A/N Ugh. Should have released this prior to season 4 coming out. None of this story will be season 4 compliant.

The world ended many years ago. Every morning, the second Steve takes a breath and becomes aware, he remembers that fact. He'd come home from his late shift at the restaurant in Chicago only to find Robin and Lisa covered in blood. Every morning the first image in his head is closing Robin's lifeless eyes, trying to soften the look of terror still on her features with several stokes of his thumb. It was obvious she'd been alive long enough to see Lisa, her girlfriend, die. He'd covered them with the comforter that had fallen on the floor in panic, the fluffy pink one. He remembers kissing Robin's forehead in goodbye. And then he'd left, never coming back.

Earlier that week, they'd watched the world go to hell on the news. But they thought they would survive like they survived the upside down, because nothing could be worse than that.

It turns out a lot of things were worse.

In the span of several days, he watched crowds drop into pools of their own blood. Surprisingly the governments of the world, while in chaos, still functioned due to the fact the older you were the more likely you were to live. People came out of retirement. There became races for cures, quarantines, but nothing helped. Eventually almost everyone he'd ever come to love was gone. Out of his graduating class, he was the only one that survived. He drove through the night to return to Hawkins, praying for the kids.

The only one who'd survived of the younger generations was Maxine Mayfield. She'd been alone in the house, sitting at the kitchen table, just watching the flies consume her parents.

After five years, when it became clear that he and Max couldn't fend off marauders on their own, they migrated to live with the majority of the remaining populace. A city called 'A Better Tomorrow.' It was just pretend of course, because people still dropped, coughing blood at random – although it was rare. Once a month you saw or heard of someone going. A dead keeper would collect them, and life would go on.

He provided for Max for as long as she let him. He owned a restaurant on the main street. Life was difficult. A partial functioning government, limited supplies, marauders on the outskirts. Managing a restaurant was once his and Robin's dream. But each day was too much of a struggle to call it a dream. Sometimes he tricked his mind by pretending. It only worked during the day, during lock-up he'd find himself sitting at an empty table waiting for her.

At twenty-five, Max joined the new World Government's University to search for a cure. She'd hugged him goodbye as she waited for her plane. Postal and telephone lines were too much upkeep for the general public. Only the government systems were maintained. Therefore, it was a real goodbye, one he wished he'd had with everyone else. He'd tightened his grip at the last moment and then let her go. "Save the world," he told her.

"I'm going to," she declared in that confident attitude that defined her. She lips trembled though, almost crying. Almost. But he'd never seen Mad Max cry, not since Billy's funeral – she hadn't cried for her parents, Lucas or any of the others.

A week later, 'A Better Tomorrow' saw another outbreak, a mutated strain. Seven hundred more dead and he saw two people fall as he was cooking lunch. He watched a man's blood fill his white porcelain plates. His waiter had been at the register, he'd carefully moved her hunched body down. Attempting to collect the money, he'd accidently spilt the register tray that had been full of blood on her. The splash back had covered his shoes. After that, he didn't keep it together.

That was the main reason he joined the government facility known as Last Stop. He didn't care anymore. He didn't give a shit about anything, ethics or laws or rules or what happened to him and eventually his body. There were some communities 'trying' to retain some semblance of normality, but after several more outbreaks like 'A Better Tomorrow' it was all just bullshit. And his ex-girlfriend's feeling about bullshit had become his own. Supplies were dwindling, the world was over, end of story.

He usually didn't know what they injected him with. However, everyone called him lucky. While others who joined the program as test subjects died after several trials. He lived. He always lived. After two years, they told him it was his superpower. Sure, he'd be close to hell and death, but he never crossed the line. No matter how much he wanted to, especially after seeing his best friend and confidant on the other side smiling in some of his more hallucinogenic trips.

Robin would be the one to edge him on with a sarcastic comment, "You're taking too long, Steve."

After eight years, his green military uniform chest was embroidered with 'Lucky Man'. Only his doctor knew his real name. Harrington didn't exist anymore. The only place he lived was in Lucky Man's memories.

He got other superpowers. You can only take so much before something in human nature breaks after all. However, having the ability to tell what people around you were feeling was the suckiest when everybody was angry, sad or screaming in pain across the hall. He got the ability to feel them die too. He could taste the gasp of their last breath escaping them and hear their thoughts. Usually it was 'finally.' Sometimes it was 'fuck you', those were Dr. Shelton's patients.

And then there were the random inner dialogues, but only about food and drinks. Out of all of his powers, that was the one he hated the most. Nothing like a constant reminder that life used to be more than shit rationed biscuits, that food had once been plentiful. It was harder that he'd made a career as a cook and that only made the appearance of the dense square block on his plate worse. Every morning at least thirteen people at the facility remembered bacon and another twenty, fresh fruit. And everyone, absolutely everyone, remembered coffee. And if someone ever thought about bagels, well, he'd be a complete ass the rest of the day.

"How lucky are you feeling today?" Dr. Nelson asks, inspecting a platter of syringe cocktails and the paperwork for each of them as Steve waits in a tank top and cargo pants on a seat nearby.

He doesn't have to answer. It's a rhetorical question. But he does answer, because today is a good day – it's Christmas and the facility splurged and got them bagels. And bagels reminded him of Robin, and the memory of Robin smiling at him always egged him on. "Luckier than normal," because the part of him waiting to die – is about done waiting.

Dr. Nelson, having not expected him to answer, gives him full attention. The greasy thin white hair and face speckled with age spots peers at him with crazed excitement. He pushes the cart full of cocktails away. "Perfect! I'll go grab the latest from ; she really thinks this one from a doctor in Italy is the key, but she wanted you to test it. Just arrived last night."

Key to what? But he knows better than to ask, smart people tended to only speak at their own level. It would only remind him of Dustin and he'd rather not cry today – thank you, please.

He closes his eyes, feels the weight of the restraints, because regardless of what they injected you with it was a requirement. By now, they feel familiar and comfortable like Nancy touching his wrist, pinning back his anger.

The facility is large, and Dr. Shelton works on the other end of the exceptionally long hallway – but not as long as a Russian base. After several long minutes, he gets to listen to the dying breath of someone two doors down and the words that bounce from their head. 'I missed you.'

He opens his eyes and smiles, when he dies, he hopes he says something like that at the end. 'I missed you', its poetic. Robin would laugh about it. Call him a shithead. He'd laugh too and he'd finally have his best friend back and they'd talk about something stupid.

Dr. Nelson comes in, disrupting the moment. He drags in a bigger tray of syringe cocktails, the top shelf ones emitting a glowing green light.

There is something about today. "I'm going to get drunk tonight, eh?" Steve laughs. "You know how to treat a date, doc."

Dr. Nelson laughs in his quirky way of snorting like Steve's ex-neighbor's pug. It'd be cuter if it wasn't coming from a seventy-year-old greasy man. He unbandages Steve's arm with care to reveal the injection tube.

And then the count up begins as he grabs a syringe. "Number one," the green liquid is injected in. It burns, most liquid is cold, colder than his blood. This though, this burns through him, into his arm and chest. His fingers clench at the arm rail. And Nelson, true to form, doesn't even pause. His pug snorting continues, like the joke is still ongoing. The guy is just like that. Lame. Lame like Dustin, but not adorable.

He closes his eyes around number ten, when the liquid color changed to dark purple that it almost appears black. He isn't a big fan of that color, it's like a color the upside down had a claim on, and it is cold – biting like thousands of sharp teeth. He'd really rather not be reminded of monsters. He scoffs at the thought though, which triggers Nelson to snort more.

How could Lucky Man still be scared of monsters when everyone he loved had been taken by something he couldn't see? He should prefer monsters, at least he could fight them. But something inside of him won't let him open his eyes.

Nelson wakes him up at the end. Tapping at his shoulder.

"Lucky Man, how do you feel?"

Lucky Man blinks, and he looks at all the empty syringes and shrugs. He's still a bit cold, but it's was likely from the air purification unit that feels like air conditioning.

"A tad bit chilly, but I don't have my jacket on."

Nelson blinks, documents this and tilts his head.

Steve looks around, nothing looks weird. He's had shit before that really just made you hallucinate things his imagination couldn't even begin to catch up with. He takes a deep breath, normal. "All good, doc."

Nelson sets the timer on the wall Steve can see from his chair. The doctor then tosses a blanket around him. The man is thinking about lunch and hoping the government's splurged there too. Please pizza, Nelson begs in his mind.

"If they got pepperoni, doc, grab me some."

Nelson stops, looks, and starts snorting as he remembers Steve's ability. "Will do, Lucky Man."

It's not pizza, but they made some sort of sweet sauce to pour over the compact shit biscuits that makes people think its piss instead – but hey, it's something different. He tries it when given it by the doctor. Only one hand is unlocked from the restraint to let him eat, procedure and all that. It does taste like sweet piss.

"How are you feeling?"

"Normal thus far."

Nelson records this too. "I'll have a chat with Dr. Shelton. Can't imagine anything she has not doing anything."

Steve can't imagine it either. He's seen her sprout wings on some druggy shipped in from a New York facility. They hadn't had feathers though, just the bones. It had been creepy to watch them move. The guy could definitely flap them. The feathers eventually came in like a newborn chicklet. Except instead of growing on the outside they'd grown internally. They'd shoved and squished his organs, but he'd actually ended dying due to them sufficating him instead of organ failure.

Dr. Shelton comes back in with Nelson, her heels click on the cement floor. Lucky Man's remaining hand is unlocked. He's asked to strip, and he does so. They are inspecting every part of him. Looking for something. But there is nothing. They go into doctor talk, having a conversation so over his head that he'd prefer to not be in the room.

"Alright then, clothes on. Hope you don't mind an overnight watch, Lucky." She says, grabbing the clip board in a huff. She turns to Nelson, "You better have given him them in the right order."

"Green, purple, black," Dr. Nelson taps his foot in irritation.

"I'll review the footage."

Nobody likes Dr. Shelton. Not even the other doctors. They keep well away from her when she eats in the lunchroom. She's crazier than the rest of them. She's meaner, nastier, and the quickest killer. But the government likes her progress. They think she'll be the first to come up with a cure. Lucky's pretty certain she already has an idea about it, but the government is letting her experiment to her heart's content. Why give them a reason to stop? She's the only one who is happy here, he can feel it and it disgusts him. She's the only one who is ok with the world going to hell. Lucky keeps these thoughts to himself though, it's not like he cares.

He ends up tied to the gurney for several days, being let up only to relieve himself and for minor exercise. Afterwards, they have him run on the treadmill in his room. Have him lift weights in the gym after that. He's no faster or stronger than he was before. The only thing he has gained is green blood, which has made him more useless to the populace. He'd been a universal O negative blood donor when the need had arisen in the past, and now they are pretty sure his blood has the capacity to kill all other humans.

"Well, that could be a superpower. I just need a syringe to fight a couple of bad guys," Lucky attempts to lighten the darkening mood of the doctors. The joke did not go over well.

The fact Dr. Shelton can't articulate what exactly she was hoping for isn't helping matters. It hasn't impacted his other abilities. He still hears the last words and thoughts of those that die. Everybody still remembers there used to be a thing called coffee. He still feels the misery of those around him. He feels the irritation, the frustration and disappointment from Dr. Shelton. He feels the pure irritation of Dr. Nelson having to deal with Dr. Shelton.

"Let him go another week, let's see if his blood goes back to a normal color." Dr. Shelton signs off on a paper on the clip board and hands it to Dr. Nelson.

"And if it doesn't clear up?" Dr. Nelson asks.

"Science waits for no man. Move him on to the next trial." With that she leaves.

Dr. Nelson rolls his eye and Lucky Man can feel the man's relief of being rid of her.

The doctor gives his shoulder a pat. "Have a good one, I'll see you in my office next week. Get a check-up every morning with the nurse."

"Sure, whatever you say, doc."

Lucky Man is fairly certain it's a fluke. Up until two nights later when he wakes in darkness, but not complete darkness. There is black water underneath his feet, his reflection staring back at him. His chest scars from two surgeries glow white under the light that doesn't seem to emanate from anything. His tattooed serial number seems a pale green instead of the black ink he knows it was written in. He walks forward, although there is nothing in any direction. He seems to float above the water, it doesn't stir at his passing.

He sees nothing, at least, until he sees a little girl from behind. No hair, looking scared, staring at a Demogorgon that had its back turned. She's reaching for it. He doesn't wait or hesitate, he's running towards her. He grabs her from behind, making sure to cover her mouth so she doesn't scream. He pulls her away. He drags her backwards, because anything is better than forward. Her feet make ripples.

When he can't see the thing anymore, he lets go, half expecting a scream. "It's ok –" Instead, deep eyes turn and stare at him with innocence no one from his world could possibly have. But those eyes, he knows them. "El?"

Her head tilts, and she points to herself. "El?"

"Eleven," he tries again. How could he forget the tattoo on her skin? As if his thoughts bring her attention to it, she looks at her wrist and then shows it to him.

She then points at his tattoo. Her fingers trace at the numbers and the ending alphabet characters of his facility – 'LS'. His lips stop forming words and he just watches her. She seems happy without talking, he can feel that she is more than happy – she's full. Not lonely. Yes, that was the feeling. He hasn't felt that before.

He cups her cheek and makes her look him in the eye. "I'm glad your safe. Promise, you'll never go looking for that thing again. It hurts humans, it could hurt you." It killed humans. Mutating them into something so disgusting and evil, consuming all goodness in human nature.

"But Papa," the little girl looks so lost, and he can feel the fear of disappointment.

"Papa doesn't want you to die, does he?" Steve asks. "He'll understand if he loves you. You can… You can tell him about me instead, ok?"

She smiles, in that shy timid childlike way, and her fingers grab for his tattoo to trace them again. She prefers looking at his tattoo then in his eyes. "Ok," she finally replies.

He gently pats her head. The El he'd met, had not been hairless. Her hair had been gelled back, eyes coated in black eyeliner, determine, stubborn, a punk not a naïve babe.

She likes the affection and smiles up at him again.

"What's your favorite color, El?" he asks. Because he's a talker, and long stints of silence do very little good in his opinion.

She blinks, as if not expecting something like that. It takes her longer than a normal person would to come to an answer. "Green."

"I like the color green, but my favorite is yellow."

There is no way to tell time in the dark world. He and El spend hours talking and he teaches her games. If she hadn't been suppressed in upbringing, he's certain she'd be up to Dustin's level - she picks up the games so quickly. He explains the world outside of white painted walls and dark lake. He tells her stories of a punk girl with superpowers that saves him and others from flowers with millions of white sharp teeth. He tells her about the ones she'd one-day know without telling her so.

Eventually he notices a lack of weight in his arms from where her head had been resting as they sat, and he looks down to find her gone. He's alone again in the darkness. He sits there for hours, days, weeks, it doesn't really matter to him.

For the first time, he doesn't feel so lonely.

He doesn't feel like Lucky Man.

He feels like Steve Harrington.