Chapter Text
Steve was sitting beside the dumpster, his knees pressed to his chest. His mind was screaming at him to get up and go back to the Avengers tower, but Steve only hugged his knees, too scared to do anything else. A voice in his head told him that they might return if he didn't move, so he slowly got to his feet, pulled up his underwear and pants, which were on the floor, pooled around his ankles and took his dirty shirt from the edge of the dumpster.
He walked through the streets, still playing in his mind the incident in that cursed alley like a broken record. He shivered slightly, the wind ruffling his sodden hair.
He never really thought it could happen to him. He was a super soldier and it was almost impossible to take him down. But these random people injected something in him, which made him feel weak and small, kind of like he was before the serum.
It was a bit bright outside when he entered the building. Jarvis greeted him and asked him if he was okay, since the AI noticed disturbance in his breathing pattern. At first Steve jumped at the voice, ready to fight whoever it was, and then he calmed down and nodded, walking into the elevator. When the doors closed, Steve looked down at the ground, thinking about what he should say to his teammates. He surely couldn't tell them what happened.
If he told Tony, he would lock himself in his lab, drink and try to find those guys who did it. He wouldn't sleep and stop drinking until he found them and that was bad for Tony.
Natasha would be angry and would try to find them and kill them in a torturous way. And while Steve would be glad if she did it, she wouldn't keep it a secret from anyone and would tell them eventually, which was not good.
Thor wouldn't understand at first and would ask questions. Question after question, he would guess what happened and he would want revenge. And revenge never ended well.
Telling Bruce was clearly out of option, because there was no doubt that he would turn into Hulk and destroy half of the city, starting with the tower.
Clint, on the other hand, would offer him comfort. He would bring him soup and tea, talk to him, until Steve got tired of it and Clint would only blame himself for not being able to help him.
Yep, telling his team would only make things worse.
Finally he reached his floor. Steve immediately went to his bedroom and laid down on his bed, without even bothering to change. He glanced up at the ceiling, his face emotionless. He fought back the tears, that were threatening to fall and tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, the images of the men appeared in his head. It was as if his own mind wanted to torture him.
Eventually he gave up on sleeping and went to the kitchen, making himself some coffee, so he could at least face the day. But every time he forced the drink down his throat, he could only imagine the metal thingy in his mouth, which prevented him from closing it and also one of the man's cock in his mouth.
Steve shivered violently and set down the cup on the table with so much force that the cup broke into millions of pieces, spilling the coffee everywhere, including Steve. He cursed himself under his breath for being clumsy and proceeded to clean up the table.
After that he remembered that he was still in his dirty clothes and took them off, throwing them into the washing machine. Then he headed to the bathroom and took a quick, cold shower to wake up completely. He washed the dirt off him, wincing when he noticed the bruises on his hips. The serum should've taken care of that. Steve thought. Maybe it's because of the drug? Or...what if the serum was...no, he shouldn't think about it.
He got dressed in some casual clothes and went down into the living room, because it was noon already (wow, the time goes so fast), and because he also wanted to see his teammates and make sure they were okay. When he stepped in, everyone stopped their conversations as if sensing the sore aura that Steve seemed to let out.
"Hey, Cap. How was the morning run? Did you meet some nice ladies?" Clint smirked, then noticed how pale Steve looked. "You okay?"
Steve nodded and slowly walked to the couch and sat down, looking at his shoes.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes. You can't lie to an ex assassin, but Steve forced a smile and nodded again, the memories still fresh in his mind. "If you're sure..." Natasha trailed off, clearly not convinced at all and didn't look away from Steve the whole time.
Then everyone continued their conversations, but Steve didn't join them. Their voices were too loud reminding him of them, doing unspeakable things to him, as he laid there, too weak to fight back...
"Steve, you okay? Maybe you should get some rest?" Bruce suggested, snapping Steve out of his mind. He put his hand on shoulder after he noticed that the younger man was staring at the wall without blinking.
Steve flinched at the sudden contact, but didn't make a sound. He sighed and got up, leaving to his floor, deciding to go out again when he gathered himself together. He couldn't even face his teammates. How weak was he?
Steve shook his head as if to clear it and stepped into his bedroom, laying down again. Everything burned from the waist down. Steve tried not to think about the pain, and who caused it, and soon fell asleep, tightly gripping his red, white and blue blanket, even though the day just started.