Lessons in Rule Breaking and Other Reader-Inserts*Steve Rogers*Reader*

No Apologies Needed - Pt.3/4

You didn't think you had any tears left. You could have been here for hours – or maybe just minutes, it was hard to tell when every beat of your heart felt like a sledgehammer against your ribcage, painful and destructing, instead of making you feel alive. It didn't matter. You were gonna die and now the time was only dragging. You couldn't say you were grateful for the delay in delivery; neither could you say you were looking forward to your death. How could you?

But seeing the men shooting you dirty looks, examining you, sometimes running their filthy fingers over the skin of your arms, nape of your neck or your face, luckily staying away from more intimate parts of your body, it was just making you want to throw up.

So you didn't cry anymore. Goosebumps was a constant reminder of the cold air biting into your skin and all the alarm bells set off in the back in your mind. But your body lacked the energy needed for trembling to warm itself up and on emotional level, you felt nothing. You were just sitting there, unmoving and numb, cold settled into your bones, white blankness shining in your brain.

You almost wished you would fall asleep and... and then never wake up again – just sleep through your own death. That seemed to be a pleasant option, right? But your body wouldn't allow you to doze off. How unfortunate. You were willing to bet your captors would have a good laugh if you told them; if you cared enough to tell them.

But you didn't. And time was everything but flying.

---

The sudden racket sounding above you make your heart stop and you curled yourself onto the chair, your eyes squeezing shut.

The room shook with the explosion and you would swear you could hear the loads of debris falling despite the fact your ears were hurting and ringing. Then the gunshot came, furious screams and cries, barking of orders and a strange whistling noise. A spray of bullets, you thought. How long until a stray would hit you? Or a shot aimed right at you, hell, maybe straight between your eyes?

A bullet to my head. This is it. This is how I die.

Fuck, I don't want to die.

Your eyes snapped open only to be narrowed against the flash of lights and the dust from the explosion still in the air.

The strangest thing was that you would swear the loudest bang had come from your right and from above – while the door was rather on your left, on your level. It was as if the newcomers hadn't entered the expected way.

Which would mean no one had been blown up. No one's insides were on the wall. You ignored the quiet 'yet' in the back of your mind and breathlessly tried to focus on what was happening in front of you, not allowing yourself to give in the hope rising in your chest.

Maybe...?

And then a giant flat thing flew past you, accompanied by the strange sound from earlier and you would swear you glimpsed blue, red and white on it.

First, you didn't make the connection. But when a seriously ripped guy kicked someone only few feet from you, sending him flying backwards – flying – the shocking realization of what was happening overwhelmed you.

Captain America. You were a bit dizzy and a bit out of your mind, but you were pretty sure that there weren't many people running around with a shield coloured in blue, red and white, and obviously with enhanced strength.

When he spared a glance in your direction, staying still for what could be long seconds, you just knew. He wasn't wearing the costume you knew from history books or from pictures of the alien invasion on New York, the suit having less striking colour, but there was a star in the middle of his chest.