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Bucky was selfish. He knew it, but couldn't help it. Couldn't change the fact that fury let his blood boil, couldn't help but standing over this fucking Hydra agent, who dared to try to stab Captain America (as if a simple knife would do any damage). Couldn't help but let his anger out at the long dead body.
Why was Steve taking these risks always? Why could he risk to die? How could he want to leave Bucky behind, all alone?
They were sent to Austria, another outpost of Hydra had been discovered, and of course the Howling Commandos were the right choice to take it down. Since it was close to Vienna, they were told to be as quiet and careful as possible.
The beginning of their mission was promising. Their way to the outpost took them through a thick forest, the trees providing them with more than enough cover. Even the weather was on their side, clouds were blocking off the sun, but it didn't rain yet. They could sneak up on the few posts standing outside of the building, and none of them were able to activate an alarm to warn the agents inside. But of course it wouldn't stay quiet like that.
As soon as Dugan set a food inside the back door, there was shouting and gun fire and they had to change their plans.
"Find a cover! Take down anyone who comes out!", Steve yelled and ran to a near fallen tree to hide behind. The others complied his orders, seeking cover themselves. Bucky was already lying down, taking his sniper rifle into account. Soon bodies were falling down around them. But they were outmatched and couldn't keep up the long-range fight any longer.
It was when Steve was about to ran to the oncoming enemies, shield already raised to cover his upper body. A fucking rat was sneaking up behind him. Bucky, who's main focus was always Steve's back, always, even when he took down agent after agent, yanked his sniper rifle around and shot the sneaking men six bullets in back and head. One would have been enough, but he couldn't help himself because Steve hadn't watched out, hadn't seen him and why hadn't he heard something behind him.
Bucky was standing above the dead body, anger pumping through him, burning him like fire. Why was he so angry, so unbelievable angry?
He wasn't like that, back in Brooklyn. Before Azzano.
He raised his pistol, face twisted with hatred, emptying the whole magazine, reloading, and emptying it again because why couldn't Steve wait until the area was clear, why had he taken this risk, why was he always taking these risks?
Because he knew somebody would watch his back.
Because this man had always had his back.
Back then and now.
Slowly he lowered his hand. Maybe Steve needed him. Not as much as Bucky needed him.
He would never be needed as much as he needed Steve.
But he needed him calm, calm enough to watch his back and take out anyone who dared to come near him.
Bucky put the gun away, turning his back to the smoldering remains of the outpost and made his way back to their camp. The anger was still lingering in the back of his head, bearable now. Contained. But he didn't know for how long.