AN: Not me coming in after two years with another oneshot for this series!
Seriously though, thank you to ChrissyJoy for giving me the little nudge I needed to write this chapter that I've always thought about.
Based on chapter twelve of "The Alternate Handler".
Sam takes his time thinking over what he wants to do with Bucky when it's his turn to spend some time with him. Steve had come to them a little while ago asking for help to rehabilitate his friend who still thinks of himself as an extension of his handler. Sam had spoken already with Steve about getting Bucky professional help, but he understands why he'd been cautious of the idea.
Bucky will do anything he's told to do, including act human, even if he doesn't believe he is. His situation is beyond Sam's expertise, but he can see how that could mix badly with doctors whom Bucky sees primarily as taskmasters.
Either way, Bucky needs help, and Steve can't do it all. That is immediately clear to anyone. Sam can still remember how tired and on edge Steve had been when he and Natasha had crashed at his house. And he can remember how Steve had nearly passed out from exhaustion after the Helicarrier mission.
He can't imagine how hard and draining it must be to navigate his situation with Bucky. They were once best friends, and now Steve has to act as his handler because that's what Bucky sees him as right now. No matter the supports Steve already has, that has got to be gut-wrenching. So Sam's glad Steve had asked for help.
Most of the other Avengers have their own thing they do with Bucky. Sam knows Clint had mentioned archery and Bruce had said something about going to the library. As a Veteran's Affairs counsellor, Sam knows all about how little, every day steps can help a struggling veteran learn to cope with, and eventually thrive in life.
So when it's his turn to be with Bucky, Sam chooses cooking. He knows from first hand experience how food can guide the lost soul back to its place. When he'd come back from Afghanistan, he'd been broken. Reeling from the loss of Riley and his collapsing sense of purpose.
It had been his mom who'd been the first to reach him in his tidal wave of grief. She'd been the one to coax him out of his room and into the kitchen to help her prepare familiar dishes. The ones he'd grown up with that his family had been serving for years. It had been in that kitchen, combining spices and peeling shrimp and breathing in the familiar scents of home that Sam had started to feel alive again.
So that's what he suggests when Bucky doesn't have any requests of his own.
"I was thinking," he says, sitting casually at the common room island. "Since you're starting to eat solid food now, did you want to learn to cook something?"
As subtle as it is, he can see the way the idea strikes something in Bucky. His eyes widen by a fraction and his perfect stance becomes slightly less severe. He nods his head and Sam grins.
"Great. Did you have anything in mind? If not, then we'll just start with the basics and go from there."
He wants to give Bucky the option to suggest something, because while he doesn't speak much, that doesn't mean he doesn't have a lot going on in his head. It's clear to Sam that Hydra had trained Bucky into silence and these sessions are all about teaching Bucky he doesn't have to be like that anymore.
To his delight, Bucky does have a suggestion. His brow furls a little as he says it, as though the memories he's pulling from aren't quite clear, but the request is specific.
"Bacon." His hands press anxiously into his legs. "Bacon and peanut butter sandwich."
It's a weird combination, but not exactly unfamiliar. "No bananas?" Sam asks, because he's pretty sure that was Elvis Prestley's favourite sandwich, and the recipe has to have come from somewhere.
Bucky looks even more confused and shakes his head. Sam doesn't press it. He wants this to be easy and as un-intimidating as possible for Bucky. He doesn't really care what they make, as long as Bucky is on board.
"Cool," Sam says, getting up from his stool. "I think there's bacon in the fridge. We can make it now."
He's glad Bucky had happened to choose something simple for their first time. There's very few ways to mess up a sandwich and there isn't a lot that actually needs to be cooked. If all goes well, this lesson should give Bucky some confidence and some food he'd made for himself, rather than having it cooked for him.
"Okay, so." Sam demonstrates how to put on an apron and Bucky copies him, following his movements with careful accuracy. "Peanut butter and bacon sandwiches seems pretty straight forward, but, let me know if we miss anything."
Bucky nods silently, watching him continually in that careful way of his. The look isn't new to Sam. It's a wary type of hypervigilance that he's seen to varying degrees in many veterans. Sam keeps his body language open as he gets them started on washing their hands and he pulls the bacon out of the fridge.
Having a robot AI ordering all their groceries is amazing.
"Think you can find a frying pan?" he asks Bucky. He hadn't bothered getting Bucky to tie his hair up—they're not trying to pass a health code, they're making sandwiches—and his hair swings down into his face as he crouches to look for the pan. Already, dressed in a forest and camping themed apron, he looks younger, less like the stoic tin-soldier he tries to hold himself as.
"Do you know how to cook bacon?" Sam asks. Bucky just stares at the package, as if it holds some sort of secret.
"Unknown," he says finally, and Sam doesn't linger on the robotic word. Bucky has proven he can talk beyond the rote sentences Hydra had demanded of him. If Bucky is more comfortable using them in unfamiliar situations, Sam is not going to get on his case. He has a feeling Bucky's vocabulary will expand along with his comfort level.
"No big deal," he reassures. "Cooking bacon is pretty simple and," he gestures at Bucky's left hand. "You don't even have to worry about getting burned, so, that's a plus."
Bucky looks a little surprised at the mention of his metal arm, but Sam had done it on purpose. That arm is its own boatload of baggage that he doubts Bucky has even begun to fathom yet. It can't hurt mentioning something positive about it when he can.
Sam continues his light and easy tone as he teaches Bucky how to turn on the stove and start the bacon cooking. He leaves Bucky with a fork to turn the bacon once he's shown him how to flip the pieces.
"The fat in the bacon spits a little," he warns. "You shouldn't have trouble turning them over with your left hand though."
Bucky turns his head away but not before Sam sees the corner of his mouth pull up a little at the comment. Sam stifles his own grin in case it spooks him and heads for the pantry.
"I'll get the bread and stuff ready."
Bacon always takes longer to cook than Sam thinks it should, but Bucky stands infinitely patient by the stove, keeping a careful eye on it. Sam notes with a private smile that Bucky doesn't need any prompting from him to know when the bacon is done cooking. He recognises it by himself and grabs a plate to transfer the cooked meat onto.
"Looks good," Sam says by the counter where he's set out bread, butter and peanut butter. "Why don't you bring it over here and we can dig in."
Bucky moves silently as ever as he turns off the stove and grabs the plate of bacon. Sam grins and lets his mouth run as Bucky comes over, trying to keep things from getting too quiet and awkward.
"Man, I'm starving," he announces as he grabs a butter knife and reaches for the butter container, ready to prepare his sandwich.
The next moment is a blur. In the blink of an eye Bucky's metal hand clamps around his wrist, stopping Sam in his tracks. Something subtle shifts in his demeanour, the man going from simply silent to deadly still. Sam freezes, his muscles bunching up in shock before he very carefully forces himself to relax.
De-escalation training begins to play in his head as he scans Bucky and assesses the situation. Bucky's grip on his wrist isn't painful, the cold metal hand no tighter than a regular grip. Sam keeps his own grip on the dull butter knife loose, in case that had been what triggered Bucky.
It isn't a weapon, not to Sam anyway, but he can't know Bucky sees it that way.
"Hey," Sam says, his voice completely even. He doesn't move a muscle as he flicks his eyes over Bucky. The man doesn't look upset or agitated and Sam mentally lowers his de-escalation threat. Not that Sam has much of a chance at removing Bucky's hand from him even if he tried.
"Something wrong?" Staying calm and figuring out what's going on is the way to go.
Bucky's eyes dart over the condiments on the table and he breathes in, seeming more focused on the food than on Sam. He puts down the plate of bacon and reaches for the butter knife. Sam will admit that his chest tightens a little in panic, but he lets it go.
He doesn't believe Bucky is naturally a violent person, but PTSD is a heck of a drug. He's seen more than one veteran go into combat mode over something small. He hasn't forgotten that this is the most highly trained, most traumatised veteran he's ever met, and being held by the wrist while Bucky takes what is more-or-less a knife from him gets his blood pumping.
All of Sam's training hasn't been for nothing though, and he stays quiet, watching Bucky as calmly as possible.
"Wrong," Bucky mutters, the first word since he'd grabbed Sam. All he does with the butter knife is scrape the small amount of butter Sam had gotten back into the butter container. The move is so startlingly domestic that Sam can only blink.
"The… the butter's wrong?" he asks hesitantly, feeling almost dizzy as his perspective flips. He almost laughs when Bucky nods determinedly, letting go of his wrist and putting the butter knife down as though neither matter anymore. He doesn't pay Sam or the knife any mind at all, his eyes scanning the counter again, looking for something.
Holy cow, Sam thinks, his wrist hovering for a few moments before he lets it drop. Of all the things that could've happened the instant he'd been grabbed, he hadn't quite expected this.
He takes a step back from Bucky, giving both of them a little space and watching as Bucky moves to the pantry.
"What's it supposed to be?" Sam asks, noting how much more certain about himself Bucky appears right now. He scans the contents inside the pantry like it's the most important thing in the room. Like he's on a mission, but for a condiment.
Bucky pauses, his hand on the pantry door. "Something else," he says, glancing up at the ceiling as if trying to remember something. "White."
Sam finds himself completely fascinated by this new side of Bucky. He's always so careful to defer to everyone around him, the fact that he's so focused on this is significant.
"White?" he confirms as Bucky finishes rifling through the pantry and moves to the fridge. Bucky nods firmly and Sam glances at the condiments again. "But not butter."
He can't guess what Bucky could be looking for. Butter is pretty white in colour, and he's not sure what else you'd put on a sandwich like this. Maybe butter was different back in his day? Or maybe he's looking for margarine? Sam generally uses the two words interchangeably unless it matters but maybe it was a bigger deal in the forties—
Bucky spots something promising in the fridge and reaches for it. Sam can't see what it is but he watches with a disbelieving half-smile as Bucky unscrews the lid of a jar and dips his finger in to taste the contents. This is the same guy who had responded like a robot when Sam had asked him if he could cook bacon.
To be honest, this is exactly the kind of thing he'd been hoping cooking might give Bucky, It had just come on a little unexpectedly.
Bucky noticeably relaxes as he tastes whatever he'd found and he turns around, holding out the jar. "This."
Sam momentarily forgets about his VA training.
"Mayonnaise?" His face screws up in instinctual disgust and he pulls away. He wouldn't have guessed mayonnaise in a million years. Who puts mayonnaise on a bacon and peanut butter sandwich?
Actually that sounds like exactly the kind of sandwich people would make in the forties, he thinks wryly. White people hadn't seemed to have gotten tastebuds until the last twenty years or so.
"I'm not putting mayonnaise on a peanut butter sandwich."
If Sam were thinking more clearly he might have just sucked it up to encourage Bucky's self-expression or something. But he's so thrown off by Bucky grabbing him, and then suggesting mayonnaise that he doesn't think about it until after the words are already out of his mouth.
To his surprise, Bucky remains firm. He sets the jar of mayonnaise down stiffly on the counter, his jaw stiffening and his shoulders squaring a little. He has a cautious light in his eyes but he meets Sam's gaze steadily.
"Yes," he insists.
Even as shocked as he is, Sam can recognise how massive of a step this is for Bucky. He's holding his own on something Sam clearly doesn't like. He doubts the Bucky from a few weeks ago could have done this at all. Steve hadn't even been certain he'd ask to go to the bathroom by himself if he needed to.
And now, here he is, insisting on the most baffling assortment of flavours Sam has ever seen.
The corner of Sam's mouth ticks up and the last remaining tension in his chest eases up. This is exactly what he wanted. This abominable sandwich is important to Bucky, so much so that he's willing to call him out on it.
"Alright then," Sam concedes, coming over to sit back down at the island.
Bucky shifts uncertainly as he comes closer and Sam can feel him eyeing him [dubiously], probably carefully gauging his reaction. It's sad to think that Bucky has been conditioned to fear expressing himself even this much.
So Sam tries the mayonnaise and bacon peanut butter sandwich.
He tries to keep his thoughts to himself as he spreads mayonnaise over his bread, but he can feel his eyebrows trying to pull up dubiously. Thankfully that doesn't stop Bucky from serving himself once Sam is finished.
Sam sits back, braces himself, and takes a bite. It's… not as bad as he thought it would be. The salt of the bacon mixes okay with the mayonnaise, although the sandwich as a whole is still a little out there. Maybe if he toasts the bread next time it will mesh better, a proper hot sandwich to round everything out.
He's pulled away from his musings as Bucky finishes preparing his sandwich and takes a bite. An indescribable look flickers across his face and—oh, this is what Sam was hoping for him.
Bucky doesn't do anything so out of character as smile, but his eyes widen and go distant, his jaw slack as he tastes the sandwich he'd tried so hard to make. There's a glimmer in his eye and a subtle brightening to his whole demeanour. Without a word he takes another, larger bite.
He looks ready to wolf the whole thing down and Sam reminds him quickly to take it slow. Bucky only nods distractedly, a stark change from how he'd followed Sam's every direction before. A smile tugs at Sam's lips and he takes another bite of his own sandwich.
He could maybe get used to the flavour. It's still weird though.
"Well that was stranger than I thought it would be," he says, once he finishes up and Bucky appears to have eaten his fill. Sam isn't sure how much solid food he's used to eating right now. Apparently Hydra had taken even the semblance of normal food away from him during their conditioning.
Sam's hands clench as he pushes himself up from the counter. That's part of the reason he wants to do this. Food is such a culturally rooted device. Hydra had tried to remove that entirely.
Sam breathes in, steadying himself. "Hey, don't worry about the leftovers," he tells Bucky gently. "We can make more later, or, you know, any other weird recipe you suddenly get a craving for."
Sam would make a hundred bizarre 1940s dishes if it led to that faint look of recognition and awe in Bucky's face.
That same look stays on Bucky's face as Sam teaches him how to dispose of the bacon grease and how to wash the dishes. Every time Sam has to explain something so simple and basic like that he aches a little for what Hydra had done to him. Sam knows he's barely seen anything, but it gets to him either way. Hydra had tried to remove everything that made Bucky a person. Every reminder is chillingly horrifying.
But it's also a testament to Bucky's strength. Here he is, after seventy years of being unmade, slowly finding the pieces of himself again and fitting them together.
Of course it had to start with mayonnaise.
Sam smiles softly as he wipes the frying pan dry. He's definitely going to be cooking some more weird and wacky dishes with Bucky. Anything he can do to help uncover those lost pieces.
But maybe next time, he'll introduce Bucky to pancakes too.
AN: I hope you enjoyed Sam's pov! I always thought he'd have an interesting perspective working with Bucky here. And he'd have a lot going through his head in the moment Bucky grabs him. I always kinda wanted to write about that.
It was fun revisiting this scene. I think every comment on that original chapter was just as shocked as Sam about that mayonnaise XD
