Just another woofs AU

[nonfrangible]

Who: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
When: When Bucky is recruited
What: Giant werewolf is brow-beat by a fiesty little human best friend to bite on the full moon so that Steve can also join the war effort.
Warnings: TBA


[When he had been a puppy, he had been found cold, wet and abandoned by a pack on the run. The rain had been heavy the last few days, and he soft whining had attracted nothing in the way of help. Close to the orphanage and in a time when so many children were being left under government care, he had been found by a small blond boy. Inside that thread-bear jacket, against ribs that protruded too much and with a wheeze to he breath that was not his own, he had been made to feel welcome, to give up the crying whines of a pup and settle close to the new source of warmth.

Wolves of their specific kind learned to change early, usually be some mistake. He had learned with a particularly fierce sneeze, shifting from wolf pup to boy. He had no been rejected and instead had been taken to the orphanage where he learned to suppress some of his wolfish urges and take on the human ones. It was necessary for survival, but also it allowed him to be close to his best friend who needed constant minding or would be neck-deep in trouble at all hours of the day.

Steve Rogers was a fierce creature, all biting wit, knobby elbows and a cough that could bowl the other boy over. Years didn't put much in the way of weight or height on Steve, but that burning life could not be snuffed out despite many close calls. When Steve was confined to be alone, he had made certain to sneak into the room, pad over on four paws - immune to human disease - and settle in to keep his best friend warm. It was the wolf instinct, he supposed, as he needed to protect pack. Steve was as close as he thought to come.

There weren't many wolves in the big city, but their paths beyond it were clear. Once a month on the full moon, he was required to change and his dark coat gave him certain privileges when skirting the city streets and keen eyed strangers. A big dog they would say, and that was fine until he hit puberty and then big dog turned into a massive animal, long sleek black fur around his neck and the middle of his back. Always once a month he would run, and if Steve was well enough (and usually when the blond wasn't), he would take them from the city so that Steve could cling to his back as he loped through the lands beyond the press of the city. They had freedom there, a way to watch the stars, to hunt down rabbits in the bushes, to be nothing more or less than pack.

The years had been good to them. He learned to be a wolf. Steve learned to fight the limitations of body and society. It was good years filled with fighting in the streets, fighting in alleys and behind diners. Steve almost always started those fights, but he would never allow his friend to fight alone regardless of the odds.

The war came, and Steve wanted to join and it was the first fissure of their relationship. What was a human war to someone like him, one where the bullets of men couldn't hurt him, the political leans of people far beyond their station dictated who they would send overseas. It was the first time he had a distinct lack of interest in human affairs, but Steve was gamely and set on joining, on proving that all men had a right to serve. He couldn't help it; he was inspired. Steve always managed that in him.

He'd taught his best friend and human packmate how to punch, to box specifically. Teeth and claw were not fit for the trials of war, and Steve had none of those weapons. So they fought for a week, and while he said nothing of what the outcome would be, he followed Steve into the recruitment station. He, fit and able-bodied, James "Bucky" Barnes was taken for human war while Steve Rogers was rejected. It was survival of the fittest out there, and he expected to simply become a wolf and walk away from it all. Why should he fight when Steve was the one who had to go, to prove something to everyone and do right by the blond's own sense of justice?

Bucky hadn't thought about it much, thought about how he was much too big to be lounging on the narrow bed that Steve owned, how it creaked under his weight. He was on his back, all four paws in the air and rubbing his back on the blankets and listening to the springs protest with a simple sense of joy about it. His mouth hung open, tongue lapping at his lips as he wiggled and flicked his big tail. The bed was not made for him; he slept on the floor and Steve generally on top of him for warmth and comfort, but it was fun to mess the sheets.

The full moon was a few hours away, the dusk just coming about. He had no particular reason to be a wolf, but there was a simple pleasure in it within the confine space of Steve's apartment. Despite the rejection and their previous 'arguments' about him considering refusing to show up for base training, he had managed to badger Steve into agreeing to go for a long run beyond New York. It was easier to do with so many people focused on the war.

He growled playfully as he bit the pillow nearby and shook it as if killing a rabbit. His paws kicked in the air and he finally rolled off the bed, shaking out his massive body and settling the long hair around the back of his neck and down his spine. He yawned, wagging his tail and peered at the blond who was far too quiet and concentrating seriously. That usually meant trouble.

When did Steve Rogers NOT mean trouble?]

Hey pal, you've been awful quiet tonight. It's full moon! We always love the full moon, all that running! I plan on getting a fat coney tonight! Maybe it will put some meat on those ribs of yours.

[It literally took him two massive steps to come up behind Steve and rest his massive head on the back of the blond.]

Come on, cheer up! Rabbit stew!

Comments

[supershouldery]

[He'd known getting into the Army was always going to be a long shot. Didn't matter how much he wanted it or understood right down to his soul that he'd be able to do good, contribute something, he owed a whole page of issues that only started with him being a whole head and shoulders shorter than any other guy in line with them. The boxing helped, it honestly did. His lungs felt stronger than they had in years after a week of scraping with Bucky. He'd go until both of their shirts were sticky with sweat, his hair damp but something righteous and satisfied pulsing hard through his veins. He tasted his own blood in the back of his throat -- but that was a familiar thing. There'd been enough scruffs in his life to know that metallic tang.

He wasn't the fastest but he could be quick. He couldn't hit the hardest but he could land a solid punch where he meant to put it. And if someone got him down, he'd get right back up again.

They didn't even let him get a word out. He didn't tell Bucky, but he went to two more recruiting stations after the first time and each one was a progressively shorter visit. Formally certified three times over. Steve Rogers (from Brooklyn, from New Haven ,from Paramus, sure) was one unanimous '4F' and there wasn't much he could do to convince anybody otherwise.

Bucky always started to get antsy around the full moons. He tracked it to at least a week off, his best friend would be more physical and affectionate. He'd shift a little more just because though it was hard for him to roam around the neighborhood without scaring somebody anymore. A dog the size of a horse would guarantee to do that much. Usually, his antics were pretty amusing even if they did have to clean it all up once he was done fooling around. Usually, Steve would be wrestling around with him, acting like they were kids again.

He was idling over his sketchbook but nothing was going down on the page when Bucky came over, a mass of warmth and familiar fur who could look over him while he was sitting in a chair. Steve shrugged, straightened out from his brooding hunch and looked over his shoulder.]

You've been trying that for years and it's never happened. Tonight's not gonna be any different.

[He turned around, snagging Bucky's muzzle with a little huff before he settled for scratching behind his left ear. One of his favorite spots.]

Don't you get tired of carrying me around? You're gonna be gone, I should probably get used to staying in on the full moon.

[supershouldery]

[Getting into the Army wasn't a simple trip down to the nearest enlisting office but it's not the US Government Steve needed to convince, actually. It was Bucky. They made a deal to start out with when Steve tried to get them both down there that first morning: he was newly shifted and had a brand new body in either form he picked that needed to be understood before he started running off with it. The physical work down at the docks was the best sort of classroom that he could have asked for to learn his human form. They snuck out to properly run two more times -- since there was the money for the bus tickets with two steady set of wages coming into the flat. He got fixed with new clothes to last while they were staying there, dodged the inquiries from their neighbors and practiced his shifting from of to man until he sure in his ability to move between both forms.

They slept in piles. Mixes of fur and skin, fur on fur, or skin on skin matching. What little space that existed between the two of them pretty much evaporated around those times and most every other point in which they had relative privacy. Whatever tension and fighting got raised during the day never made enough of a barrier that he didn't want to be by Bucky. They'd bare teeth, snarl and growl but nothing would change the fundamental truth between them.

They were pack. Whatever they did, wherever they went, they did it together.

Steve read the paper aloud every day to highlight his point about enlisting. The need. Maybe this is bigger than something just for humans, Buck. After three weeks of his own blitz, Bucky gave in. They went right over and were practically dragged into the line.

Bootcamp proved to be its own sort of beast. His mother and the nuns at the orphanage had reminded him from time to time that his father served, that he went into the same He couldn't imagine how far he would have gotten with his old body, if he'd ever been taken in to the Army in the first place. They had to work to not stand out too much against the other men but still prove their worth. Steve especially wanted to be taken seriously.

While they ended up in the same regiment they didn't end up in the same squad but the potential for separation could have been much worse. He still knew that was just more fodder on Bucky's end as to why this was a bad idea and he didn't like the distance much either. They made sure to eat together as much as possible, citing the truth of their lifelong friendship when anyone asked after it. The full moon came and they snuck out late into the night creeping to the edge of the base until they could strip down and finally stretch their legs with a run that was too brief. He'd been all about ready to crawl out of his skin and he sensed the same with Bucky, by the way he threw himself into running. By the time they finished the initial sprint their sides were heaving and they had to flop down onto the ground. They chased a couple of squirrels that weren't expecting the huge day and night of them to come barreling through the woods, tussled with each other and then had to creep back to the camp two hours before dawn.

(He almost got caught. Agent Carter, with her mean right hook, red lips and her unshakable confidence. caught him once he split up from Bucky on the way back to the barracks. She'd asked about him out so early and he fumbled, eventually coming up with the lame excuse of needing fresh air.

He didn't think she believed him but she didn't say anything to the Colonel).

What didn't make much sense to him was that he was riled up again about three days later. His skin felt too tight, he was hot all over, sweating through his shirt a lot more than a few minutes and a couple set of push-ups would warrant. The other men in his squad noticed it and commented on various levels from teasing, to jeering, to honest concern.

He shrugged it all off, trying to ignore the way every hand on his shoulder or arm felt electric, until the order came that he needed to turn himself over to medical. Steve went grudgingly, trying to keep an eye out for Bucky somewhere but not finding him there. Bucky never got sick. Wolves didn't get sick.

He didn't know what the hell was going on and it was getting worse.

Agent Carter showed up again before he could be taken back by one of the nurses. She whisked him into a private room at the end of the building, asking after his symptoms and telling him that she used to be a nurse. Then she asked him when the last time his goddamn heat was and all he could do was stare at her dumbfounded.

She looked just as surprised as he did before murmuring something to herself and turning abruptly on her heel with an order to stay right where she was and that she'd be back soon. With Bucky.

He stayed, wondering if he would actually be better cutting out and making a run for it. Had they been found out? Carter smelled human. Everyone on the camp did. They were the only wolves and he didn't think the army knew anything about their kind. Steve waited on the bed in the room, gripping the edge of the mattress as the cramps, the fever and the buzzing irritation that was largely switching over to arousal continued to mount in him. By time he heard footsteps coming back and scented Bucky -- the hint of it making him whine loud enough to be heard through the door before he got a hold on himself -- he couldn't remember ever being harder in his life.

Steve grabbed a pillow, shoving it over his lap since he smelled Carter too and God help him if a woman like that saw the state he was in. He was thankfully Bucky was the only one that stepped through the door, but it seemed to only make everything feel worse with how damn good he smelled.]

Buck -- look, I don't know what's happening here.