He decided to try cupcakes, because they seemed easy enough, right? Not to mention that he had a box of cupcake mix and the appropriate pan. Bucky had no idea why he had either of those things in his kitchen, seeing as it had been stocked by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but at that point, he didn't really care about the whys, only that he had something to take his mind off the nightmares.
He'd tried walking, but he thought too much. Reading, but for some godforsaken reason, he had a copy of War and Peace in Russian on his bookshelf, and he couldn't even stand the thought of going near enough to it to find another book. He suspected it was someone's idea of a very unfunny joke. Television had news coverage of their latest exploits everywhere.
There was nothing that didn't remind him of something, nothing but the kitchen, because no one cared if a fighting machine could cook. His mother, on the other hand, had loved it. And that was what he thought of as he began getting out the things he'd need for the cupcakes. It was a wonderfully distracting thing, for an hour or so, but before he knew it, they were finished.
Bucky stood there, looking at the pan of cooling cupcakes, wishing they hadn't finished quite so fast. Then again, they did still need to be frosted. Searching for a non-existent can of frosting wasted some time, as did walking several blocks to the nearest place he could get it at three in the morning. And then there was the time spent in the baking aisle, looking at various other decorative things that would make the cupcakes look nice and take up even more time.
By the time Bucky was finished with actually decorating the cupcakes, they looked pretty good, and the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. What to do with the cupcakes, though? They looked too...well, he wasn't exactly sure what, but they weren't for him.
He found a package of paper plates and arranged the cupcakes as best he could before sneaking out into the early morning light. Sam didn't live far away, fortunately, and Bucky knew he'd already be out for his morning run. It was a simple matter to break into the man's house, and he left the cupcakes artfully arranged on the kitchen counter before slipping back out. Bucky hurried home to shower and change into something more appropriate for going out in the daytime, trying all the while not to think about the cupcakes sitting in Sam's kitchen.
An hour later found Bucky standing back in Sam's kitchen, this time with both Sam and Steve present. Both of them were staring at the cupcakes like they might explode at any second, and Bucky could hardly refrain from sighing. Not that he didn't understand their caution, but he might actually have rethought leaving the cupcakes if he'd known they'd cause this much trouble.
"Well, they haven't exploded yet; that's a good sign, right?" Sam asked.
"They might be pressure sensitive. One bite and that's it for all of us," Steve countered.
Sam nodded like he somehow thought this was a valid point, and Bucky rolled his eyes. "Maybe they're just poisoned," he commented dryly.
"Probably a lot more likely," Steve agreed.
"You think it's safe to move them, then? Get them out of the house, at least."
"We shouldn't rule out the possibility-"
Bucky walked over and snatched one up, taking a bite before either of the others could say anything. It tasted good, certainly better than anything he'd had in a long time, and Bucky suddenly wondered why he'd just been eating whatever they'd been stocking his place with rather than actually getting things he wanted. Sure, they'd have followed him to the store if he'd just gone to the store like a normal person, but what did he care? They wouldn't stop him buying chocolate if he wanted it.
"What the fuck, man?!"
"Bucky, you can't just eat that!"
Sam and Steve shouted at him at the same time, but Bucky ignored them both in favor of finishing off the cupcake.
"I didn't explode, and I feel fine. They're not trying to kill us."
Steve frowned, and Sam looked a little bit like he wanted to try to wring Bucky's neck, but since neither of them said anything, Bucky shrugged and went to the living room, leaving them to decide what to do.
He heard a lot of hushed conversation, then silence for a beat, another beat, then, "Goddamn, that's good." Bucky smiled to himself.
After that first batch of cupcakes, baking and cooking kind of became Bucky's thing. He didn't really want anyone to know (because things you liked were weaknesses, and he knew that was wrong, but it didn't feel wrong), so he made late-night trips to various stores, picking up anything he needed for his next project and didn't have. He didn't sleep much, but then, he hadn't been, not at first anyway.
He made a cake the next time he woke up from a set of nightmares, and a casserole the time after that. It continued off and on for months, and Bucky always delivered the result to Sam's kitchen counter. There was no more question of whether or not anything that was left there was going to kill him, so Bucky rarely ate anything he left. Steve always seemed willing to help Sam finish it up.
It made Bucky...maybe not happy, not exactly, but there was a warmth in him every time he saw his friends enjoying something he'd made, a warmth he hadn't felt since before he'd been taken by Hydra. It was that feeling that kept him going, that made each day feel like maybe there could be something to life other than atoning for all the horrible things he'd done.
Naturally, though, something had to change eventually. He'd decided on a lasagna that day because he was pretty sure he remembered his mother's recipe, and the day he and Steve were supposed to meet with S.H.I.E.L.D. about his progress since being left nominally on his own was definitely a day for a major distraction.
The lasagna took a lot of time, both in prep work and in cook time, so Bucky started early, with the intention of having it done before Sam got done with his day at the DVA, and he was pretty much right on schedule with everything. He slipped into Sam's house with it and was just setting it on the counter when he heard movement.
He looked up to see Sam standing there, staring at him, and the fact that he hadn't noticed someone else was in the room was unconscionable, despite his distraction. Bucky was torn between fleeing and staying, knowing that flight would only result in further anxiety but wanting to do it anyway.
"First off," Sam said as he turned to drop his coat over the nearest chair, "you're going to tell me how you've been breaking in here." Sam began rooting around in the cabinets, emerging with some plates and silverware. "And secondly, you're going to sit here and eat some of this with me. You always stick me with Steve, and I'm sure you've heard the ridiculous, pornographic noises he makes when he eats something you've made."
Bucky sighed and sat down where Sam gestured him, and then he was face to face with a plate of lasagna. He hadn't eaten any of the things he'd made for Sam since that first day, and now, when his stomach was all tied up in knots, was not the best time for it. He stared at the plate for a while, looking up only to observe Sam making quick work of his own food.
Bucky started eating slowly, hoping to draw things out and give himself more time to think. Sam, unfortunately, didn't seem to care whether or not Bucky was still eating.
"So, why the food?" Sam sat back and waited, apparently content to let Bucky answer in his own time.
"It was a distraction from the nightmares." Bucky looked down at his plate and took another bite. It really did taste like his mother used to make it.
"Okay." Sam paused for a moment. "And you kept bringing it to me because?"
It had been a long time since Bucky had blushed, but he could feel it in his cheeks right then, and if he could feel it, Sam could undoubtedly see it. For a second, he considered the merits of leaving altogether and never coming back, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that Steve wouldn't try to find him again, and then they'd end up right back where they were.
"My mom. She used to cook for my dad back when I was young." Bucky held up his fork, watching as the piece of lasagna he'd speared with it slid down the tines.
"Right...that's not surprising."
Bucky made a frustrated noise and dropped his fork on his plate. "She didn't do it because it was what she was supposed to do; she did it because she wanted to. Because she...cared about him." Because she loved him, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to say that, not when the parallel was so obvious.
"Oh. So, this is a feelings thing?"
Bucky nodded, fiddling with his fork some more and willing his face not to be as red as it felt.
"Okay, I can work with that."
Bucky lifted his eyes, looking at Sam directly for the first time since the conversation had started. "You can...what?"
"I'm not totally there yet, you know? I like you, though, Barnes, and not just because Steve loves you like a brother. Sure, he talks you up enough that it'd be hard not to have some positive feelings toward you, but it's not just that."
"I don't understand." He really, really didn't. He didn't know how Sam could like him after the things he'd done, and he couldn't in any way actually believe that Sam was saying what it sounded like he was saying.
"You're attractive, you're a good guy under all the Hydra brainwashing, your best friend thinks the world of you, and you're wooing me with food."
Bucky stared blankly.
"Let's see where this goes, is what I'm saying. Mission accomplished, the food worked."
"I…" Bucky didn't have any idea what to say.
"Just finish your lasagna, huh? We'll figure the rest out later."
Bucky picked up his fork again and resumed eating, not feeling the slightest bit guilty when he stared at Sam through the rest of the meal, not when Sam couldn't seem to stop smiling.