Stranger Things: Doomsday

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.

***

Subaru71077: Give me some power stones and I'll drop the next chapter tomorrow

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.