(A/N: Ok so this is weird and confusing and like does and doesn't make any sense? But it's been haunting me for months and if I don't kick it out it's just gonna keep not paying rent and eating all of my Pringles.
So it's your problem now. Sorry, not sorry.
(Full disclosure, Steve eats people in this. Like, a lot. It's kinda his Thing. It isn't super explicit in my opinion, but I'm pretty desensitized to gore at this point. So. Watch out for that.))
When he was seven, he found a young carnivore in the alley behind the general store.
Two parasites, looming over the carnivore, twice his size and with bloodlust in their eyes.
Blood, with its silvery glimmer, ran freely from the carnivore's broken nose and split lip.
Blood, staining his hands like oil, black and slick and valuable. The beady eyes of the parasites dulling with each passing moment.
It's the first time he kills for the carnivore. It will not be the last.
"I had 'em on the ropes," the carnivore had growled, bruised body held tightly to his side.
Stubborn blue eyes, tinged silver with fading adrenaline. Ready to hop into yet another fight. He had grinned. "I know you did."
–––
A lot of things have changed since then. Since he had chosen to pull a young carnivore away from death's door and under his wing instead.
Namely the carnivore himself.
He used to be smaller.
The carnivore, with flesh and hair stuck between his teeth and blood smeared across his bare chest. His belly full and his bloodthirst sated. There was an excess of food out here, something the carnivore couldn't pass up even if he wanted to.
He was less fortunate, with nothing but rations and the occasional forage to sate himself.
The carnivore dropped entire limbs atop him in a bid to supplement his diet, ever the mother-hen. He took kitten bites from the offerings, if only to soothe the carnivore's nervous instincts.
The carnivore, despite his ravenous appetite, was as doting as they came. He was good to him, always had been.
When blood, glinting in the moonlight, dribbled down the carnivore's chin, he did not feel fear. He did not tense or run as any sane man would do.
He wiped it away with his thumb.
The carnivore would stumble out of the woods long after dark, blood-drunk and soft-bellied. Would curl around him protectively to keep the chill away. Before the others stirred, the carnivore would untangle their limbs and return to his own tent to wake up for the day.
And for those infinite minutes without the warmth of the carnivore, he would ache, his skin growing colder by the minute. As much as he longed to stay entangled with the carnivore until dawn, until noon, until time itself elapsed, he knew it was for the best.
The carnivore protected him, even when it hurt.
And no one thought twice about it.
No one thought twice about the conspicuous blood-stains at the corners of the carnivore's mouth.
No one thought twice about the too-sharp teeth or the religiously filled nails.
No one thought twice about the bruises or the stab wounds or the bullet holes put in the carnivore before they could be put in Bucky.
No one thought, not even once, that the blond-haired, blue-eyed, dashing young Steve Rogers could be a carnivore.
But Bucky knew better, had pressed cold cloths to Steve's forehead when the pull of the moon overwhelmed his body, had watched those blue eyes lure people down back alleys, had watched those too-sharp teeth rend flesh and bone. He could see what lurked just beneath the surface, what others seemed so keen to ignore.
An apex predator.
A child of the moon.
A carnivore.
–––
They were the best of the best. The bane of Hydra. The Howling Commandos.
They thought they were invincible and united, they were. Divided, they were mere mortals.
A fall from a train would kill most mortals, the sight of your heart falling to pieces would kill the rest.
Broken and bloody at the bottom of a ravine, he couldn't help but wonder if he even counted as mortal anymore.
A gasp sucked between parted lips, followed swiftly by a pathetic cough. The taste of blood on his lips.
It felt fitting, for the last thing he tasted to be blood.
Around him, the world faded. He faded with it.