DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. All rights, characters and whatever else belong to Kurt Sutter and FX Studios. Only the story idea is mine, and I make no profit- monetary or otherwise- from this production. Unless you want to count the shits and giggles I get from doing it.

A/N: Okay so new AU fic, was originally just gonna be one piece but with all the view point changes I thought "Okay chapter fic then. So this is some super natural thing and this being the first chapter I won't say much. But I'll clear up some of the roles as we go if needed.

Warnings: Cursing, people dying, blood, somewhat gory- yeah not pleasant.

Pointless/Useless reviews(ones that offer no critique or support) will be torn apart by a very pissed off someone…..

Chapter 1: Someone's not happy

It was all a blur to him, ragged black silhouettes in front of him, mocking and teasing; disjointed figures that wanted to tear him apart. That begged him for blood, for pain. He wasn't willing to, but eventually he'd break, he'd obliged.

His fist slows, barely a fraction of a second, as his rings catch on the skin of the man in front of him. The man goes down, and his blood is warm on Tig's face; the crimson tracing out the lines of his face, falling over his lips and to the ground below, his tongue snapping out to catch wayward drops.

Tig kicks out at the now unconscious man, a roar ripping from his throat and he feels like an animal, a caged rat; trapped and wanting more. There are arms grabbing at him, wrapping around his neck. Are they friend or foe? He doesn't know; more so he isn't there to know? His teeth sink into the arm, tearing through the flesh with ease, the arm is wrenched away from him. He growls in slight annoyance, a smirk gracing the blood stained lips that frame tainted teeth. The man from before has friends, and they're advancing on him from the fronts, there's grumbles and cries of pain behind him and he smiles, knowing he did this, he's the one responsible.

Tig pounces on one of the foes closing in, his fingernails slip into meat almost too easily and it's a mere sleight of hand that has him tearing it apart. There's a kick to Tig's head that hits home, but he rolls with it, coming to a squat, fresh blood flowing down his face. His legs launch out behind him and he propels himself at the kicker. The enemy is down and screaming in no time. That's two down.

That arm is back around his throat, Tig can tell by the way it smells, the smell of blood, leather, whiskey, his own smell and something else; something else that makes him freeze.
It's a single moment that he's frozen but his captor takes advantage of it, something sharp goes through his neck and his body is flushed, a cold spreading through the limbs. Tig doesn't like the cold, his arms flail out, punches looking for purchase as they connect and his captor is thrown off. He rounds on the downed man, anger coursing through him now, tear his throat out.It's all he can think, but it never happens, at least not yet.

Tig is sent flying as something blunt connects with his skull and he feels something crack. There are stars in front of his eyes and he's dazed, he can't find his feet; it's like watching a dog roll around on carpet. He finally regains his footing, rising with uncertainty, everything's blurry now. The dark shapes are gone; Tig can still hear them, smell them, but his vision is growing progressively worse and it's screwing with him.

A punch hits his face, perfect center- nose smashed. There's no break for recoil or recovery, Tig just takes it and he lashes out with his own hands, not looking to punch but to shred.

His nails find something soft and he waste no time in taking it down, it's a minute or two before he realizes there's nothing below him. He's feeling light-headed now, vision completely gone and he almost whimpers in confusion. He wraps his arms around his middle, sickness overcoming him as the world swims, there's a blistering pain threatening to split his head as he vomits onto the ground in front of him. Cold, the feeling resonates within him and he hates it, cold.

His body is shaking violently, like someone's turned him on vibrate, all the way on the high setting. His teeth chatter together and he lets out a strangled howl before he heaves again, more vomit and the world takes a violent spin. His neck feels like it's on fire as something else plunges into the vulnerable skin, the temperature drops again and Tig wonders how, when he's freezing yet sweating at the same time. His body pitches forward, arms falling loosely as the light-headedness overcome him and everything goes black- pitch-black. He's vaguely aware of something curling around his stomach and neck, some kind of support. There's a small voice in his head screaming to fight, to tear at whatever's holding him, but he's exhausted, every inch of him feels worn and ragged; and he hurts like never before. It's enough to make Tig's eyes slip close, heavy lids covering the wild pupils and he's no longer aware of anything as thought of any sort comes to a screeching halt.

So….anyone know what's going on? You'll find out- doing a triple post today. Happy Holidays Or Happy Winter or Happy Life….you know, some kind of greeting and wishing of good thoughts and days.

P.S. I want thoughts on whether this should go the slash route are not. I'm open either way.

Reviews are much appreciated.

Stay Frosty.