the destroyed door, frantically searching for the monster outside.

"Why do you look so upset that the thing that almost killed us ran away?" Steve asked, not understanding Jonathan's frustration.

"Because the plan was to kill it!" Jonathan replied, frustrated.

Steve blinked, stunned, and turned to Nancy, who was still kneeling in front of him. "You... you're kidding me." His tone was pure shock, almost indignation. He couldn't believe that Nancy—the straight-laced girl he knew—thought they could take on that monster.

Even with his powers, he had almost died!

Nancy didn't look away, didn't even show a trace of guilt or shame. Instead, she grabbed his arm and pulled him up, helping him to his feet with surprising strength for someone so... skinny. "We had a plan."

"A great plan, from what I saw," Steve said sarcastically as he stood. His legs felt heavy—no, his whole body felt like it was made of lead, as if he'd run a marathon without ever training for it.

"Shit, shit, shit," Jonathan muttered, resting his forehead against the wall. "Now what, Nancy? What do we do?"

"Maybe—"

Nancy started to say something, but her voice was drowned out by a strange buzzing in Steve's ears. 'What's happening?—' He wondered in alarm when his vision started to spin. 'Ah, crap.'

"STEVE!"

Nancy's scream was the last thing he heard before everything was swallowed by darkness.

********

"Hic... hic... hic..."

Steve opened his eyes and sat up abruptly, startled by where he was. The place seemed endless, but there was nothing—only darkness, dense and suffocating. He looked around, searching for anything in that void, broken only by the faint shimmer of a thin layer of water on the ground, reflecting a light he couldn't identify. 'Where... am I?'

"Hic... hic... hic..."

The sound of soft, muffled sobs cut through the oppressive silence, catching Steve's attention. He looked behind him and spotted a small figure curled up a few meters away. It was a little boy, head shaved, wearing a torn and stained hospital gown. The child was crouched on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, face hidden between them as shaky sobs escaped his throat.

Steve blinked, his chest tightening with a mix of confusion and protective instinct. He didn't know where he was, how he got there, or how to get back home—but he knew he needed to help that kid, who looked so lost and vulnerable.

"Hey..." Steve stood up, his legs a bit unsteady, and walked toward the boy. "Hey, kid, are you okay?"

The crying stopped.

The boy slowly lifted his head, his eyes wide and shining, full of tears and something else—maybe fear, or something Steve couldn't name. The child didn't say a word, just stared at him, the silence between them heavier than the emptiness surrounding them.

"You shouldn't be here," the boy said suddenly with a deadly serious voice, fear and fragility from seconds before fading away as if they had never existed.

!!!!

Steve swallowed hard, his heart beginning to beat so fast it felt like it might burst from his chest. He didn't know why, but under the weight of that gaze, he felt like the one in need of help wasn't the child—it was him. "What—?"

"Leave and never come back, Steve Harrington." The boy's voice was steady, practically a command, and as soon as he finished the sentence, Steve felt a sharp pain in his head just before the world began to spin again.

********

"Are you... going to tell him everything?" Jonathan's voice sounded hesitant, almost reluctant.

"Considering he saved our lives and already saw that thing? Yeah, I'm going to tell him," Nancy replied firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"Okay... fair enough," Jonathan gave in with a resigned sigh.

Steve started to come to, his senses slowly emerging from the haze. He didn't remember what had happened, only that he was lying on something hard and uncomfortable—probably the back seat of Jonathan's car. But he wasn't about to complain, not with his head resting on Nancy's lap.

'I could stay here forever—Wait, what the hell am I thinking?' He scolded himself and opened his eyes, coming face to face with Nancy's face.

"Steve!" she exclaimed the moment she saw him open his eyes. "You passed out."

Steve tried to smile but managed only a grimace. "Yeah... I guess fighting monsters isn't really my thing," he muttered, trying to sit up. Nancy helped him, her hands steady on his shoulders, guiding him gently.

Steve sat up, letting out a tired sigh and running his hand through his hair, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head.

"How are you feeling?" Nancy asked, her eyes fixed on him, searching for any sign he might faint again.

"I'm fine," he replied, forcing a light tone. "Must've been the adrenaline crash or something." As he spoke, Steve felt a strong wave of jealousy coming from the front seat. 'You've got to be kidding me.' He glanced at the rearview mirror and caught Jonathan's eyes for a split second before the other quickly looked away, focusing on the road. 'Ugh, I think I'm gonna throw up.'

"I thought it might be that too, since I didn't find any injuries," Nancy said, unaware of the storm of thoughts spinning in Steve's head. She frowned, still watching him closely. "Anyway, we're heading to the hospital."

'Am I going to feel this kind of stuff forever? Like, will I always know when someone's into my girlfriend? Holy shit, this is going to suck.' Rubbing his eyes, Steve decided to save the suffering for later and focus on the now. "So, we're going to the hospital?"

"Yeah, but we're stopping at the middle school first."

'Middle school?' Steve looked at her, puzzled. "Okay, I think this is the part where you explain what the hell is going on, Nancy."

She didn't answer right away, just stared at him, and Steve felt a wave of hesitation coming from her. "Steve… the more you know, the more dangerous this gets for you. You understand that?"

'Better than you two do.' Steve let out a dry laugh, gesturing with his hand. "I just fought a monster. So yeah, I kinda get the whole danger thing."

Nancy held his gaze for a few more seconds before nodding. "That monster comes from another world. My brother and his friends call it the Upside Down. It's like a copy of Hawkins, but… dark, cold, covered in vines, and with some kind of white dust floating in the air. The monster's been crossing into our world through portals to hunt, drawn by blood—like a shark."

'Another world and portals… right, right, right. I don't think anything surprises me anymore.' Steve lowered his gaze to her bandaged hand, then to Jonathan's, who was driving silently. "You guys cut your hands to lure it?"

Nancy gave a short nod. "Chief Hopper and Jonathan's mom went into the Upside Down to look for Will. The idea was to keep the monster busy here, clear the way for them, and try to kill it."

'Hmm, so traveling between worlds isn't something only the monster can do,' Steve thought, his mind starting to connect the dots. "Looking for Will? He's not—"

"The body was fake," Jonathan interrupted. "That monster took him to the Upside Down."

'Ah, that's where you come in,' Steve felt his hand automatically slide into his pocket, his fingers finding a coin. He pulled it out and began to spin it between his fingers, hidden from the two. "Who faked the body?"

Nancy hesitated, exchanging a quick glance with Jonathan before answering. "You know the Department of Energy building?" She waited for Steve to nod before continuing. "It's not a Department of Energy. It's a secret government base. They do experiments, Steve. Experiments on people. We met this little girl who… uh, she has superpowers."

'Eleven.'

"I know it sounds crazy—crazier than it already is. But it's true. She was able to locate Will in the Upside Down, and Chief Hopper and Jonathan's mom went to the Department of Energy to access it through the portal they have there. That's where all of this started, Steve. They've been trying to cover it up until now."

'Then she managed to escape,' Steve closed his eyes, remembering the small, quiet girl — 'Wait, how do I know it's Eleven?' He froze, heart racing. It didn't make sense. Why was he so sure it was her and not one of his other "brothers" or "sisters"? The doubt hit him like a punch, and without thinking, he blurted out: "What's her name?!"

Nancy furrowed her brow, thrown off by the urgency in his voice. "Uh, well… she doesn't really have a real name. Mike calls her El. But, like, her name would be… Eleven, I guess?" She tilted her head, clearly confused as to why, out of everything she'd just said, that was what caught his attention.

'...I fucked up.'

*********

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

Chapter Text

'...I fucked up.'

Steve quickly thought of an excuse to undermine the growing doubt he was feeling from Jonathan and Nancy. "Eleven, huh? Then it is her..."

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. "You know her?"

"Ye—not exactly. A friend of mine told me a few days ago that he ran into a girl with a shaved head in the woods. She was asking for food and called herself Eleven," Steve replied naturally. "No one believed him. I mean, a girl with a number for a name? It sounded like someone tripping after a smoke. But, I don't know, it stuck with me for some reason."

"That was her! Eleven does have a shaved head. My brother and his friends found her in the woods earlier this week and hid her in our basement," Nancy said.

"Hmm... they hid her from the government guys?"

"Exactly. But they found out and raided my house. Luckily, the kids realized in time and ran. Later, we met up with them and went to the middle school. From there, you already know: Eleven used her powers to locate Will, and..." Her voice faltered, and sadness overwhelmed every other feeling in Nancy before she shook her head and continued, "Chief Hopper and Jonathan's mom went after Will in the Upside Down. Meanwhile, Jonathan and I went after the monster, and the kids stayed at the school, safe."

'Safe? I doubt it,' Steve thought, but kept his expression neutral. "So, that's everything?"

"Yeah, I think so," Nancy said, though she seemed to be mentally reviewing everything she'd just said.

Steve nodded. "Okay… give me a second to process all that."

"Of course. To be honest, I haven't fully processed all of this myself. It's… a lot." she said sympathetically, but Steve was no longer listening, lost in thought.

'Let's see...' Steve spun the coin faster between his fingers. 'Some experiment went wrong and a portal to another world opened. A monster came out and the soldiers couldn't contain it, causing chaos in the Lab. Eleven took the opportunity to escape. The monster also escaped and started hunting. (This thing can open portals.) It took Will and Barbara. Mike found Eleven— No, something's missing.' Steve looked out the window, piecing together what he knew. 'Hmm... Eleven went into Benny's Burgers looking for food. The lab found out and went after her, but she managed to escape.'

'They killed Benny to leave no witnesses and faked his death. Then Mike found Eleven. He hid her, but the lab found out and went after her at his house, which explains what I saw earlier. Eleven and the kids escaped just in time.' He paused before continuing, 'Nancy found out in the middle of all this that Barbara was taken by the monster and teamed up with Jonathan. Same thing with his mom and the cop. They all met up, shared what each of them knew, and went to the school. There, Eleven used her powers to find Will and Barbara (possibly dead). Then, they split up.'

Steve stopped spinning the coin. 'I guess this must be the big picture of the situation...' He lowered his gaze, fixing it on his left wrist, just below the watch. 'A situation very different from what I thought it would be. There are too many people involved for the lab to just 'erase' them without causing repercussions. Maybe I don't even have to run — I just need to play the right cards... But what do I do about Eleven?'

'She's not my problem.'

'Too risky.'

'She can handle herself, like I did—'

Steve swallowed hard and cut off that line of thinking. 'No, no, that's wrong. Why wouldn't I help her?' A wave of guilt flooded him, mixed with something deeper he couldn't name. 'I can get her out of that hell. She's my little sister... theoretically.'

He stopped the entire train of thought when red and blue lights started flashing in front of them.

Steve looked out the window, alarmed, as Jonathan slowed the car. The front of the school was swarmed with police cruisers, ambulances, and fire trucks — probably every emergency vehicle in Hawkins. Stretchers were being carried out of the building, each one covered by a blanket hiding bulky shapes. 'Holy shit. This is a massacre,' Steve thought, heart pounding in fear over what might've happened to the kids.

"Oh my God," Nancy murmured, stunned, one hand gripping Steve's arm tightly as she leaned forward for a better view. "What… what happened here?- Mike! Can anyone see him?!"

"N-no," Jonathan replied, his voice shaking. He stopped the car behind a police barricade. Two officers Steve didn't recognize quickly approached, their eyes locked on them with sharp suspicion.

'These guys definitely know what's going on here,' Steve thought, his mind working quickly to come up with an excuse that could get them the kids' location without revealing they were in any way involved.

THUD!

The sound of the car door slamming made him turn his head, just in time to see Nancy running toward the school. 'Alright, change of plans.' Steve jumped out of the car, with Jonathan right behind him.

Nancy had already been intercepted by one of the officers, who was holding her by the arms as she struggled furiously. "Let me through!" she screamed, her voice full of desperation. "My brother's in there! I need to find him!"

"Calm down! No one's allowed in, this is a crime scene!" the officer holding her exclaimed. "Go back to your car now!"

Steve ran up to the two of them and touched Nancy's back. But as soon as his fingers made contact, all the desperation and fear he felt from her tripled in strength, overwhelming him.

It was suffocating — His throat tightened, as if an invisible hand were crushing it, and the air he pulled in through his nose felt insufficient, thin. Steve's vision blurred at the edges, the world narrowing into a dark, tight tunnel. His legs weakened, threatening to give out, as cold sweat ran down his spine. 'No… no… get a grip!' He was losing control. At the worst possible moment!

Steve quickly closed his eyes and "grabbed" those feelings. They were too strong to suppress, and there weren't any other emotions in Nancy that he could use to fight them off. So Steve did the only thing possible. He "held" them, keeping them from running "wild."

It was exactly the same process he had been doing with himself ever since he got his memories back. It wasn't a solution — the fear and desperation would still be there — but at least they wouldn't be so out of control that they'd make Nancy act on impulse.

"Huh," Nancy let out a shaky breath and stopped struggling against the officer. Steve took the opportunity to pull her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and holding her firmly against his chest.

"Sorry for her behavior, sir," Steve said, forcing his voice to sound calm and respectful. "It's just... we got a desperate call from our brothers asking us to come get them here."

"I can't give information about minors, or an active crime scene," the officer said. "You need to leave the area. Now."

Nancy opened her mouth to protest, but Steve was quicker. "Of course, sir, we understand. But as citizens, we have the right to know what happened to our family members. We just want to know if they're okay, please." He spoke with a voice full of emotion.

The officer hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he studied Steve—particularly the bruises and scratches marking his face.

Steve didn't let the man's suspicion grow and focused his powers on channeling the empathy he felt. "P-please, sir. I know you're just doing your job. But we're desperate here. We need to know they're okay."

The officer seemed to wrestle with himself for a few seconds before letting out a long sigh, the weight of the night visible on his shoulders. "They were taken to Hawkins Memorial Hospital. That's all I can say."

"Thank you, sir. T-thank you so much." Steve turned and quickly walked back to the car, pulling a stunned Nancy with him. Jonathan followed right behind.

When they arrived, he opened the back door and helped Nancy get in, but stopped before following her. 'It's gonna feel weird with both of us in the back now.' Steve shut the door and got into the passenger seat. 'The last thing I need is to keep feeling this guy's gross jealousy the whole way.'

He was tired and completely worn out—so much so that his resistance to other people's emotions had weakened to the point that both Jonathan's and Nancy's feelings were already affecting him. "This is my limit. If I use my powers again in the next few hours, I'll lose control over my own emotions." Raising his hand to his right ear, Steve felt blood starting to come out. 'Perfect. This one I can't just push back like I do when it comes out of my nose.'

Jonathan got into the car, casting a penetrating glance at Steve, but remained silent and started the engine. The roar of the motor broke the silence as he sped toward the hospital. Steve could also feel the weight of Nancy's gaze as she repositioned herself between the front seats. "How did you do that?" she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. Or maybe she just wanted to distract herself.

"Do what?"

"Lie like that. The emotion in your voice... it all sounded so real."

"Oh... uh, I don't know?" Apparently, his life had revolved around lies from the very beginning, so manipulating someone was as easy as breathing—even when his memories were blocked. He had lost count of how many times he fooled the police whenever they showed up at a party involving alcohol. Just one of the reasons they call him King Steve. "I guess I'm good at improvising when it's necessary."

Jonathan, who had been driving in silence until then, made a dry remark: "Or maybe you're just a good liar."

'Better than taking pictures of girls undressing, isn't it?' Steve almost replied, but he was too exhausted for that. "Maybe... maybe..." The car rolled on in silence for a few more minutes until they spotted the hospital.

Jonathan pulled into the parking lot and stopped in a spot right in front of the entrance. Nancy didn't even wait for him to turn off the engine and was already out of the car, running toward the hospital.

'Well, I guess this is the moment of truth.' Getting out of the car, Steve stared at the entrance for three long seconds before following her.

Maybe it was a residual memory from Seven, but Steve had always hated hospitals. The sterile smell of disinfectant, the cold white walls, the doctors and nurses in their lab coats — all of it made him shudder. He avoided those places like the plague. And now, knowing the hospital could be crawling with lab agents, that place had undoubtedly become Steve's second most hated.

'Speaking of Seven... I'm going to have to deal with those memories at some point,' he thought, eyes fixed on the white coat of a doctor hurrying past. 'It's not going to be pleasant.' Just then, Jonathan rushed past him, joining Nancy, who was arguing frantically with a receptionist.

Steve arrived just in time to hear the woman behind the counter say, "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"How come?! I'm just asking you to tell me where the kids who came from Hawkins Middle School were sent!" Nancy practically shouted, attracting curious glances around the lobby.

"Look, I'm really sorry, but I truly can't give out information about that incident," the receptionist repeated, visibly uncomfortable.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Nancy shot back, her face turning red with frustration.

Steve could feel Nancy's emotions spiraling into chaos again. But this time, there was nothing he could do to help. Luckily, a hoarse voice drew the attention of all three.

"Hey!" From across the lobby, Chief Hopper was approaching with firm steps.

"Hopper!" Jonathan ran toward the man, hope mixing with fear. "D-Did you find him?"

"Yes, we found him," Hopper replied, giving a slight smile as he placed a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "The doctors are examining him now, but they already said he's fine. We managed to save him."

"Thank God..." Jonathan murmured, covering his face with his hands. His shoulders were shaking, and from the wave of relief and happiness emanating from him, Steve was sure he was crying with joy.

"And my brother?!" Nancy asked as soon as they reached the two. "Is Mike okay?"

"Yes, the kids are all fine," Hopper assured her, before his gaze fell on Steve. He frowned. "Harrington? What the hell happened to your face?—No, what are you doing here?!"

"Uh, I kind of got involved in all this," Steve said, suddenly aware that he was, to everyone, the person least connected to what was going on. 'That's actually kind of great.'

"Got involved?!" Hopper shot a hard look at Jonathan and Nancy.

"He knows," Nancy confirmed. "Everything."

"Right..." Hopper ran a hand down his face, exasperated. "Come with me." He gestured for them to follow. The four of them walked through the hospital corridors until they reached a small waiting room already crowded with people.

"Nancy!" a woman ran up to them as soon as they entered and wrapped Nancy in a tight hug. "Where have you been?!"

'Must be her mom,' Steve concluded, feeling panic rise in Nancy. She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. Nancy clearly hadn't prepared any excuse for her parents. 'Well, I've got this,' Steve stepped forward and flashed his best smile. "She was with me. We came as soon as we found out."

"And you are?" the woman asks, narrowing her eyes. And from the distrust she exudes, Steve is sure he didn't start off on the right foot.

"Steven Harrington. Pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand but received only a cold, assessing look. '...how much did Nancy tell her about me?'

"What were you two doing? And what happened to your face?"

'Is every damn person going to point out the bruises on my face?!' Steve slowly lowered his hand, keeping the smile as he felt another spike of panic from Nancy because of the woman's questions. "We were with Jonathan, trying to distract him from all of this. As for my face, well, I took a fall off my bike. I went over some dry leaves, slipped, and hit my face on a root. Wasn't exactly my lucky day."

The woman's stern gaze softened slightly. "Is that so?" She turned her eyes to Nancy, a silent question hanging in the air. Nancy nodded quickly, confirming the story. "I see… Thank you for taking care of my daughter, Steve." She finally extended her hand. "I'm Karen Wheeler, Nancy's mother. I apologize for not being more welcoming earlier. We're all very tense because of what happened."

'How much does this woman know?'

"I understand, Mrs. Wheeler." Steve shook her hand, relieved she believed him. "Well, I won't keep you any longer." He stepped away from the two, even though he could feel Nancy wanted to say something. 'This isn't the time or place for our long and inevitable conversation.'

Steve took advantage of the "private" moment to carefully scan each person in the room. There were three boys and a man, but only one of them was awake—Nancy's brother, Mike, the same kid who had caught him trying to climb into their house to see his sister in the middle of the night a few days ago.

'Embarrassing.'

But more importantly, no sign of Eleven. 'Ok. I certainly didn't expect it to be this easy.' Weighing his options, Steve decided that waiting for Hopper outside the room would be the best course of action. 'He must know what happened to her.'

Steve stepped out, feeling the weight of Nancy's gaze on his back. Outside, the hospital hallway was eerily quiet, except for the distant hum of machines and the muffled murmurs coming from other rooms. Steve leaned against the wall, the cold tile against his back helping to calm his restless mind. 'This is going to be a long night…'

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.