The Worst Thing

Summary: Being large and tough has it’s advantages; no one could touch you. That’s how Steve felt. And Steve never thought this would happen to him, but it did.

Cold and chill engulfed him. The bar was heated with all of the people around him; now, he felt himself becoming colder and colder as he walked into the night air. He knew Dally wouldn’t come to get him, and that Darry nor Soda could come to get him. Two-Bit was too drunk to drive anyways. Steve didn’t have any money left for a cab, so he was alone without a ride. The back haired greaser wrapped himself in his jacket which did absolutely nothing to trap heat. Hopping on someone’s porch, all he wanted to do was check the temperature. When he found the thermometer, the house owner came out with a broom and chased him off. Steve cursed her out loudly and flipped her the bird.

“Damn cold...” he cursed. Deciding on thumbing a ride, he went to the edge of the sidewalk and jerked his thumb out, proceeding on waking backwards slowly. Many cars passed him, some yelling, some speeding up out of fear, and others splashing him with water. He was about to give in when a man in a ford pulled over and waved him over. Steve trotted over and hopped in, saying a quick thanks. The man was staring at him; Steve saw a look in his eyes, almost like envy. Slowly, the greaser put his hand on the door handle and looked away.

“What’s a good looking kid like you doing out here on a Saturday night?” he asked, reaching out and pushing a black swirl out of his face. Steve jerked away and was about to jump out, but the man locked the doors quickly. “It’s cold out there, kid. You’ll freeze to death.” Steve huddled to the heater, shaking a little.

“Let me out,” Steve ordered in his toughest voice. The man laughed and only increased his speed.

“Where are ya goin’?” he simply asked. Steve jiggled the handle on the door, hoping to get out. It was futile. The button to unlock was missing on his side, which sucked like hell for him.

“East side,” he ordered.

“That’s not where I’m going,” the man cooed, speeding past Steve’s house. He continued to jiggle the handle, almost fearful.

“Let me out.” The man didn’t say anything and continued to drive. Steve watched out the window as houses he knew flew past him. First was Two-Bit’s house, then the Curtis house. Johnny’s house was next followed by Tim Shepard’s. He watched Buck’s go by and got afraid. “Let me out,” Steve repeated. Again, the man laughed. “C’mon, man. Let me out,” he almost begged.

Finally, the man pulled in front of a house and parked, turning the engine off. He unlocked his door and got out. Steve crawled across the seats, but the man locked the door. Now on the other side, the man unlocked Steve’s door. He now had a rope; the man grabbed both of Steve’s legs and tied them together quickly. The black haired greaser kicked and yelled in an attempt to break free. Then the man grabbed Steve’s hands and tied them too. Finally, Steve spit in the man’s face, angering the man. He knocked Steve across the face with a closed fist, sending the greaser into the door, knocking him out.

When he came to, Steve was inside the man’s house on a bed. The man was there, running his hands down Steve’s legs and stomach. “Get off,” Steve barked quickly before the fist struck him again. This time, he wasn’t knocked out, just unable to move. Slowly, the man worked Steve’s jeans and pulled them to his ankles. His shirt was pushed up also. Harshly, the man flipped Steve to his stomach and pressed his head into the pillow. The greaser yelled, finding it muffled. He felt his boxers being pulled to his ankles with his jeans before the man climbed on top of him. Steve could hear the zipper on the man’s pants along with clothing shuffling. The man grabbed Steve’s hair and pulled his head up to face him.

“Tell me you love me, bitch,” he whispered. Steve sneered and spit on him again, earning a slap to the face.

“Go to hell,” Steve spat.

“You little cuss,” he barked. Steve began thrashing, trying to get away, but the man was too heavy to get off. Finally, the man entered him hard, making Steve scream out. That was when he passed out from the pain, glad he couldn’t feel anymore.

He woke up to the shower running and his lower half throbbing like hell. When he tried to sit up, he screamed and fell back down. Flipping to his back, he sat up, groaning and grunting. Slowly, he pulled his boxers back to his waist, then went back for his jeans. Once they were back up and buttoned, he forced himself to his feet, ending up falling. The rapist had untied his hands, but not his feet. The greaser cursed loudly and untied his feet. Using the wall closest to him, he got back to his feet and staggered out of the room. Falling a few times didn’t stop him; if he needed to, he crawled until he got to the door. Once out, he was back to his feet, squinting each time he took a step. Knowing he couldn’t walk far, he was hesitant to catch a ride.

Once someone stopped, made sure it was a woman. He wouldn’t dare to get in a car with another man. She saw the bruises on his face and the way he sat down and quickly became concerned.

“Are you alright, kid?” she asked. Steve flinched.

“Y-yeah...” he whispered, looking in the rearview mirror at his face. It was covered in bruises and there was a hickey or two on his neck. Quickly, he pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in between his knees. He felt like screaming or crying, but not in front of another person. The woman placed a soft hand on his back, making him jump.

“It’s alright, son. I won’t hurt you.” Staring at her smile, he nodded and put his head back between his knees. “Do you... want to go to the hospital?”

“No,” he ordered softly.

“Where do you live?”

After giving her Two-Bit’s address, the whole ride was silent. They got to Two-Bit’s house; Two-Bit himself was sitting on his porch, drinking a beer. When the car approached his house, the rusty haired greaser got suspicious and got to his feet. Steve stepped out, almost falling, but caught himself on the door. Two-Bit was at his side instantly, but Steve pushed him away and staggered up to his friend’s house. The woman gestured for Two-Bit to talk to her, so he leaned in to listen.

“Are you his brother?” she asked.

“I’m a... close friend. What’s wrong with him?”

“From the way he acted during the ride and what was on his face and neck, I’m afraid he might of been... ra... well, sexually assaulted. You should look after him.” Two-Bit felt the blood drain from his face.

“Yes, ma’am. Thanks.” Once the door was closed, she revved off, leaving Two-Bit standing there dazed. Quickly he followed Steve inside, clearly worried. Inside, he didn’t find Steve at first, but found him in the bathroom, cleaning some blood from his mouth. He noticed the Steve was leaning all of his weight onto the sink and off of his legs.

“H-hey, Two-Bit. You don’t mind if... if I crash here, do you?” Steve asked. “My father would beat me to a pulp if he... saw me like this, then Darry would... fire rapid questions at me.”

“Sure, buddy. But I have one question, are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you need anything, just ask. How about you take a shower and I’ll bring you some of my clothes.”

“Sure. And thanks,” Steve whispered. As soon as Two-Bit left, Steve buckled over and finally let himself cry.

I was meaning to make a Steve story and I wanted to do something I don't think anyone else has done. It's going to be a friendship fic between Steve and Two-Bit. Tell me what you think. And if Steve isn't acting like a rape victim would, he's trying to be tough. As soon as he opens up to Two-Bit(if he opens up) you'll see how he feels.