Trust Me (Steve Rogers Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

The alarm wakes me up at precisely 6:27 in the morning, just like always. And I snooze it for the next three minutes, just like always. I never get enough sleep, but I also never go to bed early, so it's kind of my fault. Sleep is overrated, and nightmares tend to take away what little sleep I get anyway. I've learned to function on five or six hours regularly.

Groaning, I shut off the clock and drag myself out of bed. I hop into the shower, letting the hot water rush over me as I belt high notes like they're nothing. Most of them sound awful, but it is early. I pull up some music on my phone before putting on my uniform, a pair of black jeans and a pink blouse that's a bit too form-fitting for my taste. My honey brown hair gets tossed into a messy side braid.

Two black coffees and a granola bar later, I'm out the door, trotting down the bustling streets of New York City. Just like every day, I think about how grateful I am to be here, that I'm finally safe. I've lived in the city for two years. Time really does fly. Something seems different today, though. There's a sense of apprehension in the air, like the entire city is just waiting for something to happen. Shaking my head, I enter the back door of "New York Donuts," my place of business. Yes, it's a very creative title. Yes, I hate my job with a burning passion. No, I have no better options.

"Evans, you're late for your shift!" Barks Marge, my supervisor. She glares at me over an incredibly tall stack of pancakes and shakes a fat finger in my direction.

I check my watch. "Marge, by two minutes."

"Late!" She calls, ignoring my comment.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry!"

"You'll be staying late for cleanup tonight!" I sigh and grab my apron from the rack. It's going to be a long day.

"Hey, Ames, table three needs someone," my coworker, Jenna, tells me while balancing seven plates in her small arms. She looks even smaller than usual under all of those dishes.

"Do you need help?" I ask, eyeing the load. Without waiting for a response, I take a few of the dishes from her. She smiles gratefully.

"You're too good."

"I'm also too late." I roll my eyes. "She is in a mood today."

"When isn't she?"

"True."

-------------------

After hours of endless work, rude customers, and a boss who probably belongs in an asylum, not to mention an extremely uncomfortable encounter with my ex, I'm left alone in the shop to wipe down the counters as punishment for being two minutes too tardy. It's nice to be alone. I put on headphones and hum along with my Broadway playlist, dancing around the empty room with a broom. Broadway is something I've discovered that takes me out of reality for a bit. In fact, I'm blaring the music so loud that I don't notice the commotion outside until part of a broken car door flies right through the front window.

"AAAAAAAA!" I scream, dropping the mugs I was carrying into the kitchen. They shatter on the hardwood floor. I cower under a table, trying to steady my breathing. It doesn't work. Not in the slightest.

What's going on? I take a peek out the now-glassless window. The streets are complete mayhem. Screams and crashing sounds surround me. What are those things? They look like aliens, but aliens don't exist. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize I'm going to have to run. I barely ever run anymore, not since...

No. Nonononononono. If they catch me, if they find out, I'll have to leave. I'll have to go back on the run. But after two years, New York is my home. More shrieks pierce the air outside, causing me to scream again. Glass flies in the air, scraping my arms and face. There's no option. Whatever's happening out there, I'm going to get myself hurt or killed if I stay and hide under the table.

Run, America, run.

Gulping, I make sure my shoes are tied and stand up, tossing the apron off. My muscles tense as the energy builds. I wipe the sweat off of my palms before taking a deep breath and running. I speed past cars faster than people can see me. I missed this. I feel so light, so wild, so free. Of course, this emotion is dampened with the whizzing bullets, but I've learned to take what I can get.

As I zoom past, I spot a few familiar faces, familiar by the news, I mean. The Hulk. Black Widow. It's really cool, but I don't want any of them to notice me. I dive behind a car when I see Captain America, but also to take a breather. I haven't run this much in years. I peek through the windows and get a look at him, just because I can.

He's strong. That's the only thought running through my head as he takes on multiple of these ruthless aliens. He handles the situation by himself, using his shield as his only weapon. An agent is above, firing rapidly from a small jet. The captain uses his shield to protect himself, but he's exposed on the other side. They're going to shoot him. My legs move before I think and I'm dashing past him as a bullet hits my shoulder. I yell, which distracts him. He never saw me coming. No one ever does.

"Who are you? Miss, you're hurt," he says, knocking an alien backward with his shield and coming towards me. Stupid. Why did I do that? He would have survived. I scramble back, not wanting him to touch me, to know me, to even see me. He rips the mask off and takes my shoulder in his strong yet gentle hands. I find myself staring at his face a few seconds too long. He's handsome. Luckily, he doesn't notice, as he's too preoccupied by my bullet wound. "That looks bad. I can get you to SHIELD, they'll help-"

"No!" I cry, yanking myself away from him, injuring my shoulder even more. It feels like fire. "Please don't take me to SHIELD," I beg hysterically, hands shaking. I try to control my voice. It slips when I'm nervous. "Please, I'm begging you!"

"What? Why? Who are you?" He's so concerned. I want to let him help me, I really do, but I can't risk it.

"It doesn't matter. I just- I need to go. Now. Please let me. Captain, don't try to follow me."

He must see the desperation and terror in my eyes, because he nods. "Please go find yourself some help, then. I'll forget I found you."

Relief floods me, but I have no time for that, nor do I have time to thank him. I take a deep breath, walk until he can't see me, and start running again, gone in a flash. The movement hurts my shoulder even more, but I'll ignore it. I've felt far worse pain than a gunshot.

Minutes later, I'm safely in my dingy apartment, where I pull a first aid kit out from under my bed. The wound doesn't look too bad, just a skim. I've seen much worse. I grit my teeth and clean it out, ignoring the few tears that stream down my face. Then stitches, which was always my least favorite part. I don't like sewing myself back up. After that, I put on a bandage and lay in bed, trying to get some sleep, but my mind can't stop running everything that happened today.

I exposed myself and my powers in front of Captain America, the leader of the Avengers.

It'll be a miracle if they don't find me by tomorrow morning.

Hi! New series, I hope you're as excited as I am!!! What do you think so far?