It wasn't in his nature to react with anger unrestrained.  Silas had a knack for remaining calm in a crisis, so when Quin snatched up his arm and he turned swiftly to wrench himself away, it felt like an out of body experience.  Like he was standing back on the sidelines watching an unreasonable scene play out, listening to himself lose his shit in a way that only other people did.<br/><br/>"Obviously," he snapped, continuing to retreat one step at a time.  To further emphasize the point, he threw his arms up.  "I'd say we've established that I'm<i>really fucking nuts,</i>so what exactly do you want?  Do you want to die out here bargaining with a lunatic?"<br/><br/>One last step at the edge of the porch, and he went right off the side of it, landing on his back in a shower of snow flurries.  He gasped like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of his lungs, but the look on his face said it was more than that; his pupils were blown wide, skin flushed despite the cold.  And then a crack of bone that wrenched a sound from him that wasn't quite human.  He tried to shake it off, he struggled to get his feet back under him, but it was too late for that.  His body wouldn't cooperate, nerves firing erratically as he writhed in the snow like a man possessed.<br/><br/><i>Get the gun, get the gun, get the gun!</i><br/><br/>But not a syllable spoken aloud.  It was daylight yet, but only barely, when darkness swallowed him.