Chapter Text
November 6, 1983
The Harrington’s flight out of Indianapolis was scheduled for Sunday, November 6th at 6 pm. It was an aesthetically satisfying sequence of numbers, one one six six. Symmetrical. Pretty. Steve half wondered if his mother had picked the departure time for the look of it. She certainly hadn’t taken into consideration that her teenage chauffeur had to be back in Hawkins and awake before dawn the next day for school. It didn’t matter though. Steve was happy to drive them to the airport, give them impersonal but real-looking hugs, and wish them the best for their trip to Malibu.
“Miami, Steve,” Diane Harrington corrected. “We’re going to Miami first, then we’re going to go on a short cruise around the Gulf of Mexico. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course,” Steve waved his hand with an air of ease. “I was just checking to make sure you knew where you were going.” This made Diane laugh, and she hugged Steve once again, a little fonder this time.
Steve got back in his BMW, waved them off through the window, and started the long drive back to Hawkins, Indiana. Sure, his parent’s absence was felt. The house was tucked away into the woods, isolated. It was big and empty, impossible to become a home with only one person. That was part of the reason he filled it with people. Parties and friends and strangers all came in and out of the Harrington house. Steve tapped the steering wheel with anticipation as he made one of the final turns back home.
The weather had held up for November in Indiana, and he had decided against draining the pool. He was looking forward to tomorrow, seeing Nancy Wheeler at school, and inviting her to swim in his pool.
He liked Nancy. Most girls wanted, they longed and desired, and craved. They liked the attention, happiness flickering like candles when they got it. That was fine, Steve liked making people happy. But Nancy portrayed herself as unflappable. He had discovered the beauty that was Nancy Wheeler’s surprise. It was always short-lived, a brief flash by her eye, not even both of them. But it was so intense, like a firework, that Steve was addicted to making that little emotion flash again and again. More so than that, Nancy was curious; she hunted down answers with the focus of a lion hunting prey. Her curiosity was fun to play with. When Steve got close enough, he could feel echoes of it, buzzing like bees. He would give Nancy a thousand puzzles and mysteries to keep that curiosity pinned to her neck.
Steve had done his best to keep Nancy curious and surprised. He showed up to her first period with a bouquet of roses. He slipped notes into her locker. When making plans, he always included her best friend. He stretched the limit on what a date could be, coming up with new and creative dates. Steve’s lips curled into a smile as he pictured Nancy’s response to being invited to swim in an outdoor pool in November. He could picture the way her cheeks would flush, the ducking of her head, expressed bashfulness (curling by her face like a cat) and excitement (smaller than most, fluttering around her collarbones) all at once. He couldn’t wait.
Steve’s eagerness left him in a single moment when he saw his front door.
It was open- wide open.
And Steve might suck at recognizing his own feelings on most days, but right now? He felt icy unease twisting deep into his bones. Slowly, he pulled into his driveway and turned off the car, the resulting silence only causing his hair to stand on end.
The Harringtons did not leave their door open or unlocked. That was a rule. There wasn’t even a spare key under the mat or anything, only the one on Steve’s key ring. Steve touched the car key, seconds away from starting the engine and driving away. He would rather be anywhere but here.
But Steve wasn’t a coward, and he wasn’t defenseless.
So he got out of the car and went into the garage through the man door. He scanned through everything he could use as a weapon. His eyes fell to their sporting equipment. For a second he thought about his old bat from peewee baseball. Ultimately, he selected a club from Jack Harrington’s rarely used golf equipment. The metal was heavier and put more distance between him and whoever was in his house.
Alright, Harrington. Like a ninja, you got this.
Holding the golf club tightly with one hand, Steve opened the door to his house silently and crept inside. He eased the door shut, using his foot to keep the latch from clicking. He switched his position so he could hold the club with both hands, keeping it out in front of him. This was his house, he knew every creak of the floorboards and every light that could cast a shadow. He padded down the hallway, listening for the intruders. He imagined the worst: druggies, burglars, men in suits with blazing guns and cold eyes.
A faint rustling came from the kitchen. Got you, Steve thought, and then he rushed into the room, praying his sneak attack would give him some advantage. He only barely saw a single figure standing at the island before he was suddenly knocked off his feet. His stomach dropped as his body was lifted, and his back slammed against the wall.
What the fuck.
Steve blinked away the darkness in his vision and found himself looking down at a child. Shaved head, a mud-splattered hospital gown, and blood oozing from her nose. Oh. Everything clicked into place, familiar and bittersweet. Steve felt like he was looking through a portal back in time, except the portal was also a mirror, and the kid was also himself. There was a feral, wild expression on the kid’s face, determined and angry. The anger was the worst emotion, shooting off with the intent to sting and maim anyone close by. But it was the fear that made Steve’s heart ache, seeing it constrict around the kid like a cocoon. They were like a wild animal, so afraid they lashed out first, probably never had a kind person in their life.
He knew exactly what that was like.
Steve mentally reached out in an attempt to tamp down the fear. Peel it back, just enough so that the kid would drop him with their mind powers. He could do that, sometimes. Whatever someone was already feeling, he could make that feeling stronger or weaker. But sometimes the emotions were too strong, too conscious to be manipulated without actively hurting the other person. He felt resistance, the fear shuddering and turning steely under his psychic touch.
Well, shit.
Plan C then, turn up the charm. “Woah, hey hey hey,” he started, and the kid, the girl? tilted her head at his voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re—” he swallowed. “We’re the same. Can you put me down so I can show you?” He flashed her a smile, dripping with false confidence. “Please?”
The girl seemed to consider this, then Steve felt gravity return and his feet hit the floor. The golf club had been thrown clear across the room, but he didn’t need it now. This wasn’t an intruder, he figured. This was a terrified, hungry, child. He shivered and realized the door was still open. He jerked a thumb towards it. “First, I’m going to shut that, okay? It’s not safe to leave it open,” there was no change in the girl’s expression, but the cocoon of fear writhed around her. Steve ignored it and walked over and shut the front door, locking it for good measure. One good thing about living in the woods was that there were no nosey neighbors. That didn’t mean they were completely alone. Still, with all the curtains on the house drawn closed, the locked door signaled that Steve and the mystery girl were now in their own private sanctuary. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. This was not how he had planned for his night to go.
Steve turned back to face the girl. In one hand, she clutched a half-empty bag of Wonder bread. The other hand flexed in warning. If Steve didn’t start explaining soon, she wouldn’t hesitate to send him flying again. He pointed at the bread. “That stuff is better if you turn it into a sandwich.” Finally, her eyebrows lowered, the fear quivered and confusion churned. Steve walked toward her, keeping tabs on her emotions. “You’ve probably never had a sandwich, huh?” He wasn’t good with kids. He was pretty sure Nancy’s brother hated his guts. But food, food was common ground, right? Steve held out his hand for the bread. The girl looked warily at him, suspicion flashing around her eyes like tiny starbursts. “We don’t have any lunch meat, but I could make a pb&j. Or a grilled cheese, if you don’t mind waiting.”
Hunger wasn’t an emotion in truth, but when it was strong enough, it was visible even to Steve. A white line of hunger flew down the girl’s body and circled her abdomen, tracing the line food would take. She held up the bread and nodded. Steve didn’t know which sandwich she meant, but everyone loved grilled cheese, right? He was worried that she still hadn’t spoken, but she seemed to understand everything he was saying.
Steve didn’t remember the last time he made grilled cheese, but the process came easy. While he cooked, the girl sat at the island in silence, watching him with her dark eyes. She ate the meal quickly, crumbs flying everywhere. He smirked. “I remember the first grilled cheese I ate,” he said. “I don’t know how old I was, but it was definitely burnt.” He took the now empty plate from the girl with a chuckle. “You’re lucky I’m a better cook than Diane.” He leaned back against the sink, regarding the girl. Her fear had eased back, letting him get a good look at her without the headache of such a strong emotion. “Better?”
“Yes.” Her voice was small, raspy. Steve might not be a babysitter or a brother or father or anything, but he knew then that he wasn’t letting this girl leave tonight. Or ever. Not until he knew she would be safe.
“My parents are gone for a few months. I’m the only one here, you’re gonna be okay.“
“Bad men?“
Jesus Christ, who hurt this kid? “The bad men can’t get you here. I’ve got my ways.”
“How?”
Steve sighed and unfastened his watch. “I told you, we’re the same.” Hope fluttered up around the girl’s head, and relief swept down her body, sweeping the fear away in a swift motion.
The girl held out her wrist alongside his. She breathed out Steve’s least favorite word, the one permanently inscribed on his wrist. “Seven.”
The Harringtons were a young couple, for many good reasons. They were high school sweethearts, pulled together by physical attraction and proximity and very little else. Their personalities were not complementary, more convenient. Diane was vain and flighty but had a fragment of compassion in her heart. She had not one best friend, but fifty-two, one for each week in the year. Yet for each week and each new friend, Diane swore utmost loyalty to that person. They were given Diane’s undivided attention, so long as she received theirs. Diane wasn’t maternal. She cringed at the thought of a baby ruining her figure. Her vices were pretty things and heavy drinks. Jack Harrington was an eldest son, an only son, and a youngest son. In the first case, he was given unfounded responsibilities to carry on the family's reputation. The second title saw him grow into a selfish man, though he could always spin it into a drive to advance his own career. And the final title saw him stunted and immature. Jack could never see himself as a father, for he never saw him as an adult. He was clever with his words, daylighted as a conman, and had a gambling addiction.
They stayed together because together, they found fun and trouble. Jack’s father left in his will that if his son was wed, he could have the family property in Hawkins, Indiana. So, a few months after graduating high school, two young adults became a family duo. They didn’t love Hawkins, but the house was big and modern, the land had acreage, and they were secluded. With the money they saved on the residence, they could afford holiday trips to exotic places. They bought the finest booze and dazzled the small town with parties.
Then the novelty of impressing backwoods folks wore off. Diane grew bored. Jack saw no upwards mobility in his job. They resigned themselves to spending the rest of their lives in a dead-end town. If this story were about any other couple, living in any other home in any other city, that would be the end of the story.
The reality was, if Jack or Diane had the proclivity to, they could have changed their lot on their own. Diane could have gotten a job. Jack could have strived for more responsibilities. They could have downsized, moved to the city, and lived within their means.
Instead, they won the proverbial lottery. The Harringtons ended up getting everything they wanted by stumbling across something they swore they would never have: a child.
1974
Seven was cold, scared, and tired. He didn’t know which caused his sudden collapse. Maybe it was all of them. He was still outside, curled into a ball underneath a tree. It felt right, a divot in the base of the tree the exact size of his own body. He hadn’t gone far enough, and soon they would see he was gone. They would come for him, and drag him back to the place with the white walls and tests and the other children with dread in their hearts.
Seven imagined when they came for him, he would kick and scream. He would summon every inch of his measly power they had so carefully cultivated. And he would try to stop them from taking him back.
But right now he was so tired, that when a warm hand touched his shoulder, he weakly raised his shaved head. He didn’t have the energy to fight back. Seven looked at a man who did not look like the other men. An emotion danced across his chest, tapping repeatedly. (Later, after he met more people and learned more emotions, he would call this emotion concern.)
“Are you alright?” That was the first question. Seven shook his head. “Where are your parents?” Seven didn’t know how to answer. “Did you run away?” Seven nodded. The man ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. Seven couldn’t track all the emotions that popped and curled and slid around the man. He raised his own hand and ran it over his shaved head. He liked how the man’s hair looked. He wondered how his own hair would feel, long enough to run his fingers through it. Finally, the man seemed to come to a conclusion. “Come on, kid, let’s get you inside.”
And Seven was invited into Harrington's home.
The man, Jack, had a long conversation with Diane, the woman, in a room while Seven sat on the softest chair he had ever sat on. He ran his finger over the fabric. He could feel their emotions, even from here. Worry, fear, and the new one (concern). But they were not angry, which made Seven feel at ease.
Diane came out and helped Seven into the bathroom. He could bathe himself, much to her relief. She gave him an old, old pair of clothes that did not fit. They were softer and warmer than the paper-thin gown he had been wearing. Jack heated up some leftovers, and Seven sat at their table and ate slowly.
Diane looked at him with pity stretching out, circling, and searching for Seven. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
Seven had never had to answer that before. Everyone had always known who he was. If they forgot, they could always check his wrist. So he showed Diane and Jack his tattoo, the two black numbers indicating that he was 07. Surprise flicked up around their eyes.
“Seven?” He nodded. “Where did you come from?”
“The lab,” his voice was quiet and raspy. Jack and Diane had a quick conversation that Seven didn’t follow.
They addressed him again, “Did they hurt you there?” Seven nodded.
Jack stood up from the table, discomfort sliding up his left side, down his right. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay the night, then in the morning, we’ll go to the police. There has to be a case here- they can’t get away with hurting children for God’s sake.”
Diane led Seven to a spare bedroom, where sometimes the young couple hosted some of their other friends from out of town. “You can sleep here,” she said with the practiced grace of a woman who had many strangers spend the night.
“Thank you,” Seven might not be as skilled as the other children. The men had given up on trying to get him to do anything big with his powers. Seven had different lessons. While the others were learning to move things with their minds, the men had taught him something called ‘manners.’
Diane liked his manners. Seven watched as something like happiness fluttered up on her chest, bouncing up and up. “Good night Seven,” she was about to leave when he spoke up.
“Wait.” She turned back, and irritation twisted near her forehead. Seven winced. That had been a mistake. He made a note: when someone ends the conversation, let it end. But this had been an important question, his only question. So he cleared his throat and asked, “What are ‘the police?”
“They protect us, Seven.”
“Like guards?”
“Exactly.”
Seven panicked. “No, please.” Please was one of the words they had taught him. He hoped Diane would like it.
“Why don’t you want the police, Seven?”
Seven didn’t have the perfect words, so he hoped Diane would understand. “The lab has guards. They hurt me. The police are guards.”
She sighed, and the pity was back, an odd combination when mixed with the growing irritation. Together, the two emotions splashed against Seven like waves from opposite directions, and he felt caught between them. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Diane finally said before leaving. Seven felt dismissed, the way he was often dismissed at the lab. But at the lab, he was in a room cold and white and empty. This room was decorated, the house was warm, and there were people here that hadn’t hurt him.
Seven slept well that first night at the Harrington’s house.
They never called the police. Jack went to work, and Diane took to looking after Seven during the day. She went to the store and bought clothes for a little boy. Pride, small and round, flew up her torso when she saw him in the new clothes. They ate dinner together, almost like a family. They watched television together. Jack brought home new toys. But the end of the week was approaching, and Diane’s interest was fading.
In their bedroom, the Harrington’s whispered a plan to get Seven to the proper authorities. They didn’t want him to go back to the lab or to anyone who would hurt him. The plan was barely coming together when the first Incident happened.
One afternoon, Diane had dug out a board game from the closet. She needed one more thing to do with the child in her house. It had taken a long time to explain the rules, but Seven knew how to watch and learn. After a few turns, suspicion twinged under her right eye. Seven appeared to be doing very well; his dice always rolled a favorable number. Then his nose started to bleed. Diane fawned over him, but Seven was unfazed. He attempted to tell her that it was normal, that in the lab they had practiced with dice all the time.
“Jack?” she called.
The two watched as Seven concentrated on the dice as they were rolled. The dice landed on the exact desired number. Jack tried calling out various number combinations, each more challenging than the last. He went so far as to dig out a third dice from a long-forgotten Monopoly game. Diane tried rolling, then Jack, then they let Seven roll the dice. And every time the dice stopped rolling, the desired result was displayed. The only evidence something was wrong was the thin stream of blood that had dripped from Seven’s nose, over his lips, down his chin, and onto his new shirt.
“How?” Jack had asked. Seven raised a hand, and all three dice flew up off the table, into his hand. That was how the Harringtons learned about what experiments the lab was running.
After the first incident, Seven had stopped being an unwanted child guest and had become a shiny new toy. Jack and Diane’s tests were not like the tests in the lab. Whenever Seven used his powers, no matter how small, the excitement that rolled off their shoulders was real. They didn’t care that he couldn’t lift anything big, or heavy, or use his powers to break arms or push others around. They were most excited about the little things. “Can you move this ring? This wallet? The door?” And, every night, Jack had him practice with the dice again.
Then, Jack had brought up a new plan, one that didn’t involve Seven being sent away. The three of them could travel to a ‘casino.’ Diane had not liked the idea. Seven could feel her worry and fear but also her interest. Seven did not know what Jack felt, something sharp at the corner of his mouth paired with something wiggling and big that opened and closed in front of his eyes. Diane won the argument. “It’s not safe, what if someone catches on, Jack.” And Seven learned that he did not like it when Diane said Jack’s name.
The conversation could have ended there, if not for the second Incident.
A week or so after the casino discussion, Diane and Seven were trying on new clothes in the upstairs bedroom. Someone knocked on the door. Seven froze like his body had become stone. He could hear Jack talking downstairs. The voices traveled, clear as if Seven had been standing right beside them.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir. We are looking for a boy, a runaway. Have you seen anyone with this description?”
“No, I can’t say I have.” Seven sucked in a breath. The lab had said never to lie, something they taught alongside all their lessons on manners. But sometimes you lied to protect, he remembered a girl at the lab telling another child. If someone is going to get hurt, you can lie. And Jack had lied, to protect Seven.
Seven’s nose had started to bleed, but not because he was moving something with his mind. He could feel the men at the door, their emotions on full display. He reached out with his powers and pushed on them. He pulled at the boredom that lingered by their noses; they were employees just doing their jobs. He made the boredom so strong, they didn’t notice when he took their suspicion and made it so small they couldn’t possibly feel it anymore. And then they left, accepting the lie.
Seven explained all this to Jack and Diane at dinner. How he could make emotions bigger or smaller, but only the ones that were already present. He knew there were limits, that was what the lab was working on. Learning the limits and trying to break them. Jack had been excited when he asked, “Could you do the same thing anywhere?”
Jack explained that his idea, the casino gig, involved ‘cheating.’ Seven was familiar with cheating, and he understood that it was wrong. But Jack wanted to ‘get rich.’ But if they got caught, there would be men like the ones from the lab. And they would go to jail, which was like the lab but for adults.
Seven considered all of this over his plate of fish sticks. “If you win, you get money?” He asked. “Money is good, yes?” Jack confirmed both of these, taking a deep drink of his beer. Diane watched on, the booze making her own emotions hard to catch. But Seven could feel her worry fade. “Then I will help.” Jack and Diane were more than excited, they were ecstatic, but Seven did not know that term yet. He knew that Jack and Diane were good people, and though they did not want to, they had kept him around. Diane had bought him new clothes and played with him, even when he was boring. Jack had lied for him, even though it was dangerous. Seven wanted to return the favor.
Within a few whirlwind days, the Harrington’s left Hawkins, Indiana for Las Vegas, Nevada. They went to casinos and gambling halls. They bought expensive drinks and mingled with people whose feelings made Seven feel physically ill. Seven’s nose bled onto patterned carpets. But when they returned to Hawkins, two things had changed.
The first was that the Harringtons had gone from ‘well off’ to ‘loaded.’
The second was that the Harringtons were no longer a duo.
In the fall, they registered their new adopted son at Hawkins Elementary School.
Steve didn’t tell Eleven his entire life story, but he did give her the cliff notes version. He escaped the lab, his parents adopted him, and he could use his powers to make the bad men go away. Eleven had nodded, but he had no idea how much she followed because unlike him, Eleven was more a weapon than a child. She barely spoke, and what she did say was clipped and halting.
Diane Harrington was adamant that she had not changed clothing sizes since high school. Every now and then she liked to try on old clothes to prove this. There was a box of tiny tops and bottoms and dresses from the early 60s shoved in the back of a closet. Steve dug it out, opening it before Eleven. “Let’s find you something to sleep in, okay?” Most of the stuff didn’t fit exactly right, but it was clean and close enough.
The Harrington house had ample extra bedrooms, and Steve picked one out for his houseguest. Eleven hovered at the doorway, and he was disappointed to see the fear had returned, shakily sliding in front of the girl. She looked like she wanted something, but didn’t have the words to ask. Or maybe the will to ask had been stolen from her. Steve felt himself wanting to give it to her, to offer to stay in the room until she fell asleep. But he was selfish, and a bit of a coward. Any decent person would offer a spare room to this kid. Steve wasn’t a monster. But that next step, hugging the girl until she drifted to sleep so she would be comforted? That felt foreign. That was what families did, and Eleven and Steve were not a family.
So he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m just across the hall, okay?” He moved to shut the door.
“Open?”
Steve ran a hand through his hair, chuckling softly. “Open, please,” he corrected. If the lab hadn’t bothered to teach Eleven manners, the least he could do was teach her the magic words.
“Open, please?” Eleven tried again.
Steve flashed her a proud smile. “I’ll leave it open. How about we leave the hall light on too, sound good?”
“Good.”
Steve leaned against the doorway until she had crawled into the bed, dwarfed by the massive comforter and abundance of throw pillows. “‘Night, Eleven,” Steve said, voice almost a whisper. Then he went into his room, leaving both doors open. He stood in a corner to change into sweatpants.
He sighed, running a hand over his head. “Well, shit,” he breathed, too soft for Eleven to hear him.