Chapter Text
There was a word for it, swirling around in the back of his mind from some otherwise long forgotten English class. Nancy had a flashcard for it, and he supposed he could have asked her to remind him if he was conscious.
“It’s been a long time, brother.”
Steve had to laugh. “I’m not your brother,” he spat. “Trust me, I think I’d remember a mug like that.”
“No,” said Vecna, uncurling one disgusting finger towards him. “I don’t think you would.”
He spared a thought for Dustin before Vecna touched his mind. He was safe, he was with Robin and Nancy. They’d look after him - Eddie, too. They’d figure this out, get him home, get Eddie’s charges dropped.
They’d miss him, he hoped.
And then it all faded away.
-
He did not know his name. His arm hurt, and he did not know his name.
There was a lot of beeping, and it scared him, but he didn’t know why. The people in blue kept trying to soothe him and tell him they were there to help, but he fought them anyway. It made no sense. Nothing made sense. How did he know how to breathe, to think, to fight, but not know his name?
Two people shoved their way into his room, and to his immense relief, they were wearing different clothes. Not white, not blue. He trusted them too quickly.
Danny and Margaret Harrington were his parents. That’s what they said when the others left. He closed his eyes and tried to remember them, a whisper of something, but it was no use. He apologized over and over again, crying and reaching for them anyway, as though holding them would bring his memories back.
Danny stiffened in his seat, but Margaret reached out to him and pulled him in close. She smelled warm and sweet, and he relaxed in her arms.
When he finally calmed down, they told him that his name was Steve, short for Steven, and he was in a very bad accident. He was riding his bike home in the dark, and a car swerved into him. He was lucky, they said. He could have died. He looked down at his arm finally, and sure enough, there was a short row of stitches on his wrist tucked between angry red scratches.
It was another day before they took him home, once the doctors had exhausted themselves with tests. Steve didn’t have to have an intact memory to read between the lines: there was nothing else they could do for him. These things do happen, they told him, and that was that.
When Steve saw his house for the first time, he felt nothing. He felt his parents watching him the whole time, but he supposed it was normal. They were waiting to see if he remembered. He slowly walked through every room in their house and ran his fingers along the walls, across the furniture. Nothing.
His room felt the most unfamiliar, if that were even possible. There was no doubt the room was lived in, with clothes on the floor and posters taped up messily to the walls only slightly higher than he could reach. Still, the air was stale, and Steve felt sick the second he stepped inside, as though he shouldn’t be there. He looked desperately at his parents for the answer, but they looked even worse than he felt.
Margaret excused herself with a swipe at her eyes, and Danny grabbed his uninjured arm roughly to steer him out of his room.
At dinner that night, Danny told them that he had news he had been waiting to share at the right time. He had apparently been offered a generous promotion, one he would be stupid not to take, and one that required them to relocate. He assured his family that this was a good thing, that clearly this area was not safe anymore, and that the bonus he would receive upon signing his contract would allow them to start fresh. New clothes, a new house, a new life, he promised; but Margaret didn’t seem convinced. His parents stared at each other for a long time, and neither of them broke until Steve dropped his fork to reach for his mother’s hand.
“I think it’s a good idea, Mom,” he assured her, smiling.
And so, the Harringtons moved to Hawkins, Indiana with nothing but his parents’ cars and a few boxes with the word Memories scrawled across them in thick black streaks of marker.
Steve adapted quickly. He made friends, tried out for whatever sports didn’t make his mother too nervous (“I don’t care if they wear helmets, you can’t risk another head injury!”), and soon it was enough. The blank spaces in his head were filled with new memories, and once he got older, it didn’t really matter that he was missing that chunk of his life. From what he gathered, nobody really remembered that much of their childhood anyway past a certain point. As long as his parents had those moments to cherish, he was fine with that.
It was almost too easy to forget what should have been there.
-
“Why did you never question it?” Vecna asked.
Not for the first time in his life, Steve was confused. “Am I supposed to feel guilty for believing my parents?”
”They lied to you,” he said, like it was simple. “You knew they weren’t telling you everything.”
“Nobody’s parents tell them everything.”
Vecna looked like he was considering Steve’s words. He took a step closer.
“I could show you what you lost,” he offered.
Steve snorted. “Yeah, and all for the low-low cost of popping my eyes like water balloons? I think I’ll pass.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Steven.” Like he was gonna believe that. “Not if I don’t have to. Not if I can make you truly understand.”
Suddenly their comments about Dustin’s ego felt misplaced. He’d have to tell Eddie, if he made it out alive.
“You’re dumber than a bag of rocks if you think I’ll ever understand why you’re doing all of this,” Steve said, taking a step back.
Vecna hummed as he crowded into Steve’s personal bubble, and he opened his entire clawed hand over Steve’s face without a second thought.
“You always played the fool,” he hissed. “And they fell for it every time. I was the only one who never underestimated you.”
”I don’t even know you!” Steve shouted.
“You did.” Cold. Confident.
“And you will.”
-
The lab was freezing. It was fine when he was little, when he had thick sweaters to wear, but it was all over once he was old enough for his permanent numbers. He was cold from the moment he woke up until the moment he went to bed.
One time Henry snuck him a pair of socks. He managed to hide them in his room for two whole days before Papa found out. He didn’t see Henry for a long time after that.
It’s not that Seven wanted to break the rules. He just thought they needed better ones.
Papa always laughed when he said so, like Seven was dumb for even suggesting it. He would remind him that the rules were in place for a reason, and he had to trust that they were put in place to keep him and his siblings safe.
This was a lie. Papa lied to them every day. So did the other doctors, the orderlies, and even his own brothers and sisters. They lied to each other because they quickly learned what consequences to expect from speaking plainly.
Still, Seven didn’t have to like it - the lying and the rules. He made his displeasure known in many ways, in stepping in front of Eight when they both were disciplined for lackluster lessons, in sitting in the corner in the Rainbow Room and refusing to play with toys he’d long grown out of, in stealing his damn socks back out of Papa’s office. Hell, sneaking into Papa’s office in general had earned him a week long sentence of only staring at his own four walls.
“We missed you,” Henry said brightly, the day of his return. He was escorting Seven to his next lesson alongside a particularly angry looking guard.
“Eight is the only one that ever notices I’m gone,” he said, though for once, he appreciated the half-truth. Henry never lied, not really, he just had a funny way of speaking. His true feelings were always distant, muted, but when it came to Seven he only ever sensed fondness.
Henry steered him to the right and patiently kept their paces even.
“They’re foolish for not noticing you, then,” he continued. “You have an extraordinary gift, Seven. If Papa stopped wasting his time pushing you towards abilities you have very little connection to, you could be more powerful than anyone.”
The guard made a noise of disapproval, which was as good a warning as any. Henry held his hands up in mock surrender, but not before winking at Seven, which made him giggle.
It wasn’t until a few days later that Henry’s words came back to him. The empty soda can sat undisturbed for longer than anyone’s liking, and the scratching of pens to paper was making his teeth hurt. When these sort of lessons went awry, that’s when everyone stopped talking to him completely, and instead spoke about him as though he wasn’t even there.
“You’re not concerned.”
Papa turned towards Seven, surprised. “Excuse me?”
”You’re disappointed,” he said, feeling his ears go hot. He pushed through anyway. “And the rest of them, they’re bored. Bored of me. You’re starting to get bored of me, too.”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably at his words, but it was another minute before Papa dismissed them all entirely. When it was only the two of them left, Papa pulled a chair up to the table and sat directly across from him, his expression careful.
“Empathy was not the lesson today,” he said calmly.
Seven stared right back. “I’m no good at these. Why do we never do the things I’m good at?”
“Because what you are good at is a skill,” Papa said. “It isn’t a talent. Don’t you want to be talented?”
”I could be talented this way!” Seven argued. Why couldn’t he see? Why did only Henry see?
Papa shook his head. Disappointed, again, but something else. Fear?
“I don’t want to hear any more of your whining,” he said, knocking his knuckles against the table. “I know what’s best for you, Seven. You may be taking longer to progress than your siblings, but you will get there. Trust me.”
Seven knew a dismissal when he heard one, but he wasn’t ready for this to be over. He needed to make Papa understand, to show him that he didn’t have to be so disappointed. He could be impressive, like Two, like any of them if he only had the chance to show what he could do. He scrambled for the right words, curling in on himself when Papa called someone back in to escort him to his room. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and yet they kept moving in closer and closer and -
That’s when he heard it.
This little brat is always causing trouble.
Seven blinked and looked up at the nurse.
“This little brat is always causing trouble.”
The hands that reached for him stopped, and Seven was met with wide eyes. He looked to the right, to the woman looking between them.
“What the fuck is going on?” he repeated, to her shock.
They both took a step back, and stared at Papa, who looked more confused than anyone.
“Seven, why would you say such a thing?” he asked.
Seven lifted his arm and pointed at the first nurse. “They never told me these kids could read minds,” and then, shifting his finger to the other woman. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
“Dr. Brenner, he’s -“
He slammed his hands on the table and pushed himself upright for the first time in hours. The nurses scrambled backwards and out the door. Once again, it was only Papa and Seven, only this time he was going to listen. He steered his finger one last time towards the man in front of him, and he spoke the words that rang in his mind, clear as day.
“This is a dangerous development.”
-
Steve gasped when he came back to himself, and he could barely see Vecna through the fingers of his grimy hand. So, it wasn’t over.
“I don’t understand!” he shouted. “Why are you showing me the lab?”
Vecna cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps you have taken one too many hits to the head. Do you really not see?”
Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Even an inter-dimensional being was calling him stupid? Maybe he should’ve tried harder to get into college.
“Very well, brother,” he sighed, “I’ll make this quick.”
-
Seven had to leave. It was the only way.
He’d lost track of how long he had the electroshock collar on. Nobody else had ever had a punishment this long, not that he could remember, and almost all of his siblings delighted in his misfortune. All except Eight and Eleven, who played quietly next to him as he sat in silence.
It was a while before Eleven got distracted one day, wandering off to lay claim to the blocks that had finally been abandoned by Fourteen. Eight rounded on him then, holding her palms out.
“Play. Quick,” she whispered.
Though people’s clear thoughts had faded away in time, their feelings were still comfortably available to Seven, even if he kept that fact to himself. Eight was anxious, but determined, so he did as he was told. It was a hand game Six had taught them before he put some distance between them, and he still remembered exactly how it went even without saying the words.
“I know how to get out of here,” Eight whispered.
Seven tried not to let his surprise show. “Then why haven’t you left?”
“I can’t do it alone,” she explained. “I need your help.”
“I can’t help anyone like this.” The collar scratched uncomfortably at his throat.
“I can get the key. But once I get it off of you, we will have to move quickly.”
Eight explained her plan, which in all honesty didn’t sound so complicated. Seven wanted to question why she felt she needed him there at all, since her abilities would be doing almost all of the work.
But Seven also wanted to be warm again.
They went over the plan several times, until both of their voices were hoarse and it was time for lights-out. They lined up single file, but not before Eight pulled Eleven into a tight hug and whispered something in her ear. The guilt rolled over him in waves from his sister, but if Seven and Eight stayed any longer, they were signing themselves up for certain death. He just hoped their sister could forgive them someday.
Late that night, Seven was woken up by the soft whirring of the collar shutting down and clicking open.
He sat up and stared at it for a long moment. Eight had to be close by, then. It struck him suddenly that it was quite possibly the last time he would ever be in that room, stuck and bound to Papa’s every whim. No more lessons, no more rules, no more punishments. His hand shook as he curled his fingers into a fist, and all at once, the collar sparked and smoked into a crumpled heap. It left a satisfying burn mark in his thin sheets, and there, he thought. How’s that for boring?
Three quick knocks, and two long ones. Time to go.
Seven wouldn’t learn the word ‘hindsight’ for a few years, not until he forgot himself completely.
-
But Steve was there, watching in the wings as these two lost little kids threw themselves through the halls of Hawkins Lab unnecessarily. Turns out he didn’t need Nancy’s flashcards after all.
“This seems -“
”Too easy?” Vecna finished, dissolving the scene in front of them and replacing it with a new one. One with the man Steve knew to be Dr. Martin Brenner, staring at security footage while the orderly named Henry stood behind him, frowning.
“You’re just letting them go?” There was an edge to his voice.
Brenner adjusted the volume. “I want to see if they’ll make it.”
“Of course they’re going to make it,” Henry argued, and he started to pace. “Eight could have made it on her own. With Seven, it’s child’s play.”
”Well, they are children,” Brenner pointed out.
Henry huffed. “You know what I mean, Papa.”
”I do, but you seem to not be grasping what I mean,” he continued. “I want to see if they’ll make it. Out there.”
Several long seconds later, Henry narrowed his eyes. “This is a lesson?”
Brenner nodded. “Their abilities need a less controlled environment. They’re too internal. Not to mention, the last thing we need is for the others to adopt their rebellious streak.”
“And what if this lesson goes awry?” Henry hissed, almost fuming at this point. It was a stark contrast to the calm caretaker from the previous visions. “They could lose control. They could tell everyone. You’re willing to risk that for, what? Data?”
“Eight will not want to be found. She won’t chance it, not at first,” he said.
“And Seven?”
“Will make it as far as our special research facility in Bloomington, where we will scrub him completely of his memories, and sever his connection to his powers.”
Henry looked as sick as Steve felt. “You can’t do that! You saw what he did, how close he was!”
”Precisely!” Brenner snapped, and gone was that soft, paternal demeanor. “I saw how you manipulated him into it, how it was all twisted and tangled with untapped rage. I will not stand idly by while you turn my children into villains.”
“Oh, sure,” Henry sneered. “Turning them into weapons is all well and good, but villainy is where you draw the line.”
Brenner shook his head. “You have long since lost the privilege of me explaining myself to you. If Seven is truly as capable as you think he is, he will find his way back, and he’ll do so on his own. Hopefully with a better head on his shoulders.”
His last point was punctuated by the swish of paper inside a plain manila folder as Brenner held it out over his shoulder. Henry’s hand closed over the file cautiously, and his thumb obscured the little white label on the tab. Still, curiosity won over in the end.
“This is cruel, even for you,” Henry said after several minutes of scanning its contents.
Brenner shrugged. “It’s mutually beneficial. They’re Hawkins natives, so no one will question their return. We’ll set them up with nice jobs. Seven will want for nothing.”
“You’re asking them to take your discarded child and have him assume the role of their dead one.”
“This is no different from an adoption,” Brenner argued. “And it’s not like we are forcing their hand. We laid out our terms, and they agreed - under the condition that he has a different name.”
Henry snorted. “Yeah - Seven, Steven. How original of you.”
Seven, Steven.
Steve was moving before it occurred to him that Vecna could have snapped his neck for trying. The vision of Henry was still covering the file name with his thumb, but that didn’t matter. The contents told him everything he needed to know.
Daniel and Margaret Harrington lost their only child in a drunk driving accident when he was only eleven years old. There were several pictures in succession: a wedding photo, several baby photos, and then the crime scene. There were pictures of an otherwise unassuming car, with the front grill dented on the side of the road. Next to it was a child sized bike, bent and curled in a way that made Steve want to vomit.
He was lucky, they said. He could have died.
“This isn’t true,” Steve said, desperate. “You’re lying.”
Vecna hummed. “I am many things, brother, but I am not a liar.”
”Don’t! Don’t call me that.” He was panicking. This was just a hallucination. It wasn’t real.
“I suppose that’s fair to say,” Vecna conceded. “You didn’t know I was looking after you. You and Eleven. Neither of you really quite fit the way you should have, and nobody knew the consequences of that better than me.”
Steve ran. He knew it was useless, that he was trapped there as long as Vecna wanted him there, or unless they magically found a single for Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy in Eddie Munson’s tape collection.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to hear any more of it. If he followed the same path he saw on the security footage, it would take him out, and maybe he’d end up in the red swamp Max described. Maybe he’d slip into a coma and just run forever. Instead, he turned one last corner and nearly brained himself against a wall made of two-way glass. Only, he wasn’t on the window side.
Hindsight, he thought. Remembered.
Steve stood across from Seven in the mirror, and really, Vecna was right. It was a little shocking how long it had taken Steve to recognize himself, with his smattering of moles and sad, downturned brown eyes. Distantly, Steve remembered his shaved head, but he didn’t really spend a lot of time looking at himself until his hair had grown and gotten unruly. Part of him felt a sick sense of victory over the fact that he’d become widely known for a part of himself that Papa had stripped away. The rest of him was overwhelmed with grief, for this boy he tucked away and never even tried to look for.
“Now you know what you have lost,” Vecna’s voice echoed as he approached. “Let me show you what I have gained, and where I hope to go.”
Long, gnarled fingers curled over his shoulder. In the mirror, Henry’s palm rested over Seven’s.
“And when I let you go, I want you to tell them what you saw. I want you to tell Eleven everything.”