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“You wanna throw a party at my house?”
“My apartment in D.C. isn’t big enough!” Sam replies defensively. His sister just looks at him skeptically in response, so he barrels onward. “And, besides, nobody wants to be in D.C. any more than they have to. Too much traffic,” he says, even though he thinks, Too many bad memories. “But Louisiana’s beautiful. I think people would actually show up, and I think it’d be really cool.”
“And you’re doing this for Bucky?” Sarah says, crossing her arms across her chest. “Your killer-turned-buddy-turned-boyfriend?”
“Bucky is not my boyfriend.”
“Mmmhmm.” Sarah cocks one eyebrow at him.
Sam cocks one eyebrow right back at her.
“Don’t be giving me that look, Sam. Save your staring contests for your man.”
“Bucky is not—”
Sarah cuts him off with a raised hand. Then, she uncrosses her arms, finally relenting. “Well, you know I don’t mind having that piece of eye candy around the house, ‘specially not after all the help he gave us fixing up Mom and Dad’s boat.”
“You really just say ‘eye candy’?”
“Yes, I did,” she responds with a triumphant smile.
He rolls his eyes. Secretly, though, as much as he pretends to be annoyed by it, he knows that their joking flirtatiousness is just that—a fun way to spend the time and laugh with each other, nothing more.
Sarah moves back to the kitchen counter, fixing up her sons’ school lunches. “Why do you wanna have this party, again?
“It’s the first night of Hanukkah,” Sam replies. “And he hasn’t celebrated in over seventy years, Sarah. And, look, I know that Hanukkah isn’t the biggest deal, in comparison to other Jewish holidays, but I think it’ll mean a lot to him.”
“Hold up a second,” Sarah says, turning around to face him. “Wasn’t he an agent for HYDRA? You’re telling me the Nazis gave a Jewish man the super soldier serum?”
“His dog tags didn’t say he was Jewish, Sarah. HYDRA had no way of knowing he was when they captured him.” At her questioning look, he continued, “Some Jewish soldiers during WWII had their dog tags reissued without any religious affiliation listed, in case they were captured and singled out for torture by anti-Semites when they were POWs. Bucky was one of those soldiers.”
“Bucky told you all this?”
Sam shakes his head. Despite growing closer and closer together over the past year, talk of pre-2014 Bucky was still mostly off the table, it seemed.
“Shuri brought it up to me once. About Bucky getting it, you know. About how he talked about not feeling represented or heard, even though he can pass as this regular white guy—” or, as regular as possible, with that metal arm and ridiculous jawline— “because he’s Jewish and has dealt with antisemitism his whole life. And still does today. And how much more HYDRA’s treatment of him affected him because of it.”
Sarah nods, her expression thoughtful and sad.
Sam continues, “Wanda mentioned it once, too. About her, you know, having this soft spot for Bucky as one of the only other Jewish Avengers.”
Really, even though Wanda had briefly mentioned feeling communal with Bucky as another “Jewish Avenger,” Sam still quietly thinks that she also has a soft spot for him because of them both being so damn traumatized.
“Look, Sam,” Sarah starts. “I’d be fine with you and Bucky having some Hanukkah get-together at my place. But, you’re gonna wanna bring everyone here, too, aren’t you?” At Sam’s look, she huffs. “I thought so. And that’s just too damn much. How are we even gonna fit everyone?”
“Sarah, I promise I’ll make it work. And you know I always keep a promise.”
Sarah’s body language softens, and Sam goes in for the kill. “Besides,” he says, “AJ and Cass would love to meet everyone.”
At the mention of her sons, Sarah softens further. She sighs, melodramatically. “Fine. But you owe me one.”
Sam’s whole face lights up. “Thank you, Sarah. Seriously. I think he’ll really like it.”
Sarah looks over at him again, her mouth pursed in a half-smile. “You sure you’re not dating?”
Sam huffs and does not answer her. Instead, he sets out on planning the best damn Hanukkah party this world—no, this universe—has ever seen.
+
The kitchen of Paul and Darlene Wilson is thick with the smell of frying potatoes, onions, and carrots. The scent of rich oil filters through the air. Sam stands over the hot stovetop, neatly flipping the latkes with a wooden spoon, feeling the heat radiate up and across his face.
Sarah stands to his side, masking cooked apples into a thick sauce. Peter Parker flanks her side, watching her mash the apples. He had, at first, volunteered to make the apple sauce, claiming to be able to make them “just like his Aunt May used to,” but after two failed attempts, Sarah had decided to step in.
In the living room, Wong sits on the ground in front of AJ and Cass, Sam’s nephews. He’s moving his hands in that mystical and entrancing way he does, performing little tricks as they watch him with big, round eyes.
Dr. Strange was the only one of the Avengers he called who wasn’t able to make it—too busy on yet another mad quest (this time solo) across the time-space continuum apparently.
Beside them, Wanda sits on the couch, whispering conversationally with Clint. Wanda’s hand rests on top of Clint’s, a pure expression of friendship and understanding. Sam’s not 100% sure, but he thinks that, after the deaths of Vision and Natasha, Wanda and Clint grew closer, feeling like their loss was understood by the other person.
Bruce, Scott, and Thor are standing in the foyer, talking and laughing together. Sarah had been particularly excited (and stressed) for Thor’s arrival. Sam remembers her freaking out. “You’re telling me the god of Thunder is gonna be in my house?! And you didn’t think to tell me?! I gotta clean this place up!”.
The latkes sizzle and the oil cools as Sam turns off the stove, settling the latkes onto some paper towels to drain as Sarah finishes the applesauce.
Then, the two move into the small dining room, working cleanly off of each other, placing everything in its place. Sam straightens the garland he bought at an online Judaica store—silver and blue Stars of David, surrounded by little Hebrew words and phrases.
Slowly, other guests begin to filter in. Normally only fit for accommodating Sarah and her sons, the room is rather haphazard, chairs from other rooms pulled in and around a cramped, decade-old table. But, nonetheless, even elbow-to-elbow, no one even thinks of complaining.
There’s something unforgettable about the Wilson household, about the delicate unity of it all, that makes them all feel instantly at home.
Just as Sam is finishing up, Rhodey pops up beside him.
“A Black Captain America dating a gay Jewish man,” he says. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“Hey, we’re not—”
Sam is cut off by flying dreidel whizzing by his ear. Wong, AJ, and Cass all are hunched over, laughing.
Rhodey laughs to himself. “Remember to invite me to the wedding, will ya?”
Suddenly, a beeping emerges from Sam’s pocket. He pulls it out of his pocket, pressing a few buttons and accepting the call he’s been waiting for. Holograms of Ayo and Shuri pop up from the screen. The women sit in front of a wide window, a beautiful purple sky behind them. He sits the phone down in its own place on the table.
Eventually, everyone finds their seat, 11 people and 2 holograms squeezing into an area normally reserved for three. Sam keeps nervously fluttering around, checking everything, wanting it all to be perfect.
Wanda reaches out, grabbing his hand and making him pause from his movements. “Don’t worry, Sam,” she says, her dark eyes warm. “He’ll love it.”
As if summoned by name, a loud knock is heard at the door. Sam freezes.
“He’s here,” he says, blankly.
“Well?” Shuri says, her voice clear through his speaker. “Go let him in, man!”
Sam breaks out of his stupor, ducking under flying dreidels and heading towards the front door.
He gives himself a moment to collect himself—Pull yourself together, Sam!—and flings open the door.
There stands the one and only Bucky Barnes. He looks good, as always. His cropped dark hair makes his eyes stand out, even though Sam sometimes kinda misses his old hair—a fact which he will vehemently deny to anyone and everyone. And, as expected, he’s got his custom one-sleeved leather jacket on.
Before Sam can get too lost in looking at the ripple of Bucky’s muscles, visible even through his clothing (which, shit, he should really not be noticing), he suddenly gets this hilarious image of Bucky sitting in his bedroom, shirtless, taking a big pair of scissors to all his long-sleeved clothing items in order to show off his new Wakandan arm.
He’s caught between laughing and blushing.
Then, Sam realizes he’s just been staring.
“Uh, hi,” he says. Shit. And to think he normally is so smooth.
Bucky catches sight of the banner behind him. “Chag Urim Sameach,” he reads. “Happy Festival of Lights.”
“Damn! He’s bilingual,” Sam jokes. His cheeks still feel hot. He steps back to let Bucky through the door.
“Uh, sectilingual, actually,” Bucky says, brushing past him. “English, Russian, Romanian, German, Yiddish, and Hebrew.”
“Show-off,” Sam replies. “Sectilingual, my ass. Is that even a word?”
Bucky snorts, not quite elegantly. “I’d like to sect your lingual.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
Bucky ignores him fondly (if fondly ignoring someone is a thing, Bucky’s definitely got it down), unzipping his jacket and hanging it on the mantle rack. Don’t look at his arms, you fool, Sam thinks to himself, wildly.
“Did you put that up?” Bucky says, gesturing to the banner.
“Yes.”
Bucky’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Are you Jewish?” He could’ve sworn he remembered Sam mentioning something about going to Baptist school as a child, but, in the South with limited options, that might not mean anything.
“No, no, but. You are.” At another cock of Bucky’s head, Sam clarifies. “Wanda told me. And, I figured you maybe hadn’t celebrated it in a while, so I wanted to have a little somethin’ somethin’ for you.”
Bucky smiles crookedly, like his mouth is still getting used to the expression, his head tilted down, hand moving to tuck his hair behind his ears before realizing that he doesn’t need to anymore. Sam can’t wait until Bucky smiles so often that it doesn’t feel like something new anymore—it’ll always be special, sure, but hopefully, one day, not so new.
“Thanks for doing that for me, buddy. I appreciate it.”
Realizing what Bucky’s thinking, the (incorrect) conclusion he’s come to, Sam shakes his head. “You misunderestimate me, Barnes.”
“Misunderestimate, Wilson? Who’s the one making up words now?”
“Bucky. Yeah, I put up the banner. But, I also…” he trails off, unsure of what to say next.
“You also what?”
Trying not to overthink it too much, Sam reaches up and grabs Bucky’s hand, pulling the other man forward behind himself.
The two maneuver through the entryway, through the living room—with its dreidels and small golden chocolate coins scattered on the floor—and into the kitchen. The entire kitchen is covered, floor to ceiling, with golden and blue tinsel garlands. Sam looks over at Bucky, who is looking at him like he isn’t breathing.
For a moment, Sam is worried. Is it too much? Not enough? But then Bucky exhales slowly, softly, his eyes fluttering closed. When he opens them again, they hold only absolute delight.
“You did all of this?” Bucky asks, his voice soft.
“And one more thing, too,” Sam says, and flings open the door to the dining room.
In the dining room, the entire crew has taken their seats. The faces of Clint, Wanda, Rhodey, Thor, Bruce, Peter, Sarah, Ayo, Shuri, AJ, and Cass smile at them. A chorus of “Hi, Bucky!”s and “Happy Hanukkah”s fill the room.
Bucky, looking absolutely stunned, responds slowly—“Hi, everyone. Chag sameach.”
Rhodey pointedly looks at their interlocked hands, nodding his head at them and raising a single eyebrow. Sam pointedly ignores him and clenches Bucky’s hand even harder. Friends can hold hands, can’t they? Hell, it’s 2024. Platonic hand-holding is totally a thing.
Sam leads Bucky over to the table, showing him his seat at the head. He sits down with a dull thud, looking around like he can’t believe where he is. He alternates between smiling, a little wider this time, as he says hello to everyone, and awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand.
After a few minutes of small talk, hand-shaking, and even some introductions, he sends a semi-panicked look to Sam, who understands immediately. Too much attention all on him.
So, Sam jumps in. He points to the plate of latkes in front of them, raising his voice so everyone can hear him.
“I made this batch with just olive oil, and a little peanut oil, too, totally pareve.” Sam pronounces the word carefully, and, if he says so himself, absolutely nails it.
Bucky’s still looking at him with these wide eyes, taking it all in.
“This one’s got a little bit of schmalz, though.” Sam gestures to the second plate on the table, slight steam still drifting upwards from the dishes. “Not a lot, though, because—”
“We don’t need more of a push towards early heart attacks than we’ve already got,” Wanda finishes, chuckling. “It’s how my mother used to always make them, but some traditions can stay in the past.”
Bruce and Wong both laugh, nodding.
“And there’s some sour cream, too,” Sarah adds. “From the corner store down the street.”
“And here’s some applesauce, made—” Peter says.
“And almost destroyed at least six times,” Sarah interjects.
Peter splutters. “Maybe so!” His eyes narrow jokily, before a smile breaks over his face. “Anyway, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, these were made by yours truly. While I may have had some slight mishaps...”
“Is almost burning down the house and throwing out multiple batches really only a slight mishap?” Bruce asks, chuckling.
“Hey!”
Sam runs a hand over his head, unable to stop laughing. “There’s a reason I bought extra apples, Peter; I knew this would happen.”
Peter turns to the others, entreating. “I am, well, I am appalled, frankly, my most passionate love in life, the culinary arts, being harmed and pushed aside in such a frankly offensive way. Frankly, I—”
Laughter breaks through his pretend offense, the end of his sentence faltering off.
Sam’s heart feels so warm it almost hurts. He still hasn’t let go of Bucky’s hand.
Bucky still hasn’t let go of his hand. The realization hits Sam like a freight train, and, for a second, he feels his breath catch, too.
Thor grins, leaning forward, “Little one, you have said the word ‘frankly’ more times in one sentence than most people do in their entire lives.”
“How do you even burn apples?” Bucky interjects, his voice soft, still a little caught with emotion.
Peter huffs, “Why has this suddenly turned into a ‘let’s all just drag Peter session? I’m just—”
“Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” they all repeat, before descending into laughter again.
Bucky leans across the table to Peter, “You know, I actually think it’s kinda impressive.”
Peter lights up, “Thank you, Sergeant Barnes!”
“Just ‘Bucky’ is alright, kid.”
Wait a second!
“Oh!” Sam’s voice comes quickly as he shoots up from the table.“I almost forgot! I’m so sorry, one moment.”
He darts out of the room, yanking open the slightly warm oven and opening the refrigerator, pulling out two wrapped dishes, and returns quickly, setting the plates down onto the quickly filling table. “Of course, here’s some cucumber salad, from Wanda. And there’s sufganiyot for later, too.”
Oh shit. He smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I completely forgot, normally you light the chanukiah first and then eat, I totally blanked-”
“It’s fine,” Bucky reassures him warmly, his right hand resting on Sam’s shoulder.
Sam inhales deeply, then exhales. The tension drips out of his shoulders, and he sits back down again.
“Quite the culinary maven.” Bucky comments, his tone teasing, leaning into Sam like he’s a fire on a cold winter night.
Sam’s deep eyes soften. “Thank you.” He swallows, his voice low, for just the two of them. “After everything that happened these past few years, I just want it all to be perfect.”
Bucky leans forward, his mouth against Sam’s ear. “It already is,” he replies.
Shuri huffs from the screen and says, “Stop, stop, I cannot handle the cuteness, for it is too strong!” just as Ayo covers her face and declares, “Stop, it hurts my eyes!” and pretends to wither away.
The two pull back, realizing how close they had been to each other. Matching blushes spreading across their faces.
The conversation settles, fervor slowing as stomachs fill. For some reason, Wanda and Wong decide to try and explain quantum physics and the universe to AJ and Cass, before dissolving into fits of laughter.
Shuri and Ayo talk with Sarah about her plans for the boat, their warm eyes heavy with fondness.
Rhodey and Scott talk about new nanotechnology, their hands gesturing animatedly.
Thor convinces Bruce to challenge him in a kosher wine-drinking competition, and Clint cheers them on.
Slowly, the conversation spreads until they all begin to bicker about their favorite holidays, with Peter arguing for Purim while Bucky swears by Rosh Hashanah (even though Sam thinks he actually has a soft spot for Yom Kippur).
Sam can’t stop smiling.
+
Eventually, after everyone departs with cheeks mauve-y from kosher wine and stomachs full with delicious food, Sam and Bucky find themselves alone in the living room.
“Okay,” Bucky says. “I have to ask.”
“Go ahead,” Sam says.
“How the hell did you get that many Avengers into one room? What kind of security clearance did this place have to go through? Just, why did you—”
“Don’t worry about it, baby doll.” Sam says, leaning onto the wall. Yeah. So smooth. Sam the Smooth. Does that make sense? Smooth Sam? Or, what about—
Bucky nearly chokes. Maybe not so smooth. “Baby doll? Did you seriously just call me baby doll? What, are you back in your Smiling Tiger cosplay?”
“It’s my thing, Buck.”
“That is definitely not your thing, you dick,” Bucky replies, still spluttering a little.
“What, so you’re allowed to have a little phrase, but I’m not?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You calling me a ‘dick’ all the time!” Sam replies, on the verge of breaking out into a fit of laughter.
“That ain’t a catchphrase! That’s just a factual statement!” Bucky slaps him lightly (more of a tap than anything) on the shoulder.
Sam taps him on the shoulder right back. “How the hell do you even know what a cosplay is?”
“I have my ways,” Bucky replies, trying to be mysterious.
“Sure you do.”
A moment passes. “You know,” Bucky says, “as much as I love having everyone here, there’s still one person missing.”
Sam startles for a moment. Who the hell is he talking about? Steve, probably? Natasha, Vision, Stark? His parents? His siblings—he had brothers, right?
But, as a mischievous grin spreads across Bucky’s face, Sam lets out a sigh of relief. It’s not that at all. “Where the hell is John Walker, Sam? I personally never want to have a party without him.”
Sam lightly shoves his friend (they’re friends!) “Man, hush! You can’t be talking like that!”
“What?” Bucky laughs. “That man—sorry, what do they call him now, again? U.S. Agent? What kind of hero name is that?—is my best friend! Gonna give him front-row tickets to my wedding.”
Sarah, walking behind them as she gets AJ and Cass ready for bed, smirks at them. “Ain’t just gonna be your wedding, honey. More like y’all’s wedding.”
Both men look away at the same time, clearing their throats.
Sarah laughs, and continues on her way, her two sons following behind her.
Sam breaks the silence. “Didn’t know you had best friends, Buck. Little too pre-teen for a 106-year-old man, don’t you think?”
“‘Course I have best friends,” Bucky replies, his blue eyes sparkling. “Or at least one.”
“Hell yeah you do,” Sam says. He pretends not to notice the way his entire heart feels like it’s expanding through his chest and up his throat.
It’s silent again, just eyes locking onto eyes.
Sam breaks the silence again. “Hey, Buck. I wanna show you something.”
Off to the side, there’s another room, overlooking the garden and shipyard. He leads Bucky into it.
The room is absolutely stunning.
He spent the last seven days decorating it. The entire room is full of golden handmade paper lanterns, glittering in the moonlight. On the paper are drawings of small symbols, of the magen david, hamsas, trees of life, dreidels, menorahs, candles, and more.
In the center of the room, right in front of the window, is a delicate silver menorah, designed like the swirling patterns of tree roots and spreading leaves.
“Oh my…” Bucky starts, trailing off as he takes in his surroundings. He’s looking at the room like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Don’t start saying ‘golly gosh’ or none of that, old man.”
“I’ve always been more of a ‘gee whiz’ kinda guy,” Bucky responds, easily. It’s meant to come off smoothly, but his voice is laced with emotion. “Jeez, man, are you tryin’ to get me to cry or something?”
“No, no, I just figured…” He shrugs, pretending he hasn’t spent the last three weeks preparing for this moment. “You wanna light the menorah? I know it’s a little late, but, still.”
“Yeah,” Bucky responds, blinking slowly, his long lashes casting shadows on his face underneath the lantern light. “Yeah, I do.”
Sam walks forward, handing him the box of candles. Bucky joins him, tearing open the box easily.
“I’m sorry your parents couldn’t be here. And Steve. And Natasha...”
Bucky shrugs, “It’s fine.” It’s not, but that’s something they’re probably gonna have to figure out in decades of therapy. “I’m here with you, so, feels like a win, doesn’t it?”
Another hush falls over their conversation. Bucky takes a deep, deep breath, his face full of emotion. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Sam. I don’t know how to pay you back for this.”
“You don’t have to, Buck,” Sam replies, his expression genuine. “I did this for you, no strings attached, nothing. Because I’m your friend. Because I care about you.” Because I love you.
Oh shit.
Bucky nods, swallowing. “When I was… When I was him, I was fed through the tube most of the time, so it’s not like I could ask for potatoes or anything. Not that they’d give them to me, anyway, even if I did ask. Sometimes, if I was awake and aware enough to know that it was Hanukkah, I would remember those eight days. They programmed so much out of me, but somehow I hung onto those memories. Even if I couldn’t recognize my mom’s face anymore or remember her name, I could see her lighting the candles and saying the prayers. I missed it so much,” he finishes, his voice choked.
Sam reaches out, resting a steadying hand on Bucky’s shoulder.
“In the beginning,” Bucky continues, “before they fully brainwashed me, I used to whisper Hashkiveinu to myself when they left me alone.”
As Sam’s confused expression, Bucky clarifies.
“Hashkiveinu Adonai eloheinu l’shalom, v’ha-amideinu malkeinu l’chayim… It’s a really beautiful blessing, asking Hashem for comfort, safety, and protection. To be shielded from every enemy, plague, sword, famine, and sorrow. Sheltered in the shadow of His wings. A prayer for a tabernacle of peace, to lie down in peace at night and wake up safely in the morning. It’s not a specific thing related to Hanukkah at all, but I always think about feeling safe when I’m lighting candles. Eventually, even as I forgot nearly everything about my old life, about me, I never forgot that first line.”
For a moment, Bucky’s light eyes shutter, his lips going tight. Sam moves his thumb moving back and forth soothingly across Bucky’s back. He melts into the touch.
Softly, Sam places the menorah onto a small stand, just in front of the windowsill. “You want to share with me?”
Bucky pulls out two blue candles from the box and joins Sam by the window. “You’ll let me light the shamash, Cap?”
“Of course.”
Bucky steps closer, stretching his hand out, palm open. Sam’s fingers wrap around the back of his left hand, warm pressed against cold. They stand there for a few moments, the two candles pressed between their palms. The smell of latkes and sufganiyot remain in the air, thick and cozy.
Sam’s chest constricts. Everything they’ve been through, just throughout this last year.
Zemo, the Flag Smashers, Shelby, Walker, Lamar, Isaiah, all of it. All of them.
And, of course, all the losses of the years previous.
Everything.
Everything.
And here they are, still.
Sam is so proud of them.
Bucky pulls his hand away slowly, fingertips lingering softly as he takes one of the candles.
With their sides pressed together, they press the candles into their places.
Bucky recites the shehecheyanu, and then the following two prayers, leading Sam through the words slowly.
Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam…
He strikes the long match evenly against the box’s phosphorus side a few times, waiting for the wood to actually ignite. As the flame finally ignites, the two men feel ready to begin again. A new start. Together.