Defining a Hero

All characters belong to Marvel and DC Comics

I own nothing

It was a very early December morning, Captain Steve Rogers pounded his feet aimlessly against the ice encased cement that around the National Mall. His massive body cut through the white curtains of flurries like a silver bullet against winter's fury.

He felt the benumbing wind slashed over his chiseled jawline as he sprinted fervently against the wispy flecks of snow whipped and obstructed his bleary vision as his stern crystal blue eyes focused ahead of him.

"Right to left," he panted out, feeling the frost air enter his lungs as it seared the bones of his rib cage. He was doing his morning routine, staring at four in the morning before hitting the gym. It was normal start of his day. Sam Wilson his new wing man was overseas with Tony Stark testing out flight equipment. He was alone during his three mile traverse.

The cold barely affected him, because the super-soldier serum laced in his heats kept his body temperature at a higher level than the average human being. Heavy flows of blood pumped fast in his veins; his broad and vigorous muscles burned as feverish sweat expelled from his pores. Steve felt the firm skin of his pectorals ripple underneath the layer of his gray hooded sweater. Golden tresses of hair swathed over his gleaming forehead as he made his sharp turn and steadied his breath. Then suddenly, his bones were jostled by a surge of energy, a bright red streak invaded his gaze; making him halt in his tracks within a second he saw drops of maroon paint over the crisp blanket of snow in front of him.

He blinked to regain of his vision before he froze within a heartbeat, and blankly stared down at the figure in red leaning against the frozen bark of oak, clutching his wounded side. Cautiously, Steve neared closer, just enough to stare at a young man dressed in a skin tight dark maroon uniform with a cowl covering his face. His heart flipped -flop in his chest, as he leveled his blue eyes with teary grayish seawater colored eyes, and watched a line of watery blood trickle over the strong jawline. He kept his distance, showing the other man that he wasn't a threat. "Excuse me?" he raised his voice, firm and ragged with a hint of concern. "Can I help you out there, son?" he asked, knowing that whoever it was hiding behind the cowl, the boy was around early twenties and lacked discipline. "I'm not going to hurt you, but I see that you're bleeding."

"I made a wrong turn," That was the first thing the young man uttered out before a small crooked smirk crossed his split lips, and then a shy, embarrassed grimace. He labored out heavy coattails of breath as his strained chest heaved against his armor. He spared a glance at Steve, unsure and a bit guarded, and then he blinked the red fog out of his glazed blue eyes. He was bleeding and bruised. "This wasn't out I wanted to start my morning." He hoarsely said, lowering his head down, and sucking in an intake of cold air. "I think I need a coffee...My sugar levels are down. This is bad."

"I take it you don't live in the city?" Steve affirmed hushed and serene; inching closer to wounded man, braying out rapid breaths. "I can help you, but you need to tell me your name in case you pass out, son."

"I am Flash. My home is Central City...I would give you more details, but at the moment I'm a tough time figuring out even I stand on my own feet." he smirked, and latched his hand over the tree for support. "Yeah, I know that you seem a bit confused about me...I'm fastest man alive when it comes to saving people and sometimes the slowest when talking to strangers."

Steve smiled back despite the rife of his concern for the hero, and extended his hand out, "Steve Rogers," he said, watching the Flash's eyes light up with bewilderment as his gloved hand gripped over his with a firm shake of introduction. " I take it that you have heard about me, Flash?"

Flash nodded, his heart thudding against his fractured ribs. "You're..." He took a moment to gather something intelligent to say back to the towering super-soldier. He swallowed a lump down his throat. Reality snapped back into his disjointed mind. "You're him...Captain America...The Living Legend." he responded with an admiration in his raspy voice. "It's a great honor to meet you, sir."

"Thank you, Flash." Steve said, his blue eyes gleamed with trusting light, and he took a step back, admiring the Flash's costume. "I like you uniform, a classic emblem of power and the mask reminds me of my own helmet, except for the lightning bolts at the ears."

"Anything you say I will take as a complement, Captain Rogers." Flash lightly smirked, trying to ignore the thralls of pain twist in his abdominal muscles. "I can't believe that this actually happening to me...I never thought it was possible fora little guy like me to meet Captain America." Steve placed a gloved hand over his broad shoulder.

" I believe in the impossible, but meeting you has given me the strength I need to carry out this fight-" he stammered, feeling his stomach churning as drops of blood dripped from his blemished lips. His head was ringing in pain and everything obscured into a crimson vortex, every image of his past-his mother's lifeless body, cell bars and Iris dissolve with a haze. His lips stung where it had been split by a ramming fist, his temples were throbbing, and he gripped Steve's strong as an anchor to harbor him back to conscious as the world fell way. The taste of molten copper greeted him, he could smell the drenched blood over his suit, and listened his own powerful heart pounding in his ears, blocking out the only thing that he saw was darkness. Steve knew that he needed medical assistance. Fast.

"Flash," he whispered soft and unimposing; he secured the young man under his arm, like a brother in arms. "Can you hear me?" he issued, applying pressure of the gaping wound. "Stay with me, son."

Flash coughed up more blood, crying helplessly, and droplets spattering over his jaw from his mouth and dotting his ashen skin. "Blood...Poisoned...Toxin." he gagged and gasped. "I'd tried to save..." he struggled through gritted teeth, spitting out blood over Steve's sweater.

"It's okay," Steve soothed. He draped the Flash's limp and laden arm around the back of his neck, hauling along his battered form against his torso. Flash's red boots trawled against the snow with light grace of as a small boy, topping and staggering. Every time he breathed, spasms invaded his chest and he'd jerk against Steve, coughing.

"Why are you doing this..." he managed to slew out a few unsteady breaths. "I don't deserve your help. I'm not a hero."

"You save lives in your city by taking the risks of your own life. You're a hero in my eyes, Flash." Steve commended, with a firm voice, making his trek over the snowy landscape, and towards the pavement. "I never leave the little guys behind..."

Flash smiled wryly, "I learned from the best, Cap." He echoed back, and then his eyes closed as he completely entered an unconscious state.

Steve narrowed his crystal blue eyes at the young man, "Don't worry, Flash...Your life is in my hands." he whispered, his voice trailing away in the clusters of falling snow.

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed Natasha's secured, and waited for a light groan of annoyance to invade his ears before saying, "Nat, I need pick up at me triangulated location. I have a severely wounded young man here with me, and he can run everywhere."