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"Gabriel Lassiter."

The sound of the coywolf's name over the low murmur of the pub crowd caused his ears to perk briefly, before he rolled his eyes and turned around on the stool to face the speaker, leaning back with his arms up on the bar for comfort. He forced a grin on his face, eyeing the large equine in the tan uniform, Sheriff's badge fixed in the proper position and shined to a gleam.

"Dick." Was the canine's short reply, accented with half a nod in the other's direction.

"Richard," The equine corrected in a tired voice, "or Sheriff Duncan, to you."

"I like Dick better." Gabriel laughed, turning back to face the bar. "Too bad you're not a detective though. Dick Dick would be way more funny." He finished, lifting the last of his beer in his mug to his lips, hoping his exchange with the lawman was over.

It wasn't.

"Fucking hilarious as always, Gabe. A washed up Navy guy, spending his days in a bar doing everything to keep from drying out." The equine snorted through his large nostrils. Gabriel felt the air hit the back of his neck. "One of these days I'm going to put you away for good. Or find you in a ditch somewhere. Either way, you'll be someone else's problem at that point."

Feeling his temper simmer from deep within at the mention of his service, the coywolf turned back around and found himself face to chest of the horse. He stood up from his stool, going face to face with the lawman for a moment, fist clenched before the trademark grin reappeared. "You don't have to be such a dick, Dick." He laughed, patting the equine's sides, the grin growing wider. "We're in a pub! Eat, drink, hell - be Mary if you want." He said, signally to the bar tender for another beer. "I mean, I don't judge. I think you'd look good in a skirt."

Sheriff Duncan glared at the man. "If I had one lick of proof you had anything to do with the assault that took place this week, I'd drag you in myself. I swear."

"The assault this week? Oh! You mean that meth dealer? Read that in the paper."

"I'm sure you did." Richard growled before jerking his thumb towards the door. "Time for you to go home, Gabe. It's illegal to be drunk in public."

"I'm not drunk in public." The coywolf replied, taking a drink from his renewed glass. "I'm not even drunk in a bar. Two beers, Officer."

"Go. Home. Now." Came the stern reply, the equine grabbing the canine by the shoulders in the process, guiding him towards the door. Gabriel didn't put up much of a fight, instead putting his hands up in a sign of surrender before walking out the door of his own accord. The Sheriff watched him briefly before going back inside, not taking note of the coywolf eyeing the keys to the Police issue Ford Explorer he had palmed in his hand when patting the Sheriff's sides.

"What a dick." The coywolf sighed, eyeing the keys before chucking them off into the woods next to the bar. Jamming his hands in his pockets before starting the short walk home. He wore a satisfied, smug grin on his face the whole way.

"Sheriff" Duncan had been a thorn in his side since he came to town. He was convinced the three term Sheriff had it out for him; though admittedly that could be because he had also spent a fair amount of time messing with the man. Though Gabriel had long ago convinced himself the officer deserved it.

The key slid easily into the lock of his house, the door giving way after a slight shoulder shove. A few key presses on an alarm pad ensured that he wouldn't have any more interactions with the law tonight before he locked the door. Deciding to leave the lights off as the moonlight filtered in through the window.

The coywolf gave a tired sigh as he kicked off his boots, making his way towards the kitchen to check for another beer. His alcohol quota had been so rudely interrupted by the uninvited equine that he had no choice but to dig into his personal stash at home.

The cool air washed over his face as he opened the fridge, pulling on the first glass bottle he found before slamming the door shut. He jammed the cap against the counter top, a harsh slam from his hand opening the beverage.

"You can't drink me away, you know."

The coywolf ignore the voice. He settled into his favorite chair, letting his eyes close for a moment before opening again. He bit his lip and eyed the figure sitting across from him. The young fox hadn't aged in years; and the gaping hole in his chest never got any smaller.

"Must be nice. Sitting back on a warm night, enjoying a cold beer."

Another long swig from the bottle and the vision got a little darker, but it never truly went away. The coywolf licked his lips for a moment before taking a breath. "How many times do you want me to apologize?" He started in, a conversation he'd had plenty of times before. "I don't know what you want from me." Another drink.

"Tell me again."

This was insane. Gabriel knew deep down what was going on. This wasn't real. That fox wasn't really in his living room sitting across from him. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. It wasn't real, none of this was.

"There you go again. Denial. Denial of all the things you didn't do."

"It's wasn't my fault." Gabriel replied quietly, gripping the bottle a bit tighter. His eyes hit the floor as the bitter taste of adrenaline splashed in his mouth. He could smell the burnt gunpowder, could feel the heat on his skin, could hear the distant thumps and bangs of what sounded like motor fire. "It wasn't my fault." He repeated, shaking his head.

"Go ahead. Keep telling yourself that. You didn't listen. I had a wife and a kid on the way. Why are you home and not me?"

Gabriel closed his eyes tight, pressing his palms against his forehead as he fought hard against what he knew was coming. The burnt smell grew stronger; and now the canine could smell the faint sweet scent of vaporized blood, so real he swore he tasted it in his mouth. "I'm sorry, Damien."

"You think that makes it all better?"

His claws dug into the bottle now, his grip getting tighter. His breath grew short as he struggled to bring it all under control. The distant bangs got louder, closer. His eyes raised to meet those of the shadowed figure sitting across from him. "Get out. Get out of my house. Get out of my head."

"I'm here forever. The only way you'll rid of me is to die."

The bottle shattered in his grasp, glass shards digging themselves under his fur and into his skin as he drew in a ragged breath, fighting to regain control of his senses. The smells grew stronger, the sounds louder. He could swear there was a fright train driving past his house. Feeling the panic from loss of control setting in, the coywolf grabbed for the first thing he could think of - the Beretta stashed on the table to his left, bringing the weapon to bare as he launched several rounds into the couch where the figure had been sitting moments before.

Somewhere to the side of him there was a loud crash, the coywolf turned quickly and brought the weapon back up to fire, only to have it shoved away as a large fist collided with his nose. It knocked him to the ground, the gun scattering away from him as he struggled with the figure now pinning him down. Through the fog he heard someone shouting his name.

He struggled harder, trying to bring his knees to his chest and kick the figure away. But to no avail as he was over powered and held down; the fatigue eventually causing him to loose the strength to struggle against his attacker. As the fog faded and his vision slowly came back after being socked in the nose, the coywolf realized who it was that was holding him down.

"Get the fuck off me!" The coywolf growled as he was rolled onto his stomach, his hands drawn painfully behind his back, secured by metal bracelets. "Get the fuck off me, Richard!"

The Sheriff ignored the dog, instead reaching for his shoulder mic. "Central, roll me rescue, please. I've got one with lacerations from a broken bottle." He said before hoisting the coywolf to his feet and unceremoniously plopping him down on the footrest of his chair.

The equine snagged the weapon from where it landed under the table, pulling and locking the slide back before ejecting the magazine. He looked over the unloaded weapon before putting it on the table at the far end of the room.

Gabriel's eyes were on the floor when the heavy footfalls made their way back to him. "Who were you yelling at before I came in here?" The Sheriff asked using his best commanding voice.

"Fuck you." The drunk coywolf replied, refusing to look up.

"Who were you yelling at?" The Sheriff pressed again, this time putting a bit more force behind his words. "There wasn't anyone else here, Gabriel. Me and Adam were right outside. Nobody came out. So who do you think you were yelling at?"

Again, those defiant canine eyes turned upwards. "Fuck. You."

Letting out an exasperated sigh as the ambulance pulled up outside. "Fuck it," the equine said, motioning to his partner just at the doorway. "Let the medics check him out. Get him cleaned up, then we'll bring him in to sober up for the night."

Richard waved a dismissive hand at the canine when he heard the protest begin in his throat. He took stock in his surroundings. This was the first time he had ever actually been inside the coywolf's house. It was simple, but so was Gabriel. A single story home, made up of just the living room with a half wall that connected to the kitchen. A couple of doors that led off to the bedroom, a closet, and the bathroom.

The kitchen sink was littered in empty beer bottles and what smelled like other, stronger intoxicants. A nearby table covered in unopened letters, retirement or disability checks from the military by the look of the envelopes. On the wall was a couple of picture frames, each telling the story of better days.

One frame at the end of the line looked like the glass had been smashed, dried blood still on the remaining shards. Richard turned on his flashlight, taking a closer look at the photo. In it, Gabriel was standing in military fatigues, rifle pointed in the air resting against his shoulder as he gave the camera a thumbs up with his free hand. Standing next to him was a younger looking red fox, his own rifle slung across a heavy vest. Richard tried to make out the name on the uniform, but the rifle strap covered it.

His attention was drawn back to the living room by the sound of his partner trying to order the medically cleared coywolf to his feet. Clearly, Gabriel had no intention of complying as his gaze stayed was settled on the floor, completely ignoring the other officer. Richard sighed, moving to stand next to Gabriel, nodding to his partner as they both took an arm and hoisted the detained coywolf to his feet.

He didn't fight them, instead allowing himself to be led out the front door to the waiting cruiser. They placed him in the back seat, closing the door after making sure he was buckled in. Gabriel stared out the window quietly, doing his best to ignore the fox figure standing in his living room window.

Richard took his seat in the front a few moments later, using the rear view mirror to eye his prisoner for a moment before shifting the SUV into drive and making for the station.

Any other night, Gabriel would've quipped about the horse finding his keys.

He wasn't feeling very funny anymore.