Steve's not bulletproof, it turns out.
It's a flesh wound, and it heals up faster than it should, but it's also a reality check.
Bucky sits beside him, his face whiter than Steve's, doing his best to keep his friend's mind off the messy bullet extraction that going on just above Steve's hip.
Anesthesia isn't an option. It keeps wearing off every couple of minutes, and after trying several times to re-administer, it's just easier in the end for Steve to grit his teeth, take the pain, and get it over with. Bucky keeps a tight grip on Steve's hand, which is squeezing his fingers so hard he's surprised they don't break, and keeps talking. Steve doesn't reply, but he nods every now and then to show he's listening, around hisses of pain and muttered swears.
They'd gotten careless with scouting. The Commandos had gotten so used to Steve barely breaking a sweat in battle that they'd almost started to think he was invulnerable.
An enemy marksman had been lucky and gotten his shot off before Bucky noticed him. The enemy had been a poor shot, fortunately.
Bucky hadn't.
After that, he watches Steve's back like a hawk. He practices until he can have his rifle out, ready, and loaded in half his normal time; and he never lets the Captain out of his sight for long. He's not about to lose his best friend out here. When this is over, they're both going home.