Chapter Text
The full moon was out, meaning all the “weirdos” would be coming out. That’s what everyone said.
At least for Sam, he didn’t have to worry too much about the weirdos. He felt bad for his friends who worked in the local hospitals and emergency rooms. They had to deal with humans. At least his patients were usually more cuddly and furry. The worst he’d get is a scratch once in a while.
He’d started working in New Orleans at the emergency vet hospital a year after residency. He was entering year two of his time there and he really enjoyed it. He was currently treating his last patient of the night, a small black cat who needed stitches in her back leg due to a thorn getting in there.
“Is Bee gonna be okay?” the cat’s owner, a little girl named Sonia, asked tentatively. Her big brown eyes stared anxiously as Sam continued his work. She was sitting in her mother’s lap, who had a similarly worried frown.
“Yep! She’ll be all good!” He smiled brightly. He knew how stressful it was for owners when their pets were in pain, especially little kids. He finished the last stitch and snipped off the excess, “probably will be walkin’ funny for a few days, so make sure she doesn’t put a lot of weight on her leg, okay?”
Sam scratched under little Bee’s chin, earning him some purrs. She looked less pleased when he secured the plastic E-collar around her neck. He grabbed one of the cat treats near the exam table, which seemed to get him back in the kitten’s good graces, “she’ll need her stitches for a couple weeks. You can take her to her normal doc and they can take ‘em right out, but feel free to call if anything happens.”
“Sounds good, thank you, Dr. Wilson,” the mother nodded gratefully and gently picked Bee up from the examination table.
“Yeah, of course! No worr-” he stopped when little Sonia wrapped her arms around his leg. She looked up with teary eyes and sniffed. He took off the blue surgical gloves and patted her back, “hey now, it’s okay. That was probably really scary for you, huh?” She nodded and sniffed again. Sam knelt down, “Bee’s gonna be just fine. You wanna know how I know?”
“Because you’re the cat doctor?”
Sam laughed, “well, that. But, I know she’ll get better because she’s got a good friend like you to look out for her,” he tilted his head, “you can do that, right Sonia?”
The little girl paused, looking between her mother holding Bee and then back to Sam before she nodded diligently.
“Good,” Sam stood up, “you can go out and see the front desk. They’ll give you some paperwork before you leave. Have a good night, y’all!”
“Bye, Dr. Wilson! Thank you!” Sonia waved before bouncing out the door.
Sam cleaned up his station and checked the time on the wall clock. Perfect timing, his shift was pretty much over. If he was quick, he had enough time to get a sandwich from his favorite late night joint before heading home. He was coming off of two overnight shifts in a row, so he was ready for two days off rotation.
“Headin’ out for the night, Doc?” Joaquín, one of the veterinary residents Sam had taken under his wing, said while putting his things in the locker.
“Yep!” Sam said. He grabbed his coat and satchel from his locker, quickly checking his phone for any messages he missed, “I have a date planned with me, myself, my couch and episodes of ‘The Golden Girls’ in my future.”
Joaquín gave Sam a flat expression, “you sure live an exciting life.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sam grinned, securing his satchel across his body, “see ya, Torres!”
“Be careful! It’s a full moon out there! The creeps will be out tonight!”
Sam barely made it in time to grab his favorite roast beef sandwich before the shop closed. He gave the nineteen year old worker a very nice tip to make up for coming in at the last minute. He took a couple bites, savoring the tenderness of the meat mixing with the melted cheese before mounting his bike again. Then, he headed to Couturie Forest for a quick midnight ride in order to get back home. Mama would yell at him for this, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
It was a cool, crisp night. Nothing but the full moon and stars blinking in the sky. He was whistling along to his carefully curated playlist he saved for his bike rides. Then he heard a chilling noise that definitely wasn’t coming from the current tune playing in his ears.
Sam slowly brought the bike to a halt and took out his earbuds. He stayed still, trying to minimize any movement and noise in order to hear if the previous sound was only his imagination.
His blood ran cold when he heard it again.
It was a high-pitched whine somewhere behind him, the pain palpable even to Sam. He sprung into action when there was a guttural cry in the otherwise quiet night. He put his kickstand down, took off his helmet and hung it on the handlebar
He dug into his satchel for his mini emergency kit. It wasn’t much, but it had a basic animal friendly first aid: antiseptic, ointments, gauzes, tweezers, and bandages. His spare stethoscope was in there, too. He had an unopened water bottle in his bag from his sandwich order, intending to use it to wash any debris or blood if the situation needed it. He thanked his lucky stars when he saw one last pair of gloves left.
He got into the habit ever since he started vet school. Whether it was for humans or animals, he carried a little first aid kit wherever he went. Of course with the animals, he’d do basic care until he was able to get them to an emergency vet. Now, he wasn’t sure what he was going to see or if his bike would be big enough to carry this wounded animal himself. He could call Joaquín and see if he could help depending on how bad the situation was.
There was another whine and Sam whispered under his breath, “I’m coming. I’m coming. Just hold on.” He braced himself as he turned on his heel and swiftly made his way to the direction of the wounded animal. As he got closer, he could smell fresh blood and his nerves stood on edge. Goosebumps prickled across his skin, and it wasn’t due to the cold. He took a deep breath and stepped off the path and into the grassy part of the park–breaking the rules.
In his defense, an animal was in need.
Leaves crunched under his feet and a breeze ruffled his clothes. The trees creaked and this was the part of a horror movie where Sam was horribly maimed by a beast. Or a serial killer.
He hated himself for having the thought because he stopped dead in his tracks when he arrived at a small clearing. There, he discovered the source of the noise. His breath caught and his hand tightened on his small kit.
“Shit.”
He cursed Joaquín for saying he “lived an exciting life”. Jinxed him, the young resident had jinxed him.
Because there, laying in the grass, was a huge wolf with one of its back paws stuck in a very illegal bear trap.
“God, what happened to you?”
Its white fur almost glowed in the moonlight, the blood matted in the fur of its leg looking misplaced. The wolf’s labored breathing made its chest rise and fall quickly, mouth wide open revealing pure white canines. It pawed on the ground, weakly trying to get away and that’s when Sam noticed the wolf was missing one of its front legs. It looked too clean. Maybe it was found by a wolf conservancy and taken care of before being released into the wild again.
Sam was really out of his depth.
Also, what the hell was a wolf doing in New Orleans?
He didn’t have time to think about it too much because the wolf realized it wasn’t alone. Sam stopped breathing when sharp, almost supernaturally blue eyes locked onto him.
He should turn back. He should call someone.
Instead, Sam took a step forward.
The wolf began to growl, teeth bared and ready to attack. If Sam was a smarter man, he would take it as a warning.
Yet, his feet moved slowly towards the beast.
He’d become notorious at the hospital for being one of the only vets able to calm down these “aggressive” types.
He hated that word. “Aggressive”.
Usually, these animals were just scared and needed to be treated gently. Carefully. Most of all, very patiently. He’d been successful nine times out of ten, getting an animal to agree to receiving some type of treatment.
Of course, none of those animals were a giant wolf. A wild one at that. He’d had a few experiences with wildlife, usually a last minute solution if the local preservations were really desperate. He had only one experience with wolves. It was when he took a field trip to a wolf conservancy in Texas. He watched as the vets at the conservancy did minor checkups, but it was such a long time ago.
That hardly seemed like enough experience to apply to the situation he was in now.
He lifted his hands and spoke softly, “hey, I’m not here to hurt you.”
It didn’t matter how carefully Sam approached, the wolf kept snarling with its hackles raised. Sam still didn’t back down, even when it snapped its teeth. If he showed his fear, it’d turn out bad for both of them.
It began to writhe away and forgot it was still stuck. Sam saw more skin tear as the trap dug into the wolf’s foot. It yelped and began to twist away more, adrenaline and panic clearly kicking in.
“Hey, hey!” Sam said firmly, “you gotta quit moving or you’re gonna hurt yourself more.” This did nothing to get the large canine to relax. As Sam got closer, he could see the fear and pain in its wild eyes.
Poor thing was probably just as scared as Sam was. If not more.
“Shh, hey. You’re okay,” Sam hushed, kneeling onto the ground near its head at a somewhat safe distance, whatever that meant. The head where all the sharp teeth were was probably the last place Sam wanted to be, “you’re okay. I know you’re scared, but you gotta stop moving and let me help.”
The distressed creature eyed him carefully, still trying to escape. Something compelled Sam to stupidly reach his hand forward and he smiled, “see? You don’t need to be scared of lil’ old me. I’m here to help, I promise.”
The wolf slowly stopped moving and looked between Sam’s hand and face, searching eyes piercing right into his soul. It leaned its nose forward, tentatively sniffing the tips of the fingers presented.
Sam sat completely still and didn’t say a word. He prayed to whoever was listening that he wasn't going to lose a hand.
Then, something unexpected happened.
The wolf let out a long, heavy sigh and laid its large head on Sam’s thighs. It looked up at Sam with the saddest pair of eyes he’d ever seen.
Who knew that wolves were just giant ass puppies?
“Oh, well aren’t you precious,” Sam laughed. He reached into his coat pocket for a pair of thick leather gloves he wore for his late night bike rides, “why were you causin’ all that fuss before, hm?” After securing the gloves, he stroked the wolf’s giant head as it whined again, “shh, you’re okay. I got you, you’re safe.”
The wolf closed its eyes in response. Its breathing was still heavy and now it was bordering on wheezy.
That wasn’t good. Sam had to work quickly to at least stabilize this animal until he could get some proper help.
He scratched behind one of its giant ears. The wolf leaned into Sam’s hand, slowly blinking up at him, “alright, let’s work on getting your foot out of this awful contraption.”
After carefully removing the wolf’s head from his lap and laying it gently back on the ground, he scooted over to its back legs. He sat in front of the trap, cursing whoever put it there. He’d have to report this.
“This’ll probably hurt, but I’m gonna take care of you as soon as we get your foot outta there,” he turned to see the wolf staring directly at him. It was almost uncanny. Was it understanding what Sam was saying?
Weird, Sam thought.
He gripped the steel trap in both hands, feeling the tension in the metal. After taking a deep breath, he heaved and struggled to get the metal springs to get down. It squeaked and creaked, but it finally released with a clang. The wolf cried out and began to whimper and began to paw at the ground like it did before.
“Shh, I know,” Sam stroked its flank and tried to soothe the beast, “I know, baby. That hurt like a bitch, but you did so good. Hard part’s done, okay?”
It looked at Sam helplessly as its leg was taken out the maw of the steel trap. Sam not so gracefully kicked the horrid trap away.
Sam pulled out some sanitizer, cleaning off his hands before putting on the blue surgical gloves. His hands remained steady because this he could do. He didn’t train and study eight years for nothing.
“I’m gonna check your heart and lungs real quick,” he pulled out his spare stethoscope from the kit and secured the headset, moving the chestpiece to the white wolf’s ribcage. He heard a strong heartbeat, maybe a little higher than normal for an animal this size. It made sense, injury and fear was a lot of stress to deal with. The breathing had improved, no more panting which was good.
“Nice heartbeat, Casper, real good,” Sam marveled, taking out the earpieces and resting his stethoscope around his neck, “lungs sound pretty good, too.”
The wolf lifted its head up a little and narrowed its eyes. Another sign maybe this wolf was understanding him. Sam smiled, “what? Casper. Like Casper the Friendly Ghost?” Casper sniffed before laying its head down, grunting a little. Sam shrugged before turning his attention back to the wound, “well, I think it’s cute and it suits you.”
Sam carefully put his fingers around the injured flesh, spreading the fur around so he could see where the trap made its home. He muttered angrily, “fucking poachers, man. We’re in a park for God’s sake. You’d think people would be better than this.” Casper huffed and Sam laughed, “right? You get it, Casper.”
The wound at least didn’t look like it needed stitches. He was surprised, he’d expect there to be more tearing. Opening up the water bottle, he cleaned out some of the blood and debris. After using the gauze to dry it off, he started rubbing some antiseptic, wincing when Casper flinched and made a pained noise, “I know it stings. I’m sorry, I’ll try to be quick.”
He dug a clean and gloved ring finger into the ointment and dabbed it on. Finally, he wrapped a bandage on, “alright Casper, we should be okay until we get some proper help for you.” Sam stood up and brushed the leaves and dirt from his pants and bottom of his jacket. Shivering from the breeze, he reached into his pocket for his phone and realized it wasn’t there, “ah, dammit, phone’s in my bag.”
Casper now rolled onto its stomach, finally having the strength to lift its head up again. It shook itself, ruffling up the fur around its neck. It really was a pretty thing, albeit absolutely terrifying. Something again compelled Sam to reach his hand out to its nose.
The wolf sniffed at Sam’s fingers before it nudged against his hand, begging for pets. Sam chuckled and scratched underneath its chin and behind its ear again. There was a low, throaty rumble from the back of the wolf’s throat, something sounding similar to a purr. It was those bright blue eyes that made Sam question how intelligent this creature was.
To Sam, crazy enough, it seemed almost grateful.
Shit, maybe he was the weirdo who came out during the full moon. Or maybe, he really needed sleep.
“I’ll be back, okay? Just gonna make some calls,” Sam took his hand back and walked to where he left his bike. Taking off his gloves, he threw them in the nearest trashcan off the bike path. He dug into his satchel for his hand sanitizer again, washing his hands once more. He found his phone and dialed his workplace.
“MedVet New Orleans! Torres speaking,” Joaquín’s cheery voice chimed over the phone, “how can I assist?”
“Since when were you on phone duty, Torres?” Sam asked.
“Ah, hey, Boss! I thought you’d be on the couch by now watching ‘Golden Girls’.”
“Yeah, same. Ran into a little detour on the way home,” Sam started to make his way back to the clearing, “you’re not gonna believe this, but I pulled a wolf out of a bear trap. Was able to administer some minor wound care, but I wanna bring it in for proper treatment. Think you or someone else can get the van? I can’t bring it on my bike, that’s for sure.”
“A what now?”
“You heard me. A wolf, huge one.”
“You’re not pullin’ my leg, are ya, Doc? What the hell is a wolf doing in New Orleans?”
“I wish I was kidding.”
“Yeah, guess this isn’t something you joke about. I can get Bradley or Reynolds to bring the van.”
“Thanks, Torres. I’m at Couturie Park off the bike path. You won’t miss us. I’ll give our friends at the wildlife preserve a call. They need to be involved. Someone’s gotta be…up? What the hell?”
He stopped when he came upon an empty clearing. Casper was nowhere to be seen. If anything, the only evidence of its existence was the bear trap with blood dripping in its steel teeth.
“Sa–Dr. Wilson, everything good?”
“Yeah, yeah, uh. It’s gone, the wolf.”
“Gone?”
“With the wind,” Sam did a cursory glance, but didn’t see any sign of the large canine, “must’ve walked off…”
“It couldn’t have gotten far, right?”
“I don’t think so…only had three legs.”
“Shit, poor thing really went through it, huh?”
“No, it looked like the leg was amputated or something a while ago. Probably an old injury, but still.”
Joaquín hummed, “how about you go home and get some sleep, Wilson? I can report the bear trap and call the wildlife preserve. See if someone is up.”
“Yeah, thanks, J. I’ll send the picture and location. Hopefully the cops can at least pull up footage and see who put that death trap there. Give my info to them in case they need to follow up.”
“You got it! Get home safe, Boss!”
As Sam got back on his bike, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He kept looking into the bushes and trees. Turning on the lights on his bike and helmet, the hairs on the back of his neck stood as he biked away. He didn’t even bother putting his earbuds in. He was too on edge to listen to his favorite divas serenade his return home.
Sam was a few blocks away when he ran into his neighbor from across the street, Steve, who was an art professor at LSU. Steve was usually pretty put together and became notorious for his old man cardigans and fun graphic tees underneath.
Tonight, Steve was clearly frazzled, wrapped up only in his sweatshirt, gym shorts, and wearing mismatched shoes. His usually perfect blonde hair was sticking up at weird angles. Either gripping his hair or he’d just woken up.
“Hey, Steve! Everything good?” Sam called out, putting his leg down.
Steve paused and gave a tight smile, “oh, Sam! Hey. Yeah, I lost my friend…’s dog. Yeah, my friend’s dog ran off. Been trying to look for a while.”
“Oh no, need some help? I can call the non-emergency line.”
“No! No!” Steve laughed nervously, “I’m all good. My friend is also looking. He’s in another part of the neighborhood,” he shivered, crossing his arms to keep warm from the incoming breeze.
“Okay. Lemme know if you need a third pair of eyes.”
Steve waved him off, “nah, you’re good, Wilson. You just had double overnights, right? Get some sleep.”
“Offer’s still there. Oh!” Sam snapped his fingers, “let your friend know to avoid the Couturie Forest area. There’s a wolf there. It’s injured, but still could be dangerous. Not sure how it got there but—"
“Wait, did you say wolf?” Steve rushed out, “where? Did you see him?”
“Uh, yeah? Couturie Forest, like I said,” Sam started, “I had to take care of its wound, poor thing got its leg stuck in a trap.”
“A trap?” The blonde’s energy shifted, he looked almost…angry.
“Yeah, bear trap, too,” Sam rolled his eyes, “humans. Can you bel—”
“Sorry! Gotta go, Sam!” Steve took off in a run, he threw a wave over his shoulder, “thanks a bunch! I owe you a drink!”
“Oh, okay! Be careful!” Sam yelled back, “and put some clothes on, it’s cold!”
“Will do, Wilson! Get inside, the weirdos are out!”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Sam said under his breath. He walked the rest of the way home. After locking up his bike, he entered the front door and called out, “Fig! I’m home.”
Figaro, his tuxedo cat who’d been his companion all through residency, came bounding around the corner and meowed. Sam smiled and knelt down by his door, “hey, baby boy. Were you good today?”
Now usually, Figaro would immediately start rubbing into Sam’s palm as soon as he came home. However, the black and white cat paused and his nose started twitching before his back arched and he hissed.
“Fig?” Sam asked, really off put at his normally sweet cat’s reaction, “hey, what’s–”
Figaro backed away from Sam before bolting to a corner of the dimly lit home.
“Figaro Lestan Wilson! This is really how you wanna welcome Daddy home after a long day?” Sam scoffed, “unbelievable. And the hissing, too? What did I even do to you?”
Sam checked his cat’s food and water bowls, finding that there was still some dry food and water in there still. So, it wasn’t anger over not being fed properly.
“Ungrateful ass cat…” He grumbled.
Sam threw his clothes in the hamper and took a long, much needed hot shower to get the chill from his bones. He checked his arms and legs to make sure he didn’t bring any friends home, namely ticks. He already checked his clothes to ensure he was safe.
His mind kept wandering to Casper.
A wolf. In New Orleans. In Louisiana, unheard of. Maybe it got lost during migration? Do wolves even migrate? He needed to rehash the information he learned from the wolf conservancy. If he dug around his home, he could probably find the brochure somewhere.
“Finally,” he sighed, settling on his couch, face mask on and wine glass full. Figaro was still nowhere in sight. Maybe he needed space.
“You’re missing ‘Golden Girls’, Fig, your faves.”
Nothing.
Sam shrugged and took a sip of his Cabernet, settling in for a couple hours with his favorite ladies: Blanche, Rose, Dorothy, and Sophia.
He wouldn’t have it any other way. He had enough excitement tonight.
“Buck!” Steve whispered, keeping his voice low enough, so only his friend could hear. If this was what he thought it was, he knew hunters might be around still. Knowing those brutes, that bear trap was probably laced with silver, too, “Bucky, where the hell are you?”
Steve whistled three times, their call sign when the occasion called for it. This occasion definitely called for it. He’s been running around all night. While his asthma was more manageable now that he was older, he pushed his limits tonight.
His phone flashlight was frantically spotlighting different parts of the park, looking for any sign of the werewolf. Fur, tracks, teeth, anything at this point. Steve was hoping the attic would work temporarily and he’d have a quiet night. At least as quiet of a night he could have when his best friend from grade school was an over one-hundred pound werewolf.
If Bucky was going to be up all night, so was Steve. Just like how they had been growing up together since Steve was let into this part of Bucky’s life.
After Bucky’s dad died, Steve offered (meaning he forced Bucky to accept his help) to be the one to take the drive with him to a random town in upstate New York before a full moon. He did his best to keep Bucky calm and comfortable for those two to three hours in the car. A nearly impossible task since Bucky would thrash and twist in the passenger seat, trying to keep the Wolf at bay. When they finally got up there, he let Bucky loose in the woods and settled himself in for a not really great night of sleeping in the car.
He’d wake up in the morning and either have to go out to find Bucky laying at the edge of the trees or passed out in the backseat. Most of the time Bucky was naked as a jaybird, but if he made it to the car he at least had pants on or covered himself with a blanket. Then, they’d get to a nearby motel where Bucky could shower (Steve would have to help him sometimes) and rest a little before they made the drive back.
Sometimes Bucky’s mom and sister would meet them at a diner in the middle of nowhere to check and fuss on them. Mrs. Barnes never missed an opportunity to remind Steve she “had two boys I need to look after.”
The point was, they had a system and it worked. Even the times Bucky would insist he could do it on his own and drove himself, Steve followed anyway. Bucky and his family were there for Steve when he was in and out of hospitals. Besides his own mother, they were the one constant presence in his young life.
This was Steve only doing the same for Bucky.
Then, Steve moved to New Orleans a year ago because he had a teaching opportunity as an art professor at LSU. Steve almost didn’t take it, but Bucky said he’d be an idiot if he didn’t.
“But, Buck, what about–”
“Stevie, take the job. You’ve always wanted to teach, go teach. Mold the minds of the next generation of artists.”
They were separated for a whole year, keeping in touch through texts and phone calls, until his friend's mom passed away suddenly a few months ago. At the funeral, Steve and Rebecca insisted Bucky move down to New Orleans. Even Sarah Rogers put in her two cents, saying he shouldn’t be living by himself in Brooklyn. Not even for Wolf Related Reasons™, but because no one needed to go through the loss of a parent on their own. Again.
In any case, Bucky was never the lone wolf type and Steve wasn’t going to give his friend the opportunity to start now.
It’d only been a week since Bucky moved in with Steve temporarily. They’d discussed how to deal with Bucky’s first transformation in a new setting. Hence why they landed on locking him in the attic. Steve didn’t want to, but Bucky told him to line the edge of the door with silver coins and put some wolfsbane on the doorknob. Preventative measures to keep the Wolf from breaking down the door and getting out. Steve did leave a couple of his sweatshirts in the attic, hoping smelling something familiar would ease Bucky’s oncoming distress.
It didn’t seem to help. Clearly based on how tonight turned out.
Bucky, well the Wolf, scratched and whined behind the locked door for hours. Practically begging to be released. Steve didn’t give in and kept reading aloud from one of Bucky's old paperbacks through the door to keep the Wolf company.
He was midway through reading a chapter when he heard glass breaking.
“Buck?"
Then, a subsequent thud outside in his backyard.
Because in their haste to make the attic werewolf proof, they forgot to put silver or wolfsbane by the small window.
That’s when he knew Bucky, apparently a bonafide escape artist, had run off. To where? He didn’t know for two hours until he talked to Sam. Who apparently ran into the Wolf and didn’t get mauled immediately.
A miracle, honestly. It took three full moon transformations for the Wolf to get used to Steve.
“James, I swear to God. When I get my hands on you, I’m gonna skin you and–” Steve stopped when he heard a familiar bark, a quick one-two, to his left. He immediately turned in that direction and rushed over, “I’m here, Buck! I’m here! I’m com–fuck!”
He was a bit overzealous because he ran into a nearby bush and immediately tripped over the Wolf, falling right on his face. He groaned when he felt a large snout nudging into his temple and heard a soft whine.
“Dammit, Buck…” He flopped his head to the side, the cool dirt feeling nice against his cheek. He grimaced when a slobbering tongue started licking his face, “that’s really gross, pal. Your breath smells like roadkill.”
Bucky backed off and laid in front of Steve, putting his head down on the ground and whined again.
“You can’t go runnin’ off like that, pal. I know it’s hard, but we’re not in Poughkeepsie or Hudson. We gotta be more careful,” Steve sighed, “this is on me, I should’ve figured this stuff out before you got here.”
Bucky pawed at the ground and Steve caught a glimpse of the scar around his ankle, where the patch of fur still hadn’t grown out even though it happened so long ago. Underneath was a burn mark from silver cuffs. Bucky had another similar mark around his neck, though the fur was more grown out there and covered it. If someone looked at Bucky’s neck when he was human, they could see the faint white line the silver collar left behind.
Immense guilt twisted Steve’s gut, practically reading the Wolf’s mind, “no, I’m not restraining you again. That was one time and I’m keeping it that way. You don’t deserve to be chained up.”
Bucky growled and rubbed his snout with his paw. He was clearly displeased with Steve’s answer and disagreed.
“We can fight about this again when you can use your words, but you know my answer isn’t gonna change.” Bucky kept staring at Steve with big shining eyes, “don’t give me those puppy eyes. I’m immune at this point.”
Steve really wasn’t, especially when Bucky looked as guilty as Steve felt. Bucky couldn’t help it, Steve knew that. Animal instinct or whatever usually taking over the more rational “human” side.
He sighed again and patted Bucky’s head, feeling the familiar softness of his fur, “gosh, I really can’t stay mad at you, can I?” He smiled a little when he heard a large tail thumping on the ground, “don’t act all cute now, Bucko. You still owe me a new window.”
Bucky nuzzled into his palm as Steve scratched behind his friend’s ears–his favorite spot.
Steve sat up and tugged the leaves out his hair, “think you can stand and walk alright?” The Wolf sat up and stood with great effort, his back right leg trembling. He limped over to Steve and pressed his wet nose into Steve’s neck, rubbing and sniffing into the crook of it before moving to the other side.
“Jesus Christ, stop that,” Steve pushed the wolf off him and stood up, “it still feels weird.”
Bucky tilted his head, ears twitching slightly. Steve scoffed, “it is! It’s weird! I don’t wanna smell like you, I like smelling like me!” If Bucky in this form could roll his eyes, he would. Steve did for both of them.
He took off his sweatshirt and wrapped it under Bucky’s middle, tying the sleeves together up top to make a pseudo handle. He held onto it, lifting up Bucky’s middle to help him walk and keep some weight off his back leg. He wasn’t too worried, Bucky would be healed by the morning.
Anger boiled in him again, the thought of Bucky in an unknown space getting caught in an awful trap. He made a mental note to give Sam a fruit basket or something.
Sam saved both their asses, whether he knew that or not.
“So, heard you met Sam tonight,” Steve said, letting Bucky set the pace as they walked back to his truck. He laughed when Bucky ears perked up at the mention of his neighbor-turned-friend, “yeah, he’s nice, isn’t he? He actually told me where to find you. I was hoping you’d meet each other when you were more human. We can get drinks with him soon. I think you guys’ll get along pretty we—” Bucky lost balance and yelped, making Steve stop and readjust the makeshift harness, “hey, hey, you’re good. I gotcha, buddy.”
They made it to the truck and discretely slipped in the shadows behind the vehicle to avoid any automatic streetlights and potential parking lot cameras. He helped Bucky in the backseat, “comfy?”
Bucky shook himself out and nestled into the backseat cushions. Steve gave a couple more pets before closing the door. He spent the drive going through any possible ideas and solutions while the Wolf snored in the backseat. A sign the night was finally winding down and Bucky was gonna turn back soon.
When they got home, Steve quickly ran inside and found a large enough quilt to cover Bucky with. He arrived back at the truck, the Wolf blinking blearily at him, barely able to keep his eyes open. Poor guy was probably exhausted. Steve was expecting Bucky to sleep for a whole day to recover. He’d be shocked if Bucky woke up earlier.
“Alright, c’mon, champ. Let’s get you to bed. There’s been too much excitement tonight,” Steve laid the blanket on Bucky, covering his snout. With years of practice under his belt, Steve counted down in his head and grunted as he gently pulled and lifted Bucky out of the backseat.
Steve walked through the door of his home and carefully made his way to the bedroom. Bucky had ordered a large dog bed to keep in Steve’s room, saying he could sleep there when he was too big for the couch. He also made some stupid dog related joke Steve didn’t find funny at all.
It was a bit too small for the Wolf, but the right size for a human of Bucky’s stature, someone who enjoyed curling up as tightly as possible while sleeping.
Steve laid Bucky down, grabbing a pillow from his own bed and putting it under Bucky’s head. By now, the Wolf was fast asleep and Steve started to see the beginnings of his transformation back to human. His ears and muzzle had definitely gotten shorter in their time between driving from Couturie Forest to coming back home.
Steve winced and used his sweatshirt sleeve to pick up a bloody wolf tooth from the bed. Shedding, especially the wolf teeth, seemed more painful than the actual transformation from man to wolf. At least Bucky was usually unconscious for this part.
The human probably wouldn’t remember what happened tonight, but the Wolf would. The Wolf always did.
He tucked the quilt around Bucky and rubbed his friend’s back before he got ready for bed. After a quick refresh in the bathroom to get the dirt off himself and change his dirty pjs, he settled himself under the covers. He stared at the lump sleeping in the corner, the snores becoming less wolf-like and sounding more human.
“We’re gonna figure this out, Buck. Promise”
Tonight was a fluke, but Steve and Bucky couldn’t let it happen again. They got lucky this time, especially with Sam. Steve didn’t want to risk a “next time”.
He really owed Sam that drink.