[The night sounded off with Steve's screams and whimpers, and he silently worried that they weren't far enough away from the city. This was not the kind of attention that he was looking to deal with on a night that could make or break how he interacted with mankind in the very near future. Each shift of Steve's to mend and right itself, to bring about a strong change that at any moment could kill his friend, wore on him. All he could do was keep his hold, to rub more of his blood into Steve's wound until his own body clotted and refused to give more up unless he picked or chewed on the wound.
Instead, he held on, feeling the shift of flesh, the low tearing and popping of all those ailments that Steve had bore and fought with since birth were corrected. It was brutal and each sound of his best friend mounted the guilt that he had put this pain upon someone who he considered the most important. Even when he mentally told himself that it had been Steve's choice and perhaps even necessary, it was hollow.
Bucky couldn't remember his first shift. He was different too; as far as he knew, he had been born this way, so shifting was meant to be smooth, a blurring of lines between human and wolf. The sudden stop and start of Steve's heart, the gasping, gagging for breath had never been apart of the world that he lived in. Those were that of prey that he was hunting, but Steve rallied each time and that, perhaps, was worse. It was a long-term suffering, and he endured outside of but still apart of this decision. He had reduced Steve to this continual hourly agony.
Soon it became just breathing and whimpering and at any moment, he expected it to be Steve's last. A dog in town barked. A rabbit shifted in the grass some distance away. An owl hooted a warning. He whined softly, still holding his friend until there was a shove far more powerful than Steve had ever managed before, the bite of claws across his chest causing a yelp of surprise and pain as he relinquished his hold and rolled away.
And then there it was. The beautiful flow of change, the bulge and shift of muscles rearranging themselves, the contortion of bone, the sprouting of thick fur across the blurring lines of a body making a change. He had watched himself in a mirror once out of curiosity, but this was far more breathtaking, watching as his friend transform beyond the fear of death, disease and being picked on to a massive tawny blond wolf. Steve was at least as big as he was, perhaps even larger (he didn't exactly have a basis for comparison at his point).
Carefully, he approached, blood trailing down his chest from the clawing. He stared, his mouth dry as he drank in this unexpected success. He reached out, whining in his own throat as he lay his hands behind Steve's upright ears, scratching into the thick blond coat and then leaning down to bury his nose into the back of Steve's neck and just breathe in the scent. It was sweet and masculine, alluring as he found certain young females.]
You did it. You're such a punk scaring me like that!
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Instead, he held on, feeling the shift of flesh, the low tearing and popping of all those ailments that Steve had bore and fought with since birth were corrected. It was brutal and each sound of his best friend mounted the guilt that he had put this pain upon someone who he considered the most important. Even when he mentally told himself that it had been Steve's choice and perhaps even necessary, it was hollow.
Bucky couldn't remember his first shift. He was different too; as far as he knew, he had been born this way, so shifting was meant to be smooth, a blurring of lines between human and wolf. The sudden stop and start of Steve's heart, the gasping, gagging for breath had never been apart of the world that he lived in. Those were that of prey that he was hunting, but Steve rallied each time and that, perhaps, was worse. It was a long-term suffering, and he endured outside of but still apart of this decision. He had reduced Steve to this continual hourly agony.
Soon it became just breathing and whimpering and at any moment, he expected it to be Steve's last. A dog in town barked. A rabbit shifted in the grass some distance away. An owl hooted a warning. He whined softly, still holding his friend until there was a shove far more powerful than Steve had ever managed before, the bite of claws across his chest causing a yelp of surprise and pain as he relinquished his hold and rolled away.
And then there it was. The beautiful flow of change, the bulge and shift of muscles rearranging themselves, the contortion of bone, the sprouting of thick fur across the blurring lines of a body making a change. He had watched himself in a mirror once out of curiosity, but this was far more breathtaking, watching as his friend transform beyond the fear of death, disease and being picked on to a massive tawny blond wolf. Steve was at least as big as he was, perhaps even larger (he didn't exactly have a basis for comparison at his point).
Carefully, he approached, blood trailing down his chest from the clawing. He stared, his mouth dry as he drank in this unexpected success. He reached out, whining in his own throat as he lay his hands behind Steve's upright ears, scratching into the thick blond coat and then leaning down to bury his nose into the back of Steve's neck and just breathe in the scent. It was sweet and masculine, alluring as he found certain young females.]
You did it. You're such a punk scaring me like that!