A/N: Someone on Tumblr requested a "Sam Wilson being inspired by Isaiah Bradley" fic, and I was more than happy to oblige :)

"Tell me the story again." Sam Wilson was young, probably too young to be asking about war stories. His mother was never one of those women who liked to listen to her father's old stories, she merely shook her head.

But Sam was not his mother. Whenever his grandfather came to visit, the first thing he would do was sit atop his lap, look up with his eyes as wide as the sky, and beg for that same story.

"The one about Captain America," Sam said, nearly bouncing off of his grandfather's knee.

His Grandfather smiled, "Sam, you know about Captain America already. He lead the Howling Commandos, stopped the Red Skull…" his smile began to broaden.

Sam shook his head, almost in disbelief, "No no no, not that Captain America. The other one." Sam leaned forward, "Please tell it to me."

Yes…the other Captain America. Most people only hear of him through whispers, and the only ones who even know of his existence are those who share his skin. The black Captain America. The greatest story Sam had ever heard. The story of a man who—despite what his country had done to him, still stood behind his flag and risked his life for a country that treated him like…well, Sam wasn't really aloud to curse.

"I've told you that story so many times, you could probably tell it to me," his grandfather said.

Sam nodded. "Sure I could," Sam raised his hands and began, "First they chose many black soldiers to test the super soldier serum. Most of them died, but one of them survived." Sam's face began to brighten, "That was Captain America. The first one. Whenever he went out to fight, he wore the good ol' Red White and Blue and a special shield made just for him."

That shield was made for him and his people. A sign of the struggles he faced in the war zone, and the struggles his people faced back home. He was fighting a war on two fronts…wasn't that right?

He was brave. He never stopped fighting. Even when the odds were stacked against him. Even when his own country wanted him to fail. He still fought on. Could even the great Steve Rogers have done those feats with his country spitting in his face? Sam wasn't sure.

On school days when he tried to share his grandfather's stories with his friends, they would only laugh at him, and tease him.

"You're such a bird brain Sammy," they would scoff.

And that was if they felt like being nice.

Some days there were fights. Fights that sent Sam home with a bloody nose or a black eye.

"Captain America was white you moron. I'm sick of your lies."

When he came home, his mother would clean him up and wash him off.

"Sam, what did I tell you about telling those stories at school?" He voice was soft as butter milk, even when she wanted to sound stern. Sometimes Sam thought his mother was a princess from a faraway kingdom, she certainly sounded like it.

"But mom, it's true. Grandpa told me."

She shook her head. "Sam please, I know how much these stories mean to you but," there was a small hitch in her throat, as if her voice had gotten caught on something. "I-I can't take you coming home like this alright." She washed the last bit of blood off his cheek. "Promise me."

And Sam did. Sam promised. His mother meant more to him than some stupid fight, or story, no matter how awesome that story was. He may have stopped telling it to his friends in school, but that didn't mean he stopped believing it. That didn't mean he stopped living his life by the honor of the first Captain America.

On his way home from school, when the sky was clear and the sun peaked over the treetops, Sam would gaze up into the clouds. Captain America.

"I'm gonna be like you some day."