MCU : Child Of Winter

It was the year 1943.

Four years had passed since the Second World War began. The world trembled under the weight of fear, fire, smoke, and sorrow. But for me… it had been far longer.

I had watched the world change since the 17th century. I had seen empires fall and cities rise, watched ice melt and reform across centuries. I had wandered through frozen forests, whispered atop mountain peaks, carried by snowflakes to places that no longer existed. For over 200 years, I had followed the wind—my only companion.

But today… something felt different.

I stood atop a narrow building in London, the sky a dull gray, choked with the tension of war. Sirens had blared not long ago. People hurried below, clutching their coats, clinging to hope. The wind brushed my shoulders, tossing my hair back as if trying to tell me something.

"Hey," I whispered with a crooked grin, "take me somewhere."

And just like that—it did.

The wind answered—sharp, focused, eager. It lifted me from the rooftop, carrying me across the ocean, through the clouds, piercing the frozen breath of the upper atmosphere.

I found myself drifting above Brooklyn, New York.

The city buzzed beneath me—chimneys and trolleys, neon lights and factory whistles. I floated down to the street, hidden in plain sight as always, my bare feet touching the cracked pavement chilled by early spring air.

I passed a newsstand. My eyes flicked toward the bold headline:

STARK EXPO OPENS TOMORROW NIGHT – Howard Stark Promises "The Future"

I froze. My gaze scanned the rest of the paper—names, dates, places. And then it hit me.

Stark Expo.

Howard Stark.

Brooklyn.

My heart pounded.

"…Wait a second," I muttered. "Is this… Marvel?"

I looked up at the sky. "Really? Out of all the possible worlds… you dropped me here?"

The wind swirled, unapologetic.

I shook my head, laughing quietly. "Alright then. If this is the MCU… I need to see for myself. I need to go. I need to witness it."

The next morning, I set out for Queens. It didn't take long—I followed the wind, leaping rooftop to rooftop, unseen, unheard. My breath left a faint frost in my wake, quickly fading in the spring warmth.

I stopped atop a small apartment building, crouched low as I peered into a nearby alley.

That's when I saw him.

Steve Rogers.

He looked just like I remembered. Small. Determined. He was being shoved around by a group of guys, his fists up, voice defiant, even though he didn't stand a chance.

But before they could do any more damage, someone intervened.

"Hey! That's enough!"

A figure in a military uniform stepped into the alley, confidence in every stride.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky. Steve's best friend.

He stood in front of Steve, fists ready, eyes blazing with loyalty. The men backed off, muttering curses, and Steve looked up with a bruised grin.

I exhaled slowly, relief flooding my chest. "Good," I whispered. "This is the MCU."

And that meant everything I knew—every movie, every timeline, every threat—was real.

Which meant I needed to be careful.

And maybe… just maybe… I had a role to play.

Night fell over Brooklyn, and the city transformed. What was factories and smoke by day became light—electric, glittering, full of wonder. I stood atop a tall lamppost near the Expo grounds, cloaked in shadow and frost, watching the crowd gather like moths to flame.

The Stark Expo was everything I hoped for… and more.

A grand stage had been set, adorned with sleek silver arches and banners proclaiming:

"Better Living Through Technology"

"Tomorrow is Today!"

Families walked beneath rows of hanging lights, past booths and displays showcasing robots, flying machines, and shiny new cars. Children held balloons, couples smiled arm-in-arm, and music floated from phonographs.

From where I stood, I could see it all—twinkling lights, shimmering energy, hope burning in people's eyes.

And then the spotlight shifted.

The crowd hushed.

Out stepped a man in a sharp suit, his hair slicked back, his mustache sharper than his smile.

Howard Stark.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, voice booming, "what if I told you that in just a few years, your car won't even need wheels?"

The crowd erupted in cheers.

He gestured dramatically, and with a roar, a shiny red convertible rolled onto the stage. Its surface gleamed under the lights like polished candy.

"I present to you the world's first self-sustaining, self-propelling flying car!" Howard grinned. "Yes, I said flying."

The audience leaned in.

With a mechanical hum, the wheels turned, turbines ignited, and the car began to lift off the platform—just a few inches. The crowd gasped.

It floated. Hovered.

Then, with a loud sputter, the back end dropped.

It wobbled.

And crashed back down onto the stage with a metallic clang.

The crowd groaned.

Howard raised both arms, completely unfazed. "Well—I said a few years."

Laughter echoed across the Expo grounds.

I chuckled too, covering my mouth. Classic showmanship.

Just like his son would believe in, I thought.

As the crowd dispersed, I slipped down from the lamppost, landing softly in the snow behind a vendor cart. No one noticed me, as usual. I walked among the people, watching them laugh, point, and dream. It reminded me of winter festivals in tiny villages centuries ago—only grander, brighter, and full of machines.

But I didn't have time to linger.

I needed to follow Steve Rogers.

The Expo lights still sparkled in the distance as I followed Steve weaving through the crowd. The music had faded into the night, replaced by the low murmur of people heading home.

Steve didn't follow them.

Instead, he slipped away from the main square and turned down a quieter part of the Expo—right behind one of the secondary pavilions. There, tucked between food stands and supply booths, was a small sign:

U.S. Army Recruitment Station – Enlist Today

It looked temporary, hastily assembled like most wartime posts. A row of chairs, a desk, and a curtained-off area for medical exams. A flickering bulb swung overhead.

Steve stood there a moment, reading the "Join the Fight!" poster on the side wall, showing square-jawed soldiers in heroic poses. He glanced at his reflection—skinny, small, flat-footed. Then looked back at the poster.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Trying again?" called a familiar voice.

I turned toward it at the same time Steve did.

James Buchanan Barnes, in full uniform, hair slicked back, hands casually in his coat pockets. The perfect contrast to Steve—tall, confident, and strong.

"Yeah," Steve mumbled. "One more try."

Bucky shook his head, stepping closer. "You really think they'll let you in this time? You could get arrested, man."

Steve shrugged. "Maybe. But I've got the right papers. I double-checked."

"You also double-checked last time," Bucky said, though his tone wasn't cruel. Just tired concern.

Steve didn't reply right away. He looked back at the crowd—families sharing final snacks, couples posing for pictures, soldiers laughing together.

"I just… I can't stay home while they're out there dying, Buck," Steve said finally. "You're leaving. Everyone's leaving."

"And you think lying about your health is gonna help?"

Steve turned to him, something raw behind his eyes. "I don't care how many times I get rejected. This is my fight too."

There was a pause.

Bucky hesitated, then added with a crooked smile, "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Steve looked at him, trying not to smile. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky sighed, smirking. "You little punk."

Steve grinned. "Jerk."

As Bucky turned to leave, Steve spoke again. "Don't win the war till I get there."

Bucky laughed. Then his tone softened again.

He looked at Steve one last time before disappearing into the night crowd.

I stayed above, crouched on the tent pole, watching.

I had seen brave men before. I had seen warriors and cowards, kings and tyrants, over the centuries. But there was something different about Steve Rogers. Not just because he wanted to fight. But because…

Dr. Abraham Erskine stepped out from behind the medical curtain, as if he'd been sitting there all along, watching.

He looked at Steve for a long moment, then slowly approached.

"You know," he said with a soft German accent, "you should not lie on your enlistment forms."

Steve stood straighter. "I—I wasn't trying to lie, I just…"

Erskine gently interrupted, not angry, just curious. "So… you want to kill Nazis?"

Steve shook his head quickly.

"I don't want to kill anyone," he replied, his voice honest and firm. "I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."

I stood on the rooftop, listening. That wasn't just an answer—it was a principle. And when Dr. Erskine gave a slight smile, I knew he felt it too.

"Very well," he said softly. "Come with me."

And just like that…

history changed.