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The farmhouse sat quiet in the morning. The wind moved through the trees in soft shivers, like the earth itself was trying not to wake Bucky.
Steve had already been up for hours. Moving silently. Chopping fruit, peeling plums, folding butter into flour until it crumbled just right beneath his fingers. Setting the cobbler in the oven he turned back to the counter. He worked like a man carrying something holy.
In the living room, Bucky lay curled on his side, watching the light shift across the wooden floor. The decline started months ago. The pain was low and constant, like static beneath his skin. Every breath was a grind, every joint aching from the inside out. His muscles had long since withered from their superhuman glory. His body was turning against him, cell by cell, inch by inch. The serum that was once seen as the elixir of life was in truth a ticking time bomb. His regenerative abilities kicked into overdrive and littered his muscles and organs with tumors. His blood was souring in his veins, skin tinged yellow with jaundice. They had visited countless doctors and specialists, even Dr. Banner had lent a hand. Spending sleepless nights on exhausting projects in an attempt to save Bucky and Steve from their eventual fates. For months their house was loud and tense as Bucky battled this invisible monster living inside of him.
But today, it was quiet. It wasn’t painless, but it was still and that was enough. Picking up two plates of hot food he carried them to the coffee table. Picking up the cup sitting on the side table beside Bucky’s recliner he sat on the arm of the chair next to his lover.
Steve woke him up with a kiss to the forehead. “It’s time for meds and lunch honey.” he spoke softly.
Bucky groaned but lifted his head, opening his mouth. Steve popped a few tablets on his tongue before giving Bucky a full cup of water.
“Here you go baby. Drink slowly.” Steve hums as he helps guide the straw to Bucky's pale lips. Watching him drink, Bucky let go of the straw with a soft gasp. “Thank you stevie…” he says, voice hoarse and cracked.
Steve could feel his heart crack too, holding back tears he put on a happy face for the love of his life. “Anytime pal.”
“Steve?” Bucky looks up at Steve from his spot in his chair. His eyes were barely open as he rasped. “You…you said I could ask for anything…”
Steve nodded eagerly, a jolt of energy racing through his blood.
“Anything for you, Buck.” he says without hesitation.
“Can we have shakshuka for dinner?” Bucky grinned, and despite his hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes it was the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.
Bucky sat up slowly, wincing with each movement. Steve helped him with gentle hands, trembling only once. Bucky didn’t mention it if he noticed.
Steve pulled the coffee table closer to them and set their plates down. They sat together at the table like it was just another day. Like time wasn’t running out on them.
Steve served Bucky carefully, like it was the most important thing he’d ever do. He watched Bucky’s every bite, the way his face relaxed, how his shoulders dropped from their usual tension. They didn’t talk much. There were no stories to tell that hadn’t already been told. No regrets that hadn’t already been whispered into each other’s skin during long, restless nights.
But after Bucky had eaten every bite of lunch he could stomach, he reached for Steve’s hand.
“I’m tired,” he said softly. “Tired of hurting, tired of watching you hurt because of me.” Bucky spoke softly, his voice trembled with unshed tears. Steve tried to speak, but Bucky shook his head.
“This… was perfect,” Bucky whispered. “But I can’t lie to you Stevie, I-”
Steve stood suddenly, cutting him off as he cupped his face. “There’s more time, Buck. Bruce is working on-”
“Steve.” His voice was a rasp. A plea. “You’ve already moved the heavens and stars for me. There’s nothing else we can do. I’m tired.”
Steve's throat worked around the grief, trying to swallow it back. Tears welled in his eyes as his cheeks burned. He felt like a little boy again being scolded by his ma as Bucky continued.
“I don’t want to keep surviving just to watch you break,” Bucky said. “And I don’t want to go out in a hospital bed. I want to go here. With you.”
Steve’s jaw clenched. His eyes blurred. “You think I can do this without you?”
“You already have. You will again.”
A beat of silence passed. A storm of feeling swelled in the space between their hearts. Steve takes a deep breath, he was expecting this conversation sooner or later. He had hoped it would’ve been later but that wasn’t his choice to make. He handled his mom’s death with Bucky by his side, he saved the world with him and now he would have to say goodbye. Releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. Steve was fine, he would be ok, he can break down later.
“I’m with you till the end of the line, Stevie.” Bucky said softly and broke the dam.
Steve sank to his knees at his side, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s thigh like prayer. Like surrender as he wept into Bucky’s thin thigh.
“There is no me without you,” Steve whispered in between sobs.
Bucky’s hand trembled as he lowered it to Steve’s head, threading his fingers through golden hair gone soft with age and worry. He stroked gently, slow, the way you’d calm a wounded animal.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t want this… not for us. Not for you .”
Steve shook his head against Bucky’s leg, tears soaking through the fabric of his sweatpants. “Don’t-! Don’t apologize for something you didn’t choose, Buck.”
“I chose to fight,” Bucky said, cupping Steve’s cheek as he looked down at him. “I chose to stay alive all these years because of you. But now…my body’s choosing something else. And I’m tired, Stevie. I’m so damn tired.”
Steve raised his face, eyes swollen, red-rimmed, raw. “Then rest. Just let me… let me give you peace.”
Bucky nodded, jaw quivering, and leaned forward until their foreheads pressed together. “Let’s make it a nice day,” he murmured. “A good dinner. Maybe some ice cream for the plum cobbler?”
Steve gave a watery laugh, nodding. “You’ll get all that. And flowers too, if I have to dig them out of the damn snow.”
They kissed once, just once, slow and aching. The kind of kiss that tastes like history and grief and forever. Steve could feel Bucky’s tears spill down his cheeks, and onto his own. Their tears sprinkled the couch and Bucky’s sleep pants. As their sobs died down Steve stood up.
“Wear something nice for tonight, I'm making you the best damn shakshuka and cobbler you’ve ever had.”
That made Bucky laugh. A light airy sound that filled Steve’s chest with aching warmth. Standing up Steve pulled the sunflower yellow and black checkered quilt over his aching body. With that Steve tucked Bucky into his recliner. Pulling the hot cobbler from the oven he set it on the stovetop before he opened the window slightly. The cobbler rested on the windowsill like a postcard from another life. The entire house smelled like sugar and butter and home. Steve lingered in the doorway, eyes memorizing every inch of Bucky curled beneath the quilt.
He left the farmhouse they had built this house with their hands and years and love quietly. He took their SUV into town, shooting Bruce a text as he made his way to the farmers market. He bought plums so ripe they almost bled violet-crimson juice, butter from the elderly dairy farmer that greeted him with a warm smile, lavender from a woman who didn’t ask questions. He chose purple flowers, sweet pea and heather. Flowers that meant goodbye and devotion and things too big for words.
Before he headed home, he made a detour to cash in a favor. Turning onto the highway Steve reached Banner’s lab in less than an hour. The building was quiet as he walked through the white walled halls. Reaching the lab he knocked on the door. Bruce answered quietly.
Bruce met him with tired eyes, a shadow of gloom hanging over his head. He didn’t ask questions either. Steve didn’t need to explain the truth. It lived in his face. Bruce held out a small vial. Two pills. Pale blue, the same color of Bucky’s eyes.
“It’ll be peaceful,” Bruce said softly. “No pain. You’ll both be asleep before you know it.”
Steve took the vial. For a moment, his hand shook. But then he closed his fingers around it.
“Thank you, Bruce. I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” Steve said, choking back the tears.
Bruce just looked at him mournfully before he spoke in a soft baritone voice.
“I’ve been where you are. Sometimes it’s just easier to…to go out this way. Take care of him and yourself, Steve. It’s been an honor to call you my friend.” Bruce whispered, his brown eyes wet with unshed tears.
Steve leaned forward and pulled Bruce into a hug. Hugging him tightly as he whispered. “You’ve been a great friend Bruce. I hope things get easier for you.”
As he pulled away Bruce wiped the tears from his face. Steve smiled weakly as he cried too. As Steve turned to leave, Bruce reached out instinctively, gripping his arm not with force, but with familiarity, the kind that only came from years of fighting, of failing, and still surviving beside one another.
“Steve,” Bruce said softly.
Steve paused, his hand already on the doorframe. The shadows from the lab lights stretched long behind him.
Bruce stepped forward. His eyes, always tired but sharp, shimmered now with something more raw. He looked at Steve like a man who understood far too well what it meant to say goodbye.
“You were always the strongest out of all of us,” Bruce said, voice thick. “Not because of what Erskine gave you, but because you kept your heart open. Through everything. You still believed in… people. In love. In him .”
Steve’s eyes welled. His shoulders pulled tight.
“I believed in us,” he whispered, barely holding his voice steady. “All these years. That had to be enough.”
Bruce nodded slowly, then stepped in and pulled Steve into a hug, it was brief but crushing. Like a last tether holding him here. Like he didn’t want to let go.
Steve stiffened at first, then melted, his arms locking around Bruce with a quiet desperation. He trembled in Bruce’s hold. It wasn’t like holding Bucky, but it was someone who knew. Someone who had stood in the same blood-soaked dirt. Someone who had tried to save the world and still lost too much.
Bruce buried his face against Steve’s shoulder for just a moment. “If there were anything else I could do-”
“I know,” Steve murmured. “You did more than enough.”
When they pulled apart, Bruce wiped at his cheeks, rough and clumsy with it. “Do you… do you want me to come back with you?”
Steve hesitated. The weight in his pocket suddenly felt unbearable.
He looked Bruce in the eye, and in a low, rough voice, he said, “No. He just wants a nice dinner. Peace. A little normal.”
Bruce nodded. “Then go give that to him.”
Steve gave a weak smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. His mouth trembled like it wasn’t used to smiling anymore.
“I’ll give him everything I’ve got left.”
He turned, stepping through the doors, the soft click of his boots on the tile echoing behind him. His silhouette stretched across the hallway like a shadow made of iron and ghosts.
As he reached the exit, Bruce called softly after him, not expecting an answer: “Say goodbye for me.”
Steve paused, nodded once, without turning around.
The door shut behind him.
Outside, the world was warm and golden. A quiet, late-afternoon sun broke through the clouds like mercy. In the stillness, Steve slid into the truck, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands.
He reached into his coat pocket.
The vial was cool. Heavy. A soft blue glow pulsed within, like a heartbeat. Two pills. Two endings. A final mercy, sealed in glass.
He tucked it away again, swallowing hard, and started the engine.
When Steve returned, the house was dim. The scent of old wood and faint sweat met him first. Then silence.
“Buck?” he called softly, his voice catching.
He found Bucky on the couch, curled under a quilt with his head resting against the back cushion. His chest rose, barely. His skin was pale, eyes closed, lashes still dark against his cheeks.
Steve crossed the room in three strides, dropping the groceries on the table with a dull thud. He knelt beside the couch, brushing Bucky’s hair back.
Bucky stirred, opening his eyes enough to squint. “Hey,” he rasped. “You found the flowers?”
Steve nodded, setting them gently on the table nearby. “And plums. And butter from the farmer’s market. I’ll get dinner started.”
But Bucky’s fingers caught his wrist. His grip was weak, but firm. “Steve… I don’t think I can eat much.”
Steve nodded without hesitation. “Ok, do you want to just do cobbler and ice cream then?”
Bucky nods weakly.
Steve scoops his arms underneath Bucky’s fragile form, holding him like something ancient and beloved, something that could break apart if he breathed wrong. Bucky no longer felt like the soldier Steve once knew. He weighed less now, like time had been peeling him away, piece by piece. But in Steve’s arms, he was still everything.
Barefoot, Steve walked slowly across the house, his footsteps soft and even, gliding over the old wood floors that had creaked beneath them for years. He did not want to jostle Bucky. He did not want to wake the pain.
Upstairs, he laid Bucky down with practiced tenderness, adjusting the pillow, smoothing the quilt over his fading body. Bucky’s skin was cool against his lips as Steve kissed his forehead, lingering there as though he could breathe life back into him.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” Steve whispered, his voice frayed at the edges. “Try not to do anything stupid till I get back.”
Bucky grinned, the corners of his mouth curling faintly even as his chest trembled with effort. He let out a thin, wheezing laugh and coughed into his fist. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”
Steve smiled through a blur of tears. “Smartass,” he murmured.
Then he turned quickly, too quickly, wiping his face with the back of his hand as he made his way downstairs. His chest burned. The ache was sharp, guttural, impossible to shake, but he focused. He had a job to do.
In the kitchen, the plum cobbler sat on the windowsill, golden crust gleaming in the dimming sunlight. The air was thick with the smell of browned sugar, warm fruit, and something softer, something final. Steve moved in a flurry, scooping out two bowls with generous portions, the ice cream melting fast under his trembling hands. He tucked a bouquet of sweet peas and hyacinth into a vase from the windowsill, the purple blooms a gentle echo of their quiet life.
He grabbed a tray from the cabinet, added utensils and napkins, anything that might bring the moment the dignity it deserved. Then he rushed back upstairs.
“Something sweet for my sweet,” Steve called out, a crack of laughter in his voice as he stepped into the bedroom with the tray. His heart lifted for a second, just a second, before it dropped.
Bucky was still.
He had not shifted. Had not blinked.
“Bucky?” Steve asked gently, stepping closer, the tray shaking in his hands.
No answer.
The tray clattered to the floor, dishes smashing, ice cream pooling on the hardwood. Steve dropped to his knees, hands flying to Bucky’s wrist, his neck, his chest, searching for a heartbeat, for heat, for something.
But his skin was already cooling.
Still warm, but not living warm.
This was the ghost of the fevered body Steve had held through so many long, agonizing nights. The blood had stopped. The heart had quieted.
Bucky was gone.
“No,” Steve whispered, and then the grief hit like thunder. “No. No. No.”
He screamed, loud and broken, roaring toward the ceiling, toward the heavens or whatever hell had dared take his husband. He wept like a child, keening and cursing, his voice raw as he sobbed over the body of the man he had loved since he had scraped knees and skinny arms.
He pulled off his wedding ring with shaking fingers, then reached for Bucky’s hand, sliding the gold band from his cooling finger. He clutched both rings in his fist, pressed them to his chest, and collapsed over Bucky’s body, burying his face in his soft, thinning hair.
“Bruce says goodbye,” he sobbed, rocking them back and forth. “Sam’s gonna take care of us, Buck. You don’t gotta worry anymore, baby. I love you. I love you so much. God damn it.”
The sobs came in waves, violent, breathless, all consuming. Then, like the ocean, they would recede into numb silence. His body stilled. His mind went blank. He stared through the walls.
Then the grief would surge again, dragging him under.
For hours, Steve held Bucky’s body to his chest, rocking him gently, humming old songs through broken sobs, speaking to him like he was still there. The room grew colder as night crept in. But Steve did not move.
Eventually, when there were no tears left and no more words, Steve stood on unsteady legs. He tucked Bucky beneath the covers like he was simply sleeping, smoothing his hair, placing their wedding rings on the nightstand. He kissed his temple one last time.
“I’ll see you soon,” he whispered.
At the desk, Steve scribbled a note for Sam. The pen dragged slowly across the page:
Sam,
We left the bedroom window open—to keep the room from going sour. Hopefully the screen holds up long enough. Sorry about that. I know it’s a hell of a thing to walk into. I hate leaving it like this, but we didn’t want you to wonder, or worry, or come too late.
We’re at peace now. It was quiet. It was full of love. That’s what matters most.
We’d like to be cremated together. No boxes. No suits. Just ash, just warmth, just freedom. Split us how you see fit. One urn for you, keep us close if you want. Then split up the rest for the people we chose as family. The ones who stood beside us when everything fell apart. A personal urn for Natasha, Clint, Tony, Bruce, and Thor.
Sam, thank you. For carrying the shield when I couldn’t. For carrying me when I didn’t know who I was anymore. For being my friend. My brother. For loving Bucky as much as you did, even when he was rough around the edges, and ripped that sterling wheel out of your hands. You made this world easier for both of us to live in. You gave us something bright in all the dark.
We love you. Always have. Always will.
Take care of yourself. You still have so much life ahead of you.
With everything we are,
—Steve and Bucky
He left the note on the desk.
Then he went room to room, closing each window, each door. Sealing the house gently, methodically, like a man preparing a home for winter. Only one window remained open, the one in the bedroom. The one Bucky had always liked best.
Steve turned the AC as high as it would go. Cold filled the house like fog.
He returned to the bedroom, sat beside Bucky one last time, and took the vial from his pocket. The two pills sat nestled inside, glowing faintly. Mercy made real.
He swallowed them both dry and shot a text to Sam.
“Urgent. Come over tomorrow at 11, Just walk inside. I'm sorry in advance.”
Steve laid back in bed, pulling the covers over him and pulled Bucky close. Closing his eyes he let his thoughts drift. He prayed for the last time in his life.
"Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen."
The effect was slow. Slower than he expected. Softer too, like drifting off to sleep in a sun warmed field. There was no panic. No fear. Just the gentle, creeping hush of his body letting go. Steve’s fingers began to tingle, then numb, like frost brushing over skin. His breath thinned, shallower with every inhale, and the steady drum of his heart began to quiet, each beat growing softer, more distant, like footsteps fading down a hallway he could no longer walk.
He pulled Bucky closer, their bodies pressed together in a perfect fit shaped by decades. He curled himself around his husband, their legs tangled beneath the blankets. One arm slipped over Bucky’s chest, the other anchored beneath his head. He rested his forehead against the curve of Bucky’s shoulder, the place where he had always belonged. Bucky still smelled like warm cotton and fading lavender soap. That scent had comforted Steve through the worst nights of his life. He let it fill his lungs now, slow and final. His thoughts began to quiet, memories blurring and blooming behind his eyes like a dream,their first snowball fight in Brooklyn, nights on the battlefield with nothing but firelight and laughter between them, quiet mornings in the farmhouse where Bucky would hum while making coffee and Steve would pretend to still be asleep just to hear it.
It was those memories that rose up to meet him now. Not war. Not pain. But love. The last thing Steve felt was the rise and fall of his own breath, syncing with a rhythm that had lived in his bones for over a century. A rhythm that had always belonged to Bucky. Their last breath was shared. Their last warmth passed between them like a promise. The world dimmed slowly, like twilight pulling the sky into sleep. Color faded to gray, then to the soft black of velvet. The last thing Steve knew was the feeling of Bucky’s heartbeat against his own from long ago. Not tonight’s silence, but a memory.
And then-
Peace.
Complete quiet.
A bright light flashed and Bucky was standing over him with his cheeky smile.
“We’re together.”
“Always.”