MCU : Child Of Winter

I had no purpose. No duty. No destiny I could see. So I followed Steve Rogers.

Ever since Dr. Erskine looked into his eyes and saw something the rest of the world missed. Maybe it was curiosity… maybe something more. He was transferred to a military training camp in New Jersey. I drifted along, gliding from rooftop to rooftop, hiding among shadows and smoke. I perched on tent poles, watched the lights go out one by one across the barracks at night, and stood high on the flagpole during morning drills, the wind wrapping around my bare feet. The smell of sweat and dust filled the air.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Steve would look toward me. A flick of his eyes toward the rooftops, or a brief pause during training like he sensed something unseen. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was my imagination.

Every day was the same. He lagged behind during sprints. He fell during obstacles. He could barely carry a rifle, let alone another man. Other recruits called him names or ignored him altogether. But he never gave up. Not once. And that's what made him different.

Then came the flagpole test.

The drill sergeant had the platoon run laps until they collapsed from exhaustion. Then, he stopped them in front of a towering flagpole. The American flag flapped proudly at the top.

"Alright, ladies!" he barked. "Whoever gets that flag can ride back to base with Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips. The rest of you can run it back."

One by one, the recruits scrambled up the pole—only to slide down, covered in sweat and failure. The sergeant scoffed, "Nobody's gotten that flag in seventeen years."

Steve said nothing. He stepped forward, crouched at the base of the pole, and looked at it differently.

Smart. Quiet.

He pulled out the pins at the bottom, and the entire pole clattered down with a metallic thud. The others stared in shock.

Steve calmly picked up the flag, handed it to the sergeant, and climbed into the back of the jeep with Agent Carter and the Colonel.

I laughed. Genuinely. There was something more fun about seeing this unfold in real time. No scripts. No camera angles. Just Steve being Steve—clever, underestimated, always standing tall even when he's the smallest man in the room.

Later, I watched Dr. Erskine argue with Colonel Phillips. Erskine had already chosen Steve to receive the serum. Phillips was unconvinced.

"He's a good man," Erskine said calmly.

"He's a scrawny kid from Brooklyn," Phillips snapped. "He's got no muscle, no speed—"

"He doesn't need those. That's why he must be chosen."

Phillips shook his head. "We are making a soldier, not a saint."

To prove his point, the colonel grabbed a dummy grenade and hurled it into a group of resting recruits.

"GRENADE!"

Chaos exploded. Recruits screamed and dove for cover.

All except one.

Steve Rogers didn't flinch. He leapt onto the grenade, curling his body over it. "GET BACK!" he shouted, arms wide to shield the others.

There was silence. No explosion.

Phillips and Erskine exchanged glances.

Steve lay still a moment longer before peeking up.

"Is… is everyone okay?"

That moment, even though I'd seen it in the film a hundred times, gave me chills. There was no hesitation. No calculation. Just instinct.

I understood then why Dr. Erskine saw him differently.

A few days later, it was time. Steve was chosen. The transformation was ready.

I followed him and Peggy Carter through the streets early in the morning. We moved through alleyways and dim sidewalks. I stayed above, walking across the rooftops, cloaked by cloud and frost.

At one point, Steve paused and looked back.

"Did you see that?" he asked.

Peggy turned. "See what?"

Steve blinked. "Nothing. Thought I saw something... never mind."

They reached a small shop front. Hidden inside was the secret SSR facility.

There, Howard Stark met them with his usual flair, and Dr. Erskine waited patiently.

"Are you ready?" the doctor asked.

Steve nodded.

I slipped into the upper rafters as the officials filed in—senators, officers, investors. One of them sat not far from me. He shivered suddenly, pulling his coat tighter. I smiled faintly. They could feel me, even if they couldn't see me.

Steve was strapped into a transformation chamber. The light dimmed. Stark adjusted the power levels.

"This may hurt," Dr. Erskine warned. "But it will be over quickly."

Serum injected. Steve winced. Then the main procedure began. He was enclosed inside the chamber. Lights flared, machines hummed.

"Begin," Stark called.

Power surged.

Steve screamed.

"Shut it down!" Erskine shouted.

"No!" Steve cried. "I can do this! Do it!"

The energy grew louder. Brighter. Until—

Silence.

Then… the door opened.

And there he stood.

Steve Rogers—reborn. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Muscles sculpted, eyes sharper, breath steady.

Gasps echoed.

Then he turned—looked straight up—at me.

He frowned. "Dr. Erskine, who is that—"

But he didn't finish.

A blast exploded across the gallery. Flames tore through the balcony. Glass shattered. Bodies fell.

Except for one point. The space around me remained untouched.

A single man emerged from the smoke. A Hydra spy. Gun drawn. Cold, precise.

He fired once.

Dr. Erskine fell.

And the world shifted again.

Screams filled the laboratory.

People scrambled over overturned chairs and shattered glass. Some soldiers fired blindly into the smoke, but the Hydra agent moved like a phantom—fast, precise, ruthless. His hand clutched the last intact vial of Super Soldier Serum, his other hand gripping a smoking pistol.

Steve barely had time to look down at Dr. Erskine's body.

His eyes, once filled with wonder, now burned with fury. "He's getting away!" he growled.

Without waiting, Steve burst into motion.

He crashed through a side door, feet pounding against metal stairs. People shouted after him, but he didn't stop. I followed, the wind carrying me above the rooftops as I watched him race through the city streets, barefoot, shirtless, but faster than anything I'd ever seen.

The Hydra agent sprinted through the market district, shoving pedestrians aside, knocking down crates and wagons. He turned down a side alley, ducked behind a delivery truck, and fired his pistol at random to clear his path.

Steve followed relentlessly.

He leapt over carts, vaulted fences, and shoved a newspaper stand aside like it was made of paper. He didn't even seem to realize how fast and strong he was now—his body moved instinctively, driven only by purpose.

I flew overhead, keeping pace as the Hydra agent stole a car and peeled away down the road. Steve chased on foot. The car turned sharply, tires screaming, but Steve cut through an alley and intercepted it from the other side, slamming his bare hands into the hood.

The car flipped.

Metal screamed. Smoke burst upward. The driver stumbled from the wreck, bloodied but alive. He pulled a small child from the wreckage and held her hostage with a pistol.

The crowd screamed and scattered.

Steve stepped forward, hands raised.

The Hydra agent sneered. "Stay back!"

Steve didn't move. "You don't have to do this."

He shifted slightly. The child in the man's grip trembled, eyes wide with fear.

Then, in a flash of movement, the agent threw the child into the river and bolted.

Without hesitation, Steve dove in after her.

I darted downward, hovering close to the water's edge. The girl's scream had barely left her lips before Steve burst from the surface with her in his arms. The crowd erupted in cheers.

"She's fine!" someone shouted.

Steve placed the girl down gently. She coughed, then cried. He turned his gaze back toward the alley the Hydra agent had escaped through.

"I can swim!" the girl said, trying to be brave.

Steve gave her a smile before sprinting again, soaked to the bone.

After Steve go I pointed my staff toward the little girl and, with a swift motion, lifted her gently out of the water

The chase led toward the docks. The Hydra agent now sprinted on foot, clearly wounded. Steve closed the gap in seconds. He tackled the man to the ground, sending the serum vial skittering across the wooden planks.

Defeated, the Hydra spy reached into his mouth and bit down on a false tooth.

Steve lunged forward—but it was too late.

Crack.

The man seized, foam spilling from his lips.

"HYDRA… will never die," he whispered—and then slumped lifeless.

Steve stood over him, chest heaving.

The vial of Super Soldier Serum the spy had stolen… shattered in the dirt beside him.

I watched silently from a shadow above the dock, crouched along the mast of a nearby boat.

That evening, the press exploded.

"Mystery Man Saves Girl From Drowning!""Secret Government Experiment Goes Public!""Captain America?"

That last one stuck.

I watched from a rooftop as they cleaned the lab, carried Dr. Erskine's body away, and locked down the remaining equipment. Howard Stark stood beside Peggy, shaking his head. Colonel Phillips barked orders, face grim.

Steve stood alone, hands clenched at his sides. Whatever joy he'd felt from the transformation had faded. His eyes looked toward the stars.

This wasn't how the world expected its heroes to be born—not with applause, not with ceremony—but with loss.