Chapter Text
GAIA POV:
Well, David Ramirez… yikes. Five people dead on his very first night out. Not exactly a hero’s debut.
Still, he didn’t know how to control his power yet, so I’ll give him that. But… this is going to cause some trouble for him. Let me check something.
Scanning…
Yep. Cameras. Multiple angles. They caught everything. He’s definitely going to have government agencies breathing down his neck after this—but hey, not my problem.
Now… what should I do next? Hmm…
I know. Captain America.
I’m going to free him.
Let’s see… where is he? Ah—still frozen in the Arctic. Perfect. I know exactly where to find him.
Now, how should I do this? I could just make the ice crack naturally and let him wake up on his own… or—ooh—I could give him fire powers.
Captain America. With fire powers.
Oh, this is too good to pass up. Let’s do it.
Captain America POV:
Steve Rogers. That was his real name. That’s the name he preferred, even after becoming Captain America. He was a good man, once. A soldier who only ever wanted one thing: to fight for his country.
He volunteered for the Super Soldier experiment. It worked. He went from a frail, 5'4 kid to a 6'2 powerhouse built like a tank. His body had been riddled with conditions that should’ve killed him—but somehow, he lived. And now, he was strong.
At first, they put him on stage, a performer for propaganda. But Steve Rogers was never built to dance around in tights—he wanted to fight. And when Bucky was captured, he went rogue. Rescued him. Took down Hydra.
Red Skull had been building weapons—terrible ones. Steve stopped him. But to do that, he crashed the plane carrying those weapons into the Arctic, sacrificing himself.
He’d promised Peggy one last dance. One he never got to keep.
And now…
Darkness. Cold. Silence.
Then… a flicker.
Steve’s mind stirs, slowly, like an old radio trying to catch a signal. His thoughts start piecing themselves together.
…where am I…?
He tries to move—but his arms won’t budge. His lungs won’t fill. He can’t even breathe. Panic starts to claw at him, but he forces it down, steadying himself like a soldier does.
Okay, Rogers. Think.
His last memory: the crash. The ice.
It hits him.
I’m still frozen.
How long has it been? A year? Ten? Longer? He doesn’t know. He can’t know.
He grits his teeth and pushes, muscles straining, but the ice holds firm. Then… something strange happens.
Heat.
From inside him.
At first, it’s faint—like his blood’s running hot—but then it grows, until his chest feels like a furnace. His heartbeat pounds harder, faster, hotter—
And then he feels it. Fire.
“What the hell…?” he mutters under his breath, his voice muffled in the frost.
The ice around him begins to melt—fast. He opens his eyes, blinking against the blinding white glare. Flames lick faintly at his skin, radiating outward, controlled but fierce.
Within minutes, cracks spiderweb through the ice. With one final push, his hand bursts free, slamming against the icy wall.
Then another.
And finally—he pulls himself up, staggering out into the blinding Arctic light.
Steve drops to his knees, gasping for breath. The cold air should’ve frozen him instantly, but instead, his body is warm.
Too warm.
He looks down at his hands. Flames—actual flames—dance along his palms, curling and snapping in the frigid air. Then, slowly, they fade, disappearing into faint embers.
“What the hell… happened to me?” he mutters, his voice low, steady, confused.
His last memory was crashing. He shouldn’t be alive. And now, somehow, he has fire powers? That doesn’t make sense.
Then he spots it—buried deep beneath the ice.
His shield.
Steve clenches his fists, focusing on the strange heat coursing through his veins. Fire swirls in his palm, instinctive, natural, like he’s done this before. He hurls a blazing orb at the frozen ground—the flames erupt violently, hissing and sizzling as they carve a pit straight down to the shield.
“That… was stronger than I meant it to be,” he mutters under his breath, taking a steadying breath. “Guess this isn’t normal fire.”
He drops into the pit, the heat radiating off him keeping the cold at bay. He grips the shield, still locked in ice—but when he pulls, the flames seem to react, melting it free.
The Vibranium is untouched. Perfect.
“Good to see you again,” he whispers, strapping it to his arm.
With a deep breath, he focuses, willing the heat down into his legs. A sudden burst of fire propels him upward like a rocket, sending him flying out of the pit.
“Whoa—whoa, whoa!” Steve flails midair, barely keeping his balance. He lands awkwardly on the ice, skidding to a stop.
He exhales sharply, grounding himself, staring at the faint trails of steam rising off his boots.
“This… is new,” he says quietly, adjusting his shield. “Gonna have to figure this out.”
And as the Arctic wind howls around him, Steve Rogers—Captain America—stands there, alive, burning from within, and very, very confused.