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The weight of the blooming
The battlefield still smelled like ash and ozone, the metallic tang of blood and victory staining the dawn.
Bucky stood at the edge of the ruins, quiet, his vibranium fingers flexing open and closed like he could wring out the pain coiled in his chest. The fight was over. They’d won. But the war inside him kept blooming.
Quite literally.
He coughed into his hand, the spasm tearing through him without warning. He ducked his head away from the others—Sam, Bruce, Thor, all arguing about the logistics of returning the stones. And Steve, standing with his back to Bucky, still in the dirt and dust-smeared Captain’s uniform, looking impossibly whole despite the grief layered behind those tired eyes.
The cough came again. More violent this time. Bucky bit down a cry and turned further away, swallowing it like he had a thousand times before.
But this time, when he pulled his hand back, red streaked his fingers.
And nestled in the blood were petals.
White. Fragile. Veined with pink. The scent of them made him nauseous.
Cherry blossoms.
Of course it had to be cherry blossoms. Of course.
His body had long since betrayed him.
Hanahaki. The disease of unrequited love. He’d read about it, in a file Natasha had once thrown at him while calling him “a tragic little Victorian ghost.” The disease took root in the lungs of those who loved without return, sprouting flowers that choked, suffocated, and eventually killed if the feelings remained unanswered—or surgically removed, taking the love with it.
He’d kept it secret for months. Maybe longer. He’d lost track of when it started. Maybe it had always been there. A seed planted in the 1940s, watered by time and war and loss and the impossible softness of Steve Rogers’ voice when he said Bucky’s name.
He watched Steve now, still so Steve, even after everything. Shieldless. Leaderless. Still carrying everyone else’s grief on his shoulders.
Still in love with a ghost.
Peggy Carter’s picture lived in the compass Steve always kept. He’d seen him open it when he thought no one was looking. Bucky had memorized her face. Sharp, kind, confident. Everything Steve had ever wanted. Everything Bucky could never be.
The petals in his palm crumpled in the breeze. He closed his fist around them until they stained his skin.
“You alright?” Sam’s voice came from behind.
Bucky shoved his hand into his coat pocket and forced a smile. “Fine. Just tired.”
Sam looked at him like he didn’t believe a word. But thankfully, he didn’t press. “They’re almost ready. Banner says we’ve only got one shot at returning the stones.”
Bucky nodded, but his eyes drifted back to Steve.
He didn’t know how long he had left. Weeks, maybe. A month if he was lucky. The disease was progressing faster now. The coughs were worse. The dreams more vivid.
He wasn’t afraid of dying. He’d done it before, more or less. But the thought of dying from love—his love for Steve—without Steve ever knowing, without the chance to even say goodbye properly—
It was unbearable.
But Bucky was used to carrying unbearable things.
He turned away from Steve and the petals blooming in his lungs.
Tomorrow, he told himself.
Tomorrow, maybe he’d tell him.
Before it was too late
—————————————————————
It was late when Bucky found himself on the rooftop of the compound.
The air was still, cool, carrying the scent of burned metal and soil. The stars hung like distant witnesses. Bucky leaned against the ledge, hunched over, one arm wrapped around his ribs as another coughing fit seized him.
It was worse now.
Thicker.
He barely managed to muffle the wet, rattling sound into the fabric of his jacket. When he pulled his hand back, a full blossom had come with it. White and pink and impossibly delicate, stained with blood.
It was getting harder to breathe.
“I should’ve known,” a voice said behind him. “You’ve always been too dramatic to just have a cold.”
Bucky didn’t turn. “Go away, Romanoff.”
Natasha stepped beside him anyway, silent until she was leaning against the ledge with her arms folded. “You know I can’t do that.”
He swallowed, hard. There was a petal stuck somewhere in his throat, fluttering every time he breathed. “How long have you known?”
“Since you stopped training and started walking like you’d been punched in the lungs,” she said quietly. “Since you started hiding behind sarcasm like it could hold you upright.”
He huffed a weak laugh. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”
“I don’t. I just don’t want to have to explain to Steve why you choked to death on flower petals instead of opening your damn mouth.”
That hit harder than she probably meant it to. Maybe not.
Bucky rubbed his face with both hands, feeling raw. “He doesn’t feel the same way, Nat.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he snapped. “He’s never looked at me the way he looked at her. Still looks at her. Peggy’s been gone for decades, and she still owns him. What the hell chance do I have?”
Nat’s eyes didn’t soften the way people’s usually did when they pitied you. She just stood there, like truth given shape. “Then get the surgery.”
Silence stretched between them.
Bucky shook his head. “I’d rather die with it than forget what it felt like.”
“Bucky,” she said, quiet now. “You’re not a soldier anymore. You don’t have to die for things.”
He didn’t answer.
She stepped closer. “You deserve to live. Even if it hurts. Even if he doesn’t love you back. You deserve more than bleeding for someone else’s happy ending.”
He looked down at the flower in his hand. The edges of the petals were tinged darker tonight. Browning. Wilting. He was running out of time.
“I think I’d rather die loving him than live without it,” he said finally, voice barely a whisper.
Natasha didn’t argue. But she didn’t leave, either. She just stood beside him while he coughed again, and another blossom landed on the rooftop like a small surrender.
—————————————————————
The night before Steve was set to return the stones, the compound was still.
Everyone had gone to bed or wandered off to whatever counted as peace now. Sam had given up trying to convince Steve to let someone else go. Banner was double-checking the tech. Thor was snoring somewhere under a table.
And Bucky… Bucky couldn’t sleep.
His lungs felt too tight. His heart, too full. Or maybe too empty. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
He found Steve standing outside, just beyond the perimeter lights. The shield was slung over his back like it still meant something. His hands were in his pockets. He was staring up at the stars like he could see the past written in them.
“You should be resting,” Bucky said, voice low.
Steve turned, smiled. That same damn soft smile that always knocked the breath out of Bucky faster than the flowers ever could.
“I could say the same to you.”
They stood in silence for a moment. It wasn’t awkward — it never had been. Not with Steve. Their quiet had always meant more than most people’s words.
“I wanted to see the sky,” Steve said finally. “One more time, before I… y’know.”
“Before you run off and leave the cleanup to the rest of us?”
Steve chuckled. “Exactly.”
Bucky looked down, shifted his weight. The ache in his chest was deeper tonight. Like the roots were growing tighter.
“You sure about this?” he asked. “About going back?”
Steve didn’t hesitate. “I am.”
There it was. That certainty. That rightness Steve always carried when he’d made a decision with his whole heart.
And Bucky saw it, then. The flicker in his eyes, the warmth under his voice when he added, “I’ll finally get to dance with her.”
Bucky’s mouth opened before he could stop it. “Peggy?”
Steve nodded, and God, he looked younger suddenly. Like someone had lifted a thousand pounds off his soul.
“I missed her every day, Buck,” he said, voice quiet. “And I know how insane it all is, but if there’s even a sliver of a chance I can be with her… I have to take it.”
Bucky felt something crack in his ribs. A cough tried to rise up, but he swallowed it down like poison. No. Not now. Not in front of him.
“That’s good,” Bucky managed. “You deserve that.”
Steve looked at him then — really looked. “You okay?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Bucky forced a laugh, shallow and dry. “Yeah. Just… been a long war.”
Steve stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, strong and sure and grounding. Bucky let himself fall into it, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder like it might be the last time. Because it was.
It was.
He could feel petals pushing up against the back of his throat. They tasted like ash and longing.
“Promise me something,” Steve murmured into his hair.
Bucky nodded, eyes squeezed shut.
“Live. For real this time. Don’t disappear when I’m gone.”
Bucky wanted to say I can’t. That he was already disappearing, petal by petal. That he was drowning in love that would never be returned.
But instead he said, “I’ll try.”
And Steve pulled back, gave him that look — the one he used to give Bucky after a fight, like he was proud just to have him standing beside him.
“You’re my best friend,” Steve said softly. “You always were.”
Bucky smiled. But his chest burned.
He watched Steve walk back toward the compound. Toward the stones. Toward Peggy.
And Bucky stood in the dark, hand over his heart, and let the cherry blossoms bloom inside him in silence.
—————————————————————
The sky was pale with early morning when the team gathered at the platform.
Steve stood in front of the time device, the shield slung over one arm, the case of stones in the other. His suit was clean, pressed, almost ceremonial — like he wasn’t going back to war, but to something softer. Something Bucky could never follow him into.
Banner was talking him through the controls. Sam stood to the side, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched. Bucky hadn’t said anything. He didn’t know how.
When Steve turned to them, it hit like a slow punch to the gut. This was it. This wasn’t just goodbye.
It was the end of a lifetime.
He walked toward them, first giving Sam a quiet nod, a handshake that lingered into a half-hug. Then his eyes landed on Bucky.
And time, for a second, felt like it froze again.
Steve stepped close.
“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he said, just like he had all those years ago on the train platform, before Bucky fell into the snow and became something else entirely.
Bucky’s throat tightened. He forced the words out. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”
And then Steve hugged him.
Not the kind of hug you give teammates, or even brothers. This was quieter. Closer. The kind that said you were the home I kept coming back to. The kind that wrapped around years of pain and trust and everything they never said aloud.
Bucky held on too tightly. He didn’t care.
He breathed him in. Warmth. Soap. A hint of metal and history and Steve. He memorized it.
He didn’t say “I love you.”
He didn’t say “Don’t go.”
He just held on.
And when Steve finally pulled back, Bucky let go like it hurt.
Because it did.
“Goodbye, Buck,” Steve said, voice softer than the wind.
Bucky nodded. “Don’t be late.”
And then he turned away before Steve could see the blood at the corner of his mouth, hidden by the cherry blossom petal in his palm.
—————————————————————
The platform shimmered. And then Steve was gone.
Bucky stood there, numb, staring at the space where he’d vanished. The others buzzed around — Sam asking questions, Bruce tapping at controls — but Bucky didn’t hear any of it.
His breath hitched.
Not from shock.
From the pain.
A hard, sudden twist in his chest. Like something inside him was tearing loose.
He staggered back a step, one hand braced against his ribs, the other clutching tight to his coat.
Petals spilled out between his fingers.
No one saw.
No one noticed when he turned and walked toward the trees.
⸻
He made it to the edge of the lake before his legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees in the grass, trembling. His chest seized around the bloom. Blood filled his throat. His body was giving in, piece by piece.
It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet.
Soft.
Just like the love had been.
He coughed once — a choked, wet sound — and cherry blossoms scattered across the ground like snow in spring. He curled forward as darkness pressed in at the edges of his vision.
He never got to tell him.
But maybe that was alright.
He’d loved Steve Rogers with everything he had. And if that was how he had to leave this world — full of that love — then so be it.
He fell sideways into the grass, eyes half-closed, petals drifting across his chest like a shroud.
He didn’t hear the footsteps.
Didn’t see the old man who stepped out of the clearing.
But Steve saw him.
⸻
Steve stood at the edge of the clearing, older now. Weathered by time. The shield was resting on the bench beside him.
He had just come back. From the dance. From Peggy. From the life he’d let himself have.
And now he stood frozen, staring at the man he’d once crossed time to save — crumpled in the grass, unmoving.
“Bucky?”
His voice cracked.
Steve rushed forward. Dropped to his knees beside the body. Bucky’s face was peaceful. Pale. A blossom still caught in his lips.
Steve stared.
He didn’t understand. Not yet.
Until his eyes found the petals.
Dozens of them. Blood-streaked, beautiful, brutal.
“No,” Steve whispered. “No, no, no—”
His hands trembled as he pulled Bucky into his arms, too late. Always too late.
“I didn’t know,” he choked. “Buck, I didn’t know…”
The wind rustled through the trees, scattering the blossoms.
And Steve held him, an old man mourning a love never spoken, the weight of it pressing down on a heart that had lived too many lives and still missed the most important truth:
That Bucky Barnes had loved him until the very end.
And that love had bloomed — and killed him — in silence.