Chapter Text
The next time he came to, he was in a room with a white ceiling and white walls.
The first thing he noticed was that his left arm ached just above his wrist, and he looked down to see it was bandaged, but when he tried to move it, his arm barely twitched.
He rolled his eyes further over his body and saw to his horror that his clothes had been removed, and he was now wearing a hospital gown.
It took him another few seconds to realize he was still laying down. He thought about trying to sit up, but the room was spinning and his head was pounding, so he shut his eyes, hoping when he opened them again he’d be back in his bedroom in Hawkins and this would all be just a bad dream.
Chatter and a sudden buzzing sound forced him to open his eyes again and face reality. Dr. Owen’s voice filtered through the other voices. “Hey now. We’re not doing that today. He’s going to be traumatized enough.”
The older doctor had intercepted another man holding hair clippers, putting his arm out to stop him in his tracks.
“Dr. Brenner’s orders.” The man with the clippers said emotionlessly, as if this was just another day at work for him and not the life changing one that it was for Steve.
“Well Dr. Brenner isn’t here, and I’m ordering you to stop. Besides, Dr. Brenner wasn’t supposed to authorize the tattooing either. We agreed that wasn’t necessary, but as a compromise, the hair could go. But now I see he’s received a tattoo of his number, so he’s keeping the hair for now.”
Steve tore his eyes from Owens and looked down at his left arm again. So that’s what had happened. He wasn’t Steve anymore. He was just a number. He wondered what number he’d been given. How many experiments–how many kids–had come before him and after El?
How many were still alive?
He shivered, both from the cold and from fear. How long had it been? Had anyone noticed that he was missing yet? Had Robin? Or Dustin?
His movement must’ve drawn the attention of the other occupants in the room because Owens and his thwarted hairdresser turned to look at him.
“Hey kiddo. Good to see you’re waking up. You still feeling a little out of it?” Owens asked gently, his frustration ebbing away to be replaced with concern.
Steve didn’t answer, choosing instead to try to sit up. His shoulder barely lifted off the gurney before his body gave out on him, and he fell flat on his back again.
“Hey. Take it easy, kid. I think it’ll take a couple more hours before the drugs are out of your system and you start feeling like your old self.” Owens said, brushing past the grunt to come stand by Steve’s side.
Owens rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve shivered again.
“You cold? It is pretty chilly in here, isn’t it? Can you get him in the wheelchair?” Owens said, addressing the other man in the room, who nodded and picked Steve up easily–and without asking–and deposited him none too gently in the wheelchair in the room that had gone unnoticed to Steve up until that point.
“Alright kiddo, here you go.” Said Owens, who had removed his own sweater and draped it around Steve’s shoulders. It was too big on him, and made him feel smaller than he was.
“Okay. I’ve got him from here.” Owens continued, he was talking to the other man again.
“Dr. Brenner said–”
“Dr. Brenner is not here. Steven’s not a threat to me. He can barely sit up. You can tell Brenner that we need to have a talk when he gets back.” Owens said, dismissively as he wheeled Steve out of the room into a brightly lit clinical hallway.
Owens pushed Steve in silence, probably thinking he had lost consciousness again. Steve tried to keep track of the twists and turns of the halls, but his eyelids kept drifting close against his will, and any hope he had of making a mental map of the place was quickly thrown out the window.
But he forced his eyes open when they eventually came to a stop . . . in front of a door . . . labeled only with ‘027’.
Owens opened the door and pushed Steve inside.
The room was not what he expected. It wasn’t exactly the prison cell El had described.
There was a bed, smaller than his own at home. A twin bed. A child’s bed really. Made up with a navy comforter and a few throw pillows in a way that he supposed was meant to look comforting. There was also a nightstand and an accompanying lamp. There was a bookcase too, fully stocked with books, a desk–complete with paper, markers, and crayons but no pens or pencils–and an accompanying desk chair.
Owens wheeled Steve over toward the desk then he pulled the chair out from under the desk and took a seat so that they were facing one another.
“Okay, kid.” Owens said, slapping his hands on his thighs. “Let me have it. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Steve looked down at his arms, twisting them a bit and curling his fingers in and out. He could finally move them again, but they felt shaky and unstable. Still, he wondered if he could manage to shove Owens and dash out the door.
He thought not.
He lifted one hand and ran it through his hair, making sure it was still there and they hadn’t shaved it off, but he barely managed that. Besides, the door was shut now, and he doubted it would open for him.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Steve asked–pleaded. “I thought–I thought you were different from the other government goons. You were helping El. And Will. I thought you–you cared.”
“I do care, and I am going to help you, Steven.” Owens replied, quietly, like he thought he might spook Steve.
“Then . . . you’ll get me out of here? Get me a new identity, like El, if that’s what it takes?” Steve asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid that’s not something I can do. Not today.” Owens replied sadly.
“But–but you let El go. You got her a new identity. Why-why am I different? Why did you do this to me?” Steve implored. He meant why did you do everything? Why kidnap him? But he had raised his left arm when he asked it.
“That.” Owens said, nodding at his bandaged arm. “Was not my idea. That wasn’t supposed to happen, and I apologize. It wasn’t necessary, and I should’ve stopped it; but I didn’t realize how quickly Brenner would act.”
“And the rest of it?” Steve pressed, gesturing around him. “I assume this isn’t meant to be just an overnight stay.”
“It . . . isn’t. But it shouldn’t have happened how it happened. However, you’re here now, and that’s the best outcome. I can’t do for you what I did for El. Not yet anyway. You’re not like El. Not exactly. You haven’t been trained to use your powers. Right now, you’re a danger to yourself and others. This is for your own protection as much as anyone else’s.” Owens replied matter-of-factly.
“People don’t need protection from me. I’m not going to hurt anyone.” Steve replied desperately. Maybe if he could just make Owens understand that, he’d let him go.
“I know you wouldn’t, Steven, not intentionally that is . . . but, I know what happened with Neil Hargrove. We wouldn’t want a repeat of that would we?”
“That was an–I didn’t–he was hurting Max.” Steve said defensively, hugging his arms around himself without realizing it.
“I know. I know he was, but that doesn’t change the fact that a normal person wouldn’t have been able to do to him what you did.” Owens replied gently.
“So–so I'm a prisoner here then. Like, forever.” Steve answered, and to his horror, he felt tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes.
“Aww kiddo, no water works please. Please don’t get upset. This isn’t a prison. You’re not in trouble. We’re trying to keep you out of trouble.” Owens said, trying to calm him down.
Steve felt a twinge of uncomfortableness join Owen's concern.
Good. He was glad he was making him uncomfortable. It’s the least he should be feeling.
“But I can’t leave.” Steve replied, it wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer, but Owens answered like it was anyway.
“Not at the moment . . . but I promise it won’t be like it was with Jane. You’re going to have free time. You’re going to have time outdoors. You want to study something? We’ll get you tutors. You have a special request? I’ll see what I can do about it. You’ll still have a life here.” Owens reasoned.
Steve wondered if he was trying to convince himself of that more than the boy he held captive sitting across from him.
“Living in a cage isn’t a life.”
“You’re not in a cage. Please don’t think of it like that. Things will get better. One day you’ll have more freedom. Once you have more control. You just have to trust me.” Owens urged, leaning forward a bit in his chair.
“You mean once you have more control over me.” Steve spat out, rubbing his face to wipe away the tears that had escaped from his eyes.
Steve risked actively using his powers for the first time since he’d been taken, reaching out to the man across from him. The concern and distress, which he’d already sensed, were paramount. The guilt there was nothing but a sliver. Owens really believed this was the best thing for Steve. And that honestly almost made the whole thing worse.
Owens rubbed a hand over his face, like the situation pained him as much as it did Steve. “We’ll get you some real clothes in the morning. You’ll be more comfortable then. The hospital gown is not going to be an everyday thing.”
Which, Steve reasoned, implied that the hospital gown would still be a some days thing.
Owens patted Steve’s knee and then stood up. “Get some rest Steven. A good night’s rest can do wonders. I’m guessing you’re a little nauseous, but if you get hungry before morning, just push the call button here on the side of your bed, and someone will come check on you. Okay?”
Steve didn’t answer, he just glared at Owens angrily.
“Do you want any help getting into bed?” Owens asked, hovering at the door, probably already knowing the answer.
“No.” Steve said shortly, even though he probably wouldn’t be able to get himself out of the wheelchair for another thirty minutes.
Owens, looking like he knew this fact, just nodded sadly, and opened the door to leave. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning then, kiddo. Good night.”
And with that, Owens shut the door, and Steve was alone.