Exile

You lived

two decades

with nothing but your spine

holding you up.

The way light does not care

if shadows follow

you do not have to be wanted

to prove you are real. 

—Natalie Wee

“Breaking news: We have exclusive updates on last night’s violent altercation. The Avengers launched a mission to apprehend the Winter Soldier—Hydra’s infamous assassin, long thought to be a ghost story. Months ago, leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. files confirmed that the Winter Soldier was, in fact, James Buchanan Barnes, a decorated World War II veteran and former Howling Commando. However, this information was kept from the public until tonight.”

A picture of Steve and Peggy flashed across the screen, and Sam nearly dropped his glass.

“For the first time since the Battle of Triskelion, Barnes has resurfaced—and he wasn’t alone. Sources confirm that Barnes abandoned his fugitive life to live in secrecy with an omega named Steve Rogers, an employee at Avengers Tower. Even more shocking, the couple shares a daughter. New footage suggests that during the Avengers’ attempt to bring Barnes in, Rogers aided in his escape—wielding none other than Mjolnir itself. The question remains: was Rogers a willing accomplice, or another victim?”

If Sam weren’t already sick with worry about Steve and Peggy, he’d have the satisfaction of saying I told you so. He’d always known something was off about James.

The man had never truly opened up in group therapy. His trauma, his PTSD—it was written all over him. But one thing had been just as clear: James Barnes was hopelessly devoted to Steve and Peggy.

And now, they were on the run.

His home phone and iPhone erupted in a frenzy of ringing—no doubt the Howlies trying to get ahold of him. Sam was just about to answer when a quiet, urgent knock pulled him from his thoughts. His stomach dropped.

Setting his glass down, he braced himself and opened the door.

Steve stood there, trembling, Peggy curled up in his arms. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes red-rimmed, his breaths coming in short, wheezy gasps. He looked wrecked. “Sam,” he rasped, gripping Peggy like she was the only thing keeping him upright. His entire body screamed desperation. “I need your help.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. He pulled Steve inside, shutting the door firmly behind them before wrapping an arm around his friend.

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” he muttered, voice thick with relief and frustration.

Steve let out a broken hiccup, his body shaking as he clung to Sam. The weight of everything—fear, exhaustion, helplessness—came crashing down, and he couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

“I told you he was trouble!” Sam couldn’t help himself.

“It’s not what you think,” Steve croaked.

Sam guided him to the couch, letting him sink into the cushions. He was still clutching Peggy against his chest. Her tiny fingers were tangled in his shirt, and her small face nuzzled his neck. Sam sat on the ottoman, rubbing a hand over his face before exhaling. “Alright, man, start from the beginning.”

Steve took a shaky breath. “O-One minute, we were in bed. The next, Thor was dragging Peggy and me out of the house. I-I think the plan was to separate us, but Bucky came after us. We didn’t stand a chance.” His fingers combed absently through Peggy’s soft curls. “Bucky fought back, but it wasn’t enough.” His voice wavered. “And then… I picked up Mjolnir.”

Even though he’d just heard it on the news, Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold up! You wielded Thor’s hammer, really!?”

Steve let out a shaky, almost hysterical laugh. “Yeah. I don’t even know how. One minute, I was just trying to get to Bucky. The next, I was throwing Black Widow and Thor across the street.” He swallowed. “It gave us just enough time to get away.”

“Damn, Steve.”

“We hid out in a motel that night. Bucky had this giant wad of cash—I don’t know where he got it.”

Sam snorted. “I mean, apparently, he’s a Russian spy.”

“He’s not… He’s not what they’re saying.” Steve met Sam’s gaze. “You know the Howlies’ old sarge?”

“Yeah,” Sam said slowly. “News said your boy was a WWII soldier, which, I mean… kinda makes sense, given all the weird alien shit out there.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh. “The Howlies talk about him all the time. When Dum Dum first saw Jamie, it was like he’d seen a ghost. They told me he was Bucky’s great-great-grandson.”

Sam gave him a really ? look. “And you believed that?”

Steve exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face. “I know. I should’ve figured it out. I’d seen Bucky’s picture at the Smithsonian. Heard the Howlies tell stories about him. There was always something Jamie wasn’t telling me…” He sucked in a breath. “A mission went wrong. He drew enemy fire away from the Howlies, and that’s how he fell. They thought he was dead. They’ve spent seventy years believing he died for them.” His voice cracked. “But he didn’t. Hydra found him.”

Sam’s stomach twisted.

“They tortured him for twenty years, just trying to break him. Then they brainwashed him until he didn’t even remember his own name, much less that he was human.”

“Fuck,” Sam whispered. He’d known James had trauma—had suspected it was bad—but this? This was worse than anything he’d imagined.

“They had him for seventy years, Sam.” Steve’s voice was barely audible.

Sam exhaled sharply. “That means he was a prisoner of war longer than anyone in history.”

Steve nodded, eyes shimmering with tears. “Hydra turned him into a weapon. An asset. They pointed him at a target and told him to kill.” His breath hitched. “He killed Peggy Carter and didn’t even recognize her.”

Sam closed his eyes for a beat, nausea rising in his gut. “Jesus.”

Steve buried his face in Peggy’s curls.

Sam ran a hand down his face. “Even if I believe you, Steve, the whole world thinks your boyfriend’s an enemy of the state.”

“He wasn’t in control, Sam. He wasn’t!”

“Okay,” Sam said carefully. “Say I believe you. How the hell are we gonna convince anyone else? And what do we do about the Avengers?”

Steve’s breath hitched. Then he broke. Sobs wracked his slight frame, his shoulders shaking violently. Soon, he was gasping, struggling for air.

Sam cursed under his breath, quickly pulling Steve’s inhaler from his satchel and pressing it into his hand. Taking Peggy, he rubbed her back as Steve took a few deep breaths.

Steve swallowed hard, forcing himself to get the rest out. “H-He bit me.”

Sam, who’d been bouncing Peggy to keep her calm, froze. “He what!?”

Steve met his gaze, blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. “W-We mated.” His voice cracked. “Only… he didn’t let me bite him back. He said he had to leave—that Peggy and I weren’t safe as long as he was around. I-I thought I’d talked him into staying, but when I woke up, he was gone.”

Sam muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Goddamn it, Barnes.”

“And then the Avengers found me. Took me and Peggy back to the tower.” Steve swallowed hard. “And Tony… he threatened to take Peggy away. Said he could have custody papers drawn up by the end of the week.”

Sam growled. “That son of a bitch—”

“I quit,” Steve whispered.

Sam blinked. “You what ?”

“I quit. Told Tony I was done. That I didn’t need his money or his control. Didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.” Steve let out a humorless laugh. “And now? Now, I’ve got nothing.”

“Hey, that’s not true.”

Steve frowned.

“You’ve got Peggy. And you’ve got me. And we’re gonna figure something out.”

Steve swallowed hard.

Sam just gave him a look—one that meant you don’t have to do this alone .

Steve wiped his face and nodded. For the first time since his world had crashed down around him, the crushing weight on his chest lifted—just a little. Having gotten it all off his chest, Steve was exhausted. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep for a week, but he didn’t have the luxury of rest. He had to protect Peggy, and he had to find a way to save Bucky. 

Sam sighed. “Alright, man. You need help—real help. And I might know just the guy.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. 

“Goes by Matt Murdock, hell of a lawyer. He’s actually one of the good ones, and he specializes in impossible cases.”

“I-I couldn’t afford—”

“He won’t charge a single-omegan mother. Like I said, he’s one of the good ones. He’d help you pro bono. I’m sure of it.”

“I-I don’t need charity.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, you’re gonna need all the help you can get. You ain’t got a chance in hell against Tony Stark and his hoard of lawyers. And if we’re gonna prove your boy’s the victim—we need some damn charity. He’ll fight for you and Peggy, and if anyone has a chance against Stark, it’s him.” 

That was all Steve needed to hear. 

The name stuck with Steve long after Sam had left.

Matt Murdock.

He’d heard it before, in passing—whispers about a blind lawyer with the tenacity of a war dog, someone who took on the fights no one else would touch. A man who didn’t just navigate the system but tore through it when necessary.

Still, the idea of asking for help, of relying on a stranger, unsettled him. But Sam was right—he was outgunned, outmatched, and running on fumes. He couldn’t afford pride. Not when Peggy’s future was on the line. Not when Bucky’s life depended on it.

So, the next evening, Steve found himself in a small, cluttered office in Hell’s Kitchen, Peggy nestled in his arms. The room smelled like old books, cheap coffee, and something sharp beneath it—like the lingering scent of a fight.

Across the desk, Matt Murdock sat quietly, fingers lightly tapping against the wooden surface, head tilted as if listening to something only he could hear.

“You’ve got one hell of a fight ahead of you, Rogers,” Matt finally said, voice calm but firm.

Steve swallowed hard. “I don’t have a choice.”

Matt’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough. “Good,” he said. “Neither do I.”

Steve didn’t know how long he sat there, gripping the edges of Matt’s desk as the lawyer laid out their options. Custody battles were brutal enough, but going up against Stark’s resources meant an uphill fight, one Matt was more than willing to take on.

Still, the weight in Steve’s chest refused to ease. He could barely think beyond the next day, the next hurdle. Bucky was still out there, still running, and all Steve could do was hold on and fight the battles in front of him.

The message came through in the dead of night.

An old war channel that hadn’t seen activity in decades crackled to life in the backroom of a Brooklyn bar. The Howlies had always kept an ear to the past, a habit they never quite shook, but none of them expected to use that old radio again.

Dum Dum Dugan nearly spilled his whiskey when the signal came through, distorted but clear enough.

“If you get this—” The voice was rough, familiar as the lines on his hand. “I need you to do something for me. Look after Steve. Help him. Protect Peggy.” A heavy silence, then a quiet, resigned exhale. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Just—make sure he’s not alone.”

The line cut out.

Dugan set his glass down with a thud.

“Well,” Gabe Jones said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Guess we better get to work.”

Morita, silent until now, reached for his coat.

“Where you goin’?” Dugan asked.

“Got a call to make,” Morita muttered.

Jim Morita had always done what needed to be done. During the war, that meant fighting beside Bucky and the Howlies. Now, it meant taking care of one of the most stubborn Omegas he’d ever known. He sat in his car outside a payphone, fingers drumming against the receiver as he dialed a number he hadn’t used in a long time. 

It rang twice before a groggy voice answered. “Hello?”

“Son, it’s me.”

A pause, then a sigh. “It’s two in the morning, Dad.”

“I need a favor.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “What kind of favor?”

“There’s a nurse, damn good one. Needs a job at Midtown.”

His son exhaled. “Dad—”

“Don’t put my name on it,” Morita cut in. “Just… see what you can do.”

A beat of silence, then, “Alright.”

Morita hung up, rubbing a hand down his face. One problem down. A hundred more to go.

***

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