Dr. Sam Owens (1)

Steve didn't know how to react when he saw Nancy crying. First, because all of her emotions overwhelmed him, making him want to cry too. Second, because he simply didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to ask why she was crying, but she had already said she didn't want to talk. So should he hug her? Call her mom? Say something? Or just stay there, quiet, while she broke down?

'Shit, I can't think,' Steve bit his lip, holding back the urge to push her away—not out of rejection, but because her emotions, mixed with his own, were too much. He was already a mess, and now he was sinking even deeper because of Nancy's pain.

"S-She died, Steve…" Luckily, he didn't have to decide what to do—she opened up on her own. "B-Barb died… Hic … I couldn't save her… Hic… hic… it-it's my fault! If I hadn't forced her to go to that stupid party… if I hadn't left her alone—" Nancy's words faded as she began to cry uncontrollably.

'... I was right.' Steve closed his eyes as tears he couldn't hold back streamed down his face. She was so devastated. He was so devastated. Steve didn't even notice when he wrapped his arms around Nancy and held her tightly.

Nothing he said now would make a difference. Steve knew that. Words of comfort and solidarity would be empty. Of little importance. So he just held her, letting her cry, bearing the weight of her pain. "Let it all out, Nancy," he murmured hoarsely, as he stroked her hair.

Nancy's sobs continued, at times intense, at times softer. Steve didn't know how long he sat there, leaning against the hospital wall, the night's cold biting at his skin, but he didn't move, feeling every tremor from her, every broken breath, and even though it almost hurt to be so close to her, he didn't let go.

********

[2 days later]

"You... you're leaving the team?"

"Yes, Coach," Steve replied, meeting the hard eyes of his swim coach. He soon felt disappointment mixed with anger.

"State is just around the corner, Harrington!"

"I know, Coach. And I'm really sorry, I am. But I can't keep going. Not right now."

"I don't believe this!" the man exclaimed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "You're one of our best swimmers! How can you just throw all that away? After so much work! All these years of training!"

'After everything that happened. After everything I know now. I really can't bring myself to care about any of it.' Steve stayed silent, letting the coach vent his frustration.

"What's going on with you, Harrington?" the man continued, his voice louder now. "First you show up with your face all bruised, looking like you haven't slept in a week, and now this? Do you have any idea what you're throwing away? A scholarship—maybe even a shot at competing at the national level!"

"I know, Coach," Steve murmured, his voice tired. "I know all of that. But my mind's made up."

The coach let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "Fine, Harrington. Throw your future away. You can go."

Steve nodded, turned, and walked toward the exit, hearing the coach muttering "unbelievable" over and over behind him. He was sure the man wouldn't give up so easily. He'd probably call one of his parents to try and convince him to come back to the team.

'Good luck with that,' Steve thought, bitter. His parents barely showed up at home these days; he doubted they cared about him quitting swimming. Either way, he wouldn't go back under any circumstances. There were more important things now than wasting time with sports. Steve had even considered quitting the basketball team too. But he gave up on that after concluding the lab would find such a move from Steve Harrington very suspicious.

Already outside, he didn't waste time on anything and headed straight to his car, which he had picked up at the Byers' house. Getting in, Steve started the engine and sped off toward his home.

The last two days since the incident with the monster from another world had passed painfully slowly. But they hadn't been enough to reconcile all his lost memories, along with all the emotions and traumas they carried. After all, most of Seven's life had been spent suffering both physically and mentally while plotting his escape and learning about his powers, hidden from everyone.

Steve had lost count of how many times he cried as the memories grew clearer in his mind, making him realize how much he had suffered and how many wounds he had that would never heal.

A normal person would have gone insane. That, he was sure of. Not just anyone could handle knowing that, as a mere child—one of the purest beings in this world—a shock collar was placed around his neck whenever he was deemed "insufficient," which, according to his memories, happened all the time.

But Steve hadn't just been drowning in the agony of his past these past few days. He also tried to piece together a timeline. Based on his analysis, the memories he recovered covered his entire childhood up until February 27, 1979, his first birthday. The ones he already had started in 1981 and continued to the present.

That is, something between 1979 and 1981 caused him to lose his memories, along with his powers. And as already established, it wasn't a simple case of memory loss.

Steve had no idea, nor was he able to come up with a theory about what might have caused this amnesia. All he could do was hope that the memories from that period would return, just as his childhood memories had.

"Haaah..." Letting out a tired sigh, Steve placed his left arm on the car door and rested his head on it, keeping only one hand on the wheel. He hadn't managed to sleep more than four hours in the past few days. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself back in the lab. Not even exhaustion could wipe out the nightmares. 'I don't know how I used to sleep before I lost my memories....'

********

Arriving home a few minutes later, Steve parked in the garage and practically crawled to the bathroom, his body begging for a cold shower. The house was drowned in silence, as always. Carol and James were on yet another one of their endless trips—they'd be back sometime before Thanksgiving. He didn't remember exactly when, and, to be honest, he didn't care.

Entering the bathroom, Steve removed the watch from his left wrist with an automatic motion, revealing wrinkled and uneven skin just above where "007" had once been tattooed. It was a burn scar.

Steve ran his thumb over the scar, feeling its strange texture and noting once again how there was no trace of the numbering. It had been erased. No signs left. As if it had never existed. That was yet another thing he had no answer for. But he wouldn't complain—it was good not to have that cursed mark. One less thing to worry about.

Placing the watch on the sink counter, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small coin. It wasn't anything special—just a regular coin. But for some reason, he always felt the need to carry at least one in his pocket. A tic? A lucky charm? Steve didn't know. One more unanswered question.

He skillfully spun the coin between his fingers, the cold metal against his skin, before placing it beside the watch. 'Looks like a lot happened in 1979 and 1980…' Steve sighed, the sound echoing in the silent bathroom, and finished undressing, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor.

********

Stepping out of the bathroom after a long shower, he walked to the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. There, Steve put on an old T-shirt along with a pair of sweatpants and sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing a comb to fix his (perfect) hair.

He took the moment to study himself in the reflection of the mirror on the wall. The bruises on his face—courtesy of Jonathan—still marked his skin, but they were less visible, starting to heal. The real problem was everything else: the pale skin, the sunken eyes, and the dark circles that made him look years older. 'Ugh. I look like a guy in debt running from collectors.'

PIIIIIIII!!!

The shrill sound of the doorbell cut through the silence of the empty house, making Steve freeze, the comb paused mid-motion. 'Who the hell...?' His heart jumped, and he instinctively reached out with his powers, sensing a presence at the front door. A single person—tense and a little nervous, but without any hostile trace.

'Could it finally be them?' Steve quickly left the room and rushed back to the bathroom, putting the coin in his pants pocket and the watch on his left wrist. 'It has to be. No one would show up without telling me first.'

He went down the stairs and headed to the door, his heart pounding in his chest. Steve had theorized over the past few days that with so many people now aware of the lab, the government would have no choice but to establish some sort of confidentiality agreement with everyone. An agreement that, in the best-case scenario, would ensure silence. In the worst… well, he preferred not to think about that. But one thing was certain: at some point, someone would come knocking at his door. And from the looks of it, that moment had arrived.

'Alright Steve, this is going to be easy. Just do what you do best.' Steve reached for the handle and opened the door with a friendly smile, coming face to face with a man who was also smiling warmly. He carried a briefcase and looked pleasant and harmless. Too pleasant and harmless for Steve's taste.

"Steven Harrington?" the man asked.

"That's me," Steve leaned against the doorframe. "And you are?"

"Pleasure to meet you, I'm Dr. Sam Owens." The man extended his hand. "Can we talk?"

********

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.