In 1943 Steven Grant Rogers was enlisted to the United States Army.
Everyone knows the righteous, patriotic Captain America and his story. People might have heard of his mother, Sara, who was a nurse and died of tuberculosis. Perhaps some have even...
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They had travelled to eternity, at least, that's what the last weeks had felt like for the young soldier. The sun didn't seem to shine anymore, the air was always thick with dust, gunpowder and the smell of rotting corpses. After having lost count of how many enemies he had shot down, William was starting to feel more and more quilty. But in the mids of a battle, he would scream for strength. He would force his eyes open and face the evil. He would time and time tell himself that all this, killing other humans, sons, brothers and fathers, was so that people like Rosa could feel safe.
Because memories of Rosa kept him alive, kept him sane. But even the knowledge that Rosa was safe from the ugliness of the world did not give the young soldier a night of rest.
After another horrendous gunfire, they had reached a small village that was too difficult for Will to pronounce. He knew that all those houses, small shops that stood now broken, shattered by the bullets, had mere hours ago belonged to the germans.
He leaned against one of the tanks, face covered with grime and dirt, clothes smelling of this awful stench that came with war. His stomach was grumbling, a small shaking vibration still running up and down his arms. A void opening in his chest, threatening to swallow his humanity. And in the centre of the endless abyss there were those grey eyes, the young soldier, the first Nazi he had seen.
"I reckon you were too tired to realise you had so generously offered me the last cracker." John said, placing the last kracker on the tip of his tongue as he pushed some loose dark coloured curls out of his green eyes, knowing he had to cut his hair soon if he didn't want it to start bothering him in the most anxious situations. "Or maybe, you're just a lying thief John, a little egotistical Brit." the older of the two narrowed his green eyes, leaning closer to the smirking boy. "You little— Captain!" John suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening as he saw the taller man approach.
"Unpack, find shelter for the night, the house in the east, the red one with white door go there. The patrols have looked over the village, all nazis have been taken hostage to be sent to the war prison. John, you tell Hoare and others where we crash. Rogers, with me." Carter had a cold undertone to his voice, and William had already realised it was always like that after or before the bullet rain. Michael Carter's eyes would change, the calm demeanour would turn and every time William would glance at Captain Carter, he would see the determined solder who had already left his soul to the battlefield.
Without bothering to answer, he jogged to catch up with Captain Carter, making sure to keep just enough distance from the brooding man. He hadn't seen much of Captain, but he knew the man was keeping a close eye on him and often pulled William close to him whenever they were in the middle of the battle. In all honesty, everything was starting to catch up to William. Things were... painful.
He had met new people, and the next day they were gone. and it hurt, it hurt more than he had imagined.
"I cannot have your death in my conscience, Rogers." Michael's voice was dark and instead of seeing the tiredness in it, Will mistook it for fury. His blue eyes blinked up in surprise, making Michaels inside squirm in an overbearing quilt. How could he have allowed him to be there for so long? What sort of Captain allows underage soldiers into battles? Shame on his name, shame on his title, shame on him. Michael watched how the large, innocent eyes seemed to glow against the dirt and grime that covered the youthful face. Dirt and grime that shouldn't be there for another few years, or ever.
