Thrown Into Secrets

Steve gets mad, almost crying because of a diary

!!! IMPORTANT !!!

So, a warning to more delicate readers or people who might need a warning before hand. This us the chapter where the things get heavy and a lot of background on Klaus and Grant is dropped. There is mentions of phisical abuse, domestic violence, murder, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, rape, and attempted suicide. Only half of these issues get resolved during the time this story takes place and honestly, they don't get resolved until much later. Eventually there could be explanations, but due to the nature of the incidents as they occur, most won't be for a long time.
I didn't feel that it was necessary to write out fifteen years worth of journal entries, so as a guide, if the entries are consecutive with no marks to suggest otherwise, than they are written one after the other. If the entries have a dashed line between them, then there are entries into the journal between those that are written here.

NOTES ^^^
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Walking quickly to Grant’s tent, Steve greeted the two men out in front, waiting for him. One seemed to be in his mid thirties, but the other man looked like a child, only in his late teens. Only the older man spoke, while the younger man sweated profusely, seemingly terrified of Steve. “We were sent to carry your things Captain Rogers Sir. We have the boxes with the covers that you always specifically ask for.” 

Steve looked at the piles of boxes, just wide and long enough to fit a file into, but tall enough to fit at least a drawer and a half of them. “Good job. Wait out here.” Taking the boxes with him, Steve got to work, placing the folders into the boxes, all in order and carefully numbering the top of them, one to three. In the third box, that was only one fourth of the way full, Steve placed the metal box that had been in the desk, securely locked, and all of the books, placing the cover on. Having a few more of the boxes left, Steve emptied the closet, neatly folding clothes and packing them away, slipping into a clean uniform before putting the top onto the two filled boxes. Steve numbered then four and five, then set them by the others, grabbing the last two empty ones and taking them back to the closet. Opening the drawers, Steve looked over the impressive small armory settled there, filled with an array of weapons, most of the guns with silent shot attachments. Steve hated the thought of carrying a gun, but he pulled out a pistol that called to him and attached it to his hip, the weight settling there like an old friend. Picking up each weapon carefully, he wrapped them up securely with the cloth he found under each one and put them in the boxes, long range weapons in one box, close combat in the other. Numbering those as well, Steve put the pen he had in his back pocket where he found a small handkerchief that looked well used. Walking over to the middle of the tent Steve took down the orb of glass shards, careful not to cut himself on the few points that hadn't been worn smooth, and placed it down on the top of the pile of boxes. Pushing the tent flap to the side, Steve peeked out where the two men were still standing. “I’m finished.” Silently they both came in, knowing exactly what they had to do as they made their way over to the empty desk, picking it up and shuffling out of the tent, moving it over to a truck waiting a few yards away. Coming back and doing the same with the closet, Steve got to work moving the boxes, files first, to the back of the truck as well, securing them in place with rope. Both men retreated into the tent, coming out with a box each, slipping it onto the truck as Steve tied those ones down as well. After tying down the sixth box, he heard a crash from behind him, and the whole camp went silent, the tension in the air skyrocketing to the feel of a firefight. He turned around to see the young man who had carried the last box, on his knees, looking at the contents of the box he had dropped on the ground with a terrified look on his face. The whole camp held their breath, looking between the young man and their captain, waiting to see what would happen as the terrified boy started frantically picking up the assorted knives on the ground. 

Steve watched with a hardened expression as the kid clutched a hand covered in blood to his chest, trying not to get any on the objects in his hands, until he decided to walk over, feeling dozens of eyes on him as he approached. Steve knelt to the ground, grabbing the boy’s bleeding hand, tightening his grip as the terrified boy tried to rip it away, then reaching into his back pocket for the handkerchief. “Please don’t cut it off!” Steve froze at the sound of the boy’s scream.