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The damn thing is, Bucky thinks as he squints through the scope of his rifle, that he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to be to Steve anymore.
He knows what he used to be – might to Steve’s right, the guy who saves Steve when his strict moral code and big fat fucking mouth gets him cornered in an alley by guys a lot bigger than he is.
But Steve’s got more than enough might all of his own now. So where does that leave Bucky?
Pal?
Buddy?
Sidekick?
Bucky breathes carefully, finger steady on the trigger as he rolls each over in his mind, trying them on for size.
Brother?
No, none of them fit quite right.
Bucky accepted a long time ago that he’s the kind of guy who needs to be needed, has to find a way to be necessary.
But what does Steve need these days? There’s not much that the other guys and girls following Captain America’s lead can’t or won’t give him just as well as Bucky ever could. Loyalty. Admiration. Love. Even sex. Nothing there that Steve can’t get from Peggy or Dum Dum or half of damn America and most of Europe besides.
There, movement. A twitch of black against dark grey, a uniform against the winter trees.
Bucky hisses a breath out through his teeth, steady, steady, as the back of a Hydra helmet comes into focus through his scope. The plain fact of it is that Bucky has absolutely no problem with shooting a guy in the back. Especially if Steve, bright, honourable Steve, isn’t looking.
Steady, steady. Even breaths and the smooth drag of his finger against the weight of the trigger. Steady.
There is a flash of heat against his cheekbone, the sharp retort of the rifle in his arms, and then a body on the ground where there used to be a man in the crosshairs.
Below, Steve rounds a corner, barely pausing as he runs past the prone figure on the ground. He flashes a tight grin up the ridge to Bucky, then turns back to the fight, meeting the wave of Hydra henchmen head on.
And, yes, there it is, settling right as rain into his bones as Bucky levers back the slide on the rifle, jamming a bullet into the chamber with a practiced motion. He knows what he is now.
Not the might, not a buddy, but the guy who gets his hands dirty and does what needs doing.
Not the guy standing at Steve’s narrow shoulder, but the shadow behind Steve’s broad back.
That’s what Steve needs now, the dark counterpoint to his bright light.
End.