The Void
The void around him felt like home.
It had certainly been a while.
But apart from Eddie, it was the only consistent thing he'd had in the loops.
It was familiar.
Steve walked for a long time. His hands in his pockets, bare feet splashing. He didn't know where El was, but he could feel her.
He walked. And walked. And walked.
Until he reached the scene.
Mrs Wheeler, Claudia and Dr Sinclair surrounded the Wheeler's dining table. All three had blue latex gloves covering their hands. All three were splashed with liquids of varying color. All three looked exhausted, and worried, and he wanted to wipe those looks off their faces.
But then his eyes landed on the person lying on the table. It wasn't one of the kids, like he had immediately assumed.
It was his body.
Fuck, it was his body.
Nausea rose in his throat. Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, turning away and squeezing his eyes shut. God, this was bad.
"He'll be fine, I'm sure," Dr Sinclair said, his voice stronger than he had looked.
Steve kept his eyes closed. Seeing himself like that was haunting.
"Steve."
A voice startled him out of his hunched shell. Keeping his head angled away from the scene, Steve opened his eyes.
Eleven was standing in front of him. Not even a foot away. There horror written on her face as she looked between him and his prone body. At the stitches holding his chest together. At the bruises and scrapes, and at the white cast his arm was set in.
"What happened to you?"
Steve winced, pulling her into a hug. She buried her face into his chest, gripping him tightly.
When he touched her, he could faintly hear what sounded like Mike's voice, followed by Jonathan's.
"You're back with the boys?"
She nodded against him, not put off by the fact that he knew she had been separated from them.
"We are coming back to Hawkins. It's a long drive."
"Okay," he replied softly, smoothing a hand across her shaved head.
"You killed number One? I felt him die."
Steve hummed. "He would have killed Eddie and Max, and probably you, too. I couldn't let him do that."
She was silent for a long time after that. Soft breaths dusted his arm as she clung to him. Steve held her close, turning them away from the sight of his body. It wasn't a pretty sight, at all.
"I can feel you hurting."
Steve sighed, tracing circles over her scalp in a way he hoped was soothing. "Yeah, Henry wasn't happy I was there—"
"No. In your mind. You are hurting in your mind."
Steve pulled her away from him, holding her at arms length, angled away from the scene. He looked into her eyes, past the concern, the pain, the shield. He looked into her soul. That warm, glowing light that was all El.
"You don't need to be worried about me, Eleven. We're all safe now. I'm safe now."
She looked like she didn't want to believe him. He didn't blame her. But her need to help everyone was eerily reminiscent of himself, and he hated that. He hated the seed of thought that planted at that.
"You are different, Steve. I can feel you. Different than before. It's almost... I can feel... power in you."
Oh, no.
No.
God, pleaseno.
Fucking—
Steve's consciousness was torn backwards. Eleven's scream echoed around him. Agony surrounded him. Echoes of pain from El. From the kids. From the parents. From Robin, and Nancy, and Jonathan. From Eddie.
From himself.
He landed hard, water splashing up around him. Steve gasped and spluttered for air. His chest felt tight. Pain shot through his body in lightning bolt shivers. He grit his teeth, writhing on the floor of the void. Grunts and growls and whimpers filled his ears. They were his own.
Steve twisted onto his front, his hair dripping.
His back and shoulders hunched and he curled into a ball, on his knees. His fingernails dragged along the wet ground.
Distantly, he could hear El screaming for him. Her promises to help him. To save him from something he didn't even know the source of.
A white hot, rod of pain shot through his head, and suddenly, he wasn't in the void anymore.
Steve lurched off the table, rolling onto the floor with a thud and a groan. Gasps and shrieks of shock and fear filled the room.
He was cold. So fucking cold.
One of them stepped towards him, and instinct took over.
Steve scrambled backwards, dragging the closest weapon-shaped item with him. The shouting got louder and louder, and his head was swimming.
He just wanted to be back in the void.
He gripped the scissors tightly in his shaking hand. His back hit a wall, but he kept the scissors aloft in front of him. His vision was swimming, ears ringing. He swore he could still hear El screaming for him. Tears slid down his cheeks.
One of them came closer, and he growled. Blurry flashes of color swirled in front of him. His head pounded and he whimpered again. His empty hand rose to his head. Steve pressed his palm into his left temple, blinking slowly.
He couldn't see them. He just needed to see them.
The shouting got louder for a moment, then went silent. One voice broke through the pain. A voice he recognised in an instant.
"Steve. It's okay."
He took a deep breath, blinking hard. Slowly, the blurs started to clear. A hand came into view. It brushed his wrist, then strong fingers wrapped around his hand. They grabbed the scissors, prying them from his grasp.
The tunnel vision was widening. His peripheral was still spotty, but a face he recognised came forward.
"Robin?"
"Hey, dingus," she whispered with a sad smile. "You're okay. It's okay."
She tugged on his wrist, pulling him closer. He wanted to fight it. His instincts screamed at him to fight it. But then she guided him to her, and he couldn't help but melt against her chest.
She rocked backwards, onto her butt, and Steve followed the movement. Being in her arms was a relief. He felt safe, for the first time in a while.
"Stevie."
A familiar soothing tone came from his left. Steve tilted his head.
“Eddie?"
"Yeah, baby. It's me."
A hand ghosted across his back. He waited while Eddie wedged himself in between the wall and Steve's back. Then the moment he settled, Steve pressed back into him, dragging Robin with him.
He felt warm, and safe, sandwiched between his two best friends. His shaking left hand found Eddie's, and he pulled it into his chest, practically hugging his arm. They stayed like that for a long time.
The room was still swimming, but he could tell most of their audience had left. Steve could hear them talking. Mostly about him. About his injuries. But he could only make out parts of it through the ringing.
Soon, he felt darkness tugging at the corners of his vision, once again. This time, he passed out to Robin calling his name.
The void around him felt like home.
It was the same as he had left it, only moments ago.
Dark, empty space surrounding him. Water rippling around his feet. Light dancing off the surface. He watched his reflection. The minuscule shifts in his face. The way his eyes flickered over his own body.
Steve felt distant. Untethered. So far from reality, that his mind was drifting.
He lowered himself to his knees, dragging his hands through the water. The displaced liquid was mesmerising.
Steve felt along the ground of the void. It was odd. It felt solid, yet vacant.
His fingers brushed over something. A change in texture. Something that wasn't meant to be there.
Steve backtracked. His fingers searched blindly beneath the surface.
There.
It felt like a cord.
Longer than he could reach, running along the floor. Only a quarter of an inch wide. It was rough, yet smooth at the same time. Steve dug his fingers beneath it. His nails dragged across the ground, sending shivers down his spine.
Then, once he had a good grip on it, he pulled. He pulled up, toward himself. And he watched with fascination as the white cord rose from beneath the water.
Steve stood, pulling it with him. His eyes followed the length, but it vanished into the distance.
Steve curled his hand harder around the cord, letting the length of it glide through his fingers.
Then, he walked. Water dripped from the rising cord. He followed it for miles, upon miles. The never ending length made him feel as though he was going in circles.
Until, finally, he reached a point where it seemed attached firmly to the ground. He stood above the end point, staring down at the void.
It stared back, through his eyes. Black pits, rippling skin. The cord held firm to the ground.
Steve pulled.
Something snapped.
He was falling.
Again.
"My baby. Oh, my sweet baby. It's okay. Don't cry, Stefano. Mamà will protect you."
Stefano felt warm. He felt safe. His mamà was holding him, rocking his small body in her lap.
He was four. He didn't remember this day well, but he remembered feeling safe in his mamà's arms.
Steve looked up at her with bleary eyes. He could see the pain in her face.
"Stefano. Sometimes, when mommies have babies in their bellies, and something bad happens... the babies go to heaven early. That's why Mamà is hurting, okay? I'll be okay. So you don't need to cry, mio topolino."
That's right, she'd had a miscarriage that day.
Steve had picked up on her pain, and started crying.
He'd had a ‘crying problem’ when he was little. The slightest shift in emotion would set him off. It had taken his mamà a while to realise it was other people's emotions that were making him cry. She'd called him an ‘empath’. Then cooed at him for being special, and perceptive.
But then it had become more than that.
His dad found out, and suddenly he wasn't special anymore. He was a freak.
They dragged him to a doctor, who did tests and spoke in riddles. The doctor persuaded his parents he was sick, and needed to stay for a while. His mamà cried, and Steve cried.
But then they were gone, and six year old Steve was all alone.
The doctor did things. He did more tests, made Steve do things he didn't want to do. And when Steve didn't do something well enough, he was punished.
The cycle continued for weeks and weeks.
Until, finally, Dr Brenner said he was better, and his parents came and got him.
His mamà hugged him, and cried.
Steve didn't.
He didn't cry again until he was twelve. The day his father hit him for the first time.
After that, he stopped remembering his time with Dr Brenner.
And he didn't remember again until he pulled that cord.
But everything was coming back to him now.
Steve remembered Eleven. She had been so little back then. The other kids bullied her at every opportunity.
Steve, with the limited time he got in the rainbow room, always tried to pump calm through the space. It rarely helped. The others seemed to be immune to his power.
But Eleven and Eight always gravitated towards him, never afraid.
He'd had a reputation. The others thought he was dangerous, because he was kept away from them.
But, in reality, it was all because Brenner hadn't wanted him interfering with their progress. Distracting them.
Steve had never been so lonely, in such a busy place.
The punishments had been near daily, in his short time there. According to Brenner, he wasn't good enough. He never had been, and he never would be.
The sensory deprivation rooms were the worst. They would throw him in, usually with his arms bound behind his back, and leave him there for hours. Completely cut off from any permeating emotions, sounds, auras.
Sometimes they would even turn the lights off.
He'd lay there, his mind running wild. Conjuring up beasts that weren't there.
But then they gave him back, and he felt everything and nothing, all at once.
None of the emotions he was feeling felt like his own. They never did. The numbness continued to plague him even after he lost his memory. After his mind blocked out his powers.
And he only started to feel again when he met Nancy.
Nancy Wheeler, who he fell for - hard and fast.
It was the first real emotion he had felt in over eight years. And it had been overwhelming.
Suddenly he was feeling too much, again. All of his emotions were multiplied. Like his body was trying to make up for lost time.
But, still, his mamà never called him special again. She barely even looked at him. And he had never understood why, until now.
Steve swayed, falling to his knees with a splash. The cord was still clutched in his hands, resting in his lap.
Suddenly everything made sense.
Lost memories - which he had always assumed everyone forgot, resurfaced. And he could finally understand.
He understood why he had always preferred people over academics. Why he had constructed his bully persona. Why he had spent so long convinced the world was against him.
It was because he had, once, been special. Important.
Because he had, once, been Number Seven.