What if Captain America had a sister? What if her name was Samantha?
Samantha and Steve had always been close. Samantha was 2 years younger than Steve, and he never let her forget it. Steve was 23 when he joined the war, and Samantha thought that was much to young for him to be leaving her. Despite their occasional sibling disputes, they were very close. It never occurred to Sam to even think that her brother was smaller than average. To her he was, and would always be just Steve. Steve thought that Sam was a great sister. She never judged, and she was always there when he needed her to be.
Samantha lay on her couch in front of a roaring fire. Her house could get a little drafty and lonely in the winter months. At the age of 25, Sam was a successful secretary at a law firm. She had made enough money just before Steve went off to war to buy a large townhouse in Brooklyn, New York, and she now lived in the house alone. She enjoyed the solitude most of the time, but occasionally she got lonely. A clap of thunder sounded outside and Sam shuddered. She decided to get up and make some tea. As she made her way to the kitchen, she heard a knock on her door. She stopped in the hallway, debating whether or not to open the door. Wondering who could be outside in this weather, and wondering about her better judgment, she went to the door. When she pulled it open, a man stood there. He was tall, bloody, soaked to the bone, and shaking with cold. "Ahem…hello?" Sam asked. The man raised his head and looked Sam right in the eyes. "Oh God. Steve," was Sam's gasp. "Hey Sami," an exhausted Steve said. "Come in, come in! I can't believe you're here! And you're bleeding! What happened to you?" Sam asked. Then she stopped, seeing Steve's lack of enthusiasm for answering her questions, and decided to hold off on the questioning for now. She helped Steve remove his soaked outer layers and then directed him to the rug in front of the fireplace. "Where are you hurt? And don't lie to me, I can see your bleeding from somewhere," Sam forcefully stated. Steve sighed, "My arm I think. I might have a concussion as well." Sam nodded and went quickly up the stairs to the medicine cabinet that she kept stocked on the occasion that she should ever have need of it. Running back downstairs, Sam began to tend to Steve who was still shaking. After wiping the blood off a long cut on his arm and bandaging it, she looked at his head, and not seeing a specific injury, decided that rest was the best thing for the concussion. "Take off the rest of your clothes and put on this flannel shirt and shorts. I'm pretty sure they're yours that you left here at some point," Sam instructed. She went upstairs again and found the thickest blanket in her whole house. Going back downstairs with it, she wrapped it around a now-clothed Steve and pulled him to her so she could rub some warmth back into him. She ran her hands up and down his arms, being careful of his injury. His shakes slowly subsided, and they sat there in front of the fire together.