In Sickness, Health, and Full moons

Chapter Sixteen [Tanner]

Staring down the pistol pulled from Alan's belt, Tanner remembered how it felt. The impact, all pressure, like being punched. Then, burning. Fire in his skin. Only when he pressed a hand to the bullet wound did the ache set in, and the ache was powerful. Worse though, was the fear.

Pain, pressure, he could deal with that. Fear was another beast entirely. He was twenty-two again, facing his own mortality.

There was something so impersonal about being shot. His attacker didn't even have to get their hands dirty to carve his existence out of the world. Against a man, he stood a chance. Against a gun, he was helpless.

So he had to get rid of the gun.

Self defense don't fail me now. Head out of line of fire. Left hand on the barrel, push it right. Right hand down on his wrists. Twist up, up, up.

Alan's infuriated scream overpowered the dull thud of pistol against carpet.

"Oh shit!" Tanner kicked the gun underneath the bed. He almost laughed. He hadn't expected it to actually work!

But now there was the other danger in the room - an oversized, obsessed, raging ex-marine.

Tanner stumbled back, putting distance between them. He didn't have a good enough stance to get a swing in without giving Alan a shot too. He had meant to catch the gun, but it was better under the bed than in Alan's hands.

Alan lurched forward and swung a fist, aiming straight for the face.

Tanner ducked and spun to the side. He rammed his shoulder up into Alan's ribs. A bright pain jolted through his nose and spread across his cheeks.

Fuck. Elbow.

He fell back, his weight against the heel of his palm sending a shock up to his shoulder. Warm blood trickled from his likely broken nose. Tears swam in his eyes.

Half-blind, Tanner stood up and backed away from the Alan-shaped blur quickly advancing. Where was Azrael? Had she made it to the bathroom with the door locked?

The Alan-shaped blur warped and lunged. Tanner flung himself sideways again, just in time to miss what sounded like a fist hitting the wall. He'd never dodged so much in his life. Wasn't he the thing to be scared of in this room?

Wait.

He was the scary thing in the room. Claws and fangs weren't just for show. He'd spent so many years denying them, neglecting them, he'd forgotten their purpose.

Quickly, he wiped the tears from his eyes. Cast a glance near the bed, searching for Azrael's shock of white hair. He wasn't sure if he was checking for her safety or because he didn't want her witnessing this. Witnessing what he had, in essence, done to her only a day prior.

Gold eyes stared back at him from behind the bed. Tanner hoped she'd forgive him.

When Alan came at him again, eyes wild and shouting what could only be described as a battle cry, Tanner didn't dodge. He didn't duck, didn't stumble away, didn't put distance between them in the slightest. No, he threw himself forward and closed the gap.

Tanner buried his fangs in flesh. Ignored the shrieks and roars of fury and pain. Height to blame, he held Alan's collarbone between his teeth. Not the throat, but not bad either. He threw his arms around Alan's waist and sunk his claws into back muscle. A fist collided with his ribcage.

Blow after blow, Tanner held on, his jaws clamped down around bone and claws shredding Alan's back to strips. Only when Alan reached up and tugged on Tanner's broken nose did he let go. A hand gripped his wrist and a palm pressed against his chest and his back hit the floor.