The babysitters club|| Steve Harrington

24

Steve really hated getting beaten up.

The punch, the latest of many, landed on his cheek this time, thoroughly rattling his brain. It wasn't that he hadn't ever gotten beaten up, hell, until a few hours ago, he hadn't even ever won a fight.

His father had always insisted he "man up", which somehow equated to getting used to violence. Steve never really liked any of it, mostly he just tolerated it.

When he was younger, his dad would resort to a few slaps and pushes into furniture. It hurt, although, being a child and having your own father do that to you, Steve didn't really have a choice but to endure it.

It made him feel small and helpless, now too. As if he was seven years old again, staring at a boy too long so his father shoved his face onto the kitchen counter hard enough to bruise.

His face was wet, that's all Steve could tell. Blood, snot and sweat all mixed on his skin. His mouth tasted like copper, a sharp stinging pain between his eyes and on his left cheek where he had just gotten punched.

His vision went blurry an hour ago, now he could barely make out the two figures in front of him. God, how he wished he'd never gotten roped into this business.

"That one stung" Steve coughed, blood dripping down his teeth. He tried to spit it out, making way for air to reach his lungs. He had a hysterical grin stretched across his face, no doubt looking mad. How long ago had he lost his mind? Maybe he was in shock, he'd even laughed a couple times.

"Who do you work for?" The man that spoke was old, with wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. His hair was covered by a hat, but Steve didn't doubt he was graying.

"For the millionth time, I work at Scoops Ahoy!"

This was getting old fast.

How long had he been here? Since getting into the lift, Steve had lost all track of time. How long had they come down here? Hours? Days? How long ago had they been captured? How long had he been continuously beaten up?

Pain made him sluggish and his head throbbed.

"Scoops Ahoy" Steve breathed out, desperately begging the man to understand.

But the General just motioned for the muscle man to keep going.

The next punch landed in his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He'd been punched there so many times, he was afraid he might get internal damage. The punches didn't hurt less with time, his body just ached more.

He curled in on himself, his hands still tied back. Steve could practically feel his insides jostle, as his head spun, trying to process all the pain all over his body.

He wanted it to stop, all of it. Why could he have one fucking year where nothing happened? One year. That's all he asked for.

"What the hell?" He groaned, "Look at my outfit. Look at my outfit!"

The wrinkled man was nothing more than a blob. Steve couldn't even make out his features through the sweat and tears in his eyes. Everything stung, everything hurt. He couldn't even take a breath without his lungs spasming.

"You think I just wear this?" Steve had been yelling until his throat went raw, desperate to convince the man he was innocent. But nothing seemed to be working, "Think I'm a spy in a sailor's uniform?"

That earned him another punch to the chest.

Even though he saw this one coming, it didn't stop it from hurting.

He grunted and fell forward, chin resting on his knees as he tried to keep himself conscious.

Was he even sure this guy knew English other than asking him who he worked for? As if to answer his question, the man spoke again, "How did you get in?"