There's a certain point where you just get used to weird bullshit - probably somewhere around getting dusted for five years and then being brought through a wizard's portal to fight an alien army, if Sam had to pick a particular occurrence. It's part of the glamorous life of a superhero, right up there with having to tell your insurance agency that a brainwashed super-soldier totaled your car or being on the most wanted list. Point is, Sam's life is rarely lacking in excitement.

He'd been enjoying a rare night at home watching the game, right up till the storm broke and the power went out. One thing led to another, and now he's outside in the pouring rain, water dripping down the back of his neck while he plays the beam of his flashlight over a muddy paw print the size of a dinner plate. There's no way that belongs to a stray, he thinks, and suddenly regrets his lack of anything resembling a weapon. (Bucky's going to give him so much shit for this later. Of course, Bucky can be stark naked and still have at least five knives hidden on his body; Sam's not that kind of guy.)

He shines his flashlight into the trees, thinking about how this is how half the Black guys in horror movies get killed. "Anyone out there?" he asks in his best soothing voice. Dog or not, there's no reason to be antagonizing before he gets attacked.

The flashlight shines on a pair of eyes way too far above the ground, and Sam regrets every choice that brought him to this point.