Imagine Bucky learning to make soup as a therapeutic exercise. Whenever he or any of the Avengers comes home from a particularly difficult mission, you can always trust Bucky to grab the spices and meat and vegetables (he’s learned to keep bags of pre-cut ingredients in the freezer for when he can’t stand the thought of using a knife again) and get to work at the stove. He often hums at he cooks, both the old tunes he knew from the 30s and some of the modern music he’s slowly becoming acquainted with.
Everyone enjoys his meals, and sitting over a bowl smelling the steaming broth always helps them unravel their tension. One night, Natasha walks through the door wearily, not quite sure (or caring) whether the blood under her nails is hers or not, only eager to wash it off. When she emerges from her room later with a towel still on her head, she registers a familiar smell coming from the kitchen and finds that Bucky has a bowl of chicken soup waiting for her. He’s learned to time it so that it’s the perfect temperature to eat when she comes to the table. She smiles gratefully at him, still exhausted but feeling more human now, and better still after she takes the first bite.
It’s delicious of course, and she appreciates the comfort food, but the real warmth comes from getting to see Bucky, who was so fragile when he had first joined them, now able to nurture others. She smiles and says that his soup has healing properties, and he knows she means in more ways than one. Bucky sits down with his own bowl and smiles in return, and the two eat in companionable silence.