The only thing Steve could do was scream. So he screamed, and he yelled, and he cried harder than he remembered doing in a long time.
The memories were rushing to his head like a train, the feeling of their disgusting, grimy hands crawling over Steve's skin and the way their teeth dragged along his neck like snake waiting to bite.
Steve's throat hurt, but still gargled, strained screams came from his throat. The memory of having a thick member shoved down it was enough for Steve to close his mouth so hard his teeth painfully clashed together.
His eyes were blurry from the thick, wet clumps of tears that were making making his way down his cheeks, dripping down onto his chest.
Steve tried to breathe, but his sore throat and beating heart wouldn't let him. He gasped for breath, feeling a hand closing around throat as the men thrusted their hips into him.
Steve needed to get away. But he just couldn't, he screamed and he cried and sobbed and pushed them away but they wouldn't stop, wouldn't let him go, wouldn't stop spitting in his face, wouldn't stop fuc-
Steve didn't remember running into the closet, barely slipping on a loose shirt that had been thrown on the floor the previous night.
The dark made Steve's body freeze, and the cold ran down his back like a pair of fingers, ready to touch him between the legs.
Steve's brain reeled. They were touching him, they were biting him, clawing at his chest, making him bleed onto the ground. His head hurt, his scalp hurt from the hair pulling and his eyes hurt from crying and his body hurt from the weight of the men and he didn't know where his brand new military suit was and it hurt.
The men wouldn't stop. Steve begged and he begged and tried to bargain with them but fuck, they wouldn't stop, Please, please, fucking stop I can't take anymore and it hurts so much PLEASE-
Steve opened his eyes. The closet was dark and cold and his heart felt like a ton of bricks. His cheeks were stiff and sore, and his entire face couldn't move. Steve shivered against the cold, and he just wanted to die.
The worst part, it was his fault. It was all his fuckinng fault and you know what? He deserved it. He shouldn't have- sh-shouldn't have bothered them. They were drinking, having fun, taking a break and he ruined it by his questions.
He was just curious, it was his first day and just wanted to know where he bathroom was and why? Why did they do this to him? Why did they slam him to the ground and rip his clothes off and shove two fingers inside him?
Why didn't they listen to Steve begging them to stop? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhy-
Steve bit his knuckles to stop himself from screaming. His body was big, and his closet was small, and he was crumpled up against the door and wall and why?
Eventually, it was too much. His eyes wouldn't stop replaying the event, like he was watching a movie on repeat and it wouldn't go away.
He screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed even louder than before.
He didn't hear Jarvis ask if he needed medical assistance, and he didn't hear him call for the team.
None than a few seconds later, the closet door was ripped open.
And Steve broke.
"Please! No! I said no! Please I don't want this I don't want this please don't hurt me please I didn't mean to I'll leave you alone please please I'm sorry-" his voice was scratchy and rough, and he felt dizzy.
Tony was stunned, and Bruce grabbed his arm to drag him out, only to drop it in surprise when Steve wailed.
Natasha stepped in front of Tony and shoved him off. She kneeled slowly, reaching out even slower to touch Steve's shoulder.
"Steve?" Her voice was unusually thick with emotion. "What happened Steve? Did someone hurt you?" As her fingertips touched Steve, he flinched and a choked sob left his lip.
"I didn't mean to," he cried, shoulders slumping up and down as his body shook.
"Mean to, what?" Steve don't answer. "Please, Steve, tell us what's wrong so we can fix this." Natasha's heart was in her throat. She had never seen Steve so broken up.
"Steve?" Tony's voice was a whisper. Tony himself was crying now, seeing his Steve so torn up, so hurt, so broken.
Steve breathed in, choking on the bubbles in his throat, and decided to stand up shakily.
Bruce held him up, sagging under his weight, and lead him to the bed. Steve's body fell on the bed like a useless doll.
"It-t was the-ah men-n" Steve whispered. He was tired, and he hurt everywhere.
"Men?" Bruce asked, staring down at Steve.
Steve's eyes glazed with tears. His brain was shutting down like a machine, and he stared at the ceiling.
"The men," he got out. His voice was barely audible. "The men who hurt me."
Steve was sitting on the living room couch, a cup of hot chocolate in his cold hand. He blinked, exhaustion seeping into his bones.
It took four hours of crying and not being able to breathe to explain what happened to Steve that night in the bunkers.
It took even longer for Tony to stop crying. Steve was pretty sure Tony was still sniffling, and it just added to the hurt in Steve's stomach.
Seeing his boyfriend cry always made Steve feel bad, but he would never admit that to Tony now.
Steve had spent the rest of the night, about three hours, huddled up to Tony in his bed.
The team, caring as they were, had promised to do whatever they could to help Steve. Steve didn't have the strength to respond, so they hugged him and kissed his forehead and promised he'd never be hurt again. They wouldn't let anyone go near him.
Steve was thankful, but promises were flimsy, and he would never truly be safe. Maybe he was being dramatic, but he can't hide from his memories.
Steve swallowed and sipped his drink, waiting for Bruce to come back. He knew Bruce was worried, but an hour of psychology tests was making Steve crazy.
But tgen, he couldn't be mad. Bruce had disclosed to him his own history, with his father, and Steve wasn't sure he could ever get mad at Bruce again.
Steve heard the door open. He glanced at the elevator, and out walked a wrecked Tony.
"Tony," he muttered, "I'm okay right now. Don't worry."
Tony grinned a tiny bit and sat down beside him. He slung an arm over Steve, and tearfully kissed his cheek.
"You were always one to make things seem not as bad as they are, Stevie," he whispered, pressing his forehead against Steve's.
"It's my best quality," Steve answered. Tony chuckled and backed his head away, staring into Steve's eyes.
"I won't ever let anyone touch you," Tony's voice was so strong and confident and sure, and Steve broke out in tears for the fourth time in the last 24 hours.
Thor had promised, with a mighty hammer strike, that he would get revenge for friend Steve.
Of course, Steve had told him if he went off that he would never forgive him. So, Thor settled with a fuzzy blanket he had bought at Target for Steve to keep warm.
Clint was never one to comfort people, but he tried his hardest. He stopped bugging Steve, and it just felt wrong.
Steve told him that one of the things that always made him smile was his jokes on Steve and the team, and then Steve didn't frown for the next few hours.
Bruce did his tests, and it seemed to calm him, and they talked. About their past, about their likes and dislikes, about stuff would never be able to understand in his lifetime, and it calmed Steve.
Steve felt like everything was normal for a while, just talking with a teammate, like he had never been hurt and it was all just a bad dream.
Natasha didn't pretend. She didn't say that everything was fine, because truly, it wasn't.
So Steve spent a few hours practicing techniques to calm his breathing for the future, because surely this wasn't his last time having that nightmare. They discussed ways to get help, therpsists and psychologists and the like.
They eventually decided to go to a meeting especially for rape victims, with a little persuading from Natasha.
Steve was scared, but at the same time, he felt like he might be able to sleep normally soon.
And then there was Tony. Steve recieved kisses and hugs and back rubs and Steve's favourite food at random times. Steve always kissed Tony and thanked him.
Everything was almost okay. Steve didn't stop having the nightmares, far from it, and occasionally he woke up screaming. The team was always there to comfort him, to wipe away his tears and wrap a warm blanket over him and give him a cold class of water to drink to ease his throat.
It all seems surreal. Steve's life was like a film, moving from scene to scene without a plot. It left him confused, and crying and hurt, but then it was okay.
Steve's emotions were always out of wack, but he was able to do missions, and make breakfasts every day like he always had done.
Evrything was back to normal by most standards, and Steve just wanted to let life take its course, and take whatever was thrown at him.
It was dark now, and Steve was reading his book. Tony shuffled into the room, his eyes drooping.
"Hey, Cap," Tony yawned, leaning down and kissing Steve softly. "You sleepy?"
Steve looked Tony up and down, and the way Tony's eyes were barely open, and he said yes.
He put the book away, and slipped under the covers beside Tony. He rolled over and pecked Tony's forehead, and Tony grinned.
"I love you, Steve."
"I love you too, Tony."
"Are you making breakfast tomorrow morning?"
"Yes, Tony."
"Pancakes?"
"Yes, Tony."
"Bacon sandwich with coffee?"
"Yes, Tony."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Tony."
Tony closed his eyes, and he was asleep in seconds. Steve bit his lip and stared at his sleeping boyfriend, and he wondered how any of this even happened.
But that was something to worry about tomorrow.