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There is a difference between a marksman and a sniper.

Marksmen are usually in a team, they cover the backs of their teammates and are precision shooters trusted to not precisely shoot you in the back.

Snipers are notorious lone wolves, assassins who work alone and only have one objective, that is to kill.

Bucky and Clint have played both parts without a hitch.

Clint had always been a sniper before SHIELD, alone, working from one hit to the next to pay for food.

It wasn’t until SHIELD that he worked with a team, he found it both amazing and terrifying. People depending on him, trusting him.

He wasn’t used to it, but it did make him feel like he belonged.

Bucky had started out in a team, he was the marksman for the Howling Commandos, he had their backs, he’d saved them all several times by being the eyes in the sky.

They trusted him and depended on him to have their backs, and he always did. Never missing a shot.

After the fall he was a sniper, he was alone for nearly all of his kills. He knew nothing more than that.

But now, they were both in a team, a permanent one that depended on them both, and knowing that you had your own back covered when you were the eyes, that made everything about a million times better.

Clint looked over at Bucky who was about three blocks over with a sniper rifle, he must have noticed because he saw a smirk creep over his face.

"You trying to cheat, bird boy?" he heard over the comms.

"To win? Nah, I don’t need to cheat to beat you, RoboCop," he replied turning back to the battle and taking another shot. "Seventy-two."

"Ha, seventy-nine," Bucky replied smugly.

"What?! Aw hell no are you beating me!" Clint squawked and started shooting rapidly.

"Someone is getting laid tonight," Tony said amused.

"And it’s not Clint," Carol drawled.

"Oh shut up, the lot of you, ninety-three!"

"Ah, fuck," Bucky said.

Clint smirked.