Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained herein. They belong to the owners of Supernatural and Marvel. The plot and many of the lines are property of Marvel. This disclaimer applies to the whole story. I do not own the image; I found it on Pinterest.

Rating: T for violence and trauma.

Author's Notes: Not so much a crossover as it is two worlds mixed together. This story assumes you at least know the basics of both worlds. The looks reference for the supernatural characters is late season 6; that's where they are pulled from.

Notes about the Characters: The characters from Supernatural are, for the most part, put into the world of Captain America. They keep most of their personality, character traits, and looks; for example, Dean acts and looks like Dean, not Steve Rogers, except for a few exceptions. Some main characters are kept the same for CA; Fury is the same and so is Sam Wilson, though for obvious reasons he can't be named Sam, so I changed his name to Rob (Robert) in honour of Bobby, though he is not Bobby. Joanna (Jo) is the Black Widow, but her name is Zhanna, Russian for Joanna. If things get too confusing, ask for a cast list and I'll put one up.

Captain Winchester: The Winter Soldier

In the dawn of a spring day in 2014, a man jogged around the lake in Washington, D.C. He was black, average height, with very short black hair. A short beard that looped around the bottom of his chin and then up the sides to meet a short mustache accented his handsome face. In the quiet of the morning he heard another runner.

'On your left,' the man said as he shot past him at a full run.

Later, when the sun was up a little more, he heard it again.

'On your left.'

'On my left. Mm-hm, got it.' The man said, impressed and slightly annoyed.

Later still, when the sun had fully come over the horizon, and he was part way through a lap around the pool in front of the Washington Monument, he heard the smacking of shoes on the pavement. He knew it was the other man.

'Don't you say it! Don't you dare say it!' He threatened as he put on more speed.

'On your left,' the fast man said.

'Come on!' But the man was already far ahead.

The first runner soon collapsed at the base of a tree, heaving for breath. People were out and about now, starting their work day.

'Need a medic?' the fast runner asked as he walked up. He was tall, in his early thirties, with dark blond hair in an Ivy League haircut. He had a smattering of light freckles across his cheeks, and a grey exercise shirt showed-off his muscular physique. He was, all in all, a beauty of a man.

The first man laughed. 'I need a new set of lungs. Dude, you just ran about 13 miles in 30 minutes.'

'Must be slackin' today,' the man replied with a grin.

'Oh really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap.' The man looked away for a brief second. 'Did you take it?' he asked when he looked back, 'I assume you just took it.'

'What unit you in?' the blond asked, noticing the military logo emblazoned on the man's sweatshirt.

'58th Pararescue,' the man answered, 'But now I'm working down at the VA.' He put up a hand for help up. 'Rob Wilson,' he said.

'Dean Winchester,' the blond said as he helped him up.

'Yeah, I put that together,' Rob replied. He straightened up. 'Must have freaked you out, coming back after the whole defrosting thing.'

'It takes some getting used to,' Dean admitted. 'Good to meet you, Rob.'

'It's your bed, isn't it?' Rob asked as Dean turned away.

'What's that?' Dean asked, turning around.

'It's your bed. When I was over there I slept on the ground, used rocks for pillows. Now I'm home, sleeping in my bed, and it's like…'

'Sleeping on a marshmallow,' Dean finished, 'I feel like I'll drown in the mattress. How long?' he inquired after a short pause.

'Two tours,' Rob answered. 'You must miss the good old days.'

'It's not so bad,' Dean said. 'The food's better; I love the hamburgers here. The rock music from the 60's and 70's is awesome, and the internet: so helpful. I've been on that a lot, trying to catch up.'

Rob smiled and got that look on his face that Dean knows means he will recommend something to catch up on. Sure enough, he does.

'Marvin Gaye, 1972, Troubleman soundtrack. Everything you missed into one album.'

Dean whipped out a little notebook. 'I'll add it to the list.' After jotting it down, his cell phone beeped; it was a message from SHIELD. 'Gotta go, Rob. Duty calls. Thanks for the run,' he offered his hand, 'it that's what you want to call running.'

Rob raised his eyebrows as he took the hand. 'Oh that's how it is?' he said, enjoying the challenge.

'That's how it is,' Dean confirmed with a smirk. Rob grinned back, both men happy to have made a new friend.

'Any time you want to stop by the VA, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, you let me know,' Rob said; it was an invitation to come to the VA for help adjusting, and Dean knew it.

'I'll keep it in mind,' he said. A fancy black car pulled up to the curb behind him. The window rolled down to reveal a hot woman with blonde hair in a black leather jacket. She was short, athletic, in her early thirties, and had an oval face. It was Zhanna Romanov, the Black Widow, an agent of SHIELD and former Russian spy.

'Hey fellas,' she said in a voice that was almost seductive, 'do either of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick-up a fossil.'

'Hilarious,' said Dean as he walked to the car, knowing the jab was for him.

Rob crouched down to get a better look at the beautiful girl within. 'How you doin?' he said with a smile.

'Hey,' she responded.

Dean slid in and looked back at Rob. 'Can't run everywhere,' he quipped.

'No you can't,' replied Rob, his tone letting Dean know that he knew exactly how beautiful his driver was. Dean threw him a last grin before the car pulled out into traffic and zoomed away.

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Later that night, a military plane flew low over the Indian Ocean, carrying Dean, Zhanna, and SHIELD's STRIKE team, all in uniform, to their mission. Dean wore a dark blue fighting suit with a silver star on the front, Zhanna a black leather "cat woman" jumpsuit, and the rest wore black tactical gear. Cole Trenton, the leader of the STRIKE team, briefed the team on the mission.

'Target is a mobile satellite launch platform, the Lemurian Star. They were sending up their last payload when the pirates took them, 93 minutes ago,' he said quickly as he showed a layout of the ship below on the screen.

'How many pirates?' asked Dean.

'Twenty-five,' he answered. 'Top mercenaries, led by this guy: George Batroc. Man has a reputation for maximum casualties.'

'All right then,' said Dean, all business, 'I'll sweep the deck and take Batroc. Zhanna, kill the engines and wait for instructions. Trenton, sweep aft, get the hostages, get them to the life pods, get them out.'

'STRIKE, you heard Cap. Gear up!' Trenton ordered his men.

Dean walked towards the opening of the plane where Zhanna was checking the mics.

'Secure channel 7?' he asked to test his mic.

'Channel 7 secure,' she responded. 'Did you do anything fun Saturday night?' she asks teasingly.

'Well all the guys on my baseball team are dead, so, no,' Dean said, trying to brush off the feeling of sadness.

'Coming up on the drop zone, Cap,' the voice on the radio announced as the back of the plane opened.

'You know,' Zhanna offered, 'if you asked out Hayley, from Statistics, she'd probably say yes.'

'That's why I don't ask,' Dean replied as he secured his shield to his back.

'Too shy or too scared?' Zhanna taunted, knowing full well Dean was neither.

'Too busy!' he called over the roar of the plane, then jumped out into the night.

An agent went wide-eyed as he stared at the spot Dean had just vacated. 'Was he wearing a parachute?' he asked Trenton.

'No,' said Trenton as he tightened his gloves and smirked in admiration. 'No, he was not.'

Ever since the super soldier serum injection, Dean had been able to do super-human feats. Jumping out of an airplane that was several hundred feet in the air and into the water below was nothing; in fact, it was thrilling. And Dean loved the thrill. He always had. The rush of excitement and sharpening of focus was exhilarating. He climbed up the cable that anchored the ship and as soon as his feet touched the deck, started using his shield and fighting skills to clear the area for the rest of the team. He had everyone down in less than two minutes, except for one guy who popped back up and pointed a gun at his head. He would have been easy to take care of, but a tranquilizer dart suddenly imbedded in his neck. Dean looked up to see Trenton land, gun in hand.

'Thanks,' Dean said.

'Yeah, you looked pretty helpless without me,' Trenton said with a grin as he clipped off his parachute. The other members of the team landed and started moving.

'What about the nurse who lives down the hall from you? She seems nice,' Zhanna said, catching up to the Captain.

'Secure the engine room, then find me a date,' ordered Dean.

'Fine,' Zhanna replied with attitude.

The hostages were rescued quickly and efficiently, and Trenton radioed in to Dean that he was taking them to the pods, but Zhanna was not there. Dean radioed in to Zhanna, but before he could finish was sideswiped by Batroc and found himself in a fight. It was almost an even match, and ended with the pair crashing through a door and into the control room.

'Stylish entrance,' came Zhanna's voice.

Dean popped up, spotted the Black Widow leaning over one of the computers, and gave a glance at his opponent who was out for the moment. 'What are you doing?' he asked severely. 'You're supposed to be helping Trenton with the hostages.'

'I'm sure he has everything under control,' she said flippantly.

'You had orders. What are you doing?' he demanded.

'Backing up the hard drive. It's a good habit,' she answered.

Dean studied the screen. 'You're saving SHIELD intel. Get out there and help Trenton. We have a mission.'

'Actually, rescuing hostages is your mission.' The computer beeped and she pulled out a large flash drive and turned to Dean with a smile. 'And you've done it marvelously.'

Dean grabbed her arm when she made to walk by. 'You just jeopardized this whole operation,' he said, anger and frustration evident in his tone.

'I think that's a little dramatic,' Zhanna said defensively. Just then, Batroc stood up and chucked a grenade at them as he ran from the room. Dean hit it away with his shield, grabbed Zhanna around the waist, and jumped into a small office to the side of the room, shattering the glass that surrounded it. They barely made it through before the grenade exploded, showering everything with plaster and bits of metal.

Zhanna panted. 'Ok,' she admitted, 'that one is on me.'

'Darn right it is,' Dean said testily, and he jumped up to go after Batroc. At least the rest of the mission went well.

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SHIELD headquarters was located in Washington D.C. at a building called the Triskelion, aptly named for its three main buildings that stood as high as skyscrapers, curving towards an open centre, and built with concrete and metal and large glass windows. It was accessed by a large bridge, as it sat partly in the Potomac River. It was an expensive, high-end place with the latest and most sophisticated technology, including voice-activated computers and elevators. The imposing office of the imposing Director Nick Fury was located here. The director was tall, black, bald, broad, in his sixties, and had a black eye patch over one eye; he always wore black, usually with a long black leather coat. His office was unnecessarily large, with large floor-length windows in one corner behind his desk. A long conference table and chairs were in the opposite corner, and black leather seats were in front of the wall with an enormous computer screen on it. Dean was still furious when he stormed in the next morning.

'What were you thinking, Fury?!' Dean demanded, just getting started. 'Giving Agent Romanov a side mission and not telling me about it?!'

'Ah, Captain America. Come on in,' Fury said almost lazily, clearly unfazed by Dean's anger. He stood slowly and leaned over his desk with his fingertips resting on the top.

'Answer me!' commanded Dean.

'I didn't want you doing something you were uncomfortable with. Agent Romanov is comfortable with everything,' he replied, trying to pacify the captain. It didn't work.

'Those hostages could have died,' Dean said fiercely.

'I sent the best soldier in history to make sure that didn't happen,' Fury returned with an edge to his voice that told Dean that he was not happy with having his methods questioned.

'I can't lead a mission when my team has missions of their own that I don't know about!'

'It's called compartmentalization,' retorted Fury. 'Nobody spills the secrets because nobody knows them all.'

'If you don't trust us to complete missions then you shouldn't send us on them. If I had known about Agent Romanov's mission I could have incorporated that into the plan and avoided a bomb to the face and worried agents!' Dean breathed steadily in through his nose to calm himself down. Fury regarded him with an annoyed expression before straightening up, his previous power stance doing nothing to intimidate the captain.

'You're wrong about me,' he said. 'I do share. I'm nice like that.' Dean scoffed. 'Come on,' Fury continued, 'I have something to show you.'

Dean followed Fury to the elevator where he took him to a level called "Insight Bay," overriding the computer's warning that Captain Winchester did not have clearance for Project Insight. The elevator was on the corner of the building where the two outside walls were all glass, affording a view of the city. As the elevator dropped below the level of the earth, a huge room housing three helicarriers was revealed; giant ship-like planes holding other planes and guns with the power of tanks. Dean knew his expression held surprise.

'This is Project Insight: three next-generation helicarriers synced to a network of targeting satellites. Once they're in the air, they never need to come down,' explained Fury as he and Dean walked amidst the bustle of the workers. 'Continuous sub-orbital flight, courtesy of our new repulser engines. These long-range precision guns can eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute. The satellites can read a terrorist's DNA before he steps out of his spider hole.' They stopped at a bridge. 'We're going to neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen.'

'I thought the punishment came after the crime,' Dean said pointedly.

'We can't afford to wait that long,' Fury replied.

'Who's "we"?'

'After the battle of New York, I convinced the World Security Council we needed a quantum surge in threat analysis. For once we are way ahead of the game.'

'By holding a gun to everyone on earth and calling it protection.'

Fury turned to him. 'I read those SSR files. Greatest generation? You guys did some pretty nasty stuff.' He was referring to World War II and the Captain's involvement.

Dean looked him dead in the eye. 'Yeah, we compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep well. But we did it so that people could be free. This,' he pointed to a helicarrier, 'isn't freedom; this is fear. Obedience without liberty is slavery.'

'SHIELD takes the world as it is, not as we'd like it to be,' Fury said defensively. 'And it's getting past time for you to get with that program, Cap.' He popped the word "Cap" a bit so that Dean would know it was meant to be rude.

'If you think the world needs to be controlled with a gun to everyone's head, then don't hold your breath.'

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next day at 10:00 a.m. found Dean in the Smithsonian Museum, visiting an exhibit for Captain America. As he walked around looking at the WWII planes, the old costumes of his fellow soldiers, and the little informational plaques, a voice recording played overhead telling of the sacrifice, honor, and bravery that filled the story of Captain America. Dean was mildly surprised that no-one noticed who he was; the hat he was wearing did not exactly disguise his features. He noticed one little kid, a boy with red hair, staring at him with mouth agape. Dean smiled at him and held a finger to his lips, and the boy nodded his promise of secrecy. Dean slid his hand back into the pocket of his brown leather jacket, and felt once again the sadness that settled deep within his heart: the sadness of outliving these men without the chance to say goodbye, of missing the world that he knew, of never living the life with the woman he had once loved. But his sadness was greatest of all when he thought about his brother.

There was a wall dedicated to Dean's little brother, telling shortly of his life in battle and his death. There was even a picture of him in uniform, just as Dean remembered him, with his dimples peeking through when he smiled, and his hair, though longer than normal for the 1940's, swept and gelled back tastefully and neatly. But, no matter how hard history may try, it did not capture how much that little brother had meant to Dean.

Sam. The little brother who had an insatiable curiosity, an inherent softness, and a kind heart. The little brother who followed Dean everywhere from the time he could walk. He had been Dean's friend, his confidant, and his supporter. Dean had loved that kid with all his heart, and even with a love that was somewhat fatherly.

When Dean was four, and Sam still a baby, their mother died in a fire at the school where she worked. Their father, John Winchester, found himself alone raising two boys without the much-needed second income. He got a second job and worked long hours, often only being at home and awake for a couple hours a day. Dean was left in charge of Sam, and was his sole playmate until he was four and could play with the other kids in the neighborhood. He helped raise his brother in the long absences of their father. John loved his boys and wished he could be home, but to support his children had little choice but to work.

Dean was a natural leader, so his little brother confidently followed him, and as it turned out, he was a natural annoyance as well. There were few things Dean liked better than to annoy Sam – or Sammy, as he called him – and his brother had a very difficult time trying to get Dean to "behave." However, Dean was the only one with the privilege of annoying Sam. Sam had a kind heart and a fierce sense of justice, which made him a target for bullies, and Dean protected him from them all. Everyone knew that no-one messed with Dean Winchester's little brother. Dean was the typical tough guy with a good heart, but the tough guy image changed with the car accident.

When Dean was 16 he was involved in a horrible three-car pile-up. Two people died, and Dean was lucky to get out with his life. But it cost him. He suffered torn muscles and ligaments and two comminuted fractures in his right leg, and when it healed it left him with a limp. A raging infection that grew in his broken leg lowered his immune system, causing him to catch a case of pneumonia so severe it damaged his lungs: he was winded after two flights of stairs, and carrying heavy things had him panting for breath. Without the ability to get much exercise, Dean's muscle mass dwindled. And through all the sickness and pain and healing, there was Sam. He never left Dean's side and encouraged him in his physical therapy. Sam was there to comfort him when he was depressed, cheer him when he was discouraged, and defend him from himself when he felt ashamed. Dean would never have made it through those years without his brother.

As the years went by both boys grew-up; Dean into a gorgeous man with lively green eyes and a smile that could charm the Pied Piper himself, and Sam into a beautiful boy with thick, chocolate-coloured hair and soulful eyes that could win him the world if he tried. Dean, in spite of his injuries, was popular with the ladies, but never had a relationship because girls didn't want to be with the skinny cripple long-term. Sam, on the other hand, blushed whenever a girl flirted with him and shied away from attention, which earned him many lectures from Dean on how to charm the fairer gender.

When America entered the war, both Sam and Dean wanted to serve. Sam enlisted and was made a sergeant in the 107th infantry, but Dean was denied – because of his conditions –every time he tried to enlist. Sam didn't want Dean to enlist because he knew that in battle Dean would be the first to die. He couldn't haul around the heavy gear and he couldn't run; he would be an easy target. They fought over that several times, until a doctor named Erskine gave Dean a unique chance: to be the test subject for a super-soldier experiment. The experiment turned him into the man he was today: tall; with super-human strength, speed, and healing; and, apparently, the ability to be preserved for almost 70 years in ice.

He entered the army and made a name for himself by rescuing the 107th infantry from a HYDRA base, where new, strange weapons were being made to aid in the HYDRA takeover of the world; he found his brother there too, strapped to a table, a victim of human experimentation; though besides looking awful, had apparently suffered no ill affects. With Sam and five other men he had rescued, Dean organized the team The Howling Commandoes to specifically take down the rest of the HYDRA bases. They were wildly successful, but their second-to-last mission – that took place on a train in the mountains – cost Dean his brother. Dean and Sam got separated from the other Commandoes and ran into a robot with a deadly gun that fired energy-like blasts. Dean had taken the brunt of the attack and while flying into a wall had dropped his shield. Sam picked it up and, to save his brother, stepped in front of him and fired his own gun at the robot. But he didn't know how to properly hold the shield in front of his body, and held it to the side; when the next blast hit the shield, he was knocked sideways through a gaping hole in the train, instead of straight back. Dean tried desperately to reach him, but the bar Sam was clinging to broke, and he fell to his death down into the snowy ravine.

Dean still felt the heartbreak even now. Back then, he had less than a week to mourn his brother before they took down the last base, and then Dean had crashed a plane into the icy landscape of the Arctic. When he woke-up in the 21st century, it didn't feel like he had missed 66 years; it felt like only a few days. The pain of loss for his brother was still fresh, but there was no funeral to attend; it had been held decades ago. Since the body was never recovered, there was no grave to visit, no closure. His old home, his clothes, his things, were all gone, and Dean was still fighting some museums to get his photographs back. He never got to properly say goodbye to his little brother, and now he didn't even have friends to reminisce with; they were all dead.

The final stop in the museum was a short video of one of the founders of SHIELD who personally knew Captain America. The lady in the video was Lisa Braedon, the first women Dean had fallen in love with, and had wanted to marry. But she had already been dead for over a decade now.

On his way out of the museum, Dean got a phone call. It was from a nurse telling him someone had died, and if he wanted to see the body one last time he should come now. Breathing in deeply, and running a hand down his face, Dean headed towards the nursing home.

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When Dean said all his men died, that wasn't quite true. Now they had all died. There had been one left: Bobby "Old Coot" Singer. He had been the oldest and gruffest of the Howling Commandoes, hence his nickname, even though he was only 40 years-old at the time. He was one of the few in the military that had kept his beard; he wore his hat no matter what, and he called everybody 'idjit' – even those in higher rank when they were out of earshot. He had been in a nursing home for years now, with dementia so bad he sometimes couldn't remember his own name, much less old friends.

Dean had visited anyway, even though Bobby slept most of the time, and now even he was gone, though at least Dean would get to say goodbye.

He was ushered into Bobby's room by one of the nurses, and was met there by Bobby's hospital nurse, who was there because Bobby's last hours had been rough. Castiel – or Cas, as Dean called him – typically worked in trauma at the hospital and since Bobby had had a bad fall earlier that year, was over to help with his last hours. Castiel had short, dark, messy hair, blue eyes, and an expression that suggested extreme concentration. Today he was wearing dark blue scrub pants and a white scrub shirt with colourful little ties all over it.

'Hello, Dean,' he greeted in his deep, gravelly voice.

'Hey, Cas,' Dean all but sighed back. He walked slowly over to Bobby's bed, and gazed at the old man one last time. Bobby's eyes were closed. 'How were his last hours?' he inquired after a pause.

'Sadly, they were rough. Though his last few minutes were fairly calm,' Castiel answered.

Dean nodded jerkily. 'Sometimes that's all you can ask for,' he said. 'How old is he? -was he?'

'One hundred and nine,' answered Castiel.

'Wow,' said Dean. He didn't feel close to tears, but he did feel strong emotions for losing his last connection to his old life and his friend. 'The Old Coot outlived us all.'

'Except you,' Castiel reminded him.

Thanks a lot, Cas, Dean thought. 'Yeah,' he said sadly, 'except me.'

Castiel seemed to realize why Dean might not like that. He stepped closer. 'I am sorry for your loss,' he said.

'Thanks.' He turned a little and realized just how close Castiel was standing next to him. 'Cas, personal space,' he said.

Castiel backed up a little. 'Sorry,' he said awkwardly. Castiel had spent several years in Russia, where the concept of personal space was much smaller, and had yet to re-adapt. They stood there, staring at Bobby's wrinkly face, and just as Dean decided it was getting awkward, Castiel said: 'His last word was idjit.'

Dean huffed a laugh. 'Figures.'

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

On the other side of the city, Fury had the computer secure his office, then he plugged in the flash drive from Agent Romanov's mission and prepared to access the information from the Lemurian Star.

'Open Lemurian Star satellite launch file,' he ordered.

'Access denied,' stated the computer.

'Run decryption,' Fury said, feeling suspicious.

After a moment: 'Decryption failed,' stated the computer.

'Director override, Fury, Nicholas J.' Fury said as he walked closer to the screen projected on the wall.

'Override failed,' reported the computer. 'All files sealed.'

'On whose authority?' Fury asked in a tone mixed with annoyance and fear.

'Fury, Nicholas J.' responded the computer.

Fury stared and allowed himself to show a small sign of fear by sliding his hands into his pockets. Something was very wrong.

He went to see the secretary of SHIELD, Alexander Pierce. Pierce was at a World Security Council meeting on one of the top floors; the World Security Council oversaw SHIELD. The three other members – beamed in by hologram – were arguing about Fury's letting a SHIELD vessel be boarded by pirates. Pierce was unconcerned about one ship, caring instead for the fleet, but the WSC was 'falling into rancor' (according to Pierce) over the international piracy incident. When an aid came to tell Pierce about Fury's arrival, he excused himself from the council and went to meet him.

'I work 40 floors away and it takes a hijacking for you to visit?' he greeted good-naturedly.

'A nuclear war would do it too,' said Fury rather less cheerily as he shook his hand. 'You busy in there?' he nodded towards the council room; it could be seen through a wall of one-way glass.

'Nothing some earmarks can't fix,' Pierce replied. Earmarks were funds given to a government organization.

Fury nodded distractedly, his body language nervous. 'I'm here to ask a favour,' he said. 'I want you to call for a vote. Project Insight has to be delayed.'

Pierce raised his eyebrows slightly. 'Nick,' he said, 'that's not a favour; that's a sub-committee hearing, a long one.'

Fury bounced his head nervously. 'It could be nothing, it probably is nothing,' he replied. 'I just need time to make sure it's nothing.'

'But if it's something?' asked the secretary.

'Then we'll both be glad those helicarriers aren't in the air,' Fury returned, looking him in the eye.

Pierce thought it over for a second. 'Fine,' he acquiesced, 'But you got to get Iron Man to stop by my niece's birthday party.'

Fury nodded. 'Thank you, sir.' He held out his hand.

'And not just a flyby,' Pierce said as he shook the offered hand. 'He's got to mingle.'

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To be continued...

Let me know if there is anything I can do better, or if I made a mistake.