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Steve stood in his living room, his tight grip on the nail bat making his knuckles go white as he held on, the roughness of the wood steadying him as much as was possible in that moment. His eyes shifted worriedly all around the room as the lights flickered around him. His feet treaded lightly on the ground as he prepared himself for the Demogorgon that was going to appear, listening for any sign of the monster. He could feel his skin become slick with sweat, his hair damp and flat from his lack of sleep.
He knew that the Demogorgon was here, it had to be. Steve knew, and he wouldn’t be caught off guard again. He would be ready, even if he had to wait hours for it to come and get him.
The world outside of his windows was dark, the light from the streetlamps, the pool, and the outside bulbs casting shadows into the room, making the furniture seem like demodogs and the chandelier to look like a spider crawling on the ceiling, awaiting the moment that it would strike.
He didn’t let go of his nail bat. It was the one thing that could possibly save him, save him from the dangers that lay in front of him and possibly even behind.
He could soon hear a floorboard creak beside him, and he turned with a battle cry, raising his bat and preparing to slam it down on whatever monster made itself known. Yet, the cry died in his throat and he faltered, his arms shaking as he took in the sight in front of him.
It wasn’t a monster. It was a kid.
The kid was short, with a mess of brown hair that curled gently over his forehead. He clutched a stuffed animal in his hands, a bear, and a blanket was around his shoulders like a cape. He was thin, wearing blue pajamas, too large socks on his feet, and he stared at Steve with confusion, no fear shown in his deep, brown eyes.
“What’s that?” He asked, innocently pointed to the bat above Steve’s head, the same bat that was about to attack him. Steve lowered it to the ground slowly, avoiding the kid, and keeping a strong hold on it, unwilling to let it go.
“It’s…nothing.” Steve said, hoping that he sounded believable, and the kid nodded.
“Okay. Do you want to play?”
Steve flinched, never expected to hear those random yet wholesome words come out of this strange kid’s mouth. He thought that this was another trick from the Upside Down, from the Mindflayer, but maybe it wasn’t. He found it safe to assume that this was a normal kid. The lights had stopped flickering. Maybe this…maybe this was normal. Maybe there weren't any monsters.
The kid seemed to take his silence as bad, and stuttered through an explanation.
“It’s just, my parents, they’re not here…and my friends aren't here, either.”
Steve swallowed, not knowing how to respond to his comments. “Yeah. Yeah, we can play.”
The boy smiled and took Steve’s hand, leading the older teen through the halls of the house, the blue hue of everything making Steve’s home seem more silent than it usually was, like a tomb.
They soon arrived at Steve's room, where there was a game of Connect Four standing upon the floor, the yellow and red pieces waiting to be used. The kid sat behind the red pieces, and Steve sat near the yellow, setting the bat onto the ground, yet close enough to grab if a monster decided to appear again.
The kid made the first move, never letting go of his stuffed bear, and Steve responded, putting his piece not far from the other one awkwardly, unclear about where this kid had come from or who he even was, or where the game had even come from. He loved this game as a kid, he played it alone all of the time, pretending to be two different people playing on opposite sides. It was his peace, but that was until his father had thrown it out, saying that Steve had to focus on bigger things than silly games.
This kid seemed to enjoy it, though, so Steve played along.
Steve suddenly heard a groan coming from the hallway, and he reached for his bat desperately, but the kid eyed him with something close to disagreement.
“You don’t need that. My parents aren't here, remember?”
“I know that. It's not your parents that I’m worried about.”
“You’re worried about the monsters?”
Steve turned back to him, eyes wide with shock. “What?”
The kid placed another one of his pieces into the small, plastic slots, the red pieces sliding down to land on the other.
“The monsters. The ones you dream about.”
“How…how did you know that? Who are you?”
He didn’t respond to Steve’s question. “It’s your move.”
Steve put in another piece, blocking the row of red chips, killing the kid’s chances of winning until the next circular chunk of red plastic was placed. He looked up, hoping for the kid to finally respond to his questions, but he didn’t. But there was something else new about the kid now.
The kid was bleeding from his nose, a bruise forming around his eye. It was a lot like how Steve looked when Jonathan had beaten him up, but on a smaller person, a more innocent face. Brown eyes stared at him with curiosity, blinking slowly, as if he was trying to understand why Steve was so confused.
Steve blinked, the truth of this all finally clicking into place. The hair, the room, the game, the blanket, the eyes, even the bear. It was all his. His, from his childhood.
Why he had Steve’s older injuries was beyond him, but there was no mistaking it. This kid was Steve Harrington.
“Steve. You’re…me.”
The kid nodded. “My parents call me Steven. But my friends like to call me King Steve, or, well, they used to. My friends aren’t here, either. Don’t you know that?”
Steve felt shivers go up his back, his arms, his neck, and he tried to keep his breathing steady.
What was going on? What was going on?
“Where am I? What did you do to me?” He asked, panic bleeding into his tone, but the kid seemed unfazed.
“Is that why I’m gone?”
“What?”
A small finger pointed to the bat in his hands, the nail bat held up to defend himself, though he didn’t even feel it when he moved it. It was second nature to him, whenever he got scared it was raised, to make it easier to attack or defend himself and others from what was happening. It was like his third arm. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
“The bat? Is that why I’m dead and you’re here? Why you replaced me? Everything’s different now. I never play anymore. I don’t smile like I used to.” The younger Steve continued with a level, cautious tone, as if he was speaking to his father but didn’t want to overstep.
Steve wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the words or the tone, but he lost it.
“I didn’t replace you, and you’re not dead! We grew up! I grew up!” Steve yelled, “I learned that there’s more to life than stupid basketball games and being a king! More beyond our world that matters more than everything else!”
“But the bat,” The kid said, tears falling onto his chubby cheeks as his small voice rose in anger. “The nail bat is why! It killed me! I don’t have friends anymore! Even when my parents do come home, when they do care, I have to hide everything I am, everything I do, and I have to shove that stupid weapon under my bed, hoping that they don’t see! That nail bat did this! It killed me! It killed Steve!”
Steve watched in horror as nails began to pierce through his younger self’s skin, his hands, his arms, cutting through the sleeves of his pajamas, his pants, making small rivers of blood fall from the wounds, soak through the clothing, and he rushed to his feet, backing away from the image in front of him.
“No, I didn’t, Iー”
“Why are you lying to me? Why? What did I do to deserve this? Any of this? I just wanted to be loved! I just wanted somebody to play with! But now all that you care about is that stupid nail bat!”
Steve felt a pain burn in his own hands, and he looked down to see them covered in blood, ends and heads of rusty nails showing through his skin, painful and deadly, and he dropped the bat, the weapon clattering to the ground with a clang.
“You’re not even deserving of your name anymore!” The kid continued to yell. “You took everything from me, and the only person you have to blame is yourself! You did this! You did this! You picked up that stupid bat and ruined everything! Why? Why would you do that? Why? I’m all alone now! You’re all alone now!”
Steve held his bleeding hands to his head, feeling the sharp ends sticking into his hair, and screamed.
“Get out get out get out! Please!” He cried, falling to the ground, the nails from the bat cutting into his knee. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
He didn’t know how long he kneeled down, begging in harsh whimpers for the anger to go away, for the pain to cease. He sobbed, his chest shaking uncontrollably as he did so.
He barely registered when his younger self stopped yelling. But, when he did, the tiniest amount of relief flooded into his veins.
He looked up, tears still in his eyes, and the kid was gone, the only remains of him being a tall mirror in front of him. His stomach dropped at the sight.
The reflection reveals Steve’s pale skin, tear stained cheeks, and the blood covering his hands. The rusty nails in his skin were gone, but the bat was back in his hands, and he knew the truth.
He wasn’t Steve Harrington anymore. He had died as soon as he picked up the nail bat, and everything about him died with it. His friends. His status. His innocence. His childish joy. The only fragments of a relationship he had with his parents.
The only person he saw now was a desperate soldier with a nail bat and a hope to make it through the next day, eyes wide and scared, hands covered in blood, both of the monsters he faced and his own. A soldier who had known love, who had known peace, had known friendship, but was quickly forgetting what they were. How they felt.
A clock chimed in the distance, but he didn’t have the strength to react. All he could focus on was the stranger standing in front of him, wearing the face of someone that he used to be.