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Dr. Strange stood in the inner sanctuary of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum - newly restored with perhaps the slightest bit of magic - and flipped through the pages of a recently excavated tome. Something that had never been in their libraries before.
The holidays were coming and he hoped to try out something obscure before gifting the book to Wong.
Since it was lunchtime, he'd brought along a ham sandwich, and was happily munching on it while tracing the necessary patterns in the air to activate one of the old, if fairly simple, spells.
It was a spell to fill a vessel with water. Simple enough, but the spell required a verbal component, something he was quite rusty with as most of the spells he wielded were purely based on gesture.
With a flourish, he skillfully completed the manipulations that would provide the power needed to carry out the task, and said the two words required.
"Medum mumflab."
Shock rippled over his skin as the energy he'd traced in the air coalesced into a bright red ball of magic that split into three and dispersed - through the ceiling, through the wall, and through him.
And in its passing, he realized with no small amount of panic, what he'd done.
The sandwich he'd been casually eating had interfered with his pronunciation of the last word. It was meant to be monlat, and the damned ham had absolutely butchered it into 'mumflab'.
"Oh my god," Stephen whispered, hastily flicking through the book to find what he had actually cast.
Because what had passed through him wasn't a water spell.
It carried the magical flavor…
… of a wish.
Sarah squealed and started bouncing around in front of Sam as he stared down at the text he'd just read out loud on his phone.
Yeah, I'm serious. Giving you my cabin in Big Sky for a week over Christmas. Just snowed up there too, so it should be real pretty. Plenty of rooms, and the resort's just down the road. Great skiing! Can't thank you enough, so enjoy!
It was from Scott McNamara, the CEO of a major bank whose family Sam had saved after their car was run off the road into the Potomac. Sam had been driving by and saw the accident, threw on his harness and got his drones synced to help keep the car up enough for him to pull everybody out.
He'd even caught the license of the idiot who'd done it, leading to the man's arrest.
"Damn," he murmured, smiling up at his sister. "That's nice."
Sarah ran off to tell Cass and AJ, still squealing with excitement, as Sam chewed over some possibilities.
Possibilities involving a certain man with a metal arm, who'd said he was up for being in Delacroix for Christmas, even though it wasn't something he really celebrated.
The holidays always seemed to make the guy a little sad, but Sam had been working hard to pull the man into his own celebrations of each, hoping to fight back the bad memories with new ones.
With a new family, new friends, to help fill the gaps that were so clearly there.
They'd gotten close. Real close.
Much more close than Sam had ever expected, seeing as they met in violence on a highway.
The time together last year, fighting the Flag Smashers, had brought the man into his home, into his family.
And kept him there.
And the more time they spent together, the more Sam spent looking at him a certain way when the guy wasn't looking, enjoying the way Bucky's lips tugged back in a smile, appreciating the hope and humor in the guy's beautiful blue eyes, listening to the man's voice and realizing his whole body responded to those sounds. Those warm tones.
The daydreaming had started. He'd catch himself wondering how that guy might feel, even closer.
Wouldn't be his first time with a man, but it might be Bucky's, so he'd kept the cards of his feelings close to his chest and looked for every moment he could find to be with the man as friends.
Smiling down at his phone, he tapped out a quick text to Bucky.
Hey. Know how u were coming here for Christmas? Change of plans. How u feel about snow? ❄️
I feel like snow is cold and wet, came Bucky's reply, a minute later. Had enough of it in Russia. Tolerate it in New York. Was hoping for none in Delacroix. How come?
Mouth twisting, Sam quickly tapped out a plea.
How u feel about a cozy mountain cabin Christmas with the snow outside and us inside?
Bucky took his time to answer, enough to make Sam resort to emotional blackmail.
Kids would be sad if u didn't come 😭
Just the kids, huh? Bucky replied quickly. Sam could feel the man's smirk over a thousand miles away.
OK Sarah might be sad too. Maybe. U broke that vase last time u were here 😉
Cass broke that, I just covered for him. 😈
I won't tell, Sam tapped, laughing. The mountains r calling, Bucky, c'mon!
Another long pause made Sam's gut twist.
He didn't want to spend Christmas without Bucky.
I love the mountains, came a reply, finally. I'm in. When/where?
With a quick Yes! to the ceiling, Sam furiously tapped in the details.
This was going to be a great Christmas.
For both of them.
"Wow!" Cass yelled, leading the charge with his brother AJ off of the huge porch dusted with snow, through the fancy carved door with a bear flanked by the giant log walls, and into a massive living room with windows up to a vaulted ceiling and a huge stone fireplace…
… surrounded by dead animals.
"Eww," Sarah said softly, staring up at the multitude of elk and pronghorn heads, mountain lion taxidermy, wolves, coyotes, and the two bears standing on either side - one black, one brown - poised snarling, ready to attack.
"Um," Sam echoed, carrying almost everyone's luggage, and having a hard time looking away from the mounts everywhere to take in the rest of the place, which was equally huge.
"That's perfect," came that wonderful voice behind him, as Bucky stepped in grinning with his own gear - a duffle bag and a spare pair of boots - before giving Sam's back a good thump and heading immediately for the fireplace.
"Everyone, take your shoes off," Sam murmured, looking for a place to drop the gear. "Bet the floor costs more than the house in Delacroix."
"This kitchen is bigger than my living room!" Sarah cried, twirling in the space before leaning over the marble countertop with a big grin.
"It's insane," Sam said back, just standing and taking it all in. "I thought cabin meant small and cozy, not huge and… uh…" he waved his hand vaguely at the fireplace display, "stuffed."
"Wait till it gets dark and we have a fire going," Bucky said, looking back at Sam as he stacked up the kindling and wood, "you'll love it."
Sam smiled.
"I will love it," he said softly, staring at the guy.
Bucky had met them at the airport, and sat between AJ and Cass on the flight over, playing iPad games as they both yelled and laughed at him for not doing it right. Sam could tell he was doing that on purpose and just watched, smiling.
When Bucky glanced over, a smile on his own face, Sam held his gaze for a moment before looking away, out the window at the mountains below.
The airport had been just as fancy looking as the 'cabin' they were now in - warmly stained wood and round river stones everywhere, and yes, the occassional taxidermy. It was the most charming airport he'd ever been in, which was weird. 'Charm' and 'airport' didn't belong together.
Snow was everywhere too, but Bucky kept smiling regardless, gazing up at the mountains they passed with a soft expression that seemed a good thing.
Sarah and the boys were astounded. AJ and Cass hadn't really seen snow like this before, and they'd already had five snowball fights, that Bucky joined in on, absolutely decimating them both.
Sam almost missed the private drive to the cabin, and when the giant, oddly orange log mansion came into view, nestled snuggly in amongst the tall, dark green spruces and pines, he almost turned around.
They must have missed the road, right? It couldn't be that place, right?
But the key fit, and here they were.
Smiling at his sister, enjoying the delight of his nephews, and the fire-making skills of the man he loved as far more than a friend, Sam felt a year of tension slide away from his shoulders.
And he settled in.
"You should just tell him," Sarah whispered in Sam's ear, her gaze flicking from his scowling face to the back of Bucky's head as the man stared down at a display case of hunting knives.
They'd driven to a small, but busy, center of fancy shops at the foot of the resort, with a cafe, a bookstore, outdoor store, clothing outlets, a church, and, oddly, a taco joint. Everyone had followed Bucky around at first, as it was all a little overwhelming and he seemed to know exactly what he was looking for.
Sam shook his head, his mouth still caught in that tight, thin line, as he watched Bucky point down at one of the knives and wait for the store clerk to pull it out for him.
"I don't want to screw up what we've got," Sam whispered back, pretending to study an array of balaclavas with an intensity that was probably unnatural - was analyzing the stitching something people did? - when the man glanced his way.
"Sam," Bucky hissed at him, gaze sliding to the boys checking out snowboards. "C'mere."
So summoned, Sam walked over, pulling something with him so he'd have a reason for being where he'd been.
Sarah laughed somewhere behind him.
Bucky waved him to the case and nodded as the clerk laid the knife out on the counter.
And Sam could only stare as the man he wished were more than a friend picked the knife up and did That Thing He Did.
With a fluidity and ease that came with decades of experience, Bucky picked the blade up, balanced it on one finger, stared down the length of the edge, before flipping it up, back, between his hands, and around, and finally pointing the handle at Sam.
The clerk had paled and watched the entire display wide-eyed, mumbling a variety of 'oh no's and 'sir please's, hands jerking as they sought a way to recover the blade, to intercede, to prevent the giant insurance claim they no doubt could see coming.
"Whad'd'ya think?" Bucky asked, before his gaze dipped to the thing Sam had been holding. "You getting that for Sarah?"
Sam looked down…
…at the pink camo balaclava he'd apparently claimed.
"Yes," he said slowly, looking back up. "Yep."
A slight ripple of concern touched Bucky's brow before he shrugged and shifted his hand again, gesturing for Sam to take the knife.
"For Cass," Bucky said, his sky-blue eyes darting to the eldest boy and back again with a smile. "It's a decent knife."
"Whoa!" Sam yelped, waving his hand at it. "Nobody's getting knives at Christmas!"
Bucky frowned. "Why not?"
"May I have the knife back, sir," came the cautiously requesting voice of the clerk behind him.
Sam boggled at the guy. "Because nobody's getting stabbed for Christmas, Bucky!"
"The knife, sir?" the clerk murmured again.
Bucky's bottom lip did That Other Thing, completely derailing Sam's line of thought.
There was a certain look the guy got when he was irritated about something - those full lips pressed forward, the lower one balanced precariously over the guy's strong jaw, covered in just the right amount of stubble.
I wanna nibble that lip.
Sam shook his head quickly, both to repeat the prior no and to dislodge thoughts he didn't want to be having right now.
"I'd teach them how to be safe, Sam," Bucky murmured, reluctantly handing the knife back to the clerk, who swiftly locked it away. "A good knife can be a lifesaver."
Sam allowed a small smile. He could appreciate the intention, just not the timing. "Give them a few more years, then you can get them a knife. That okay?"
Bucky shrugged. "I guess." Standing then, his gaze wandered the store until it fell on another display.
Of hunting rifles.
"Ooh," he murmured, practically skipping over to them, as Sam looked away with a snort.
His friend was perhaps a little too weapons-focused at Christmas?
Would he ever not be?
Shrugging at the thought, he shifted over to the section of the store dedicated to souvenirs. He'd bought plenty of presents for the boys, but he wanted something special for them each to remember this trip.
Most of it was tacky and touristy but something caught his eye almost immediately - themed for the holidays, with the name of the place and something that tied the gift to him. It was a snow globe with a bird of prey diving, wings and claws outstretched.
A falcon, mouth open mid-screech. Perhaps a little exaggerated but well made. That would do for AJ.
Turning away briefly to find something for Cass, Sam failed to catch something remarkable.
A ball of swirling red light that fell from the room and landed in the snow globe he'd claimed.
Snow, snow, snow, snow, and more snow, everywhere Bucky looked. This wasn't the Christmas he'd imagined he'd be having, but so far it felt good, wandering somewhere new with Sarah and the kids, and Sam.
He appreciated being included, even if he sometimes felt like he shouldn't really be there. He could see Sam working so hard to help him feel like he should be, though, so he did his best to stifle all of his shit, and just be present. Be with them, be relaxed and happy, and not wary of every person who came by, not tensing anytime someone's gaze lingered a little too long or a hand went into a pocket slow, or something moved too quickly, or something happened too loudly.
He was getting better at all of that.
A part of him was disappointed they weren't in Delacroix, fishing on the water and enjoying a backyard barbeque in the sun, but he had to admit, the mountains were nice, the air was fresh, and throwing snowballs at the kids had made him laugh harder than he had for a long while.
They'd wrapped up their shopping and it was time to grab something to eat. He couldn't get excited about tacos. AJ, Cass, and Sarah were keen, but Sam was torn, so Bucky took the opportunity, grabbing the man's arm and pulled him away in the direction of the cafe, waving back at Sarah with a smile.
The walk was nice. Christmas lights everywhere, wrapped around the trees, looped across the streets, lining every rooftop and doorway and window. The light bounced off the snow with a soft, warm glow.
Stepping inside the cafe, he scanned everyone seated and standing, noted the concealed shoulder and back holsters of two men and one woman on a far table, noted the old guy in the corner muttering to himself, noted all of the exits, then stuffed all that shit away and focused on doing what normal people did in cafes: walking up to the counter to order.
"My treat," he said, as Sam stepped up beside him, and, paying after an order of coffee and sandwiches, he let Sam choose where to sit.
The man had no preservation instincts whatsoever, choosing a spot at the window, back to another window. Bucky's nerves were of course screaming at him to choose somewhere in a corner of the place, with a solid wall behind him, where he could keep eyes on everyone…
…but he liked Sam's view of the world a little better and tamped that shit down to enjoy a view of the mountains as they ate.
He liked the way Sam looked at everyone. The guy didn't worry about being attacked with everyone he met. He didn't play with words to manipulate people. The guy met everyone with kindness and humor, and met situations he got into with the same.
Bucky loved that. Craved it. The world was a much better place through Sam's eyes, and he wanted to stay there and feel the world that way, every chance he could.
"How's the coffee?" Sam asked him. The man's voice pulled him from his thoughts and made him realize that perhaps he'd been staring at the guy a little too long.
Bucky looked down at his coffee, just a simple black coffee, no cream, no sugar.
"Very coffee," he said with a smirk, before pointing at Sam's. "Yours?"
Sam had nabbed his usual - a macchiato with two sugars and a dash of cinnamon on the foam. Way too fancy for Bucky, but he liked watching Sam drink. Liked seeing the guy's warm brown eyes light up, and the little tug at the corner of his mouth when it was just right.
"Decent," Sam said, smiling, before looking up as the lady brought over their sandwiches.
"This is nice, Sam," Bucky murmured, as he ate his Italian sub, gaze drifting out the window to the parking lot covered in snow, the pines beyond it, the mountains beyond them. Tall, aloof, distant from the world and its woes. Clouds hung low, smudging the sky grey, but it felt peaceful. Calm.
"Yeah," Sam said in a wistful voice, a little blob of sauce on his cheek from the chicken parm drawing Bucky's eye.
"You've got…" Bucky said, gesturing to his own.
Sam put the sandwich down, grabbed a napkin to wipe and completely missed it.
And, absolutely not thinking in any capacity whatsoever, outside of needing to eliminate the sauce that dared linger, Bucky leaned forward and swept it off cleanly with his thumb as his fingers rested against Sam's cheek.
He froze.
The mission was complete… why were his fingers still there?
Sam froze, gaze locked on that hand, before those brown eyes snapped to Bucky's own.
And Bucky snatched his hand back so fast he knocked the container of sugar packets off the table, onto the window sill and to the floor.
"Shit," he hissed, immediately dropping to pick them up, and deeply appreciating the cover the table was giving him as he mouthed 'what the fuck' to himself, his eyes wide.
"You okay?" Sam asked, after clearing his throat.
"Yep!" Bucky said brightly, bouncing up after collecting everything. Sitting his ass down sharply again, he assembled the packet container haphazardly and shoved it back where it had been.
Then, focusing entirely on the sandwich, he took the biggest bite he could to avoid speaking and glared with furious intensity at the mountains beyond the window.
"Thanks," Sam said softly, and they ate in silence for the rest of the meal, with Bucky analyzing patterns of tree growth on the distant slopes, and Sam tapping his fingers repeatedly on his coffee mug.
Sarah's voice came to him again, with that sharp edge of exasperation.
You should just tell him.
He'd faced Nazis and Hydra in the World War II, he'd been tortured and brainwashed and forced on missions where the slightest mistake would mean his death, and here he was, mouth dry, wondering how the fuck was he supposed to 'just tell him'.
Just tell Sam he liked him.
Tell Sam he wanted to be with him.
As more than friends.
Bucky sighed and finally stopped intimidating the view, returning to look at this man he'd grown to love.
And he wished someone would just burst into the store and attack him.
Because dealing with that would be a hell of a lot easier than dealing with this.
"PRESENTS!" AJ yelled, racing down the hall from the multitude of bedrooms and into the ridiculous living room, as Bucky stoked the fire and Sam wrangled the fanciest espresso machine he'd ever been in front of.
It was bronze… maybe? Italian - definitely - and had four spouts, two steamers and looked like it belonged in a cafe in Paris. Not in his hands.
After two failed attempts, he'd finally managed to make a decent looking macchiato, plus a mocha for his sister, before leaving the machine reluctantly and pouring regular percolated black coffee for Bucky.
Sarah had arranged cookies, sugary scones, and tiny brownie bites and muffins on a tray and carried it out to the coffee table, in front of the enormous leather sofa, in front of the Fireplace of Dead Animals, next to the tree. The owner didn't celebrate Christmas and didn't have a tree, so they'd bought a freshly cut one, found some cheap glass balls, and lights, and splurged on garland that had given Sarah a fit of the giggles - moose cut-outs wearing Santa hats in silly yoga poses that made no sense at all.
The pile of presents under the tree was generous and 85% for the boys, and the two were pawing through them as Sam placed the coffee down for Bucky who thanked him with a smile, handed his sis the mocha, and went back for his own.
He was wearing blue sweatpants, and a long-sleeved fleece top Sarah had bought for him two years ago on his birthday. He was ridiculously cozy, and he watched the snow falling outside as he sipped his macchiato, feeling incredibly thankful.
Bucky was watching the boys hunt for their presents with a small smile, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. His metal arm rested against the arm of the sofa, occasionally shifting, occasionally tapping the stained wood the leather was riveted against with a pronounced tock tock. The man kept an eye on the fireplace, and stepped up every once in a while to feed it, stirring the embers to make the flames leap and lick at the new wood.
Sam released a soft breath. This felt special. Typing out a quick thank you to Scott on his phone, he set it aside and stood up to distribute the rest of the presents not claimed by the boys.
They loved their gifts. AJ was particularly fond of the snow globe Sam had gotten for him, tilting it in every direction and watching the glitter snow settle again over the bird of prey. Sam had tried to tell him it was a falcon, but AJ loved birds and corrected him quickly with a defiant shake of his head, telling Sam it was either a golden eagle or an immature bald eagle, with both native to the area.
Sam was impressed.
Bucky seemed very proud when Cass opened the gift he'd got the kid - an older style metal compass. Cass was thrilled, and smiled the whole time Bucky showed him how to use it, even pulling out a local map to line up the mountains they could see out the windows to show them where they were. AJ loved the binoculars Bucky got him, and spent a great deal of the morning scanning for ravens and hawks in the trees outside. Sam's gifts of socks and t-shirts were set aside but the upgraded walkie talkies were a big hit.
Sarah was very confused by the pink balaclava, but Sam's forced smile and not-so-subtle eye flicks made her accept it with a thank you and a laugh. Her actual big gift - a full-day spa package for her favorite spot in New Orleans - made her squeal and launch herself at him for a hug. Smaller gifts of baking and cooking gear, suggested by a damn helpful kitchen store clerk, made her smile.
And that was all he needed.
Sam and Bucky exchanged a single gift with each other, as they'd agreed on before the trip even started. At first, Sam stared down at his gift in confusion. It was a book - a green, cloth-bound hardcover. There was a simple black line drawing of a dragon on the bottom, and scroll work on the top. The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien.
When he opened it to read through the first few pages, he saw the date and nearly dropped it.
"1937?!" he gawped, putting it immediately back in its packaging.
Bucky nodded with a smile. "Yeah, that's the copy I got when I was in England. It was sent to my parents when I… uh…" he gestured vaguely. "They kept it. Found it in Steve's storage unit last month. Figured you'd like it."
"Holy shit," Sam whispered, picking the book up again and brushing his fingers along the dragon at the bottom. "Thank you."
"Worth a ton, so don't leave it anywhere," Bucky added, smirking.
Sam looked up from flicking through the text, catching mentions of goblins and dwarves and the Misty Mountains.
"It is?"
"Yeah, somewhere around fifty thousand, I think."
Sarah gasped as Sam's eyes bulged and he very carefully, and very slowly, closed the book and put it back in the box.
Bucky laughed. "Hope you read it and don't just stare at it, Sam."
"Okay," Sam whispered, staring down at the treasure, not sure if he'd ever trust himself to read it without gloves and a hazmat suit. "Thank you, Bucky."
When Bucky opened Sam's gift to him, he paused, frowned slightly, and then looked up with a small smile.
"Thanks, Sam."
It was a bottle of scotch - Johnny Walker Blue Label.
Sam grinned. "You're looking at that thinking it's just a regular bottle of scotch."
Bucky smirked and looked down at the bottle again. "Yeah, because it looks like a regular bottle of scotch."
"But it's not."
Confusion rippled across the man's brow. Those blue eyes rose to meet his, and their touch was electric.
"It's not?"
Sam shook his head, still grinning. "That, Mr. Barnes, is a Shuri special."
"Huh?" Bucky asked, an eyebrow raised impressively.
"Every time we go out to a bar, you mention how much you miss being able to have a drink, and getting a little loopy and relaxed." Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the box. "I asked Shuri, who knows you inside and out, if there was a way to make alcohol work on you. That's the result."
"Oh, shit," Bucky murmured, picking the bottle up and holding it to the light. "Seriously?"
Sam smiled. "Yeah."
"Wow," Bucky whispered, mouth pulling back in a big grin. "That's amazing, Sam. Thank you."
"Want me to get you a glass?"
Bucky shook his head. "Later."
And the man turned to Sam with a smile that lit his entire world.
Smiling back, Sam just dwelled there for a bit, caught in that sea-blue gaze, finding himself drawn into those eyes, seeing something within that tugged him forward, his own gaze growing soft. The man's gaze dipped to Sam's lips and back, drawing Sam deeper and closer, feeling that maybe this was the moment. Maybe he could do this now.
"Wow!"
AJ's cry snapped him out of it - blinking, he jerked back and focused on his nephew.
In his peripheral vision, Bucky did the same, shifting awkwardly in his seat before turning.
The boy was staring through his binoculars, tracking something in the sky.
Standing up, Sam moved to the windows to look. High over the valley the house sat above, he caught the languid soaring of a large bird, its wings flat, almost rectangular, its head distinctively white.
"That's cool, AJ," he said back to his nephew, who was grinning under the binoculars.
"It's a bald eagle!" AJ cried, fiddling with the focus, losing the bird and finding it again.
Smiling, Sam looked back at the couch, ready to give Bucky a thumbs up for the cool gift.
But Bucky was heading for the hall that led to the bedrooms, his posture a little stiff, his gaze a little sour.
Sarah gave Sam an apologetic smile.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"No big deal," Sam murmured back, staring at the hallway Bucky had disappeared down. "Glad they like their presents."
With a small sigh, he sat back down, cradling his now cool macchiato, and stared out at the falling snow.
The day passed with laughter, snowball fights, and an afternoon hike around the property, led by Bucky, who scouted forward, and behind, and everywhere, pointing out bear and mountain lion tracks, elk, coyote, and even wolf sign.
The boys were fascinated, and the sour mood soon lifted from the man, leaving Sam smiling and enjoying the feel of a forest where sound was softened by the snow, and the tracks held a story only Bucky could tell.
The mention of bears and mountain lions scared the shit out of Sarah, who watched the woods and her boys with a ferocity that made Sam feel sorry for anything that might make a move.
But he felt safe.
Because Bucky was here.
When the light started to fade - so early! - they emerged out right in front of the house. Bucky had kept track of the time, had memorized the routes, and delivered them safely to practically the front door before it got too dark.
Sam flashed a smile his way, grateful, and found the man watching him thoughtfully, his gaze holding a little of the wilderness they'd been through, as if the travel and caution had awakened a side of him more in tune with instinct.
In tune with the soldier he had been.
But that softened as soon as they stepped inside, shed their winter gear, now wet with clumped snow, and crammed in front of the fireplace as Bucky got it going again, and pointed out the critters mounted around them that had left the tracks they saw.
A dinner followed, of steaks, potatoes, and greens. Some wine for Sam and Sarah, ice cream for the boys.
And Bucky took his first sip of the scotch.
And absolutely loved it.
Grinning, thrilled about that, Sam saw the boys to bed before Sarah tucked them in. It seemed he'd scored with the snow globe as well, because AJ was holding it, turning it, and staring at the bird inside as he walked in to wish him goodnight.
And as he sat down beside his nephew, AJ said the funniest thing.
"Do you ever wonder what it'd be like if you had real wings, Uncle Sam? Like a bird?"
Sam laughed. "I do have wings, AJ. You've seen 'em!"
AJ just shook his head. "No, real ones, with feathers. You could fly any time you wanted."
Grinning, Sam pointed at the snow globe. "Like this guy, huh?"
Nodding, AJ's gaze lifted from the bird in the snow globe and met his own.
"I wish you had real wings. I think that'd be cool."
Sam's smile slip for a moment, because there was something in the air between them that felt odd. Shrugging it off, he gave his nephew a quick peck of a kiss on the forehead, and left to see Cass to bed as well.
By the time he reached the living room, Bucky was cackling.
Like, making a laugh Sam had never heard before. Sarah was laughing with him, and she smiled up at Sam as he walked to the couch, his gaze fixed on Bucky.
Bucky's cheeks were red. His smile was goofy. He actually cheered when Sam appeared and stopped in front of him, stunned at the sight.
"C'mere!" Bucky said, waving frenetically as Sam glanced at the bottle of scotch on the coffee table.
A third of it was gone.
"Whoa," he said, glancing at his sis. Sarah nodded and slowly stood to her feet, clinking her glass against Bucky's, kissing Sam on the cheek, before wandering down the hall with a quick, "Goodnight!"
Leaving Sam and Bucky together.
Bucky was completely sloshed.
And Sam's back was starting to itch.
The itching was getting worse, but the wine helped, numbing everything after a while and making everything as funny as Bucky seemed to think it was.
The room felt warmer, the fire crackled, the plate of cookies was almost gone. The world beyond the windows was dark, and Bucky was just staring at him, smiling.
They were meant to be playing a game together - Sam had pulled something called Catan out and tried to lay out the pieces and read the rules, but Bucky kept shifting closer, smiling, his eyes bright and happy and a little bloodshot.
Sam had never seen Bucky like this. The guy seemed genuinely happy, relaxed, at ease. A goofball drunk, and the more glasses he drank himself, the more normal it seemed, until he was just as goofy and they had to give up on the board game completely and thumb wrestle.
Sam won every single time, because he cheated, and maybe because Bucky was holding back, being a super soldier and all.
Finally, after a particularly vigorous match, they found themselves lying back against the couch, their arms entwined, hands locked together, and their faces inches apart.
Everything got very quiet, very quickly. Bucky's features softened as his glazed eyes wandered over Sam's face, finally falling to Sam's mouth.
Sam had felt every moment of those wandering eyes and smiled.
"I like you," he said, the consonants soft, half-formed.
Bucky's eyes widened. His mouth fell open in exaggerated shock.
"I like you too!" he mumbled sloppily, his voice filled with drunken awe. Then it softened, growing sly. "Wanna kiss you."
"Me too!" Sam cried back, equally as stunned, his mouth wide with ridiculous amazement.
Bucky's face grew seriously thoughtful, gaze darting away and back.
"Should we do it?" he mumbled, his body shifting closer. The question was sincere, the man sincerely drunk.
Sam nodded, his brows growing fierce. He was behind this strategy they had devised, one-hundred percent.
"Yeah!" he said, his head bobbing emphatically, his voice defiant. "C'mon!"
"Okay," Bucky said gently, and closing the gap, he pressed his lips against Sam's.
Sam melted. He moved in even closer as their mouths met gently at first, then with frantic eagerness. The scotch in Bucky's breath swirled round Sam - he drank it in as Bucky took his own breaths, those soft full lips engulfing Sam's, the man's tongue slipping deep.
Their hands wandered greedily - Bucky's cool metal hand circling his lower back, the warm right hand cupping Sam's face before drawing up behind his head and locking him in.
Wanting more, his breaths coming in faster, sharper, Sam's mouth wandered along Bucky's jaw as his hands delved under the man's shirt, seeking skin that shivered under his fingertips. Bucky groaned against him as he nipped the man's ear, drawing the lobe into his mouth before leaving a trail of deep kisses along the man's neck and shoulder.
And there he drew the man's skin into his mouth, sucking there hard before drawing away with his own groan as Bucky's metal hand slipped under his belt and grabbed his ass.
Something really important teased the edges of his singularly focused mind as Bucky effortlessly lifted him and lowered him on the couch, drawing his shirt up, fingers tracing his abs, as the man's mouth locked against his own again, breath hot against his skin.
The thought coalesced into something that made sense, even as his mind wanted to stop thinking completely, and he found himself pressing against Bucky's chest as the man straddled him.
Bucky stopped. He pulled away with the touch, face flushed, eyes dancing between desire and confusion.
"Wait up," Sam whispered, keeping his hand there, even as he wanted to rip that shirt off and kiss the man's chest. "Wait…"
Bucky waited, his gaze darting from Sam's eyes to his mouth and back.
"You're drunk," Sam murmured, reaching up to cup Bucky's cheek, his thumb drawing along the man's brow. "Think I'm drunk."
The man above him chuckled into his palm, kissing it. "You're so drunk."
"Riiight," Sam slurred. "You are too!"
"Am I?" Bucky asked, before quickly shaking his head. "No no no, I don't get drunk."
"The scotch!" Sam cried, pointing at it accusingly.
And Bucky did the same, crying, "the scotch!" as if they'd just cracked a case of Sherlockian proportions.
Then his gaze grew soft again and he sank to Sam, seeking another kiss.
"Bucky," Sam mumbled against the man's mouth. "Bucky, we're drunk. Can't do this drunk."
Frowning, Bucky lifted again.
And comprehension dawned with a soft 'oh.'
Nodding, he pulled away completely and sat on the other side of the couch. Grunting, he rubbed his palm against his eye socket. "Wow… m'wasted."
Frowning, Sam stared up at the ceiling, his brief interlude of clarity drawing other sensations in.
Something was against his back. Felt weird. Like lying on a limb wrong.
Slowly, he sat up. The itchiness returned with dramatic urgency as the world lurched. Hissing, he tried to reach up and scratch it, but it was just out of reach. Frustrated, head swimming, he pointed at Bucky.
"Gotta go to bed. Drink water."
Bucky pointed back. "I'll come. You drink water."
Sam nodded and waved his hand. "Okay, you come to bed with me and drink my water."
Bucky nodded and attempted to stand. With a loud wuff he flopped back down.
"Room's spinnin'."
Nodding, agreeing completely, Sam managed to get to his feet by holding onto the couch like a drowning man. Shifting to Bucky, he managed to steady the man enough to get Bucky up, and together they shuffled to the fireplace to separate the logs to let the fire die, then shuffled to the kitchen where they each poured a glass of water and laughed as they tried to loop arms and drink from each other's glass, dribbling it onto over their shirts and the floor.
Cackling by then, they shuffled down the hall, shushing each other incessantly and loudly, before finally reaching Sam's room.
Scowling, Sam tried to rub against the doorframe to scratch the all-consuming itch, but it felt so weird he stopped.
Bucky pulled the covers back as Sam wandered into the bathroom, relieving himself before cleaning his teeth with sloppy strokes.
Then he pulled his top off and turned to look at his back in the mirror, just as Bucky stumbled in.
The man blinked, squinted, pointed, and started laughing, as Sam stared at his back in dulled concern.
"Chicken wings!' Bucky said, laughing so hard now he was doubled over.
Sam snorted, caught up in his friend's laughter, his mind not quite grasping what he was looking at.
Two things were stuck to his back, long and spindly, the same brown color as his skin. Bucky was right, they looked just like chicken wings, the unbreaded kind you get a basket of at a bar. They shifted as he turned, and he could feel them moving. Felt why they were moving.
"Bucky, why I got chicken wings on my back?" he whispered, his mouth twisting as Bucky kept giggling.
The man was about to pee, so Sam left him and stood in the bedroom, feeling those things on his back stretch out, draw in.
Like they were meant to be there.
Bucky returned, and touched them, and Sam almost jumped out of his skin. The itch grew so bad, he pressed back against the man, gesturing for him to help. When Bucky's nails scratched the place where they joined his back it felt so good he groaned.
"Why I got these?" he mumbled, still trying to reach them.
Bucky shrugged and climbed into Sam's bed.
"Drunk, seeing shit," he mumbled, his eyes closing as he patted the bed beside him.
Snapping his fingers at Bucky, knowing that was it, Sam stripped to his underwear and climbed into the bed. Smiling, yawning, forgetting about the weird things on his back, Sam leaned into Bucky to kiss him.
But the man was already fast asleep and starting to snore.
"G'night, Bucky," Sam whispered, his own eyes closing.
And in seconds he was fast asleep.
The world for Bucky in the morning was… unkind.
It was something he hadn't experienced in 80 years - lancing pain through his skull, nausea that made him think he wouldn't make it to the bathroom once he opened his eyes, and a wall of white when he tried to anyway, that made him squeeze them shut again with a pitiful moan.
This… was a hangover.
He… was a super soldier and not meant to get hangovers.
What… the hell had happened last night.
Not moving at all seemed to help a little, so he stayed under the sheets that felt like sandpaper and tried to remember his evening.
Got the scotch, great present.
Almost kissed Sam, interrupted by a damn bird.
Drank the scotch, after a great hike.
Laughed with Sarah, not sure about what.
Sam appeared, and…
And…
Opening his eyes under the safety of the heavy covers, Bucky glared into the dark, willing the moments to return.
They did not.
His headache was biblical.
What the hell had he done?
Nothing for it. He was going to have to get up - slowly - and get to the bathroom - quickly - and find Sam and ask what happened.
Frowning into the twilight dark, Bucky felt a quick rush of dread.
Did I hurt him?
But it was followed by something that felt like truth.
No, I didn't.
And steeling himself, he prepared for his new mission - getting to the bathroom in time to throw up.
Something moved in the bed beside him.
Someone.
Instincts took over - jerking up out of the covers, readying to act, the world went from unkind to incomprehensible.
Sam was lying in his bed! Why was Sam lying on his bed?! Sam was covered with a white feather blanket. Bucky didn't have a white feather blanket. Where had Sam grabbed a white feather blanket?!
No…
Adjusting, navigating the information his eyes were feeding him, his headache and nausea swelling with violence, Bucky finally grasped what was in front of him as he clutched his head, wincing.
Because the feather blanket shifted all on its own, opened, and settled again, as the man's brow furrowed in pain.
"Ooh," Sam groaned, drawing his hand to his face.
"SAM!" Bucky cried, shocked as all hell and having no other way to deal with the insanity in front of his bulging eyes.
Those were wi-
Sam jerked up with a yell, wide eyes swollen and bloodshot, and the one wing Bucky had been scrambling to comprehend unfurled, smacking him in the face with enough force to knock him back and off the bed.
"Oh ff…" he moaned from the floor, clamping a hand over his mouth because this was going to happen, Sam with wings or no, he was going to puke right here.
And Sam started screaming.
Jerking back up to his feet, the nausea obliterated by the instinct to save his friend, Bucky pulled the blade from his ankle sheath and swung around to face the door, to tackle the attackers surely making Sam scream like that, before he stumbled back against the wall gaping.
Sam was flailing on the bed, twisting to get away from the giant white fucking WINGS, THOSE WERE WINGS! on his back, and as he spun, yelling, the wings were reacting with the same panic, sweeping the air in broad frenzied strokes that buffeted Bucky in waves and sent feathers flying everywhere.
And Sam was lifted into the air above the bed, smacking into the ceiling, before falling and being swept sideways and back, all the while yelling at the top of his lungs, his eyes fixed on the feathery appendages.
"Sam, CALM DOWN!" Bucky yelled back, sheathing the knife and holding both hands up in a gesture meant to reassure.
A cry came from the hallway outside the door.
Sarah, calling Sam's name, her voice rising in concern.
Sam's panic refocused on the door as his own arms shot out, as if he might keep it closed from across the room. The man's gaze shot to Bucky, to the door, to Bucky again, as he started shaking his head.
"Whoa! Don't come in! EVERYTHING'S FINE!" Sam cried, as Bucky shifted quickly to the door, grabbing the handle as it started to turn.
"What's going on?!" Sarah yelled back, still attempting to turn the knob and starting to knock. "Why you screaming?!"
Bucky held the door fast and looked at Sam, eyes wide.
"What d'we do?" he hissed under his breath, pressing against the door. She had no hope of forcing the knob to turn in his grip, but it still felt important, being a barrier against the possibility of Sam being seen like this.
"Shit," Sam groaned, holding his head as his new impossible wings sagged to the floor. "What the fuck is happening… ow my head…"
Bucky had been in plenty of situations that seemed hopeless, under attack with no apparent means of escape.
They needed a distraction.
He was going to be that distraction.
"Hey, Sarah," he murmured through the door. "Morning!"
An intense silence followed. The force on the knob stopped abruptly.
"Bucky?!" Sarah squeaked.
"Yeah," he answered, wincing. "What's up?"
More silence. He could imagine what was going through her head.
Wasn't like it hadn't gone through his head. Outside of the insane wing situation, why'd he wake up in bed with Sam? What'd they do?! They were still in their underwear, so… maybe nothing?
"Is Sam okay? What's with the banging?! Why was he screaming?!"
"I'm fine!" Sam yelled from across the room, his gaze drawn back to the door from the incredible wings on his back. "Doing great!"
"He's fine," Bucky parroted rather lamely. "He's great. He was just… uh… surprised."
Sam was gesturing frantically, suggesting he continue, say something convincing.
Fine.
"We were having fun," he said, knowing that would do it. He ignored Sam's astounded face, the man's alarmed 'what?!' mouthed immediately after.
"Having fun?" Sarah squeaked, and this time Bucky could hear the grin around the words. "Oh my g… okay! Sorry! You be gentle with Sam, okay?! He's not a super soldier!"
Wincing, dropping his head to his hands, Bucky sighed. "Okay."
Sarah departed, making strange noises that Bucky could only guess were triumphant.
And both of them sagged in place, staring at each other, faces scrunched up with the return of their hangovers, worsened by the physical shenanigans of the morning.
And turning away from each other, groping desperately for a container of any kind…
… they both threw up.
"Oh my god," Bucky moaned from across the room, lifting from where he'd puked as Sam did the same, trying to ignore the incredible sensations coming from the things on his back, that were splayed out behind him.
/Not real/
"Sam… I think I just vomited in your shoe…" Bucky mumbled from across the room, attempting to get to his feet. "I'm sorry."
"Why you gotta puke in a man's shoe!" Sam moaned, before looking down at what he'd grabbed.
Bucky's boot.
"Oh shit… I did too."
Bucky wandered into the bathroom, and violent sounds followed, accompanied by moaning, spitting, and the desperate gargling of water.
Sam had no intention of moving. Because moving would make them move, and that would make them real again.
Emerging from the bathroom, pale but with eyes a little less pinched, Bucky came over with a trash can, swapped it out for his defiled boot with Sam and took both shoes into the bathroom.
"You have wings, Sam," the man called back as he worked, apparently washing them out.
"No I don't!" Sam called back, squeezing his eyes closed.
But he did. Because he could feel them.
He could feel exactly how the one on the left was extended, with one feather tip brushing the side wall, and exactly how the right one was low and dragging on the carpet.
It was uncomfortable. Shifting slightly, he drew the left one in and the right one up, until they were both even. Still bending a little weirdly on the floor, but it felt so much better.
"Wow," Bucky whispered from a few feet away.
Sam popped one eye open, finding Bucky sitting on the bed, his gaze travelling the things that definitely didn't exist at his sides.
"You have wings, Sam!" the man said, his mouth twisting into an unexpected grin. "What the fuck happened last night?!" The grin slipped a little as the man looked at him cockeyed. "And why'd I wake up in your bed?"
"I don't, no idea, and…"
Sam sifted through the garbled memories of the previous evening and came away with one conclusion.
They had kissed.
A lot.
But what happened after that was… not all there.
"Did we…?" he murmured, pointing his finger between them both to finish the question he didn't quite have the courage to ask.
Bucky put his head in his mismatched hands. "I don't remember." When he looked up again, his expression was pained. "I saw you, and then… I don't remember. And whaddya mean you don't have wings," Bucky said emphatically, thrusting his hands at them, "they're right there!"
Sam shook his head, crossing his arms. "Nope."
"Stand up for me," Bucky said, still looking at The Things That Did Not Exist.
Defiantly, Sam shook his head again. "Not leaving this spot until everything is back to normal."
Shaking his head had been a mistake. Grasping at his temple, he squeezed his eyes shut.
"You're just going to ignore the giant wings on your back?" Bucky asked with a soft laugh.
"I am. Not real. Not there. Maybe I'm dreaming?!"
The last he said with an annoyed toss of his arm across the space, before crumpling over his head again.
"Let me get you a painkiller," Bucky said softly, standing and patting him on the arm.
"In my bag by the door," Sam murmured, pointing with eyes closed.
"Sam?" came his sister's voice with a knock on the door. "Don't want to interrupt, just letting you know the boys and I are going into town."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "To give you two some space!"
And giggling, Sarah retreated down the hall. The boys followed with questions she didn't get around to answering, and the large carved door opened and closed shortly after.
"Here," Bucky said, returning to his side with some pills and a glass of water.
Taking them with a grateful nod, Sam drank everything down and let his hand and the glass drop by his side.
"What the hell, man," he said, staring across the room, as Bucky knelt by his side, eyes still roaming the landscape of the wings he refused to acknowledge.
"You have wings, Sam," the man said with a shrug and a smile. "And I think we slept together, because this is a hickey."
Sam's head snapped to Bucky, catching the man tapping his shoulder where a faded red mark lay.
Bucky's eyes were bright, his smile on the edge of a smirk.
Sam's eyes widened as the memory snapped in place - the kiss deep and hard - and the same feelings rushed through him, just under the skin.
Smacking his hand over his mouth, he looked at the hickey and back up at Bucky again.
"Shit," he whispered over his fingers. Then he dropped his hand, an odd anger gripping him suddenly. Everything was so damn weird, nothing made sense!
And, truthfully, he was scared.
"I'm sorry you got blind drunk off my present," he snapped, his gaze on the floor, "and I don't know why I've got huge ass wings on my back… but yeah, I gave you a hickey and I dunno what else, and it felt great, and I've liked you for a long time but I've been too chickenshit to sa-"
The words were undone with a kiss, as Bucky moved deep into his space, pressing those perfect lips against his. It was soft, warm, and it drew the anger and fear from him in an instant.
And then he realized something that made him jerk away and struggle to stand up as Bucky sat back, clearly confused, his gaze darting to the wings, back and forth, his eyes wide with awe.
The world spun a little, but Sam steadied himself, feeling the wings settle at his back, feeling like he made them do that, feeling so damn weird because they felt familiar now… like he'd always had them?
"I can't be kissing you, Bucky," he whispered down at the man with the metal arm, who looked a little hurt at those words.
"Why not?" Bucky asked, rising to stand beside him.
"Because I need to clean my damn teeth!" Sam snapped, stomping off to the bathroom, wings fluffing as he did so.
And he heard Bucky laugh softly behind him.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, those incredible wings making him look exactly like a damn angel, Bucky was so awed he didn't quite know what to do.
But the look in Sam's eyes, the soft intensity of that gaze, let him know that Sam did.
And Bucky let the man wash over him like a wave, let those lips touch his skin, as he tasted the man himself, letting those hands roam him everywhere as he pressed and squeezed and pulled at Sam's beautifully warm body. Stumbling back, his calves hit the bed and they fell together, their breaths hot and fast against each other's skin, frantically helping each other out of the last strips of clothing they both wore.
They claimed each other, over and over, grunting and gasping and yelling as Bucky snapped the headboard with his metal hand, and Sam's wings arched and spasmed above them both.
And finally, with Sam spent, and Bucky satisfied thoroughly, they sank together on the bed again, wrapped in each other, Bucky covered by Sam's new wing, the other folded at the man's back. They stilled into soft kisses, with Sam threading fingers through Bucky's hair as he cradled Sam's head, before finally drawing back and simply smiling at each other.
"Wow," Sam murmured, drawing fingers along Bucky's jaw, through the scruff there, before tracing the deep crease under his mouth with his thumb. "Amazing."
"That tickles," Bucky chuckled, before nipping at the man's fingers and kissing them.
"Why'd this take us so long?" Sam asked, his fingers now tracing the man's brow and down along his cheekbone.
Bucky shrugged. "Didn't know how you felt. Didn't know how to say what I wanted to say."
Sam smiled, enjoying delving into those sea-blue eyes again. "What did you want to say?"
Bucky grinned. "That I liked you. That I wanted to be with you. A lot."
With a soft laugh, Sam pressed in and kissed him. "Me too."
The kiss deepened, the hunger grew, and the dance began again, Sam panting as their bodies met over and over, caressing him until they were both on the cusp, and at that moment, with a great heaving stroke of Sam's bizarre wings, they were in the air above the bed, yelling with their release, before collapsing in a haphazard pile on top of it once more.
"Jesus," Bucky murmured, peering out from under a wing, back at Sam.
Who'd passed out on top of him.
With a satisfied sigh, and a barely mumbled, "great scotch," Bucky closed his eyes and allowed himself to join the man in sleep.
Something woke him exactly forty-two minutes later, snapping his eyes wide.
A sound. Outside.
Not Sarah and the boys.
Too cautious for that.
Drawing himself out from under Sam, Bucky pulled on his pants, his shirt, and retrieved the knife from the sheath he'd cast aside.
"Hmm?" came Sam's mumbled question behind him.
Turning, pressing a finger to his lips, Bucky listened at the door. The window in the kitchen opening. Boots hitting the wooden floor.
"Intruders," he whispered, preparing to open it.
"What?!" Sam whispered loudly back, waking fully and jerking back from the bed to his feet, aided by a sweep of those impossible wings.
Cracking the door slightly, Bucky peeked out, scanned the space in a second, then swiftly closed it again. There was a guy wearing snow camo in sight, gesturing and talking to another out of sight. Holding two fingers up, he grabbed his phone from his back pocket.
Dead battery.
Where's yours? he mouthed at Sam.
Frowning, Sam checked his own pants, then smacked himself in the head before pointing at the door.
With a sharp exhale, Bucky readied the knife, preparing to sneak down the hall and take them by surprise.
Sam caught his arm, shaking his head furiously.
"Nobody gets stabbed for Christmas!" he hissed. "Remember?!"
Where's your suit? Bucky mouthed, and rolled his eyes when Sam smacked his head again.
In the car! Sam mimed, swearing silently afterwards. Where's your gun?
"Oh, so it's okay to get shot for Christmas?!" Bucky growled back.
"You hear that?" came a man's voice from the living room.
"That's not what I meant!" Sam hissed, pulling him away from the door. "It's intimidating!"
Bucky glared at him. "I'm intimidating enough!"
"Shit, I think there's more people here," the voice came distantly again. "Might've called the cops, let's go."
"I've almost got it!" came another man's voice. "Not leaving this behind!"
New footsteps approached.
That made it three.
Bucky tensed, pressing against the wall alongside the door, as Sam tried to pull him to the window.
The rumble of a car pulling up the driveway reached them both. Sam froze, his eyes huge. Bucky swore.
"More company!" a new voice called, closer to their door, followed by the small click of a safety.
And they were armed.
Sam rushed him for the door, but he pushed the naked idiot back with a hissed "Stay here!" and slipped out, certain the men's focus would be on the front door.
He was fast. The dumbass with the gun three feet away, turning back from the front door, was not. But the man let out a cry before Bucky slammed his metal fist into the man's face, sending the gun clattering to the floor, and alerting his friends, one of which drew up his own gun…
…just as the front door opened.
"SARAH, STOP!" Bucky roared, snatching the gun from the floor and rushing forward just as AJ stepped into the room, his mouth falling open as a man in white camo gear and a facemask scooped him up from the doorway and held a gun to his head.
Sarah screamed, Cass screamed, AJ screamed, the guy screamed - yelling at them to get inside, and at Bucky to drop the gun, as he twisted with the boy in his arms, his own gun pressed against AJ's skull.
Another man jerked up from an open cupboard in the kitchen and drew a gun on Bucky.
In moments, Bucky ran multiple scenarios with multiple outcomes through his head - all of them bad.
Could not take the shot. Killing the man holding AJ might make him pull the trigger, and the other guy could fire anywhere. Bucky didn't want to shoot them in front of the kids, either.
Bucky put his hands up and very slowly lowered the gun to the floor.
And at that exact moment, a gust of wind almost knocked him over.
"OH MY GOD!" the man holding AJ cried, the gun falling limp in his hand, as Sam's family gasped in shock around him.
"HOLY SHIT!" the other guy squawked as the gun he'd been holding fell to the floor.
Bucky looked up, buffeted in waves with the rushing sound of heavy wingbeats.
Sam was in the air above him, those enormous white wings sweeping the air to keep him aloft. The afternoon sun was streaming through the windows to their left, highlighting those wings with a soft golden glow. His arms were outstretched, his gaze sharp, and wrapped around his midriff…
… was a towel.
Sam lifted his hand, raising it to point down at the man holding AJ.
"!אני הולך לבעוט לך בתחת" he said, in a booming voice, in what sounded like Hebrew?
"IT'S A CHRISTMAS ANGEL!" the man in the kitchen cried, falling to his knees.
The man holding AJ, whose mouth was as open as everyone else's, suddenly looked suspicious.
"Wait… you're going to what?!"
Bucky crossed the space between them in an instant, securing the gun from the distracted asshole as he pulled AJ free, and slamming his metal elbow back to knock the man out cold, before drawing the weapon up at the remaining intruder.
But the other guy was transfixed, staring up at Sam with his hands steepled in front of his face, murmuring what Bucky could only guess was some kind of prayer.
Sam turned slightly, gazing down at the man in a way that made Bucky remember why he liked being in Sam's world so much. That was a look of kindness. Of forgiveness. The kind of look that belonged on the face of an ange-
The towel slipped free, leaving Sam au naturel above as it fell to the floor below.
Cass cackled.
AJ cheered.
And with a soft sound of shock, the man in the kitchen fainted.
Sarah's voice boomed above all.
"SAM!?"
The intruders were quickly taken care of - thanks to Bucky and some spare Christmas ribbon - Sarah had called the cops, and Sam had finally put some pants on after apologizing profusely for accidentally flashing everyone in the room.
But absolutely nobody paid any attention as they were all too busy staring at his wings.
Many variations of "how?!" were asked, and he had absolutely no answer, until AJ's eyes suddenly lit up and he ran back to his room…
…and came back with the snow globe.
And Sam remembered then, what AJ had said the night before.
I wish you had real wings. I think that'd be cool.
"Oh my god," he whispered, holding the globe up, staring at the bird inside. "It's gotta be this."
The memory of that weird feeling returned too - the one he'd had right after AJ said those words - and that just proved it.
"Okay, AJ, you wished me some wings with this thing," he said, handing the globe back to his nephew. "Use it to wish them away."
AJ smirked at him, pushing his glasses up. "Uh, no."
Sarah stared down at the globe. "This tacky thing did that?!"
"Hey!" Sam snapped. "It's not tacky!"
"It's a little tacky," Cass said as he passed, flipping something in his hands.
Bucky's knife.
Sam glared at the man he loved, who was sitting nearby, pouring out a single finger of scotch. "What'd I say about knives at Christmas?!"
"He asked, Sam," Bucky said softly. "After what just happened, figured it was okay for him to feel a little safer."
With no answer to that, Sam just glared at his sister. "It's not tacky," he muttered under his breath.
Sarah smirked, before looking her youngest in the eye. "AJ, Sam can't stay like this."
"How come?" AJ asked, looking up at the wings again. "It's awesome!"
"Augh," Sam groaned. "C'mon, AJ, I need to go back to how I was."
"But these wings are better than your other ones," AJ said, reaching for them, capturing one of the feathers and stroking it.
Bucky was suddenly by Sam's side - Sam hadn't heard him get up, hadn't heard him walk over, which was always unsettling - and the man lowered to face AJ.
"You were really brave today, you know that?" Bucky said gently, smiling.
AJ grinned.
"Thing is, AJ, Sam didn't ask for these wings. I know you didn't know he'd get them, but this happened without his permission. And while it might seem cool and better than what he had before," Bucky pointedly waved his metal hand, "if he didn't ask for it, and he's asking you to help undo what was done, that's the right thing to do."
Fiddling with the snow globe, not looking anyone in the eye anymore, AJ nodded.
"This isn't your fault, AJ," Bucky said softly, catching the boy's eye and making him look up again. "But if there's a chance you can fix it…"
With a big sigh, AJ held the snow globe up and looked at Sam.
"I wish you didn't have wings anymore," he said, his voice flat.
Sam smiled, as everyone looked at him, and his wings.
Then the smile faded, because that didn't have the same feeling at all.
AJ seemed to sense the same thing, because he shook the globe, frowning, and tried again.
"Don't think it's working," he said, after a third try, shaking it harder. "Maybe it only had one wish?"
"Shit," Sam whispered, releasing a heavy breath before squeezing his nephew's shoulder. "Means a lot that you tried, AJ."
Sirens reached them from the valley. Bucky tensed up beside him at the sound, and Sam grasped his hand to squeeze it.
"You okay handling this with Sarah?" he asked.
Bucky frowned. "Where're you going?"
"Can't meet the cops with giant ass wings on my back!" Sam barked, the stress of the day, the possibility that the wings were permanent making his tone sharper than he meant it to be. "I'll take off." Trying to soften the moment, he smirked. "Like, literally."
Sarah frowned between the two of them. "Wait, so… this morning was all about the wings? Not you two… you know…"
The gestures she was making with her hands were hilarious, and she sounded so disappointed Sam couldn't take it. Grinning, leaning into Bucky's space, he kissed the man then stepped away with a wave.
"Gotta go."
The delighted squeal of his sister made everything better as he walked down the hall to the bedroom and pulled out all of his warm clothes.
Negotiating any top with wings was impossible, so he grabbed a spare bedsheet and wrapped that around himself a few times, threw on thick snow pants and boots, gloves, and a colorful hat, and started to crawl out of the window.
Which proved to be a lot harder than it might have been had he not had a massive set of wings on his goddamn back.
The hand on his shoulder made him shriek before he realized it was Bucky, looking at him half way through the window, brow rippled in concern.
"It's cold out there Sam," the man said, trying to pull him back and tugging at the sheet. "This isn't enough. Let me cut up my jacket."
The doorbell rang.
"No time," Sam said with a smile. "I'll be fine. I'll stay close."
And with that, he finally squeezed himself through, leapt into a sky lit gold by the setting sun, and flew.
Wasn't like he hadn't flown with wings before, but those wings were stiffer and had limited controls - enough to do what was needed, with finesse, but otherwise just metal at his back.
This was so incredibly different. He felt every shift of the wind against his feathers, felt his muscles working the new limbs to keep him in the air, to turn and twist against the currents to get as much lift as he could.
It felt natural. Like he'd always had them.
But goddamn he was freezing, and as he swooped down to keep low to the treeline, he kept an eye out for anything that might work as a shelter until Bucky called him to let him know the cops were gone.
The world was giving in to shadow, but he spied an old campsite and a stone building, probably a hunting shelter. Nobody around.
Perfect.
Relieved to be out of the wind, he stood near the rough stone entrance and stared out at the snow, the only contrast to the deepening night.
And heard the faintest whimper.
Daniel Mendoza, nine, stared out the dark window, down the long, snowy driveway leading to the main road, and tried not to cry.
His dog, Buttface, had run off two days ago chasing after a fox, and hadn't come back. They'd hiked around the edge of their property looking for him, his dad had driven around to the neighbors and into town, and Daniel had spent most of Christmas by the door, waiting and hoping for his best buddy to come back.
That morning his dad had tried to tell him that Buttface might not make it home, but Daniel didn't believe it. He couldn't. He didn't have a lot of friends at school and the only thing that seemed happy to see him every day was his dog.
Buttface had to come back.
Feeling thirsty, he left his post and wandered into the kitchen, past the living room where his dad was sleeping in the La-Z-Boy sofa chair in front some old cowboy show and the wood pellet stove, and yanked the fridge door open to grab an off-brand cola.
There was an odd sound - a great rushing noise, like a sudden wind - and the doorbell rang.
Daniel's dad snorted, then settled again into snoring, so the boy took it upon himself to be polite and walked to the front door.
"Who's there?" he asked, since he couldn't see through the top window.
"Hey, my name's Sam - I think I've got your dog?"
"Hold on!" Daniel cried, his heart hammering, as he undid all of the locks - his dad was a vet who didn't trust people too much - and finally pulled the door open.
And he stumbled back as a black angel with huge white wings walked through the door holding his dog, smiling.
"This your guy?" the angel asked, teeth chattering as he lifted Buttface up. The dog's smushed mouth was wide, his little tail wagging frenetically. "He's real cold - do you have a heater?"
Daniel nodded slowly and pointed into the living room, his joy at seeing the dog overwhelmed by the presence of an actual angel in his hallway.
The angel was weirdly dressed though - outside of the white draping gown, he was wearing boots, and gloves, and a really goofy hat a tourist might wear.
Watching the angel shift through the living room carefully, look down at his dad and back up with a finger over his mouth, then settle the dog down by the fire while obviously warming up himself, Daniel realized something.
This was a Montana angel. Of course they'd have hats and gloves and shit. It was Montana.
The angel who'd said his name was Sam - probably short for something more biblical - was looking around the room as he rubbed his bare arms, frowning.
Daniel figured the angel was looking at his dad's army medals and his grandpa's flag and he smiled, feeling proud. But when the angel's gaze fell to the remnants of the 6-pack on the side table and the bottle of Jack beside it, Daniel moved forward quickly to pick up the cans his dad had missed the trash with, and stood beside his father, scritching Buttface's head when the dog shuffled happily over.
The angel Sam looked down at him with a big, soft smile, making Daniel feel like everything was okay.
Something started buzzing.
Frowning, Daniel looked around for his dad's phone, but the angel in front of the stove lifted his gown, revealing black ski pants, and pulled out his own phone, quickly declining the call with a glance to Daniel's dad, before tapping out a text.
Angels texted? Weird.
Sam gave Daniel a thumbs up and gestured for something to write with. Nodding, Daniel ran to grab post-its and a pen and met the angel as he moved to the front door.
Quickly writing something on the pad and pointing at his dad, the angel handed it back.
Then he did something wonderful.
Sam gave Daniel a big hug, told him he'd be okay, and gave him a fifty dollar bill pulled out of the angel's wallet, tucked in the angel's ski pants.
Angels had wallets?
And carried cash?!
Opening the door, Sam waved, took a few steps out the door, stretched those huge, amazing wings, and flew away.
Leaving Daniel grinning and hugging Buttface as he looked down at the note the angel gave him.
~~~~~
Call me anytime to talk - I've been there. (AF PJ)
Sam (202) 555-4875
PS: Buttface? Seriously?!
The next few days were a blur. Scott felt so guilty about what turned out to be an ex-employee robbing the house that he gave them another week to enjoy it, which was handy because Sam wasn't about to go wandering into the VA in D.C. looking like an overgrown pigeon.
Sitting on two stools in front of the fireplace, hands entwined - because the sofa was awkward as hell with enormous wings - Sam told Bucky about the dog, and the kid, and the dad, as Bucky shared what happened when the cops came, including the absolute freak out by one of the idiots claiming an angel was going to kick his ass.
That led to a good laugh, which led to a soft kiss, that quickly grew deep and hungry. Not wanting to disturb anyone's sleep, they left the cabin thinking to go to the car… which is when they discovered that Sam no longer fit in them. Determined and needful, Sam yoinked Bucky into the air, his wings beating and twitching and failing at a rather key moment wrapped around the man, leaving them falling into a bank of soft snow and lying there, groaning and laughing up at the sky, rather indecently exposed.
Returning, they huddled around the fireplace again, sharing a small amount of scotch and wine, which started the whole thing off once more, leaving them gasping against each other as they moved down the hall to the bedroom, desperately needing to stay warm and vowing to be quiet and quick.
And they were not.
The next morning, Sam carried AJ up above the valley where they buzzed two eagles, a hawk, three swifts, and a seagull returning improbably from a gas station dumpster, before Sam was mobbed by a murder of crows and a raven who wanted him out of their territory immediately, thank you very much.
AJ cheered through the whole thing, as Sam dealt with the worrying logistics of staying airborne and keeping his nephew safe while wishing he'd brought Red Wing as backup. Finally, they returned to the cabin, where Bucky met Sam with a kiss…
…and a plan.
The man had driven into Bozeman to a local outdoor/hunting supply store and found a giant black duffle bag, a long coat, and a fleece top. Drawing Sam back to the bedroom, he attempted to show Sam the outfit he'd devised to hide Sam's wings, but the man's nearness, the man's hotness, the man's general Bucky-ness, kept Sam so off task they ended up making love again - this time relatively quietly - and spending the next hour in bed.
The next day, with one more day to go before they had to head home, Sam flew to a spot behind an employee dorm, catching the confused eye of one dazed worker sitting in a cloud of smoke, and met Bucky there, who'd brought the gear, with strategic openings cut in the top and coat. It worked perfectly, and so disguised and feeling wonderfully normal again, they wandered around the resort and ate at a new cafe, with only a few people staring at the guy still wearing a backpack while eating with his boyfriend… wondering why the bag twitched when they kissed?
When the day came to leave, Bucky finally managed to talk him out of flapping his way 2,000 miles southeast to Louisiana by himself, and surprised him by pulling up in a RV after delivering Sarah and the boys to the airport. The thing was huge and ridiculous, but wonderfully roomy, and Sam could perch up the front and talk to Bucky while the man drove, which was perfect.
And they took their time, travelling through mountain passes in Wyoming as the sun got low in the sky, rumbling across the open plains of eastern Colorado, Oklahoma, and down through the rounded, forested hills of Arkansas, and north Louisiana to the wetlands and marshes of their destination.
Along the way they stopped anywhere they could - cooking in the RV or over an open fire at campgrounds still open in the snow. They sat outside together and stared up at the stars next to a roaring fire, wandered through tourist traps with Sam's disguise in place, enjoyed good coffee and food everywhere they went, and spent more time than not wrapped up in each other's skin, everywhere in the RV, sometimes outside of it, and sometimes in the sky as Sam got better at keeping himself up when absolutely everything went down.
It was perfect. Bucky was happy. Sam was happy. But…
…at some point, as they neared the exit for Baton Rouge, Sam couldn't hold in his worry anymore. How the hell was he supposed to be Captain America when his wings were as vulnerable as he was? How was that supposed to work? How was he supposed to live a normal life - as normal as life got for those who threw themselves against androids, aliens, or wizards all the time - with these goddamn wings on his back?
Bucky didn't have an answer for that. The man just cared about Sam being safe.
Nearing New Orleans, Bucky stopped to let Sam gear up for the final stretch home, before heading into town alone to return the RV. Sarah would pick him up and drive him down to Delacroix, where Sam would hopefully be waiting.
Only he wasn't.
The air was warm, humid, and felt wonderful against his skin, compared to the biting chill of the northern skies. Sam twirled and soared, dived and rose again, trying to enjoy himself, even as his worries threatened to drag him back down.
Bucky had been right though. No way he could have done this from Montana!
The sunlight bounced off the marshlands and lakes below, dazzling and brilliant. For a moment, he was blinded, blinking furiously in his goggles to reduce the haze across his vision.
Which meant he completely missed the circle of light forming in the sky directly in his path.
For Sam it was an insane, instantaneous passage from the warm, open skies of Louisiana to the dark interior of someone's library - a place filled with books and odd-looking artefacts in glass display cases he was about to crash into with a cry.
Until he didn't. The transition from moving at speed to stillness came without any feeling at all.
The cry fading in his throat, Sam lowered his arms from his face, finding himself held somehow above the floor, with a bookcase only a foot away.
"I do apologize, Mr. Wilson," came a familiar, dry voice.
Slowly, he felt himself lowered to his feet, and turned sharply to find the familiar figure of Dr. Stephen Strange smiling the slightest amount his way.
"Uh," Sam said, staring around himself in complete confusion. "Hey…"
It clicked then, as a book floated into view and opened itself flat before the man.
"Oh, this your work?" Sam snapped, opening his wings wide in irritation. One feathered limb knocked over an expensive looking vase to his left that shattered on the floor. "Shit," he said, immediately moving to pick up the pieces.
"Don't bother," Dr. Strange said, and with a turn of his wrist, wreathed in green sigils, the vase unbroke itself, returning upright to Sam's side.
"Whoa," Sam whispered, drawing his wings back in again and standing very still.
"Tea?" Dr. Strange asked, as Sam was suddenly sitting on a backless chair holding a dainty cup.
Which he promptly dropped.
The wizard sighed, twirling his wrist again. The cup promptly undropped, resuming its offering of tea in Sam's hands.
"Uh," Sam said, intelligently. "Thank you?"
"It was the ham sandwich's fault, you know," Dr. Strange said, strangely, as he gestured once more, tracing fascinating patterns of blue light in the air before him. "At least your wish was fairly benign. Not at all like the one for a pet kaiju."
Sam blinked.
"What?"
With a tired smile, Dr. Strange said two words.
"Undaer mumflab."
And with a flick of the man's wrist, the bright blue light shot forth, enveloping Sam and his wings before fading.
"Enjoy the tea," Dr. Strange said, while tracing another sputtering circle of light above Sam's head.
"Wait," Sam mumbled, putting the tea on the nearby shelf and attempting to stand as the world lurched awfully around him.
There was a moment of transition once more, where the world turned from an imposing library into the bright blue skies of Louisiana, and suddenly Sam was falling.
Because his wings weren't working right anymore.
As he fell through a cloud of molting feathers, he recognized his sister's house, recognized he wasn't that high up, and recognized that Bucky had burst from the back door and was running to meet him, his face wide with shock.
Sam landed with a splash just off their pier, his head spinning, feeling everything shifting at his back and a terrible itch. As he tried to find his feet, surrounded by a sea of white feathers, he felt Bucky jump in beside him, felt the man's strong arms wrap around him, and that wonderful voice call his name.
And held against the man's chest, being carried up out of the water, Sam felt some magical weariness take hold…
…and slipped happily off into the dark.
When Sam opened his eyes again, it was to a pale blue ceiling dappled in familiar patterns of shifting light that told him exactly where he was.
The guest bedroom at his sister's.
The moments returned to him - the odd meeting with Dr. Strange, being dumped into the river, the loss of all of his feathers…
…and with a quick rush of hope, he shifted experimentally in the bed, before stabbing his fist in the air with a triumphant cry.
The wings were gone!
Bucky's head popped up beside him.
"Hey!" the man said, mouth spreading in a slow smile. "You okay?!"
Watching that smile, Sam echoed it, before shifting to caress Bucky's stubbly cheek and draw the man in for a kiss.
Their lips pressed together, softly, slowly, until Bucky drew away, shaking his head. "Wait, what the hell happened? Why'd you fall out of the sky? What happened to your wings?!"
Snorting, Sam dropped his head back against the pillow.
"Dr. Strange happened," he murmured, annoyed.
Why'd the guy have to drop him in the goddamn river?
Bucky frowned beside him. "The sorcerer?"
Sam smirked. "The wizard."
The man he loved grinned, rolled his eyes, and fell back against the bed. "For the last goddamn time, there are no wizards!"
"You know my answer to that!" Sam cried, thrusting his arm up in defiance.
Bucky just laughed. He sought Sam's hand, threading his fingers through Sam's own.
Sam drew them down and kissed the back of Bucky's hand, before smiling up at the ceiling.
Everything was back to normal, he was beside the man he loved, and soon he was going to make pancakes and grits, and maybe drag Bucky to New Orleans and walk around like a regular guy.
Before the world's woes demanded them both, once more.
The phone vibrated on his nightstand, drawing his eye. Lifting it, he blinked at the text notification and opened it.
Hey, Sam, it's Scott. Glad you enjoyed yourself, and truly sorry about what happened again.
Quick question…
What the heck happened to the headboard in the master bedroom?
Squeezing Bucky's hand, whispering a soft "oops," Sam gave the phone a guilty grin.
It had been a great Christmas, indeed.
THE END