He'd done the best he could to lie low since regaining his freedom. A lot had changed in the world, he had changed. Sometimes it wasn't so easy to blend in. A man with a metal arm? Drew a lot of attention. A large monster with a metal arm? Drew even more attention. At least when he was a wolf he could stick close to the others, keep people from seeing anything. The real wolves didn't seem to trust him a lot of the time, though. Maybe he smelled different, or it was the sound of his arm that made them uneasy. He was just glad that his arm had been designed with his special needs in mind, or else he might have had to rip it off to make way for his transformations. That might've ended poorly.

He didn't hurt anyone, at least, not if he could help it. He didn't want to hurt anyone. Sometimes accidents happened. Sometimes hunters came after him. The ones who thought he was just a really strange wolf got off easy, but the ones who came for a werewolf? Sometimes they didn't walk away.

Staying in one place for too long was dangerous. He was easy to pick out, and that was a problem. He could dull the shine of his arm with dirt, and he did when he had to. Tonight was one of those nights. But tonight there was also an unfamiliar scent in the area that was, for now, his. Humans usually meant trouble.

He lurked in the darkness, following Sam just out of sight, taking care not to make a single sound. Maybe he could solve this without violence, maybe things would work for him for once. Maybe. Concealing himself in the bushes, which was a considerable feat when he was close to seven feet tall and sporting razor sharp claws and fangs, he growled. It was a low, deep rumble in his chest, the sound of a large angry wolf. Or, in this case, a werewolf. If he could scare Sam away, Bucky could move on in peace and not have to worry. Most people didn't want to stick around when they heard wolves.