Trust Me (Steve Rogers Fanfiction)

Chapter 20

AMERICA'S POV

I open my eyes slowly. I'm in a bed, one softer than I've felt in a long time, in a room that smells like spring-scented candles. There are little twinkle lights above me, and Steve is slumped over asleep on a chair next to the bed. I barely remember him, but it's kind of sweet. My movement startles him awake. He pushes himself up and rubs a hand across his eyes.

"Hey," he mutters tiredly.

"Hi," I reply, hesitation in my words. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's no problem. I just didn't want you to wake up alone."

"Oh. Thank you, I guess." I sit up straighter, wincing a little. I feel better than I did before, but it all hurts. Steve just watches, sensing that I want to do things on my own. I appreciate it. "Where am I?"

"Avengers Tower, in New York City." His voice is soft, probably to keep me calm. He doesn't need to. I don't feel threatened by him. He makes me feel safe. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Tell me about myself," I plead. He stares. "I don't know the girl I used to be. I want to find out who she was."

He smiles a bit. "You're America Evans. You love New York City. Your favorite musical was Phantom, even though you've never seen it. You were going to join the Avengers, but didn't know what you wanted to call yourself. We used to go walking around the city. You introduced me to Chinese food." He chuckles, and so do I. "You weren't particularly trusting, but you were starting to open up to me."

"I sound pretty nice." The girl he describes is foreign to me. She was happy. I don't remember the moments he talks about. That was another life, one I don't know I'll ever get back.

"You are."

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"What did I do?" I whisper, staring down at my hands.

"America, I don't think now is the-"

"I know it wasn't good, Steve," I say. I look him right in his clear, conflicted blue eyes. "Don't do this to me. Don't try to cover things up. I'm sick of secrets."

"You were gone six months," he starts, fiddling with his hands. He really doesn't want to tell me any of this. I can hear it in his voice.

"That long? They told me three." I bite my lip and sigh. "What else?"

"Banner thinks they wiped your memory multiple times, because you kept starting to remember and rebel against them."

"Oh." I look at a scar on my arm. America, jagged and freshly white.

"They used you. We had no idea how to find you, because you were so fast."

"Steve, how many?" I ask, voice trembling. He's avoiding the worst of it all. How many did I kill?

"America, I-"

"I want to know." I tell myself that's not a lie. He takes a deep breath, and I brace myself. "Please."

"Eight, that we know of."

Something inside of me collapses. Eight people. I killed eight people without mercy, without thought. They're dead because of me. I orphaned children, I widowed spouses. Tears pour down my face, tears I can't even try to stop. Steve moves to sit next to me, and I sob onto his shoulder. He doesn't say anything. What's there to say? It's okay? Because it's not. It's not okay at all.

"I promised I wouldn't go back," I mumble into his shirt. "I knew what they made me do. I swore I would stay away, never kill anyone ever again, but they got me back and they used me, and I killed for them! Steve, I was just their murderous puppet, as if all the time between my escape and now never happened!" I sniff, trying to get ahold of myself, but there's no way that's happening yet.

"Get it all out," he whispers, voice deep and comforting. "Get it all out now. It's okay to not be okay."

"I hate myself," I whisper.

"Don't say that," he replies.

"It's true. I hate myself. I wish I was dead!"

"Don't say that," he repeats. "That wasn't you. The girl I know would never do all that."

"I appreciate that, but I don't know the girl you're talking about anymore."

"I'll help you, then. You just have to let me," he says. I nod and lay my head on his shoulder, letting silent tears stream down my face. My eyes close, and I drift into a calm, almost asleep lull. For the first time in a long time, I feel something close to peace. Then someone knocks on the door, and I jump off of him, automatically reaching for the knife I keep in my boot, but I'm not wearing my boots. I have no weapon. They took my dagger away from me.

"It's okay, you're safe. I promise," Steve reassures me. Am I? I try to believe him, but when he goes to grab the door, I stay in his shadow, right behind him. He opens it to reveal a man I don't recognize, with brown hair and eyes. "Clint, remember what Bruce said. You're not supposed to be here right now."

The man, Clint, shrugs. His eyes land on me momentarily before refocusing on Steve. "I know. I can listen to reason, but you can bet Fury won't."

"Fury? What's he doing here?" Steve asks.

"Wants to see her." I shirk back. I don't want to see anyone new. I have no idea who they're talking about.

"Well, he can't."

"You think he'll listen to you?"

"He's going to." Steve glances back at me. "Clint, go get...Nat." Clint nods and leaves, returning with the red-haired woman, Natasha. The one who rescued me. I don't know her and I certainly don't trust her, but at least I recognize her.

"Steve, I thought we weren't supposed to be in here, but apparently there's a party," she says, staring at the men.

"I know. But I'm going to go talk sense into Fury, and someone needs to stay here with America." He turns to me. "Are you okay with that? I didn't think you'd want to leave the room yet, and I definitely don't want to deal with Fury, let alone you."

I nod, giving him a weak smile. "I'll be fine." I'm glad he at least thought of that.

"I'll be right back. Let's go, Clint." They go, leaving the two of us together alone. I wander a bit away from her, drawn to pictures hanging on the wall. One interests me in particular, one of Natasha and me. Her arm is sling around my shoulder and we're both laughing.

"Were we friends?" I whisper, touching the photo.

"Yes. I was the second one you met here." She gives me a small smile.

"I wish I could remember." I say this mostly to myself.

"I know you don't believe me, but you are safe here. We're going to take care of you."

I smile a bit and nod. This seems to placate her. We don't say anything else to each other. I pick at my scar until my name drips the slightest amount of blood.

That's what they said last time.