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Chapter Text

Ginger tossed and turned in her bed, beads of sweat dotting her skin. As she slipped into the realm of dreams, the familiar halls of Bailey Downs High School unfolded before her.

The dull, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow on the lockers lining the walls. Ginger moved through the empty halls, the air heavy with an unsettling tension. The usual distant murmur of students chatting and lockers slamming was replaced by an ominous silence. The hallway, once filled with the mundane hum of teenage life, started to distort. The lights all turned off and the air became thick with an unspoken dread.
As Ginger continued down the corridor, the darkness intensified. Each step echoed, a grim reminder of her isolation. The walls seemed to close in around her. A low growl reverberated through the air. The unsettling sound seemed to emanate from the darkness itself, a predatory growl that echoed with menacing intent. Ginger's pace quickened, her footsteps echoing louder and faster as if trying to outrun the encroaching danger.
At the end of the hall, the outline of a massive, shadowy figure emerged in front of a frosted window, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural luminescence. It moved with a predatory grace, stalking Ginger through the halls. Panic set in as she realized there was no escape; the creature's growls grew louder, and its presence gaining on her.
Desperation etched across her face, Ginger frantically searched for an exit. The shadows seemed to engulf her, suffocating any hope of salvation. The school's exit, usually a symbol of freedom, now loomed ahead like a portal to an unknown realm. The werewolf closed in, its snarls echoing in her ears.
Heart pounding, Ginger burst through the exit doors into the cool night air. The school's familiar surroundings were replaced by an expansive forest, its trees casting long, distorted shadows under the moonlit sky. The dense foliage seemed to close in around her, the rustling leaves whispering ominous secrets.
Ginger sprinted through the tangled undergrowth. The shadows in the forest danced tauntingly, playing tricks on her senses as the creature closed the gap between them. The trees twisted into grotesque shapes that seemed to reach out for her. Ginger's surroundings blurred, the boundary between reality and nightmare becoming increasingly unclear. Each step felt like an eternity.
Ginger stole a glance over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the werewolf's eyes gleaming in the darkness. Its massive form moved with a primal grace, navigating the uneven terrain effortlessly. As Ginger ran, the forest seemed to warp around her, its surreal twists and turns disorienting her sense of direction. The roots of gnarled trees reached out like skeletal fingers, threatening to trip her with every step.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet gave way, and Ginger found herself tumbling down a steep incline. She landed at the bottom, disoriented and breathless, the world spinning around her. The werewolf's growls intensified, now resonating from above as it stood at the edge of the incline, fixated on its prey.
With nowhere left to run, Ginger faced the creature head-on, the night air thick with tension. The werewolf's eyes bore into hers, and just as it lunged forward...

Ginger awoke with a jolt in the sanctuary of her basement, only she wasn't in her cot, she was on the floor near the bottom of the steps. As she came to, Ginger almost mistook her sister's snoring for the wolf's growl that was still fresh in her mind. As she carefully returned to bed, Ginger felt that the events in her dream held a significance beyond the realm of mere imagination.
The familiar surroundings of their shared basement bedroom greeted her: two cots neatly placed side by side, each adorned with an array of macabre decorations. Moonlight filtered through the small basement window, casting a blue glow on the dim space. She drifted off back to sleep within a few moments.

Ginger found herself back in the halls of Bailey Downs High School. This time, however, the school was devoid of any signs of life. The lockers stood silent, the classroom doors closed, and the once vibrant halls now seemed like a labyrinth of shadows and echoes. Ginger moved cautiously through the halls, her footsteps echoing with a hollow resonance.
A faint sound caught her attention - a distant shuffle, a barely audible whisper. Driven by an inexplicable urge, Ginger followed the mysterious sounds. The emptiness of the halls seemed to amplify the desperation in her footsteps. As Ginger turned a corner, she glimpsed a fleeting figure disappearing into the shadows. The urge to catch up, to unravel the mystery of this familiar presence, consumed her.
The figure remained just out of reach, teasing her with glimpses in the dim light. The halls seemed to elongate, the distance between them growing impossibly vast.

The chase through the desolate halls of Bailey Downs High School seamlessly transitioned into the haunting depths of the forest. Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting an ethereal glow on the elusive figure that continued to lead Ginger deeper into the woods.
Suddenly, the figure stumbled and disappeared from Ginger's sight. She quickened her pace, the urgency of the chase escalating. As she approached the edge of a cliff, the moonlight revealed the silhouette of the fallen figure, trapped and vulnerable.
The air thickened with tension as Ginger cautiously approached. The trapped figure remained obscured in the shadows, but as Ginger drew closer, the truth unfolded with a surreal clarity. It was herself.

Confusion and fear gripped Ginger as she stared at the trapped version of herself. The doppelgänger writhed on the ground, seemingly paralyzed by the fall. Ginger ran and lunged forward on all fours towards herself.

The forest fell into an uneasy silence, the moonlight casting an unsettling glow on the cliffside. Ginger remained alone, standing on the precipice of self-discovery. As the confrontation reached its climax, Ginger's waking mind grappled with the symbolism of the encounter as her mirrored self seemed to dissolve into shadows.

Ginger lay in the stillness of her room, eyes closed, as the remnants of the haunting dream lingered in the recesses of her mind. The echo of the confrontation with her mirrored self reverberated, leaving an unsettling residue. The piercing sound of the alarm clock shattered her contemplation.

In the adjacent cot, Brigitte stirred, roused by the persistent beep of the alarm. The sisters shared a fleeting glance, a silent acknowledgment of the shared space that housed their dreams and nightmares. With a shared sense of duty, they rose from their cots and began the ritual of preparing for another day.
The morning routine unfolded in a subdued series of movements choreographed by habit. Ginger and Brigitte moved with a practiced efficiency, dressing in plenty of layers and gathering their belongings. The basement felt like a cocoon from which they emerged into the mundane reality of their suburban lives.
The smell of breakfast wafted through the air as they entered the kitchen, where their mother, oblivious to the night's turmoil, prattled on about the trivialities of daily life. Ginger and Brigitte sat at the breakfast table, their expressions stoic as they listened to their mother's words. The kitchen, with its familiar furnishings and the aroma of coffee, felt like a detached second act against the girls' gloomy narrative.

As Ginger and Brigitte strolled through the park on their way to school, they were cordoned off by yellow tape. Intrigued, the sisters approached, only to be stopped by a stern-faced police officer.

"Sorry, girls, can't let you through. Crime scene investigation," the officer stated, his eyes scanning them with suspicion.

Ginger exchanged a glance with Brigitte, their curiosity tinged with a sense of unease.

The officer, seeming to enjoy their discomfort, continued, "We've got a bizarre one here. And you two are bizarre, yourselves. You some kind of Satanic blood drinkers?"

The sisters rolled their eyes in unison, dismissing the officer's inquiry as absurd.

"Satanic blood drinkers?" Ginger asked, squinting at the officer."

"That's a new one," Brigette quipped, her monotone voice laced with sarcasm.

Unimpressed, the officer nodded towards the police tape. "Well, if you didn't see anything unusual, you'll have to turn back. We're trying to piece together what happened here."

Deciding not to linger in the unsettling atmosphere, Ginger and Brigitte turned away from the crime scene and retraced their steps home. The tranquility of the suburbia just got interesting. The shadows lurking beneath the manicured lawns had revealed themselves.
Back home, they sought refuge in the familiar facade of their polite housewife mother. "Mom, can you give us a ride to school?" Brigitte asked, attempting to keep the unease from her voice.

Their mother, perpetually adorned in an apron, turned from the kitchen counter with a saccharine smile. "Of course, my darlings. I'll get the keys."

As they rode in their mother's car, the facade of normalcy began to crack. The motherly smile held a touch of distant abstraction. The unease lingered as they pulled up to the school the more she tried to talk to them about nothing in particular. Ginger and Brigitte exchanged a glance, as usual recognizing the subtle dissonance in their mother's demeanor.
As the car glided through the streets, Ginger absentmindedly scratched at her shoulder. The persistent itch drew her attention, and she glanced down to find a faint but healing scrape, as if from an unnoticed injury. Their mother, focused on the road ahead, glanced at Ginger through the rearview mirror.

"Oh I shouldn't have switched detergents I knew it! You're having an allergic reaction," she tutted.

Ginger's mind briefly flickered to the encounter with her mirrored self in the dream, the struggle against shadows that left its mark on her shoulder. The mundane explanation of a detergent allergy seemed almost too convenient, a rationalization for the inexplicable. Ginger shrugged, dismissing the strange connection.

Their mother, seemingly unconcerned, offered a solution, "Well, we can switch back to the old one. No need for you to be uncomfortable."

Ginger, unable to take her attention off the persistent itch beneath her skin, found herself unable to stop scratching. Brigitte, walking beside her, noticed the growing unease in Ginger's expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in concern.

A buzz of excitement drew Ginger's attention to a cluster of students gathered around a locker. A boy, animatedly showing off the locker, captured the attention of his friends. Ginger and Brigitte approached the scene, curious about the source of the commotion.
The boy proudly displayed a giant claw mark etched into the metal surface of his locker. Gasps and whispers rippled through the onlookers as they marveled at the mysterious mark.
The air seemed to thicken with anticipation and Ginger made a b-line for her locker. With a sense of trepidation, she turned the combination lock and swung the locker door open. She pulled down the collar of her shirt to reveal the matching claw mark on her shoulder and chest in the reflection of her tiny locker mirror. A gasp escaped her lips as she caught sight of the unmistakable claw mark that matched the one on the other student's locker.

The realization hit her like a wave, and she grabbed Brigitte's arm, dragging her into the nearby bathroom for privacy. Once inside, Ginger leaned against the sink, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and urgency.

"I can't explain it, but something happened last night," she said as her fingers curled around porcelain and she refused to look herself or her sister in the face.

Brigitte, though skeptical, could sense the genuine fear and uncertainty in her sister's admission. The two huddled in the bathroom, the weight of Ginger's secret pressing upon them. Just as Ginger was about to continue, the door swung open with a brash confidence.
Trina Sinclair, the self-appointed queen bee of Bailey Downs High, sauntered in with an air of superiority.

"Well, well, if it isn't the freak show," Trina sneered, her eyes locking onto Ginger and Brigitte with undisguised disdain.

Ginger shot Trina a venomous glare, the clash of their opposing realities intensifying in the confined space of the bathroom. Trina had long held a vendetta against the Fitzgerald sisters, branding them as untouchables for their unconventional interests and antisocial personalities.
Brigitte, though seething with resentment, held Ginger back, sensing that a confrontation with Trina would only escalate the tensions.

Trina, reveling in her perceived victory, tossed a dismissive glance their way. "Enjoy your little fantasy world, freaks. But remember, reality always has a way of catching up."

Brigitte ushered Ginger out of the bathroom before she had a chance to speak. Ignoring Trina's icy glare, they emerged into the bustling corridor. The encounter had been narrowly averted, but the tension lingered like a storm on the horizon.

The bell rang, and Ginger and Brigitte made their way to their first class.
Ginger was visibly agitated, and Brigitte noticed the persistent fidgeting and scratching. Ginger waved Brigitte off, her nervous demeanor growing more pronounced.

Chapter Text

Seeking solace and a respite from the complexities of adolescence, Ginger found herself drawn to the peace of the cemetery. Ginger walked up the hill, her shoes digging into the earth as she ascended. She was flanked on both sides by tombstones that seemed to be watching her. She often came here with Brigitte to sit in silence and contemplate mortality.
A familiar sight caught her attention; a van parked near the cemetery entrance. Its weathered exterior bore the unmistakable signs of a well-used vehicle, and "County Regreening Programme" adorned the side. It belonged to Sam McDonald, a familiar face in Bailey Downs who was known for his dual roles as a groundskeeper and a provider of a different kind of greenery.
Ginger walked past the van and selected a quiet spot near a grave. She settled on the grass, her gaze fixed on the distant figure of Sam. His silhouette moved gracefully amidst the tombstones, tending to the cemetery's greenery with meticulous care.
Sam, having finished high school a couple of years earlier, had carved a nice little niche for himself in the community. His main trade involved tending to lawns, but this season he got a gig at the cemetery. As much as it creeped him out, at least no one bothered him. Outside of continuing his father's legacy, it was his side hustle that had earned him a distinct reputation among the locals.

Sam went about his work in the cemetery with a sense of purpose, not noticing that he wasn't alone. His shift was nearing its end and his mind was consumed by memories of the other night's encounter...a shadowy figure with fur and fangs, unmistakably a werewolf.
Of course it was something anyone would dismiss as a mere fabrication, a trick of the elevated mind, so he dared not tell a soul. He had no proof, just a chilling memory that etched itself into his consciousness. He stood up to wipe his tired eyes against the sleeve of his coveralls, looking over the graves that were silent witnesses to the ordeal. If only they could testify.

That's when he saw Ginger Fitzgerald.

From her vantage point, Ginger observed the scene silently.The scent of freshly cut grass filled the air and when she closed her eyes for a moment it almost seemed like she was anywhere else but sitting on top of a bunch of dead people. She pulled out her pack of cigarettes and lit one to try and create a more noxious atmosphere suited to her mood.

Sam's heart quickened slightly as his eyes lingered on her. He had never paid much attention to her before, but today was different. Something about her was different. Ginger's presence, against the backdrop of the cemetery's serenity, evoked a mixture of curiosity and nervousness within him. As Sam continued his work, he stole occasional glances in Ginger's direction. The air of solitude that enveloped her intrigued him, awakening a curiosity that went beyond the routine of his daily tasks.

Taking a moment to step away from his duties, Sam removed his work gloves and retrieved a cigarette from his pocket as he approached the girl. The muted sunlight played upon Ginger's features as her green eyes met his with a mixture of curiosity and detachment to mirror his demeanor. Their tendrils of smoke intertwined as they shared the moment inching towards death, suspended within a place that only existed because of death.

"Hey there," Sam greeted in his usual nonchalant tone, the syllables escaping with a detached ease before lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag.

Something about this boy stirred something within her that had never been stirred until that very moment. She felt like she wanted to eat him. The thought of tasting his flesh and blood played in her head like a flashback even though it hadn't happened...yet? She sucked down some nicotine in some hope of keeping those thoughts at bay, because they were scary.

With each passing second, an undeniable attraction blossomed within Sam. Her eyes held his gaze with a compelling force as she smoked. The dark allure she possessed set her apart in a town of ordinary faces and it drew him in like a moth to a flame.

"What." It wasn't even a question really, more like a flat, dead statement. An attempt to get him to fuck off, even though that was the last thing she wanted.

Her response was just as he expected. He breathed out an incredulous sort of laugh that rode on a plume of smoke. This was a bad idea, but there was no backing out of it now.

"I'm throwing a Halloween party this weekend," he uttered, the invitation delivered with a monotonous ease that belied the potential gravity of the event and the undercurrent of his emotions.

Ginger, taken aback by the unexpected invitation, considered the proposition. Sam's Halloween party, a convergence of ordinary losers and the mysterious cool older crowd.

Brigitte emerged from behind the van with a nonchalant stride, her camera in hand.

She took a picture of Sam talking to Ginger, her soft voice cutting through the subtle tension that lingered between the two, "Mum's never gonna believe that a guy is talking to you without proof."

Sam's eyes flickered momentarily, registering the intrusion as the energy shifted. Readjusting to the unexpected company, he offered a half-smile and a wave. "Halloween party Saturday at the greenhouse," he explained, a subtle attempt to navigate the shift in dynamics.

Brigitte's expression remained impassive, but a discerning glint in her eyes hinted at an acute awareness. "Sounds interesting," she replied, her words carrying a subdued skepticism.

Ginger got up and wiped the leaves and dirt off of her backside, handing her sister the cigarette.

"Making live friends now?" Brigitte asked between drags of the half-smoked cigarette.

Ginger, momentarily caught off guard, shot her sister a bemused look. "He talked to me, B."

Brigitte's expression remained impassive. "You don't actually wanna go to this thing right? I mean you don't really want to get hammered with the chuds and sluts of Bailey Downs."

Observing the exchange, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that the Fitzgerald sisters carried a complex dynamic beneath their outward personas. Brigitte's skepticism resonated with an acute understanding of her sister's inclinations which added to the thrill of her potential presence at his event. As he listened, his eyebrows knitted together into an expression that made it seem like he was offended, though he couldn't help but nod internally in agreement with Brigitte's sentiments. His own motives for hosting such an event were far from altruistic. He only invited people he knew he could extract some profit from.

"Just thought it might be a good time. Costumes, beer, candy... You know, the usual Halloween stuff?" he said with a snort of contempt, fully aware of the thinly veiled disdain that colored his words.

Ginger looked almost embarrassed which was unlike her since usually slut shaming the locals and demeaning their male counterparts was their favorite past time. "We'll have to discuss it," she told Sam, ushering her sister toward the front gate of the cemetery.

"Um.. bye? I guess?" he muttered, stomping out his cigarette and getting back to work as the sisters left. The snuffed-out embers seemed to mirror the abrupt end to the conversation, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts amidst the quiet ambiance of the departed.

Chapter Text

The crisp Friday morning found Ginger and Brigitte making their way to school, the air laden with the promise of the impending Halloween party. As they walked, the sisters found themselves navigating the subtle tension that lingered between them. The fact that her sister didn't want to do something she wanted to do did not compute. They did everything together, and Ginger being older and more sought after by boys was often the inspiration for anything Brigitte did.

Ginger, her thoughts filled with the allure of the Sam, couldn't shake the excitement that bubbled within her. "I really think we should go, B. It could be fun, you know?"

Brigitte, ever the pragmatic voice of reason, shot her sister a sideways glance. "Fun? Ginger, you've never been one for parties or drugs."

Ginger shrugged, her nonchalance betraying a flicker of irritability at not getting her way. "People change, B! Maybe it's time we both grew up and stopped playing dress up in the backyard."

Brigitte, however, had her reservations. "Is it some kind of hormonal thing? You did just start menstruating, after all."

Ginger's eyes flashed with annoyance. "You're mad I can make my own decisions. And you can't."

Brigitte looked like she had been struck in the face, the weight of concern still evident in her voice despite her sister's attitude. "I just don't want you to do something you'll regret."

The field hockey sticks clacked against the ball as the sisters lingered on the sidelines during PE class. Sports of any kind were never their forte, and they preferred the solace of a cigarette over the chaos of the game. As they puffed away, their conversation naturally gravitated toward their favorite pastime—talking trash about the other girls in class.
Trina, the epitome of Bailey Downs' popular clique, approached with a smug smile, seemingly amused by the sisters' lack of interest in the sport.

"Can you believe Trina and her minions? They're like a circus opened up a strip club," Brigitte mused, her eyes scanning the field.

Ginger, taking a drag from her cigarette, let out a mocking laugh. "Seriously. Trina's probably slept with every dude in Bailey Downs twice, even the ones pushing thirty."

Brigitte hugged herself in an attempt to keep herself warm in the chill of the wind, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "Town bicycle, everyone's had a ride."

Before Ginger could respond, Trina approached with her characteristic smug smile, overhearing their conversation. "Hey, Ginger, Brigitte, are you two planning to grace the Greenhouse Bash on Halloween?" Trina asked, a hint of condescension in her tone.

Ginger locked eyes with Trina, a mischievous spark in her gaze. "Actually, Trina, we got a personal invitation from the host himself."

Ginger's words formed a needle, pricking at the inflated bubble of Trina's delusion that she was the most important person in the entire world. And it showed on her face. "That's a good one!" Trina scoffed, dismissing Ginger's claim as she and her friends burst into laughter.

The whistle blew and the game resumed. In that moment, as the laughter continued to ripple across the field, Brigitte made peace with the inevitable. The Greenhouse Bash, once dismissed as a trivial social affair, now symbolized a chance for Ginger to get revenge.

"I think I saw something break in her brain," Ginger laughed once she and her sister were left alone again.

"What brain?" Brigitte scoffed.

Trina's mockery had ignited a flame within Ginger, one that showcased a desire to defy anyone and anything. Brigitte, though more reserved, sensed the unspoken resolve in Ginger's gaze. It wasn't just about attending Sam's Halloween bash; it was about dismantling the preconceived notions that shackled them to the roles of social outcasts. If Ginger was determined to be an idiot, then Brigitte would stand by her side.

As the final bell echoed through the corridors of Bailey Downs High School, signaling the end of another school day, Ginger and Brigitte found themselves navigating the sea of students flooding the hallways. Among the familiar faces, Sam McDonald stood outside near his van. Ginger, undeterred by the casual façade he presented, led the way toward the waiting figure. Brigitte trailed behind, observing the interplay between her sister and the enigmatic drug dealer.

"Hey, Sam," Ginger greeted, her tone a playful blend of curiosity.

Sam straightened up, his eyes meeting Ginger's with a composed yet intrigued gaze. "Hey again. Plans this weekend?"

Ginger smirked, "Considering it. You know, curious about what makes it so special."

There was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Guess you'll have to find out for yourself."

Unbeknownst to the trio, Trina Sinclair, the ever-watchful orchestrator of Bailey Downs' social hierarchy, observed from a distance. Spotting Sam, her targeted subject of obsession, engaged in conversation with the Fitzgerald sisters, Trina's anger seized the opportunity to approach. She sauntered toward them, her confidence radiating with every step.

"Hey, Sam," Trina purred, a calculated smile playing on her lips.

Sam, focused on Ginger, replied with a distracted tone as he spared Trina a fleeting glance. "Hey, need something?"

Trina, undeterred by Sam's partial attention, attempted to interject herself into their exchange. "I heard you invited these freaks to your party. Is that right?"

Ginger, sensing the unwelcome intrusion, shot Trina a glance that spoke volumes. Undeterred, Trina lingered, determined to divert Sam's attention away from the "creepy" sisters.

Sam, amused but annoyed responded with a veiled critique of her behavior, "Yeah I guess there's going to be all sorts of freaks there."

Trina's reaction defied expectations. The scheming grin on her face twisted into a contorted expression of disbelief and frustration. It was as if the revelation had unleashed a storm of conflicting emotions within her.

"What? You invited them? Are you serious?!" Trina's voice rose, her composure slipping as her eyes widened in manic disbelief.

Sam, unfazed by her sudden outburst, simply shrugged. "Why not? It's an open invitation."

Trina's reaction, however, transcended the boundaries of reason. Her face flushed with anger, she pointed accusingly at Sam. "You're ruining it! They don't belong there! This is supposed to be a party, not a freak show!" As Trina's outburst echoed through the parking lot, the tension escalated.

Ginger and Brigitte exchanged bemused glances, observing the unraveling scene before them. Trina, driven to the edge by the perceived intrusion of the Fitzgerald sisters into her imagined relationship with Sam, had revealed a side of herself that bordered on the irrational.

In the wake of Trina's emotional outburst, Sam extended a casual offer, breaking the escalating tension that lingered in the air. "Need a ride home?"

Ginger, ever the provocateur, flashed a mischievous smile. "Sure, why not?"

As Sam led the way to his van, the Fitzgerald sisters followed, leaving Trina and her disconcerted friends behind. Ginger and Brigitte climbed into Sam's van, the engine rumbling to life as they departed from the school grounds. The once-confident Trina Sinclair now found herself in tears, her plans for Halloween night shattered by an unexpected turn of events.

Chapter Text

The small basement room, shared by the Fitzgerald sisters, buzzed with anticipation as Halloween night descended upon Bailey Downs. The soft glow of string lights, green and red, illuminated the cluttered space adorned with crime scene photographs and other morbid curiosities. Ginger, in her element, assisted Brigitte in getting ready for the Halloween party.

In contrast to their usual attire of conservative sweaters, long skirts, and baggy jackets, the sisters delved into the depths of their wardrobes. Tonight held a different aura, and Ginger, the harbinger of change, embraced a style that echoed the spirit of her age – a more revealing and contemporary gothic fashion.

"Come on, B, it's Halloween! You're supposed to dress like a sexy version of something," Ginger urged, holding up an ensemble that veered from their customary attire.

Brigitte, more reserved in her approach to clothing, hesitated. The costumes Ginger suggested were a departure from their usual comfort zone, and the prospect of exposing more skin than usual stirred a sense of discomfort.

"Ginger, I've never been the type to flaunt myself." Brigitte said, eyeing the attire with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Ginger, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, responded, "You've got a great rack. It would look even better pushed up."

Ginger, the architect of change, wielded a cat costume and a pair of heels as her tools to reshape her sister's identity for the Greenhouse Bash. Brigitte eyed the costume warily, hesitating at the prospect of stepping out of her comfort zone. With a sigh, Brigitte relented, recognizing the inevitability of her sister's influence. Soon Brigitte found herself donning the form-fitting cat costume, the sleek fabric accentuating the contours of her almost non existent figure.
Navigating the basement in the unfamiliar footwear proved to be a comical struggle, eliciting laughter from the elder sister. Ginger, reveling in the success of her convincing tactics, couldn't help but admire the transformed Brigitte. Sam had an idea to be a wolf and Ginger agreed to take on the iconic persona of Little Red Riding Hood.

Together, they arrived at the greenhouse, a strikingly contrasted duo with Brigitte being the more uncomfortable one. Ginger, with her hood drawn low, entered the party in search of the host. As she navigated through the costumed crowd, anticipation bubbled within her. In a secluded corner, beneath the moonlit canopy of the greenhouse, Ginger spotted Sam. His attire, a primal juxtaposition to her Little Red Riding Hood, consisted of torn clothes and a wolf mask that he had propped up on his head. Approaching him with a playful glint in her eyes, Ginger's red cape billowed behind her like a scarlet shadow.

"My...what a lame costume you have," Ginger teased, her voice a whispered invitation beneath the ambient music.

Sam responded with a low growl, the playful banter between them adding an electric charge to the air. "Best I could do on short notice alright? Not surprised you have a hooded cloak just laying around."

"Mum made it out of an old apron this morning," she explained, "She's kind of desperate for me to get out of the house and make friends."

In the lively ambiance of the dance floor, Brigitte found herself momentarily separated from Ginger. The sensation of being alone in the crowd brought a subtle discomfort, intensified by the attention her form-fitting cat costume attracted. As she weaved through the crowd, a boy dressed as a classic vampire approached, his eyes framed by dark makeup reflecting genuine curiosity. "Hey, cat lady, nice costume. Mind if I join you?"

Brigitte, not accustomed to such direct attention, hesitated as she stared him down. "I guess."

The vampire extended a hand with a casual charm. "Cool. I'm Alex."

Brigitte's gaze shifted from him, to his extended hand, then back to his face. "Why are you talking to me?"

As Ginger looked away from Sam for a moment, her attention was drawn to a sight that triggered an unexpected surge of emotions. There, amidst the swirling colors and rhythmic beats, she saw Brigitte engaged in conversation with a boy dressed as a vampire. An instinctual possessiveness over her sister surged through her veins, a primal response that hinted at the feral transformation lying dormant within her. Struggling to make sense of the overwhelming emotions, Ginger took a step forward, her movements more deliberate, more predatory. She observed Brigitte with a mixture of concern and possessiveness, the internal struggle mirrored in her furrowed brow. Unbeknownst to Ginger, this was not merely a manifestation of hormonal fluctuations but a glimpse into the latent forces awakening within her, the wolfish nature stirring beneath the surface.
Ginger's surge of rage manifested in a swift and assertive action as she made her way through the crowd, leaving Sam looking confused. Without a second thought, Ginger seized Alex's drink, flinging it defiantly into his face. The liquid dripped down his vampire costume as Ginger, with an intensity that belied her usual demeanor, stood her ground.

"Back off," she hissed, her eyes ablaze with an unexpected ferocity. "Leave my sister alone."

The guy, now more bewildered than confident, wiped the liquid from his face and responded defensively, "If you don't want attention, why dress like that?"

"Leave my sister THE FUCK alone!" The abrupt clash of Ginger's anger reverberated through the music, bringing an unexpected silence to the previously animated crowd.

Ignoring the collective gasps and murmurs and fueled by a potent mix of primal instincts, she seized the vampire boy and propelled him with surprising strength. He crashed into a pile of discarded beer boxes and cans, the metallic clatter punctuating the sudden hush that had fallen over the party. The atmosphere, once filled with revelry, now hung in suspense as partygoers processed the unexpected spectacle. Ginger, her eyes ablaze and adrenaline coursing through her veins, stood defiantly over the fallen guy, a primal force demanding respect and boundaries.

Trina Sinclair's voice rang out as she stepped into the space that had now been cleared by the scuffle, "See Sam! I told you!" She was wearing the same costume that Brigitte was wearing and she honestly didn't look as good.

Sam, observing the chaotic turn of events, couldn't help but mutter a frustrated exclamation under his breath, "Fuck..." Running his hands over his face, he anticipated the ensuing fallout and the impact it might have on the already tense atmosphere between the girls.

The confrontation between Ginger and Trina escalated quickly, fueled by a volatile mix of pride, envy, and the tension that had been brewing between them. The surrounding crowd, initially frozen in shock, began to form a circle around the escalating confrontation, eager for the spectacle unfolding before them. Ginger, her eyes ablaze with a feral intensity that transcended mere teenage angst, faced off against Trina, who relished the opportunity to prove her point. Harsh words were exchanged, each barb cutting deeper than the last, and the atmosphere became charged with hostility.

Trina, her voice laced with a venomous edge, sneered, "Thought you were too good for this, Fitzgerald. Getting cozy with Sam now, huh?"

Ginger, her patience worn thin, shot back, "You're delusional if you think I care about your opinion."

Trina, fueled by jealousy and a sense of betrayal, couldn't contain her hysterics. "You freaks don't get to have boyfriends. You're just a sideshow for people to laugh at."

Ginger's restraint wavered as Trina's words cut through the night. "At least I'm not desperate enough to throw myself at someone who clearly doesn't want anything to do with me."

Trina, seething with anger, lunged at Ginger, and the chaos erupted into a physical altercation. The surrounding onlookers gasped and cheered, caught in the whirlwind of drama unfolding before them. Brigitte rushed forward, attempting to intervene and separate the feuding parties. Sam, initially hesitant, couldn't ignore the escalating tension any longer. Reluctantly, he joined the fray, hoping to quell the conflict that had cast a shadow over the Halloween celebration.
The initial excitement devolved into a collective disapproval as the scuffle between Ginger and Trina intensified. Despite their efforts, the scuffle continued, each attempt at resolution seemingly thwarted by the heightened emotions and supernatural strength at play. The once-celebratory atmosphere had transformed into something that people were now fleeing from. Amidst the tumult, Ginger's feral instincts took over, and with a swift, claw-like motion, she lashed out, unintentionally leaving Sam with a deep gash. The realization of the unintended harm brought a moment of clarity to Ginger, but the damage had been done.

Sam, pulling his hand away from his neck with blood all over it, raised his voice above the chaos. "Alright, everyone, party's over! Get the fuck out!"

Chapter Text

As Ginger and Brigitte returned to the routine of school life, rumors and recounts of the Greenhouse Brawl lingered in the air, a vivid memory fresh in the minds of anyone who was there. In their familiar domain of the school's PE class, the sisters found themselves amidst the routine chatter about the weekend's events. Ginger and Brigitte, their accustomed spot on the sidelines during field hockey, resumed their ritual of sharing cigarettes and engaging in candid commentary about their fellow students.

"So, what do you think Trina's saying now?" Ginger asked, exhaling a puff of smoke.

Brigitte, leaning against the bleachers, responded with a smirk. "She doesn't have to say anything. Everyone was there."

Ginger's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, a distant look in her eyes. "It's fine, B. People like Trina need a reality check now and then."

Ginger, still grappling with the aftermath of her unleashed fury, noticed Sam's presence over by the bleachers, but averted her eyes. The embarrassment of her feral outburst cast a shadow over her usual self-assuredness. Sam, aware of the delicate balance, hovered near the bleachers, waiting for a sign from Ginger. Trina, observing from a distance, couldn't resist the opportunity to revel in the perceived turmoil. Her eyes followed Sam's attempts to engage Ginger, anger burning behind them.

Ginger, mustering a hesitant resolve, approached Sam with an awkward energy. The weight of the recent events hung between them like an unspoken entity. "Sam," she began, her voice tinged with a mix of remorse and uncertainty, "I didn't mean to-"

"Don't care about that. What's going on with this scratch you gave me?" Sam's eyes flickered with a different curiosity and he showed her the side of his neck.

Ginger's eyes followed Sam's indication, and to her surprise, the once fatal wound appeared almost as if it had never been there. A moment of stunned silence passed between them as the implications of the inexplicable healing settled in.

"I... I don't know," Ginger stammered, her apology forgotten as a more profound realization took root.

Sam, with a furrowed brow, recounted the bizarre events that unfolded after the Greenhouse Brawl. "Look, something's off. I drove myself to the hospital because, well, I was covered in my own blood. But when I got there, they couldn't find a scratch on me. Spent the whole day getting a mental evaluation instead."

Ginger's eyes widened in surprise and a realization dawned on her that he was going through the same type of changes she was now.

Sam, though composed, couldn't completely conceal the unease that lingered in his gaze. "I think you have lycanthropy."

Ginger scoffed, a mixture of disbelief and amusement coloring her tone. "Are you seriously suggesting I'm turning into a werewolf?"

Sam, undeterred, maintained a serious expression. "I know it sounds wild, but I know what I'm talking about. It all lines up."

Ginger rolled her eyes, dismissing the idea. She glanced at Brigitte, who was now joining them and waiting for an explanation with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Tell him about that dream you had," she said in some hopes to corroborate what he was saying.

Ginger took a deep breath, her gaze distant as she began to recount the nightmare with a clarity that brought the vivid images to life. "In the dream, the school hallway went pitch black, like the lights were sucked away. I could hear the echoes of my own footsteps, but there was another sound, too—like something hunting me. I turned around, and that's when I saw it." Her voice quivered slightly, remembering the surreal horror of the dream. "It was stalking me through the halls."

Brigitte's eyes widened as Ginger continued, her words painting a surreal and grotesque picture.

"I ran out of the school, and it followed me. The moon was huge in the sky. I could feel it getting closer. I stumbled, and when I looked back, it was right there, eyes locked with mine. I bolted, and it chased me through the trees. The fear was so real."

Sam, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, finally spoke up. "I saw a werewolf in the cemetery a couple of nights before the party. I know it sounds crazy, but it was real. I didn't get any proof, though."

It occurred to Ginger that in the second part of her dream she was the werewolf. She silently contemplated it as she withheld that part of the recollection to let Sam speak.

Sam, absorbing Ginger's vivid description, offered a tentative suggestion. "You know, Ginger, sometimes people do things in their sleep. Sleepwalk, I mean. Maybe you weren't dreaming all of that. Maybe you were actually walking around."

Brigitte, pondering the possibility, chimed in, "Sleepwalking or not, the part where you were chasing yourself in the woods, that sounds messed up, even for sleepwalking."

Sam, glancing between the sisters, considered his next words carefully. "I'm not an expert, but maybe there's more to it. Some people believe dreams are messages, symbols. And if you're sleepwalking, it's like you're acting out those dreams in a way. Like your subconscious is trying to tell you something."

Ginger sighed, running a hand through her hair. "This is crazy."

"Yeah! Yeah it is," Sam retorted with a sudden bitterness, "I can't believe you gave me a disease that only exists in horror movies!"

Before the tension could fully settle, Trina, who had overheard the conversation, interjected with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"What's this about a disease?" Trina asked, her eyes darting between Ginger and Sam. "Is it... curable?"

Sam, unimpressed with Trina's intrusion, shot her a stern look. "Fuck off, Trina. This isn't your concern." He turned back to Ginger. "Look, when you're done with high school, come see me. We need to talk about this. In private."

As Trina retreated with a huff, she seemed to be ear hustling on their plans. The distant chime of the school bell echoed, signaling the end of the conversation. Ginger, with a curious mix of apprehension and curiosity, made a decision.

"Let's just go right now," she said, forcing a smile that seemed threatening.

Brigitte, taken aback, watched as Ginger walked off and climbed into the passenger seat of Sam's idling van. "You're skipping class now?!" she called, running after her sister.

"Don't wait up," Ginger quipped, flashing a half-smile that held a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

As the car pulled away, leaving Brigitte standing on the sidewalk, the sense of isolation settled around her. The sudden shift in Ginger's behavior, opting to cut class and spend time with an older acquaintance like Sam, stirred an uneasy feeling within her younger sister. Brigitte had always been the more cautious and reserved of the two sisters, observing the world with a discerning eye. The undeniable bond between the sisters had weathered many storms, but this sudden divergence in paths left Brigitte feeling like a guardian torn between allowing her sister space and intervening for her well-being.

The ride to the greenhouse was draped in an awkward silence, tension palpable in the air. Ginger fidgeted nervously in the passenger seat, acutely aware of the strange undercurrents swirling between her and Sam like the cigarette smoke that filled the space. The lines between friendship and something more were erased in the aftermath of the Halloween party. Sam, focused on the road ahead, felt the shift too. The usual cool demeanor he wore like a shield seemed momentarily cracked, revealing a vulnerability that mirrored Ginger's uncertainty.

As Sam and Ginger ventured to the greenhouse and stepped inside, she chose not to remark on the aftermath of her feral outburst that was still left. Empty cups and discarded decorations littered the floor. Ginger's gaze swept over the disheveled scene, a visual reminder of the confrontation and the unleashed fury of her transformation. The damaged ambiance mirrored the turmoil within her and a sense of guilt crept into her consciousness.
Sam, navigating through the clutter, led Ginger to a secluded corner. The air hung heavy with an unspoken understanding of the peculiar circumstances that brought them together. Potted plants adorned makeshift shelves, and the natural light cast a warm glow over his space. The air was thick with the scent of soil and hemp.

Sam took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers as she sat at the edge of his bed and he sat beside her. "There's a book I came across. Talks about... things. Things like what happened to us. I thought maybe we could try something from there, you know, see if it helps."

Ginger's skepticism lingered, but a flicker of hope ignited within her. The realization that someone else might understand, might have answers, appealed to the part of her grappling with the newfound supernatural reality. Sam picked up a weathered book that was resting on a wooden table. Its pages showed signs of wear, as if it had been consulted numerous times in search of answers. He began flipping through the pages until he found the section he was looking for.
Ginger, perched on the edge of his bed, watched with a mix of anticipation and skepticism. The room, filled with the rustling of leaves and the soft hum of the greenhouse, seemed like a haven of secrets waiting to be unraveled.

"Monkshood is known for its properties in treating wolf bites and keeping them at bay," Sam explained, his tone serious. "If we can create an infusion from its extract, it might counteract the effects of whatever's affecting us. But it's not easy. This stuff is super toxic, handling it requires precision."

Ginger's eyes widened as she absorbed the significance of the remedy. The idea of utilizing a legendary plant to counteract a supernatural affliction felt ridiculous. Sam retrieved a small vial containing a deep purple liquid from a concealed compartment in his room. The rich color hinted at the potency of the monkshood extract within. Ginger eyed the vial with a mixture of fascination and trepidation, her reluctance to proceed becoming palpable. Ginger, despite her desperation for a cure, hesitated at the prospect of introducing the toxic substance into her bloodstream.

"What if it doesn't work, or worse, what if it poisons us?" Ginger questioned, her eyes reflecting a mixture of apprehension and doubt.

Sam, acknowledging the gravity of the situation, sighed. "Ginger, I get it. It's a risk. But it's the best shot we've got. We can't let this thing consume us. You've seen what it did to those dogs. Look at this, Ginger," Sam pointed out, his tone laced with a sense of urgency. "Your nails, they're turning into claws. We can't afford to wait."

Sam's urgency underscored the reality of their predicament, emphasizing the looming threat of the transformative forces at play. Ginger, confronted with the evidence of her physical changes, glanced down at her hands. The once unassuming nails had morphed into sharp, pointed claws, an undeniable testament to the encroaching transformation.
The intensity of the moment, heightened by the supernatural circumstances they faced, lingered in the air as Sam held Ginger's hands. An unexpected closeness had woven itself into the fabric of their collaboration, and the palpable connection between them transcended the immediate urgency of their predicament. The fleeting touch, initially forged by necessity, now lingered in the uncharted territory of newfound intimacy.
Ginger found herself caught in the uncharted territory of emotions that defied easy categorization. She was still holding Sam's hands and she couldn't help but be drawn into the warmth of his gaze that lingered on her eyes, reflecting a shared vulnerability beneath his exterior. In a moment of unscripted tenderness, Sam couldn't resist the impulse to brush a loose strand of hair away from Ginger's face.

Sam and Ginger found themselves drawn together. The unspoken tension that had defined their collaboration gave way to a soft and tentative kiss. Sam felt a connection that surpassed the bounds of their current predicament. Ginger's touch, gentle yet charged with uncharted emotions, caused him to marvel at the paradoxical nature of the situation. They were surrounded by the remnants of chaos, yet finding solace in the simplicity of such a harmless act of intimacy.
As their lips lingered, parted and reunited in the sweet exchange, Sam savored the fragility of the connection forming between them. Ginger's presence, once an enigma, now became a source of comfort that he was becoming more addicted to as their lips worked against each other. Their tongues brushed together and Sam found his hands wandering along the contours of her body, squeezing and pulling at her until she was in his lap. She fit her lips to his in desperation, her palms flattening as they traveled along his arms towards the slope of his shoulders.
She was panting in his mouth when she realized his hands had slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, his hands gliding against skin that has never been seen by anyone but her and maybe Brigitte while she was changing her clothes. Sam moved so he was on top of her, his body heavy against hers as he nudged his way between her thighs and continued to assault her with open mouthed kisses. She felt his breath and teeth against her neck and it made her dig her nails into his sides. He barely flinched, growling low with her earlobe between his canines. He could rip it off so easily.
She had never been this close to someone else in her life, especially not romantically or whatever this was. No boy had ever taken any interest in her besides Jason McCarty and he was a total sleaze. She never even considered that she liked Sam or noticed him due to their age gap. He wouldn't have looked her way while they were classmates because he was two grades ahead of her and too busy with Trina or some other flavor of the week. He had a reputation and it would never be ruined by Ginger's, because he would get laid and she would just be a lay.
His lips found hers again as he filled his hands with her breasts over her bra. Whatever chemical reaction he was causing in her ignited a primal sort of annoyance. She didn't appreciate the amount of control his touch had over her.
She bit his lip, causing him to moan softly into her mouth. She took it as permission to bite down again, harder, only this time he jerked away from her, breathing out a nervous laugh. That didn't stop her from trying to take a bite out of the side of his neck. He grabbed her shoulders and pinned her down to his bed, panting and whipping his hair out of his face before he sat up. Ginger felt the sting of betrayal as she was denied a taste of his blood and it didn't seem irrational to her.
She was just another one on his roster, another virginity for him to brag about taking. She wanted to chew his pretty face right off, suck his eyeball out of his skull only to spit it into his open mouth while he screamed. The vision aroused her as she lightly dragged nails against his cheek.

"If you won't take the wolfsbane with me, how about some matching piercings?"

Ginger, perplexed, arched an eyebrow. "Why do you keep trying to stick needles in me, Sam? Do you have some kind of weird kink or something?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Ignoring the oddity of her question, Sam continued with a sense of determination. "I got my ear pierced and got a horrible infection. Silver cleared it right up. Silver also is known to have magical properties. Silver bullets..."

The silver earrings, though mundane in appearance, carried a symbolic weight in the context of the threat they faced. As Ginger considered Sam's proposal, a strange thought began to snake its way through her mind. The werewolf disease seemed to insidiously infiltrate her thoughts, warping her perceptions and impairing her decision-making. In that eerie silence, Ginger felt a sudden, primal urge welling up within her—a desire to succumb to the untamed instincts that lurked dormant within her. The urge to embrace the feral part of her mind was being coaxed out the more this strange hunger began to take a hold of her.

The decision to let him pierce her ear emerged as a strange compromise in the face of their shared predicament. As she sat before him, a mix of apprehension and curiosity flickering in her eyes, Ginger silently braced herself for the unusual procedure. Sam, taking a steadying breath, delicately approached the task at hand. He carefully selected a silver earring, his movements deliberate and surprisingly gentle. The sensation, a peculiar blend of pressure and release, reverberated through her. As the earring found its place, a small but perceptible shift occurred within her.

"You okay?" Sam asked gently, cleaning some blood off of her ear with an alcohol prep pad.

Ginger nodded hesitantly. Sam pressed a kiss to her lips like it was a reward for being so brave and handed her the clamps and the piercing needle. As Ginger delicately handled the piercing equipment, a newfound sense of intimacy and vulnerability hung in the air. As she navigated the unfamiliar task, he moved his hair out of the way, exposing the healed claw mark from the scuffle the other day. Sam, despite his calm exterior, betrayed a flicker of anticipation as Ginger prepared to reciprocate the unconventional act of mutilation.
Ginger approached the task with a mix of focus and care. The tools, held with a steady hand, glinted in the subdued light of the greenhouse. The ambient tension seemed to heighten as the needle approached Sam's earlobe and went through it with a swift and deliberate motion. She put the earring in and closed it with one fluid motion.

"Do I look like Christian Slater?" he asked.

Ginger, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, studied Sam's appearance as her hand cradled his jawline. The marked ear added a nice touch. "Sure?"

They stared at each other silently, their eyes becoming suns, blinding and bright in that moment. She reminded him of something porcelain; utterly precious and utterly fragile. He didn't want to break her, so he lightly pulled her close and only made contact with her delicately. Even as he pulled her closer, he could feel her tremble slightly, and wondered if he was being too careless.
They became locked together once more, this time writhing for dominance like a couple of puppies. The incessant details blurred by as they stripped down just enough to get the job done. She had never done this before and yet she knew every move without him telling her a single thing.

"Have you...done this before?" he asked, his cock twitching in his pants as his fingers brushed against the slickness between her thighs.

She gasped shallowly, taking a moment to respond, "No."

"Oh." His hand faltered and his heartbeat quickened.

"...is that suddenly a problem for you?"

"I better be careful," he sighed shakily, pressing their foreheads together. It sounded like he was saying it more for his sake than hers.

He tasted her tongue again before he tasted the remnants of her that were on the tips of his fingers. He sucked in a pained breath and breathed out a soft noise of approval at the taste. His hand urgently reached into his pants and he began stroking himself off while he claimed her lips in another kiss. She shoved him off the edge of his bed and onto the floor, forcing him onto his knees. He got a wild look in his eyes, assuming the position in front of her.
His tongue felt around for her willingness and her reluctance until it found the exact spot she was aching to have touched by someone other than herself for once. His mouth was soft and he was so pretty, especially in this position. The way the light filtered through the leaves as the sun was setting made him look almost angelic while he defiled her. She ran her trembling hands through his hair, pulling him in deeper and forcing him to drown in her until she was done with him.

He pulled away gasping and coughing like he'd been actually face-fucked. There was blood all over his face. "You probably need to go home, right?" he asked breathlessly.

Sam made an attempt to cover up the smell of Ginger's shame with some herbal "perfume". At least she got to do that for the first time, instead of shooting up mystery poison with a guy who apparently had the decency not to deflower right away. She spent a long time saying goodbye to him without words while his nu-metal music blared. Saying goodbye was almost painful.
Her mother, Pam, was in the kitchen finishing up dinner and setting it on the table right as Ginger came in the house. Brigitte came upstairs and took her designated seat, noticing Ginger's hair was a bit messed up and that she reeked of pot.

"Fucking starving," Ginger said to her sister instead of hello.

Brigitte shot her sister a warning look, urging her to maintain some semblance of decorum. The girls' parents joined soon. The dinner table unfolded into a scene of attempted domestic normalcy as the Fitzgerald family gathered. The aroma of the home-cooked meal wafted through the air, momentarily overshadowing the lingering traces of Ginger's clandestine escapade.
Pam, forcing that smile of hers, looked up from the table setting to acknowledge her daughters. "Glad you could make it, girls." Pam ever the observant mother, caught the disheveled state of Ginger's hair and the faint scent that clung to her clothes. A subtle exchange of glances passed between her and her husband, Henry, as their eldest daughter began shoveling food into her mouth. As the family settled into their respective seats, Pam initiated a conversation about the day's events, her words weaving through the awkward space between them and Henry who was deeply engrossed in a newspaper. The girls, still carrying the weight of the unspoken encounters of the day, kept quiet.

Henry, the never present stoic figure at the head of the table, looked up from the folds of his newspaper. The pungent aroma, subtle yet distinct, reached his senses, prompting him to inquire, "Do we have a skunk roaming around outside again?"

The matriarch of the Fitzgerald household took center stage, her efforts focused on bridging the gap that seemed to widen with each passing day. Pam, her eyes flickering with a sense of nostalgia, couldn't resist the temptation to share glimpses of her past with Ginger and Brigitte.

"Your father and I were quite the pair back in the day," Pam was tickled pink to finally be able to get off her chest. "We used to sneak away to get high, hit concerts, and do all sorts of crazy things. Life was an adventure."

Henry, sensing the conversation veering toward territories he'd rather keep shrouded, cleared his throat, a subtle cue for Pam to rein in her revelations.

"Of course," Pam continued, steering the conversation away from potential embarrassments, "we eventually grew out of those wild days and settled into the quieter life we have now. But, oh, the memories."

"Yeah," Ginger replied in the middle of wolfing down her second plate of food, "Helps a lot with the cramps. And the crushing weight of existence."

Pam raised an eyebrow, a mix of concern and curiosity crossing her face. "Cramps, huh? You know, I used to swear by chamomile tea for that. And as for the crushing weight of existence, well, we've all been there, dear."

Brigitte shot Ginger a sidelong glance, silently cautioning her to tread carefully in front of their parents. Henry, still immersed in his newspaper, mumbled a half-hearted acknowledgment, seemingly more absorbed in the world between the pages than in the revelations at the dinner table.

"Everyone's pumpkins are starting to rot. Shame we didn't carve any pumpkins this year. We used to have such fun with that when you girls were younger," Pam reminisced, trying to recapture the innocence of their family traditions. "Maybe we should make it a family affair next year?"

Ginger, momentarily distracted from her rebellious mood, perked up at the mention of a familiar tradition. "Yeah, sure, whatever. As long as there's something to stab."

Pam chuckled, choosing to embrace the moment of family unity, "Well... of course who am I to expect you to get creative without some violence involved?"

Chapter Text

The Christmas lights in the basement bedroom flickered as Ginger emerged from the shower, steam trailing behind her like ghosts. Brigitte, nestled in her cot, looked away from the book she was reading, her eyes focusing on Ginger's figure as she towel-dried her hair. The usual ease with which they bared their souls to each other was replaced by an unfamiliar silence. The sisters, typically inseparable and bound by a pact, found comfort in their shared misery and torments. However, tonight seemed to defy their longstanding tradition. Brigitte, accustomed to their unfiltered honesty, couldn't help but feel a growing unease.

"Ginger, what's going on?" Brigitte asked, her voice measured in an attempt to convey her concern without seeming like it was an interrogation.

Ginger, caught between the weight of her newfound affliction and the need to protect her sister from the truth, hesitated.

Ginger, now clad in a worn-out T-shirt and boxer briefs, avoided Brigitte's gaze, her movements betraying an irritability that lingered beneath her calmness. The usual ease with which they navigated conversations became a delicate dance on eggshells for Brigitte.

"Come on, Ginger. We never keep secrets," Brigitte urged, sitting up in her cot.

Ginger hesitated, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words. "It's just... things are different now," Ginger finally confessed, her voice a whisper in the quiet room. "I found out something about myself, and I don't know how to explain it."

The air in the basement room seemed charged with unspoken tension as Brigitte, perched on her cot, looked at Ginger with a mix of concern and curiosity. The aftermath of Ginger's revelation lingered, casting a delicate veil over their sisterly connection. As Ginger raked a hand through her damp hair it exposed her new piercing, but Brigitte didn't know what to make of it other than her sister was now letting boys stick needles in her.

"Did you and Sam...?" Brigitte asked, her voice a careful inquiry.

Ginger, still damp from her shower, shot Brigitte a sidelong glance. "Why do you even care? Always prying into my business."

Brigitte, taken aback by Ginger's defensive tone, furrowed her brow. "I just want to know what's going on. We've never kept secrets from each other."

Ginger scoffed, a bitter edge to her words. "Oh, please. You've always been jealous of me. Can't stand it when something good happens in my life."

Brigitte's eyes widened in surprise, hurt flashing across her face. "Jealous? Ginger, what are you talking about? I've always supported you, but this? I can't just let you hang out with older guys who do drugs."

Ginger, fueled by a strange mix of frustration and the newfound assertiveness that lycanthropy seemed to bring, pressed on. "Right, supported me by clinging to me like a shadow. I need space, Brigitte. Can't you see that?"

Brigitte, struggling to comprehend the sudden hostility, responded with a mixture of confusion and hurt. "Ginger, whatever's going on this is just some phase and you're seriously going to regret what you do during it."

Ginger, on the verge of unleashing more pent-up emotions, shot up from her bed and began pacing, her voice raising, "This isn't a phase B! It's about me figuring things out. Maybe if you had a life of your own, you'd get it. Maybe I'm tired of being the same."

Brigitte, undeterred, fired another jab, "So, what, Sam is your ticket out of here? Is that it? You're just using him to escape?"

Ginger, still riding the wave of her newfound assertiveness, shot back, "Don't pretend like you know anything about it. You're always the good one, the quiet one. Never getting any of the attention from any of the creeps at school. Poor B. You don't get to leech off of my spotlight while I protect you from it like a human shield!"

Brigitte, desperate to salvage their connection, pleaded, "Ginger, please. We're supposed to face everything together. We made a promise."

But Ginger seemed to have made up her mind to go along the path being forged by her new primal urges, "I don't need anyone holding me back, Brigitte." She started pulling on some clothes in a rush to get out of the foul atmosphere created by their argument.

As Ginger swiftly gathered her clothes and started getting dressed, Brigitte couldn't contain the worry in her voice. "Ginger, where are you going at this time of night? It's not safe with that thing out there."

Ginger was seething internally and holding it back with gritted teeth and a sweet smile, "I need some air, okay? A walk will do me good." She picked up one of the butcher knives they'd been using as a prop for their photoshoots, brandishing it confidently with a sarcastic grin before exiting, her trench coat billowing behind her as she passed through the beaded curtain and up the stairs.
The gleam of the butcher knife in Ginger's hand sent a shiver down Brigitte's spine. The nonchalant way she wielded it, combined with the confident smirk, left her deeply unsettled. As the beaded curtain swayed in the wake of Ginger's departure and her footsteps trailed off, Brigitte couldn't shake the feeling that something had fundamentally changed. The once inseparable bond between the sisters now seemed strained, caught in the currents of a mysterious transformation that neither of them fully understood.

The night air hung heavy with an eerie stillness as Ginger stepped outside, the world bathed in the muted glow of the moon. The bandana-wrapped knife nestled in her pocket so it wasn't cutting through the fabric. Her steps echoed in the silence of the suburban night as she wandered through a town that seemed both familiar and alien to her.
The itching sensation at her ear grew more pronounced, drawing Ginger's attention to the silver earring Sam had given her. Subtle discomfort evolved into a persistent irritation, causing Ginger to halt momentarily beneath the flickering streetlamp. In the dim illumination, she felt the earring closely, half-expecting to feel pain but being shocked to find out it was completely numb.
As Ginger resumed her journey into the night, a subtle awareness nagged at her. It wasn't just the earring; it was a peculiar undercurrent coursing through her veins, a sensation that transcended the physical and tapped into something deeper, something primal. Ginger dismissed it as mere restlessness, pushing forward into the shadowy night.

The distant bark of a dog sliced through the calmness, a sudden intrusion that triggered a primal surge of rage coursed through her veins. Ginger became prisoner to an unbridled force that eclipsed all human reason. Her eyes widened, irises glinting with an untamed ferocity, and the night air seemed to echo with an unspoken call.
Ginger's steps quickened beneath her, propelled by an instinctive need to locate the source of the disturbance. The rhythmic pounding of her heart synchronized with an internal drumbeat, each step echoing a primal determination. Shadows danced across her face as she moved through the night, an embodiment of unleashed fury.
The dog's barking intensified, becoming a distant chorus in the background of Ginger's escalating turmoil. Unseen forces seemed to coil around her, heightening her senses, and an inexplicable connection to the night enveloped her like a shroud. The mundane world blurred, replaced by an elemental landscape where instincts reigned supreme. Ginger, a creature straddling the boundary between human and something wild, pressed forward with an unsettling certainty.

The act was a blur, much like her encounter earlier. The same dopamine rush came when she made contact with something warm and wet. Thoughts of Sam permeated whatever darkness shrouded her judgement. He left her vulnerable and longing and wanting, and all of those feelings were coming up now. The frustration from that moment and the tightness in her stomach had to be relieved by something, and apparently the only thing that truly satiated it was the life essence of a lesser being.
The dog squirmed and whimpered in her grasp until those sounds were replaced by the ripping and chewing of wet viscera. It reminded her of the way she squirmed under that stupid fucking boy, the way he had her right where he wanted like he had done with countless other victims before her in that same bed. It made her so hungry.

Ginger stood slowly, her once-pristine trench coat now drenched in the lifeblood of the unfortunate dog. She emerged, sauntering from the backyard, a vacant, disoriented look filling her eyes. The residue of a primal frenzy was slowly receded on the walk home. The itch from the earring Sam had given her lingered, a persistently nagging reminder of the inexplicable changes coursing through her body. Her senses were heightened, the scent of blood lingering in the air as a disconcerting mix of ecstasy and confusion swirled within her.

Chapter Text

The next morning unfolded in a seemingly ordinary fashion within the Fitzgerald household. Brigitte and Ginger awoke to the familiar sounds of their suburban home, the sunlight streaming through the curtains signaling the start of a new day. Unbeknownst to Brigitte, her sister had experienced a night of unimaginable transformation.

Ginger, lying in her cot, seemed no different than any other morning. The secrets of the night before were hidden behind the façade of normalcy. Brigitte, still unaware of the feral events that had transpired, greeted the day with a routine simplicity. As the sisters went about their morning rituals, the evidence of Ginger's nocturnal escapades lingered unnoticed.

In the laundry room, Pam, the matriarch of the Fitzgerald family, found the clothes that Ginger had worn during her primal episode. The fabric, stained and soaked, bore the unmistakable scent of blood. Yet, accustomed to her daughters' penchant for theatricality and elaborate costumes, Pam dismissed any concern that might have arisen.

"This must be from one of their photo shoots or something," Pam thought, momentarily puzzled by the intensity of the metallic aroma.

Shaking her head, she proceeded to wash the clothes, the mundane task overshadowed by the enigma concealed within the laundry's depths. Pam, ever vigilant for opportunities to impart her motherly wisdom, seized the moment presented by the stained undergarments. Ignoring the subtleties of the previous night's odors, she focused on the more familiar territory of menstrual stains.

Ginger and Brigitte, sitting down for breakfast in their usual silent camaraderie, were greeted by the detached figure of Henry, engrossed in the morning paper. The solemn ritual of each family member navigating their own routines without a word exchanged persisted until Pam entered the room, bearing plates of toast. She observed Ginger's voracious appetite, noticing she had already piled herself up a plate that could feed three people.

With a knowing smile, Pam remarked, "Must be going through some changes, dear. Girls your age need extra nourishment."

Ginger glanced pointedly at her sister across the table, preparing herself for a conversation she deemed inevitable. Brigitte, sensing the impending intrusion into her sister's privacy, braced herself for Pam's approach.

Pam, seizing the teachable moment of having her daughters captive at the dining table, took a deep breath and began her well-rehearsed speech about the intricacies of womanhood. "Girls," she began with a maternal tone, "I want you to know that you can come to me with anything. I've been your age, and I know it's a time of changes and uncertainties."

Ginger, seemingly engrossed in her plate but internally wrestling with the previous night's events, tried to nod appreciatively. Brigitte, the more stoic of the two, met her mother's gaze with a polite acknowledgment.

Pam continued, "These bodily changes are perfectly natural, and I'm here to guide you through them. Menstruation is a part of every woman's life, and it's essential to embrace it with grace and understanding."

Brigitte, despite the awkwardness of the situation, managed a subtle nod, while Ginger continued her silent consumption of breakfast, seemingly detached from the maternal discourse.

Pam delved further into the nuanced topic of menstrual pain. "You know, I remember having days when I thought I'd never make it out of bed. But it runs in the family, and you'll learn to manage it over time."

Henry, sensing an opportunity to avoid further discussions about feminine hygiene, excused himself, muttering something about needing to get to work. The sisters seized the moment, realizing it was their cue to leave for school.

As they got ready to head out, Pam, showing genuine concern, insisted, "Let me drive you to school today. There's still a wild animal on the loose. Remember your teacher from second grade? Mrs. Randall? Her dog was just found mauled this morning."

Ginger and Brigitte exchanged uneasy glances. The recent events of the night, coupled with the mention of a wild animal attacking dogs, cast a shadow of discomfort over their morning routine. Nevertheless, they agreed to let Pam drive them, albeit with a shared sense of unease.

The ride to school became an impromptu seminar on female biology, guided by Pam's well-intentioned yet overly detailed explanations. She covered topics ranging from menstrual cycles to hormone fluctuations, leaving no stone unturned in her earnest attempt to bridge the communication gap with her daughters. Ginger and Brigitte hurriedly exited the car, visibly mortified by what they were now made aware of.

As Pam dropped them off, she couldn't resist one final piece of advice, delivered with an air of motherly authority, "Have a great day, my loves! And don't forget to eat something for lunch. Ginger, you especially need your energy!"

The sisters made a hasty escape, longing for the anonymity of the school corridors to escape their mother's well-intentioned but overwhelming maternal guidance.

In the monotonous drone of the biology class, Ginger found herself struggling to stay awake. Her head dipped lower, eyelids heavy with fatigue. The topic of the day was parasites, a subject that failed to capture Ginger's interest, especially given her recent escapades and the unsettling events of the night before. As the teacher delved into the intricacies of parasitic infections, Brigitte couldn't help but observe Ginger's behavior. Restlessness, occasional growls of discomfort, and an overall sense of agitation seemed to mirror some of the symptoms mentioned in the lecture.
Brigitte, ever the observant sister, wrote in the margin of her notes to research the symptoms mentioned in class later, hoping to find an explanation for Ginger's peculiar behavior. The unsettling events of the previous night and the newfound awareness of lycanthropy lingered in Brigitte's mind, adding to the unspoken tension between them.

As the class transitioned to physical education, Ginger was plagued by the relentless grip of cramps and decided to sit out. She found a spot on the bleachers, seeking solace from the physical exertion that her body seemed reluctant to endure and leaving Brigitte to fend for herself on the field. Trina seized the opportunity to engage in some malicious gossip. She sidled up to Brigitte, wielding a sly grin, ready to exploit her protector's absence.

"Brigitte, I heard Ginger's cramps are so bad she can't even stand up. Must be tough, huh?" Trina taunted, her words laced with a mix of mockery and faux sympathy.

Brigitte, determined not to let Trina's jabs get to her, clenched her jaw. "She's not feeling well. It happens."

Trina, relentless in her pursuit of drama, continued needling. "Well, maybe she should take better care of herself. Missing out on all the fun, and for what? Cramps?"

Brigitte, her patience waning, shot back, "She'll be fine."

The field hockey match became a battleground not just for the ball but also for the unspoken tension between Trina and Brigitte. As the game progressed, Trina seized the opportunity to initiate her revenge. Sneaking up behind her, Trina whispered a taunt, provoking the younger teen. The tension between them, a simmering feud fueled by the events of the previous brawl, escalated quickly.
Unable to contain her anger, Brigitte turned around abruptly, and before anyone could react, a scuffle broke out between the two. Their arms flailed, and harsh words were exchanged in the chaos. The scuffle drew the attention of the nearby players and spectators, causing a temporary disruption in the field hockey game. Ginger, sensing the conflict, felt a surge of protective energy. Her eyes flickered with a wild intensity as she prepared to intervene.
Before Ginger could make her presence known, the coach swiftly intervened and halted the escalating conflict between Trina and Brigitte, sending Trina off to the office. Ginger, still fueled by her feral anger, decided to shadow her nemesis. Moving with silent determination, she trailed behind Trina, her steps purposeful and filled with resolve. Trina, unaware of the shadowy figure tailing her, made her way towards the school office. The students and teachers, oblivious to the brewing storm within their midst, continued with their daily routines.
Ginger waited in the hall, eavesdropping as Trina's mother was called and told to come get her. She waited until her mother showed up and overheard a piece of choice intel that Trina would be left home alone until her mother would be home from work. Ginger decided to skip her next class, her mind consumed by the burning need to confront Trina. She stealthily navigated through the backstreets on foot, making her way to Trina's house after she was headed home by car.
As Ginger approached Trina's residence, the tension in the air grew thicker. Thoughts of their inevitable battle pushing her forward with determination. She observed Trina from outside the house. Peering through the window from a safe distance, she spotted Trina in her room, engaged in what looked like a heated phone conversation. Determined, Ginger stealthily navigated around the perimeter of the house, searching for an entry point. Her keen observation senses located an unlocked window, and with careful precision, Ginger opened it just enough to slip inside without making a sound.
As Ginger concealed herself in a strategic hiding spot, she overheard Trina's emotional conversation with her father. Trina, caught in the throes of hysteria, was narrating a distorted version of the events, casting herself as the victim and deflecting blame onto others. While Trina was occupied with her call, Ginger seized the opportunity to stealthily move around the house. Entering Trina's bedroom while she was in the bathroom, Ginger's eyes were drawn to a few pictures of Sam pinned up on the wall and she took one.
The bathroom door swung open and Trina went downstairs to return the phone to its receiver. Ginger quickly hid in the closet and waited for her prey to return. In the dim light cast between the shutters of the closet door, Ginger clutched the picture of Sam she had snatched from the pinboard. As her eyes fixated on the image, a surge of conflicting emotions swept over her. The feral hunger, a manifestation of her newfound lycanthropy, began to tighten its grip on her senses. The picture triggered an internal struggle, a battle between the connection she had with Sam and the primal urges threatening to consume her that would make her consume Trina.
Trina came in to sit on her bed and feel sorry for herself, sighing dejectedly. She expected to see Sam's school portrait but it was gone, causing her to investigate whether it had fallen behind her dresser or drifted some place else. That's when Ginger emerged from the closet, holding the picture of Sam triumphantly. Her eyes glinted with a wild intensity as she confronted Trina, who stood frozen in surprise.

"Looking for THIS?" Ginger taunted, waving the photograph in front of Trina. The air crackled with tension as the two locked eyes in a silent standoff. Trina's face contorted with a mix of confusion, anger, and fear.

"What the hell are you doing in my house you subspecies?!" Trina finally managed to stammer, her voice shaky.

Ginger's lips curled into a predatory smile. "What's the matter? Wanted to rub one out to your delusions?" The room seemed to shrink as the brewing confrontation unfolded and Ginger closed in on Trina.

Trina's eyes bore into Ginger with a bitter intensity as she backed away. "What are you stalking me now?"

Ginger held up the picture of Sam, a sly smile on her face. "Just stumbled upon something interesting. Sam seems to be quite the centerpiece in your shrine to mediocrity here. Hope you're not expecting a fairy tale ending with him."

Trina scoffed, a mix of frustration and bitterness in her voice. "You think he cares about you? He's just using you like he uses every other girl. You're wasting your time."

Ginger's expression darkened, her supernatural instincts tingling. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Sam and I have a connection that goes beyond your fantasies."

Trina's gaze turned icy. "He'll discard you like he does with everyone else. Just wait and see. You'll be yesterday's news soon enough."

The clash between Ginger and Trina erupted into a chaotic whirlwind, each girl grappling with the other in a tempest of emotion and supernatural strength. The house became an unyielding witness to the destructive force of Ginger's rage. Furniture was overturned as they collided, leaving a trail of shattered picture frames and displaced decor in their wake. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the hall. Trina's attempts to defend herself were futile as Ginger relentlessly pressed on, fueled by a potent mix of anger and the primal instincts to devour another life.
The air was thick with tension and the scent of blood as they continued to argue amidst the chaos. As the scuffle between Ginger and Trina reached a fevered pitch, the knife concealed in Ginger's coat pocket tumbled out with the bandana loosely around it. In the midst of the chaos, Trina's eyes locked onto the gleaming blade that was clattering to the floor.
With a swift motion, Trina seized the knife, brandishing it in a desperate attempt to defend herself. The cold steel in her grip added a dangerous edge to the confrontation, intensifying the stakes of their conflict. The hall became a volatile arena, shadows dancing on the walls as the two girls circled each other, locked in a tense standoff fueled by each other's self preservation.

As Trina clutched the knife, a palpable fear gripped her when she met Ginger's eyes. Her eyes, once a muted jade, now seemed to change in that moment and she no longer looked human. The once barely familiar gaze now held an unsettling depth that inspired pure terror. Trina's heart pounded in her chest as the fear took hold, freezing her in place. Ginger, seemingly transformed, taunted her with a predatory grin that revealed elongated, pointed teeth. The air became charged with an unspoken menace, and the shadows seemed to writhe in response to Ginger's newfound, primal aura.

"What're you gonna do with that, huh?" Ginger hissed, her voice carrying an unnerving resonance.

The taunts cut through Trina's fear, amplifying the dread that had settled in her bones. The knife trembled in Trina's hand, her bravado crumbling in the face of the unearthly presence before her. Ginger grabbed her arm in one fluid motion and twisted it in both hands, snapping it and causing her to drop the knife and shriek in pain. The wooden handle scraped across the floor as Ginger kicked it away with Trina still firmly in her grasp.

"I always knew you FREAKS would turn out to be murderers!" Trina wailed.

The sound of Trina's anguished cries only seemed to intensify Ginger's fury. The transformation, both physical and psychological, had taken hold, and the predatory instincts of the wolf within her now reacted to the perceived weakness of her opponent. The sobbing and shrieking grated on Ginger's heightened senses, pushing her further into a ferocious rage. Ignoring Trina's attempts to escape, Ginger seized control of the situation with a feral determination and grabbed a hold of Trina's head, forcing them to be eye-to-eye.
It was like snapping the head off of a Barbie doll. One hard twist to the left, one harder twist to the right and it wasn't on Trina's body anymore. Ginger stood in the now eerily silent kitchen, holding the severed head in her hands and staring into Trina's open eyes. Her face was frozen in a look of betrayal and shock as blood gushed out of the hole where her neck was and coated her body that went limp against the fridge. Ginger licked her lips as she felt herself begin to salivate.
She held the head above her in a macabre ritual, bathing herself in warm blood and letting it flow into her open mouth. Her unholy act of self indulgence was interrupted by a panging of sudden alertness. A dog was nearby, barking. It was getting closer. A car's engine died down as

Trina's mother, oblivious to the unfolding tragedy inside the house, pulled into the driveway. The woman struggled with an agitated Rottweiler and attempting to lead it into the house. The dog barked ferociously, sensing something awry. Trina's mother, still unaware of the gruesome scene that had transpired, muttered frustrated remarks about the ineffectiveness of obedience training classes.
Meanwhile, inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of blood, and Ginger's feral instincts heightened at the sound of the barking. A low growl rumbled through her as she wasn't finished devouring Trina's lifeless form. Ginger, barely satiated, listened as the barking continued. Her predatory instincts compelled her to remain hidden, but it was too late. More blood would have to be shed. She was still hungry.

Ginger stood in the bathroom, the water from the faucet running crimson before turning clear. She scrubbed at her skin vigorously, trying to rid herself of the blood that clung to her as a grotesque reminder of her impulsivity. Brigitte, on the other side of the bathroom door, felt the heaviness of Ginger's actions. The unspoken tension hung thick in the air, and Brigitte struggled to find the right words. She cleared her throat, attempting to initiate a conversation that neither of them wanted to have.

"Ginger, you can't just skip school!" she declared.

Ginger rolled her eyes, her voice strained but steady. "I had to take care of something. It couldn't wait."

Brigitte, ever the pragmatic one, pressed further, her concern evident in her voice. "What happen-" her inquiry was cut off by the sound of the door opening. She stood frozen in horror at the amount of blood on her sister's discarded clothes. "Why are you covered in blood?"

Ginger hesitated, her mind racing for a plausible explanation. "It's not mine. I got into a fight with a stray dog on my way home. It attacked me."

Brigitte, though skeptical, chose not to push the issue of how her sister was able to kill without feeling a thing. "You should've been in class. What if you need a rabies shot?"

Ginger's frustration flared. "I don't need you to babysit me, B. I can handle things on my own."

The water continued to flow in the background, washing away the physical evidence of Ginger's encounter. The emotional residue, however, lingered, casting a shadow over their usual camaraderie. Brigette shut the door, her hand lingering on the knob as Ginger's emotional dam finally gave way. The sobs escaped her, echoing in the confined space of the bathroom. Brigitte, on the other side of the door, could sense the vulnerability in Ginger's cries.

"I'm scared, B," Ginger confessed between gasps for air. "I think I've been doing things, terrible things, and I haven't even realized it until now."

Brigitte's concern deepened, and she spoke through the door, her voice soft and reassuring. "What do you mean? What things?"

Ginger struggled to find the right words, her voice trembling with fear and confusion. "I think I'm the one who's been killing those dogs in Bailey Downs. I didn't know, Brigitte. I didn't know."

A heavy silence settled between them, the realization sinking in. Ginger, once defiant and seemingly invincible, now crumbled under the weight of her own fears. Brigitte, concern etched across her face, pushed open the bathroom door, revealing Ginger's tear-stained face. Without a word, she approached her sister and pulled her into a tight embrace. The warmth of their connection, the shared history of fuck-ups and secrets, served as a silent reassurance in the face of the unknown.

Ginger, her voice trembling, shared the details Sam had imparted about the potential cure. "Sam suggested using monkshood, also known as wolfsbane. He thinks it might help, and we need to try it before things spiral out of control. I don't want to become a monster, Brigitte."

Brigitte tightened her grip on Ginger, absorbing the weight of her sister's fear and vulnerability. "So... you're only hanging out with him because he knows how to fix this? Potentially?"

Ginger went quiet again, regaining composure to rummage through her mind and assess whether or not she actually cared about him or not. It was a moment before she responded, "I don't know, B. I feel something when I'm with him. Maybe it's the situation we're in, or maybe it's just hormones..." She trailed off, unable to articulate the tumult of emotions swirling within her.

Brigitte nodded understandingly, recognizing the complexity of Ginger's feelings. "It's okay, Ginge. We'll get through this. Just focus on finding a way to control it, and then we'll figure everything else out."

Chapter Text

Bailey Downs was abuzz with unsettling whispers and shocked conversations as news of the tragic events spread through the small community. The supposed attack by the mysterious "Beast of Bailey Downs" had claimed not only Trina Sinclair but also her mother and their Rottweiler. Speculations and fear hung heavy in the air. Ginger and Brigitte, burdened by the weight of their own secret, couldn't escape the growing sense of dread that permeated the town.
The sisters exchanged uneasy glances whenever someone mentioned it, knowing that the creature responsible for the mayhem was closer to home than anyone could have imagined. They made a plan to go to Sam's and see about the treatment he could concoct, with little argument from Ginger since time was of the essence.

As they approached Sam's place, the greenhouse stood as a silent witness to the events that had transpired within its walls. Ginger's gaze darted across the familiar yet transformed landscape, the greenhouse now holding secrets that transcended the bounds of ordinary teenage experiences. Brigitte noticed Ginger's internal struggle and placed a reassuring hand on her sister's shoulder. Together, they approached Sam's door, uncertainty casting a shadow over their resolve. As the door creaked open, the sisters braced themselves for the revelations that awaited them within the confines of Sam's unconventional abode.

The door swung open, revealing Sam on the other side, a joint perched between his lips. He wore a welcoming smile on his face as he first greeted Ginger, but it quickly faded into unease when his eyes shifted to Brigitte. The pungent aroma of marijuana wafted from his room.

"Hey, Ginger," Sam began, a note of uncertainty threading through his words. "What's up? You guys need to buy something?"

Ginger, grappling with her own internal conflicts, glanced at Brigitte before turning her attention back to Sam. "We need to talk. About the cure."

Sam's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the gravity of the situation. He took a contemplative drag from the joint before gesturing for them to enter. Ginger made herself comfortable on his bed while her sister stood idly by. Ginger, nestled in his bed bed, looked at Sam with a mix of hope and trepidation.

Sam couldn't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions as Ginger settled into his bed. There was a certain intimacy to the moment that tugged at the edges of his thoughts. However, the presence of Brigitte served as a reminder to keep any romantic inclinations at bay.

"It's not exactly a cure," Sam admitted, his voice carrying a hint of caution. He continued, drawing on the joint as if to gather his thoughts. "I don't know if it'll work for sure, I mean this shit's poison." The gravity of the situation sank in, his words hanging in the air like a delicate balance between hope and peril.

"I think it's worth a try," Ginger spoke up, her eyes searching Sam's for reassurance. "I mean... it's either that or..."

"Silver bullet. In a gun. Straight to your head," Brigitte interjected, injecting a touch of levity into the conversation and bringing into focus how imperative it was that they try something.

Ginger sighed, acknowledging the severity of the situation. "Yeah. Both of us," she tacked on with a smirk.

"Alright, here's the thing," Sam began, his tone serious as he lit another cigarette off of the one he was finishing up, "I don't even have the stuff. We'll have to go get it from a craft store unless you two know some place where they sell weird herbs for spells and shit."

"Let's go then!" Ginger said with newfound enthusiasm. She bridged the awkward gap between them without regard for what Brigette might think, snaking her arms around the boy's waist and standing up on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Her sister gagged and turned on her heel, quickly heading out of the room and through the greenhouse before it got any worse. As Brigitte stepped out, Ginger and Sam found themselves in a brief moment of solitude. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, a stolen moment amidst the chaos of their circumstances. The taste of her lips, the warmth of her embrace - it was a bittersweet reminder of their dwindling humanity.
The air was thick with emotions unspoken and Sam, feeling a surge of courage, claimed Ginger's lips in a heavy open-mouthed kiss, which she surrendered to with ease. The tenderness of the kiss was a respite, a brief pause in the face of uncertainty. What he turned it into caused a fire to kindle within her that could burn down a church. A soft smile played on her face as she reluctantly parted from him.

As Ginger pulled away, Sam couldn't help but be captivated by the vulnerability in her eyes. There was a delicate beauty in that vulnerability, an unspoken understanding that bound them together in a way that went beyond the supernatural predicament they found themselves in.

For a brief instance, the weight of their shared curse lifted, and he was just Sam, a guy with a complicated past and a more mundane, but still uncertain, future.

"Right..." he said, clearing his throat. "Let's go get some poison to put in our veins!"

He grabbed his keys off the desk where he'd been weighing out weed and lead the Fitzgerald sisters to his van. Ginger and her sister situated themselves in the van, Brigette forced to ride in the back with some tree trimmings.

As the trio set out on their quest for the unconventional ingredients, a heavy realization settled over Sam. The gravity of their situation became palpable, and he couldn't shake the thought that all of their lives might hang in the balance. He didn't want harm to come to anymore people and that was their entire reason for this quest. He had to remind himself of that the entire way there and as he got out of his vehicle.

As the three of them walked to the craft store and stepped inside, the familiar chime of the entrance bell accompanied their arrival. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, casting a sterile glow on the neatly arranged shelves stocked with various crafting supplies. Sam led the way, the scent of cheap plywood and paint filling the air along with some bullshit soft rock music from the speakers above.
Ginger's gaze darted around nervously, catching sight of Mrs. Randall, her former elementary school teacher, in tears over by the placard counter. Ginger felt a subtle unease tugging at her and felt the need to make herself invisible. Brigitte noticed the change in her sister's demeanor and furrowed her brow.

"Why are you skulking around?" Brigitte asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Ginger fidgeted with the hem of her jacket, her eyes avoidant.

Brigitte studied her sister's expression, sensing the context was somewhere in their immediate surroundings. She saw the teacher and connected the dots. "Well...don't worry, there's no way anyone's implicating you in anything. It looks like an animal did it."

Sam, catching the drift, stepped closer to Ginger, attempting to offer a comforting presence and failing. "Yeah pretty sure they're saying it was a bear that attacked Trina. The place looked...real bad."

Word got around fast in their suburb. Sam's dad was friends with one of the cops who arrived on the scene. He'd described the crime in brutal detail, so when Sam heard about it, he knew what Ginger was fully capable of. As he stood beside her in the craft store, he couldn't deny the undercurrent of how complex his feelings were towards her. While the news of Trina's attack sent a chill through him, there was a part of him that refused to feel fear.

When they arrived back in Sam's greenhouse, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Sam carefully explained the process of turning the monkshood plant into a tincture. He gathered the necessary equipment, walking the girls through each step as he moved the weed he was weighing out before they showed up on his doorstep. The sunlight shining through the greenhouse cast shadows on his face that emphasized his seriousness and focus.
As the girls worked according to his instruction, there was a quiet determination in their movements. The three of them handled the monkshood with the respect reserved for something potent and potentially deadly. With a practiced hand, Sam carefully heated the monkshood tincture in a spoon, allowing it to bubble in some isopropyl. The liquid simmered, its essence rising in wisps of vapor. Once the concoction reached the right temperature, Sam deftly filtered it through a cotton ball and into a syringe. Ginger and Brigitte watched as the cotton absorbed any impurities as the purple liquid collected in the vessel.

"There you have it," he said, giving the syringe a tap.

Brigitte, initially horrified to watch how expertly Sam went through the motions, now donned an expression of gratitude and slight relief.

"Potentially deadly," Ginger reminded Sam with an irritated tone, turning her attention to her sister, "And you're going out with me too. Remember? We had a deal. Together for fucking ever."

Sam watched the exchange like a tennis match, nervously deciding to light a cigarette now that the work was done. "Yeah, we're in this together," he acknowledged, without a hint of reassurance in his voice, "Not exactly thrilled about that. People are gonna think we're in some cult when they find us dead in here. They're gonna think I fucking Clockwork Oranged you."

Ginger bared her teeth, now resembling sharp fangs. Though she was still masked in her usual sarcasm, she managed a faint smile, "Oh I'm sorry! Did you have plans to do something with your fucking life?"

"You know maybe I should just take this and you can figure it out on your own," he shot back, blowing smoke in her face and kicking his rolling chair away from the desk before she could think to retaliate.

"ENOUGH." Brigitte quickly put herself between them, knowing how much more unstable Ginger was than him. She could snap at any moment and it was bold of him to egg her on, but she chalked it up to his budding transformation causing some sort of primal tension. "Why don't we test it on someone else first. Have either of you infected anyone and not killed them?"

Ginger shrugged, unable to remember the attacks against people she did kill.

Sam began to nod as he considered the suggestion. "Yeah, but if I didn't attack anyone and if Ginger didn't attack anyone else, we'll have to create our own test subject."

Ginger crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

That night, Sam writhed alone in agony as an unfamiliar pain surged through his body. It eclipsed any previous experience – more intense than the withdrawal from pills or the aftermath of the accident that led to their prescription. Violent shivers wracked his frame, and every movement sent waves of pain rippling through him. His head throbbed mercilessly, and his skin felt ablaze with an unbearable itch.
Fighting to maintain coherence, Sam's world blurred with agony. A distinct crack echoed from his back, and he crumpled to the floor, hands digging into his sheets. Gasping for air, his chest constricted with every breath, making it nearly impossible to respond to his concerned father downstairs. Another internal crack, and a guttural scream tore from Sam's throat. The urgency to shed his clothes intensified, as if his body rebelled against the fabric. Trembling hands fumbled with the garments until they lay discarded on the floor.
Each crack reverberated through him, a sickening chorus of agony as his internal landscape rearranged itself. The pain escalated, and Sam's body contorted unnaturally. His back arched, every organ undergoing a grotesque metamorphosis. With a primal yell, he pleaded for relief, but the transformation showed no mercy. A burning sensation invaded his mouth, and his canines elongated, blood dripping onto the floor below. Trembling hands, now plagued with lengthening nails, clawed at the wood planks below him. His back remained arched, feet rooted to the ground. Attempts to scream were stifled by the unbearable agony. The cold night air went unnoticed; his focus was consumed by the relentless itch that now seemed to sear through his very flesh. Desperation etched on his face, Sam rubbed his arms frantically, seeking respite from the torment that felt like his own body betraying him.
Sam's mind, in the midst of excruciating pain, grasped desperately for the remedy that might bring relief. Regret weighed heavily on him as he wished he had embraced the cure he sent off with the Fitzgerald sisters. The desire to reach the elusive antidote, to create another dose that might alleviate his torment, consumed him despite the potential lethality. Anything would be better than this. His body betrayed his attempt to rise from the ground. Each movement felt like an insurmountable feat, the pain making even the simplest actions a herculean task.
His limbs trembled, and his strength waned, rendering him almost incapacitated. Despite his fervent wish to concoct another batch of the cure, Sam's body refused to comply. His father, after rushing upstairs, bore witness to his anguish as he lay on the ground, helpless against the relentless transformation Ginger had brought upon him.

Chapter Text

The early morning sunlight streamed through the hospital room window, casting a subdued glow over Sam's still figure. His dad, concern etched on his face, stood by the bedside. The doctors' bewildered expressions had offered little reassurance during the night. Sam had been subjected to a battery of tests, but the mysterious ailment that had gripped him remained elusive.

His father spoke with a mixture of relief and worry. "Son, the doctors couldn't figure out what's wrong. They said it might be some weird parasite or something. Advised you to take it easy for a while."

Sam groaned, still feeling the lingering effects of the ordeal. The pain, though less intense than the night before, lingered like a haunting memory. The mention of a parasite resonated with the chaotic events that had led him to this hospital bed.

His dad continued, seeming to scrutinize him, "You've grown, Sam. Five inches taller overnight. Or they just got your measurements wrong. That'd be... pretty unbelievable if you just grew half a foot."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed, grappling with the bizarre reality of his situation. His discharge papers were signed, and he found himself reluctantly making his way out of the hospital.

His dad, a mix of worry and confusion etched on his face, walked alongside him. "Look, I want you to stay in bed, okay? I'll take care of everything."

Sam nodded weakly, still feeling the lingering effects of the strange transformation he had undergone. The physical toll and the questions he had answers to left him unsettled. Back at home, the familiar surroundings offered little comfort. Sam settled into his bed, his dad's concerns echoing in his mind. The room felt both too small and too vast, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him. As he lay there, contemplating the events that had led him to this point, a sense of unease lingered.

Ginger and Brigitte sat in their room, surrounded by the eerie glow of dim fairy lights. The air was thick with tension as they pored over a list of potential classmates.

"Okay, who's it gonna be?" Brigitte asked, her eyes fixed on their highschool yearbook.

Ginger bit her lip, feeling the weight of the decision. "We need someone who won't be missed right away, someone we won't feel guilty about if things go south."

"So.., anybody," her sister replied in a deadpan. Her finger traced the list of names in the yearbook until it landed on Jason McCarty.

His face stared back at them from the faded pages, frozen in a moment captured by the camera. Ginger and Brigitte exchanged a knowing look, a plan forming in their minds. Jason McCarty, the troublesome asshole with a crush on Ginger, had just become their unwitting target. He was the perfect choice, an arrogant troublemaker who would likely keep their secret due to not wanting anyone to know he'd mingled with a social outcast.

Brigitte nodded, "Let's use his crush on you. He's already interested, you could lead him on a bit and then-"

"No means no. He's a total creep. That's perfect, B!" With a mischievous glint in her eyes and a shared understanding, Ginger embraced Brigitte in a tight hug.

Pam descended the stairs, her voice carrying itself down the steps and through the basement. "Girls, you have a visitor!" Her tone was warm, yet curious, as she ushered Sam into the living room, "Please have a seat! Can I get you anything?"

Ginger and Brigitte exchanged glances, a subtle tension hanging in the air before they decided to go upstairs. Sam shuffled awkwardly in the living room, his eyes briefly meeting Ginger's before he looked away. Pam, oblivious to any underlying dynamics, silently offered him a seat on the worn-out couch. The room felt a bit cramped, filled with mismatched furniture and the faint perfume of a candle. Brigitte sat on one end of the couch, observing the unfolding scene, while Ginger leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a guarded expression on her face.

Pam, with her characteristic warmth, attempted to bridge the gap. "So this is who dropped you off the other night, Ginger?"

Pam's motherly demeanor softened the atmosphere, but Ginger's eyes bore into Sam with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Yeah," was all she said.

Sam chuckled nervously, "Yeah, they wanted to do this, uh, photoshoot. You know how artistic they are. Thought the lighting might be good at this time." He realized his excuse sounded flimsy even to his own ears.

Pam raised an eyebrow, looking from Sam to her daughters. "Oh how nice!" she said, clearly amused but apprehensive. "Maybe now you and Ginger can have some pictures together! Alive?"

As they made their way out, Brigitte shot Ginger a questioning look, silently asking for an explanation. Ginger just shrugged, a mysterious glint in her eyes, leaving Brigitte to follow them out to Sam's truck.

The greenhouse was cloaked in the midday light, casting a serene ambiance over the impending doom they faced. The scent of dried monkshood hung in the air.

"So, we're doing this again, because uh... I can't take another night of that shit." Sam was saying as he led Ginger and Brigitte to his workbench, where the remnants of the previous night's attempt at the cure still lingered.

"What? No way," Ginger said defiantly.

Sam and Ginger stood on opposite sides of the workbench, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The atmosphere in the room grew tense as a debate over the injection unfolded.

Sam's stance was firm, his eyes alight with determination. "We can't afford to keep wondering. This needs to end."

Brigitte, on the other hand, was hesitant. "We don't know what this stuff will do to you guys. Plus we know who we're going to test it on."

Sam's frustration bubbled to the surface. "Ginger, we're running out of time. If you're not gonna do it, I will."

Ginger sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Sam continued the preparation of the cure, turning away from her. "I can't wait any longer. I need to know if this works," he declared, a sense of urgency in his voice.

Ginger, with a mix of concern and skepticism, crossed her arms. "Typical. Can't handle a bit of pain, can you? Men are the weaker ones."

Sam shot her a reproachful look. "Yeah, maybe my metabolism's just faster than yours." Determined to proceed, he prepared the syringe.

Brigitte, caught between the clash of egos, excused herself, "I'm going home. Have fun trauma bonding with someone else for a change."

Ginger's eyes bore into Sam as he prepared to inject the cure into himself. There was a storm of conflicting emotions in her gaze - anger, frustration, and a tinge of sadness that she couldn't quite put into words. It wasn't just about the fear of losing Sam; it was something else. As Brigitte drifted away, the magnetic pull between Ginger and Sam felt stronger than the sisterly bond she had maintained for years.

"You're not seriously doing this, are you?" she snapped, her words sharper than intended.

Sam, needle in hand, met her gaze with a mix of determination and regret. "What do you care?"

Ginger turned away, her jaw clenched, but her silence spoke volumes. Something in her did not want him to take that cure, even if it wasn't worry for his safety, it was just as strong of an urge. Ginger's fingers closed around the needle, her eyes locking onto Sam's. "We're not doing it this way. I found someone else. Someone expendable."

Sam's eyes narrowed, a mixture of jealousy and frustration bubbling within him. "Expendable? You're talking about using someone's life as a test subject. That's not right, Ginger."

"Why not? He's just some jerk at school who won't leave me alone," Ginger's voice carried an edge of determination, and her grip on the needle tightened.

Sam's eyes narrowed, jealousy welling up inside him for some reason. He already knew what she had in mind for making that happen, like he could see it happening before his eyes. "I don't like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and almost resembling a low growl.

Ginger's eyes met his with an understanding gaze. A silent moment passed between them where they seemed to communicate without words. They both let go of the syringe and Sam set it down, capping it. The urge to mark his territory was distinctly recognizable in his mind. Ginger did not stay silent in arguments and she had a compulsion to say things just to see someone's face change. Sam couldn't help but smile to break the tension.
Ginger didn't let men walk all over her and was quick to tell one to go fuck himself, but the thought of a man who smiled at her like she was his most treasured possession... that never occurred to her. His hands found a resting place at her hips. His touch felt like she was traveling lands that she couldn't imagine existed before he'd made her aware of them. His lips told silent stories along her neck and shoulders as her hands flowed down his arms and through his hair. Her insides were burning with a need to fit whatever prey was unlucky enough inside her.
They changed the scenery to Sam's bed, which Ginger was more appreciative of until she was flipped on her back with her hands pinned at either side of her head. They kissed and ground against each other, an effort that normally would be futile, only Sam noticed that he had to be careful when he seemed to be attempting to reshape her with his hips.

"The fuck...how old am I?" he panted, his face flushed with embarrassment when he realized they were both still fully dressed.

"Is this as good for me as it is for you?" Ginger teased, suddenly gasping as waves of spasms coursed through her for the third time.

He crawled off of her and she started to undo his belt, her sharpened teeth catching the light from above.

Sam, breathless and weakened by the need to feel something other than his own zipper, stopped her for a moment. "Don't..put your mouth...anywhere near that thing."

"Right...Not like I even know how to do that anyway," she retorted, "I just wanna see it first."

Sam felt a brief pang of terror at the sudden thought that he might be deformed from the waist down but that thought quickly melted away when a completely normal, circumcised human dick sprang out of his boxers. Ginger's mouth watered and she dragged her tongue along the shaft, collecting the precum that had leaked out during their heated exchange.

"HEY!" Sam shrieked, backing away from her and concealing himself.

"Oh no you don't," Ginger growled, lunging on top of him.

"Knock it off, Ginger!"

The struggle continued only because he didn't want to hurt her. The swollen need between his legs only worsened and he eventually ended up trapped under her, bound by her will. Ginger, impatiently discarded any of her clothing that would prove to be an obstacle.

"I won't fucking do it again just let me sit on it!" she insisted.

Sam had no complaints there, but the shadow loomed over him of accidentally impregnating her. "Shouldn't you-" he tried to say something about grabbing a condom from the bedside dresser, but it was too late. His eyes fell shut and all he saw were white sparks as she forced him all the way inside the tight, slick space between her thighs.

He wasn't big enough to rip her in half and blood was inevitably trickling down onto him, but each time she nudged her hips forward, it stretched another inch inside her and caused her to make a pained noise.

"You're at the worst angle right now for this, you're gonna hurt yourself," Sam informed her, stopping reluctantly to try and reposition her.

"NO," she told him, her voice sounding unlike her own.

Sam blinked, putting his hands up like he was under arrest and backing down.

She continued to kiss him and they exchanged soft noises as their tongues met. Ginger was determined to use him. It would be just like before, only better. And maybe she would eat him this time.

"Oh no," she breathed, the roll of her hips slowing but unable to come to a full stop as if controlled by a will outside her own.

Sam looked confused, but worried. "Oh no? I mean that's not exactly what I want to hear, but... I don't think you have anything to worry abou-"

Ginger felt seized by the urge to bite him. Her teeth sunk into his neck and the sound he let out was a confused mangled noise that began as pleasure but quickly morphed into pain when he realized she was taking a chunk out of him. Barely phased and filled with a new resolve, Sam threw Ginger off of him and pushed her face down into the pillows.

"Bad dog," he scolded her, one hand forming the small of her back into an arch as the other pressed his cock back inside her at just the right angle to make her whimper and gasp.

She twitched under him as he gave her a moment to adjust and learn her place.

"Are you going to take it?" he asked, barely rucking up against her and biding his time until he decided to actually drive her up the wall.

She swallowed hard, pulsing around each agonizingly slow thrust, "Yes."

"Can't hear you," he taunted her, not only with his words but with a few jabs to her guts from the inside.

She repeated herself each time louder and more tearful than the last.

"And you're sorry, right?" Sam's voice was strained by his attempt to keep himself together just a little bit longer.

Ginger's grip tightened on his sheets that were now soaked in blood. She was on the edge of her sanity as he pummeled into her heat. "Yes, I'm sorry- I'm sorry I'msorryI'msorry!"

His knees buckled as his nails dug into her hips. "Sorry for biting me? Sorry for getting your blood all over my bed?"

"Yes I'm fucking sorry for fucking everything!"

As she convulsed in his grip, he felt her orgasm sucking him in like a vortex right into his own climax. Without missing a beat, he pulled out, despising the feeling of having to finish the job with his own hand until hot spurts were flying from it onto his ruined mattress. The room seemed to open back up and the walls moved away from them as they both caught their breath.
Sam reached over and grabbed Brigitte's camera that he'd been eyeing earlier when things were less intense. He snapped a picture of Ginger right as she turned to see what he was doing. He took the polaroid as it printed out and shook it, setting it down with the camera on his desk and grabbing his pack of cigarettes. He wanted to forever engrave the sight of Ginger Fitzgerald's flush face and the sound of her moans inside of his brain, but the picture would suffice to bring those noises back to mind.
As he lit a cigarette and handed Ginger one of her own, he attempted to settle in beside her but found it difficult to get comfortable. His bed looked like a literal murder scene and while he was not oblivious to "the curse" as the girls put it, he knew that this amount of blood was abnormal. The two of them smoked in silence as Sam comforted Ginger and stroked her hair. After assessing what he was going to say, he finally spoke up, blowing a plume of smoke up towards the glass ceiling.

"Do girls normally lose this much blood?" he prodded.

"I don't know. This is my first time for everything," Ginger said sheepishly.

"Doesn't hurt, does it?" he spoke softly, handling her with a care that starkly contrasted his previous more feral demeanor.

Ginger's eyes darted away from him and she sat up to ash her cigarette before taking a long drag. "Nope," she finally exhaled. The metallic scent became stronger as the oxygen dried her blood. She slowly got up and examined herself, noticing the clothes she still had on were crimson-stained. "Sorry about your bed."

"You don't have to be sorry about anything ever again, Ginger," Sam said, smirking around his cigarette as he finished it off.

For a moment she thought he looked beautiful covered in her blood, killing himself a little bit in front of her.

Chapter Text

"What happened to your clothes?" Brigitte was asking her sister when she finally arrived home.

"Sam has to clean them for me," Ginger said with a sharpened, saccharine smile.

"Gross." Brigitte walked down the stairs to their room with Ginger struggling to walk behind her as she held up the pair of Jnco's Sam had given her to wear. "Did you bring my camera?" Brigitte asked with a bit of hope in her nervous gaze.

Ginger, irritated by both the implied responsibility for her sister's forgetfulness and how baggy Sam's clothes were around her feet, questioned Brigitte as she almost tripped down the stairs, "Why'd you fucking leave it?"

"I came back for it but you guys were...in the act..." Brigitte shuddered, visibly disgusted by the memory of the sounds she heard when she had walked through county greenhouse.

"Sorry you had to hear that," Ginger muttered with a snort of contemptuous laughter as she pushed past her sister and went to her dresser.

"Just please tell me you used protection," Brigitte begged, exasperation now lacing her tone.

"Trust me," her older sister continued, failing to take the situation very seriously, "I'm not knocked up."

"Trust you?" Brigitte's voice cracked into a manic laugh, "You hid all of this from me, you sneak out in the middle of the night and come home covered in blood. You do things without even thinking about the consequences. How am I supposed to trust you?"

"You think I LIKE HURTING PEOPLE?!" Ginger screamed, defiantly standing up. The loose pants she had on fell around her ankles and she kicked them to the side, momentarily embarrassed but regaining her fury.

Brigitte stared her down, her jaw set. "You sure like hurting me these days."

A moment of silence passed as Ginger found a pair of pajama pants to put on.

"Moreso than usual," Brigitte continued without expectation of a response. "Can't you see that these things you're doing are just things you'd normally do only a hundred times worse?"

Ginger's anger simmered as she glared at Brigitte, her eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and hurt. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"I do like hurting things, Brigitte," Ginger replied, her voice softer but still filled with an edge. "It feels like I have to to survive. Something inside me changes and it makes me do it, and I don't know how to stop it. I didn't choose this."

Brigitte's eyes softened momentarily, but she held her ground. "You didn't choose it. And you're not alone. The pact, what happened to that?"

Ginger looked away, unable to meet her sister's gaze. "Things are different now. I don't want you to get involved in this mess."

Brigitte scoffed, her frustration boiling over. "Mess? Ginger, you're my sister. Whatever this is, we'll face it together. But I can't help if you won't let me in."

Ginger's jaw clenched, and she took a step closer to Brigitte. "You don't get it. You can't help. No one can. This is my burden, not yours."

Brigitte, refusing to back down, retorted, "We share burdens, Ginger. I can't stand by and watch you self-destruct."

Ginger's eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions, they were both trying to protect each other from her. And these stupid urges. She cried in her sister's embrace, sniffling silently.

"Remember, Jason's dogbait tomorrow," Brigitte whispered, squeezing Ginger tight and cradling the back of her head.

The next day at school, the atmosphere between Ginger and Brigitte remained strained. The weight of their shared secret hung over them as they navigated the halls, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy. Brigitte kept a watchful eye on Ginger, concerned for both her sister's well-being and the potential danger she might pose.

As they attended their classes, some they shared and some Brigitte was fortunate enough to take part in for taking her studies so seriously, the school day progressed with a sense of impending unease. Brigitte noticed Ginger's restlessness, the way her sister's eyes darted around as if she were constantly on edge. The lunch period approached, and they made their way to the cafeteria, where they planned to execute their risky scheme.

As they sat at their usual table, Brigitte couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding. She watched Ginger with a mix of concern and wariness. "Alright there he is. Ugh. What a douchebag."

Ginger sighed, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. "I don't like him either, B, but I need to pretend."

Brigitte nodded, acknowledging the harsh reality they faced. The plan was set in motion, and they had to see it through. The sisters shared a somber moment of understanding before gathering their resolve to sit near the popular crowd. It wasn't hard to eavesdrop on a guy who yelled every thought that came into his head, no matter how obscene. The topic of Trina Sinclair's demise came up as he lamented not having a date to see the new Scream movie.
The sisters exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Ginger, with an air of nonchalance, sauntered over to Jason McCarty's table, her eyes fixed on him as she interrupted the conversation. Mention of Trina's death hung around the popular clique like a heavy cloud, but Ginger was indifferent.

"Hey, Jason," she purred, a sly grin playing on her lips. "Heard you're in need of a date this weekend. How about I step in for her? It's what Trina would have wanted."

The table fell silent, the weight of Ginger's proposal sinking in. Some students exchanged uncomfortable glances, while others shot disapproving stares at Ginger. Jason's friends, however, erupted into laughter, finding her audacity amusing.

Jason himself, initially taken aback, laughed her off, thinking it was perhaps a prank. "Uh, you serious, Ginger?"

Ginger leaned in, her eyes locking onto his as she pressed a small ripped piece of paper into the palm of his hand. "As a heart attack, caveboy. Trust me, it'll be a night to remember."

The mixture of shock, horror, and amusement lingered around the table as Ginger walked away, leaving the everyone seated to discuss the unexpected turn of events. Little did Jason know that this seemingly lighthearted proposal was just the beginning of a series of events that would spiral out of control.

Brigitte observed the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and dread. The ease with which Ginger manipulated the situation both impressed and horrified her. As her sister walked back, a confident smirk on her face, Brigitte couldn't help but shudder at the implications of her newfound abilities.

"That was... something," Brigitte muttered, unable to shake off the lingering sense of unease. "I didn't think it would be that easy for you."

Ginger shrugged, a nonchalant expression masking the complexity beneath. "You learn to use what you have. And right now, we need someone like Jason for our little experiment."

Brigitte nodded, acknowledging the strategic necessity of Ginger's actions. Despite the unease, a glimmer of hope sparked within her. They were making progress, inching closer to a solution for their supernatural predicament.

"Just be careful, okay?" Brigitte added, a note of concern in her voice.

Ginger gave her a wry smile. "Always, B. This is our way out, and I'm not letting anything get in our way."

As they headed to their next class, the weight of their shared destiny hung over them.

Sam, his body still recovering from the transformation, carefully stuffed the blood-stained sheets into a trash bag, concealing the evidence of his ordeal. As he worked, he heard the familiar creak of the greenhouse door, and his dad entered the space, casting an inquisitive glance around.

"Hey," Sam greeted, attempting to appear nonchalant as he hastily tossed some plant trimmings into the trash bag. "Just cleaning up a bit."

His dad, a mix of concern and understanding in his eyes, sighed. "You should be resting, Sam. You don't look too good."

"I'm fine," Sam insisted, avoiding direct eye contact. He wasn't ready to reveal the full extent of the supernatural events he had experienced.

His dad, however, had something else on his mind. He handed Sam an envelope. "These test results came in the mail today. You should take a look."

Sam took the envelope, glancing at the contents. The test results hinted at something abnormal, a mysterious ailment that couldn't be easily explained. Sam's mind raced with the implications of the tests, realizing that his recent transformation left a mark even in his blood.

"Probably just ate something weird. You know how common that is when people don't use pesticides," Sam mumbled, attempting to downplay the severity of the situation.

His dad wasn't entirely convinced but chose not to press further. "They want you to go see a doctor."

Sam nodded, grateful for his dad's concern, yet the weight of the supernatural reality he faced loomed heavily over him. As Sam attempted to respond to his dad, a sudden, intense pain shot through his jaw. He winced, grasping his mouth in discomfort. His dad, observing the distress, grew more concerned.

"Samuel, are you alright?" his father inquired, leaning in with worry etched on his face.

Sam, still grappling with the unexpected pain, managed to mumble, "Yeah, just a bit of toothache, I guess."

The silver fillings in his teeth, a remnant of his adolescent dental work, were now proving to be an unexpected irritant. The transformation had triggered a heightened sensitivity, and the silver in his mouth seemed to agitate him more than ever.

"I'll schedule an appointment," his dad started to pledge, though the internal struggle with his son's changing body intensified right before his eyes.

With a swift, almost casual motion, Sam reached into his mouth and ripped out the silver fillings as if they were nothing more than bothersome crumbs. His father, witnessing the seemingly effortless act, recoiled in horror and disbelief.

"What the hell?!" his father exclaimed, eyes wide with shock and fear.

As Sam discarded the silver teeth, an unsettling transformation began. His teeth sharpened into lethal points, his ears elongated into pointed tips, and his pupils morphed into slits reminiscent of a predatory creature. His father stumbled backward, horrified by the surreal sight unfolding before him. Sam, grappling with the dual nature of his existence, felt the tension of his newfound reality intensify. The supernatural forces within him clashed with the remnants of his humanity, leaving both Sam and his father to confront the inexplicable horror taking hold.

Sam, his eyes still displaying a mix of feral intensity and human desperation, attempted to explain the inexplicable to his terrified father. He spoke of curses, lycanthropy, and the uncontrollable transformation that plagued him. However, his father, caught in a maelstrom of fear and disbelief, clung to rational explanations.

"You need medical help, Sam. Werewolves aren't real," his father pleaded, his voice quivering with a mixture of anxiety and desperation.

As his father attempted to guide Sam toward the pickup truck, Sam's nerves, already frayed from the internal struggle, snapped. Fear and frustration turned into a surge of adrenaline, and with an accidental display of unnatural strength, Sam resisted his father's grasp. In the chaos, a brief struggle ensued, resulting in an unintended injury to his father.
Realizing the danger he posed, Sam hastily pulled his father into the greenhouse. Desperation fueled his actions as he sought a means to restrain the older man, and his eyes landed on a coil of hemp rope. Sam, hands trembling, quickly bound his father, all the while trying to convey the urgency of his situation.

"You have to listen, Dad," Sam pleaded, his movements a blend of desperation and determination as he went to go get Brigitte's camera.

His father, constrained and bewildered, could only watch with a mix of horror and confusion as Sam endured the start of his impending transformation. He saw and heard the flash of the camera from Sam's open door. Sam felt an irresistible urge pulling him outside. The November air seemed to whisper dark secrets, luring him beyond the familiar confines of the greenhouse. Despite the pain still lingering in his muscles and the unsettling changes his body had undergone, he found himself succumbing to the mysterious force.

As Ginger and Brigitte emerged from the school, Jason McCarty, a swaggering figure with a reputation for trouble, intercepted their path. A sly grin crept across his face as he approached Ginger, seemingly unfazed by the ominous reputation that clung to her and her sister.

"Hey, Ginger," Jason drawled, his tone filled with feigned charm. "You really wanna catch a movie this weekend?"

Ginger suppressed a grimace, her eyes narrowing slightly as she played along with the charade. "Sure, Jason. Sounds like a blast. I was just thinking about how much fun we'd have together."

Brigitte watched the exchange with a mix of disbelief and amusement, realizing the lengths Ginger was willing to go to achieve their goal. Jason, oblivious to the hidden motives, flashed a triumphant grin, seemingly pleased with himself.

"How about we get together right now? Get to know each other a little first," he suggested, biting his tongue.

Ginger and Brigitte exchanged a look, the understanding clear between them what had to be done. The sooner the better.

"Sure! I'm not doing anything important," she said with a saccharine smile.

The three of them headed to where Jason was parked, but when they got there he looked at Brigitte with a barely apologetic smirk. "Looks like it's just us. You'll have to find your own way home, dweeb."

Ginger shot Brigitte a quick, remorseful glance before feigning a bright smile. "Sorry, B. You understand, right?"

Brigitte sighed, the weight of the situation sinking in. "Yeah, I get it. Just be careful, okay?"

Ginger nodded, a hint of seriousness in her eyes. "Always."

With that, the car drove off, leaving Brigitte alone on the sidewalk, her thoughts consumed by the uncertain path that lay ahead for both her and her sister. As Brigitte walked home, the weight of recent events lingered heavily on her mind. The prospect of a cure and the overall uncertainty of their situation created a swirling mix of hope and anxiety within her. Yet, in the midst of these thoughts, a glimmer of optimism flickered on the horizon.
However, this fragile hope shattered when Brigitte noticed a trail of blood in someone's yard. Concern etching across her face, she decided to investigate, following the crimson stains that led up a tree in the backyard to a treehouse. As she ascended the ladder to the treehouse, the metallic scent of blood grew stronger. It was revealed to be a disheveled yet familiar figure within, and Brigitte's eyes widened in shock. It was Sam, half-transformed, consuming a squirrel.

A mixture of horror and realization washed over Brigitte. This was the extent of Sam's affliction. Despite her shock, she couldn't turn away. Sam, noticing her presence, locked eyes with her, his expression a blend of desperation and animalistic instinct. All around him there were carcasses of various animals in all manner of half eaten, some were bare bones. The squirrel he held in his clawed hands like a barbecue skewer was almost all gone.

"Hey Brigitte!" he greeted her as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Not you too..." she said breathlessly.

"You think this is nuts?" he managed to reply, in between bites, his voice strained. "I have my dad tied up back at the greenhouse."

The mention of a human being potentially being in the same state those animals were in cut through the surreal scene unfolding in the treehouse. "Is he alive?!" she blurted out.

Sam, still clutching the nearly devoured squirrel, stared at Brigitte with those wild, feral eyes. His demeanor shifted, a strange mix of nonchalance and the underlying urgency of his situation. A hint of discomfort flickered across his face.

"Yeah. He's fine. I did it to protect him and then I left." As Sam ate, he began to shift back into a more human form before Brigitte's eyes.

Brigitte, torn between the instinct to help Sam and the need to protect herself and others, felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. The carcasses of animals, the primal hunger in Sam's eyes, and the mention of his restrained father all contributed to the nightmare she found herself entangled in. "We can't keep spiraling into this madness," she said resolutely, starting to descend back down the ladder, "Come on."

"Whoa whoa whoa, hey I can't go anywhere looking like this!" Sam tried to reason with her, dropping what remained of the squirrel in the pile of fur and viscera scraps he'd created.

Brigitte paused at the top of the ladder, her eyes reflecting a mix of determination and concern. "Well you can't stay here. We can't risk drawing any more attention to ourselves so let's just get out of here before somebody sees." The urgency in her voice carried a silent plea for them to regain control over their unraveling lives.

Sam, still caught in the aftermath of his transformation, reluctantly agreed. "You're right. I... I just don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me. Where's Ginger?" he asked once he finally had his wits about him.

Brigitte, not wanting to make him jealous, started down the ladder as she rehearsed an abridged version of the truth in her head. She finally came out with, "She's infecting someone" which wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth.

As Sam began the process of following Brigitte down the ladder and through the woods to his house, she pondered the challenges they faced. The need for an end to all this turmoil weighed heavily on her mind, and she couldn't shake the fear that they might not find a solution in time. The fate of both Sam and Ginger rested in their ability to navigate the treacherous path ahead. On the way to the greenhouse, Sam had somewhat composed himself, leading Brigitte to where the confined figure of Sean McDonald waited.
Sam's father, bound and confused, looked up as they entered. His eyes held a mixture of fear and confusion, but he seemed relieved to see his son in a normal state until he noticed he was covered in blood and chunks of...roadkill?

"What the hell is going on, Sam?" he demanded, struggling against the restraints.

"Look, Dad, I don't have time to explain everything right now," Sam replied, glancing at Brigitte for support. "We're dealing with something... supernatural."

His father's expression shifted from anger to disbelief. "Supernatural? Are you out of your mind?"

The tension grew thick as the exchange was hot and heavy from the start. Brigitte stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation. "We think we found a solution. We just need to give it time."

Sam's father, still bewildered, hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. "Fine, but you better start talking, and it better make sense."

Chapter Text

"You are both seriously fucked up and you need to be locked away," Brigitte was telling Ginger and Sam as she paced around the basement.

The couple sat on Ginger's cot, Ginger holding her face in her palm and wearing a look of exhaustion, and Sam listening intently like he needed to be scolded.

"You're both out of control. And I don't know how long it's gonna be before it's not just some dog, or squirrels, or-... or cats! It's going to end up being someone. It could be me."

Ginger cleared her throat, forcing a polite tone. "Well Brigitte," she said, "If you manage to run away in time before we kill you, we can all run off into the woods and live happily ever after."

Sam gave her a nudge, urging her to relent.

Outside, Pam was disgruntled to notice a big yellow van parked outside her home as she arrived back from the store. She came downstairs to put a huge tub of vanilla icecream in the freezer, calling through the house for her daughters. The girls stood there, hoping if they were still enough she would just go away. Pam entered the beaded curtain to the girls' room, her expression a mix of confusion and disapproval.

"What's happening here? Why is there a boy in your room, Ginger?"

Brigitte seized control of the conversation before either of the feral individuals could speak, "Mom, we were just talking. No need to overreact."

Pam's eyes narrowed, and she addressed Sam sternly, "Young man, as much as I appreciate you being a friend to my daughters, I don't appreciate you being here without my knowledge. You need to leave."

Sam, feeling the tension, quickly stood up. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

As Sam made his way to the basement stairs, Pam shot Ginger a disapproving look. "We'll talk about this later, young lady. I won't tolerate you sneaking boys into the house."

Ginger sighed in frustration, realizing that the supernatural issues were momentarily overshadowed by her mother's concern about teenage antics. Brigitte, however, seemed relieved that Sam was gone.

Pamela led Sam into the kitchen, casting a disapproving glance at the basement door as she closed it. She leaned against the counter, fixing Sam with a scrutinizing gaze. "So, Sam, you're spending quite a bit of time with my girls. They don't have a lot of friends, so I hope you're being a positive influence on them."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, sensing the underlying seriousness in Pamela's words. "They're good people, I care about them."

Pamela nodded slowly, her eyes buldging. "I hope you're not getting them involved in any trouble."

Sam, raising his eyebrows, assured her, "I'd never do anything to harm them, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I'm here to help. With anything."

Pamela looked pensive, clearly questioning the boy's choice of words.

He thought fast, faltering at first, "If any of you ever need help that is, I uh, do landscaping. So. If you need any help around the yard, give me a call."

Pamela sighed, a hint of skepticism in her expression. "I appreciate that, Sam. Keep an eye on them."

Sam nodded, acknowledging the gravity of her advice.

Ginger emerged from the basement, her eyes narrowing slightly as she observed the exchange between Sam and her mother. "What's going on?" she asked, her curiosity evident.

Sam shot her a reassuring smile. "Just a friendly chat, nothing to worry about," he said, getting up from the kitchen table.

Pamela handed Sam a Tupperware container filled with freshly baked cookies. "Here take these home with you."

Sam took the container, expressing his gratitude with a smile. "Oh I will definitely enjoy these. And bring this back."

Pam looked very pleased with his knowledge of suburban etiquette that was normally only reserved for the ever observant housewives who formed their secret communities.

As Sam made his way towards the door, Ginger followed him, still curious. "What did she say?" she whispered, eyeing him suspiciously.

Sam leaned in and whispered back, "Just your mom being a normal mom. Don't worry, everything's fine." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before turning to Pam. "Hey, um, by the way Mrs. Fitzgerald," he said to get her attention once more, "Would it be alright if I saw Ginger tomorrow?"

Pamela chuckled, charmed by Sam's manners. "You're quite the gentleman, Sam. Permission granted."

Sam nodded, clearly grateful. He left the house with a smile, but Ginger was dejected. She watched him go before turning to her mother with a questioning look. Pamela simply winked at her daughter, leaving the mysteries of the conversation lingering in the air and Ginger in a state of annoyance.

The next day, Sam showed up to give the girls a ride to school. He'd whipped up a few syringes full of the cure in case they screwed up with their plan. Ginger had her head out the window, attempting to catch the wind in her mouth, which Brigitte watched with bemusement. At least Sam had set up an extra chair in the back so she was a little more comfortable. Brigitte, glanced at the capped syringes of purple fluid Sam had provided and carefully slipped them into her pocket.
As the truck pulled into the Bailey Downs High School parking lot, Ginger lingered a bit too long while saying goodbye to Sam.

"Come on, Ginger! We're going to be late," Brigitte urged, tapping her foot with impatience.

Ginger finally tore herself away from Sam, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Alright, alright."

The sisters headed towards the school building, leaving Sam behind in the parking lot.

"You know if Jason sees you sucking some other guy's face off he's not gonna play along very well," Brigitte admonished as they made their way to their lockers and she opened hers up to keep the syringes somewhere safe.

Ginger seemed nonchalant in her response, "Relax B, I already infected him."

"What?!" Brigitte sputtered, regaining her composure in the face of the harsh news, "Jesus fucking Christ Ginger!"

"Was that NOT the plan?" her sister asked acidly.

"I-I guess, but... but how?" Brigitte stammered, shutting the locker and clearing the combination.

Ginger was incredulous, "How do you think?"

"I don't know why I'd ask. I guess I just wanted to know what hole blood was gonna come gushing out of next." Brigitte sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling over her.

"Oh. Real cute," Ginger quipped, "I'll see you soon, sis."

They parted ways after Ginger flipped her off, each of them heading to their respective classes. Ginger found herself in the same first-period class as Jason. As she settled into her seat, Jason spotted her and confidently made his way over, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

Leaning against the desk, he began, "Hey, last night was... something else, huh?"

Ginger glanced up from her notebook, masking her true feelings with a façade of disinterest. "Yeah, it was alright, I guess."

He chuckled, thinking he had an opportunity. "So, we getting together Friday night? I'd like to see you a little before the movie. We can pick up where we left off you know, without the interruptions."

Ginger looked around the classroom, avoiding direct eye contact. "Of course, silly" she replied with a nonchalant smile, secretly dreading having to be alone with this loser again.

Ginger couldn't help but notice Jason's behavior during class. He seemed restless, constantly scratching himself, and she couldn't ignore the fact that his acne had worsened overnight. As the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, she quickly gathered her belongings. In the next class, she sought out Brigitte, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.

"It's working," she whispered to her sister, excitement evident in her voice. "Jason's already showing signs."

As Ginger shared the news of their plan's success, satisfaction flickered in Brigitte's eyes. Yet, a new challenge presented itself: administering the antidote to Jason. She leaned closer to Ginger, her voice hushed.

"How are we going to give him the cure without revealing everything to him?" Brigitte pondered, her mind working through the logistics. "We can't just approach him and say, 'Hey, we infected you with a supernatural curse, but don't worry, we've got the cure.'"

Ginger nodded in agreement, recognizing the complexity of the situation to be minimal. "I'm sure I'll find a way to get close to him."

During lunch period, Ginger spotted Jason in the cafeteria. Determined to execute her plan, she approached him with a sly smile. "Hey, Jason, got a minute?"

Jason looked up from his lunch, a surprised yet eager expression on his face. "Sure, Ginger. What's up?"

Ginger leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "I was thinking we could skip and, you know, hang out in your car?"

A grin spread across Jason's face as he quickly agreed, "Yeah, that sounds rad!"

Ginger shot Brigitte a smirk as she and Jason headed off, hand in hand. When Jason and Ginger found themselves in the privacy of his car, the atmosphere became charged with tension. Jason, fueled by excitement and anticipation, attempted to initiate intimate moments. However, Ginger skillfully dodged his advances, using any excuse she could conjure. The pattern continued as Jason grew more frustrated, his attempts to escalate things constantly thwarted by Ginger's inability to get comfortable.

Jason leaned in for a kiss, but Ginger feigned innocence as she stopped his hands from going up her shirt, "What's the rush?"

"I guess you're right...just been waiting for this for a long time already," he eventually agreed, settling for grinding against her in the backseat while he drooled all over her neck. Meanwhile, hidden beneath the pretense, Ginger discreetly uncapped the syringe filled with the antidote. As Ginger succumbed to Jason's persistent advances, she seized the opportune moment, engaging in a passionate kiss while discreetly lifting the syringe. In the midst of their embrace, she swiftly injected the antidote into Jason's neck, her movements masked by the intensity of the moment.

As Ginger pulled away from the kiss with Jason, she swiftly exited the car, leaving him momentarily disoriented and writhing in pain as the curative effects of the antidote took hold. Brigitte was waiting for her inside, and they reunited. Ginger discreetly disposed of the needle in the bathroom trash, but Brigitte couldn't shake the nervous tension that gripped her. The small confines of the bathroom seemed to close in on them as the weight of their secrets pressed down.
While in the bathroom stall, Ginger couldn't help but notice something peculiar about her physical appearance. As she glanced at herself, her keen eyes caught a subtle change—some additional body hair that hadn't been there before. It was a fine layer, almost like a delicate fur, and it seemed to cover parts of her arms. Her brows furrowed with curiosity and a hint of concern. Ginger traced her fingers along the newly sprouted hair, contemplating the intricate changes happening within her. With a deep breath, she tried to shake off the unease and focus on the immediate challenges at hand. Exiting the stall, Ginger joined Brigitte with her hoodie on.

Ginger slumped against the picnic table she was sitting at, glowering at Sam as he came over and took the cigarette out of his mouth to give her a kiss on the cheek. He sniffed her, noticing the distinct smell of someone he was familiar with, another biological male. Frowning, he straddled the seat beside her and offered her a cigarette. There was no way to ask why she reeked of boy without it starting an argument. He stayed silent, not wanting to piss her off. Ginger gladly accepted his offering of a cancer stick, placing it between her lips while she waited for him to light it. It stayed silent between them as he took a long drag of his own.

"Done working?" she asked in between puffs, her eyes meeting his.

Sam blew out a long stream of smoke, "Pretty much. I've done all I can do and it's supposed to rain soon. Wanna go see a movie or something?"

"Anything good out?" The thought of being alone with him in the dark was very appealing, especially with some entertainment.

"Oh I was thinking I could set up the projector and we could watch something," he said with a smirk, flicking some ash.

Ginger snorted contemptuously, " 'Do you wanna see a movie' does not mean 'do you wanna get drunk at my place and watch a stack of sketchy DVDs I got from across the border'. What about Thinner?"

Sam's mouth cracked into an amused grin that warmed his tone, "Pardon the fuck out of me for not assuming you'd wanna be in a sea of people all trying to see that thing."

Not like she had ever told him, but Stephen King was one of Ginger's favorite things and Sam not being able to read her mind irritated her. "It'll be worth it, won't it?" she purred, grabbing his hand.

He bit his lip, breathing out a small laugh in disbelief as he carefully chose his words, "You don't actually think it's a good idea we go out into the world like this. Right?"

The two of them got up and he started to lead her over to his vehicle.

"But I wanna," she said with a pout, squeezing his hand. "I've been good. No dogs have gotten mauled I'm not hungry."

"Good because I don't think I can spend two hundred dollars on snacks for just you. I had to buy new bedding and that shit is a lot pricier than I thought." He gave her a kiss on the forehead and opened his passenger side door for her before getting into the driver's seat.

She practically frolicked into the vehicle and took her rightful seat beside him, pulling the door shut and lighting up a smoke. The truck's engine hummed to life as Sam found a suitable track on the CD he had in. He wordlessly grabbed a cigarette from Ginger's pack, lighting it before backing out of the parking lot. Ginger filed through his music collection as she smoked, chuckling at some of the finds.

He stole a glance over at her and returned his attention to the road until they came to a stoplight. "What? You never heard Shaq's mixtape?" he asked, taking a wild guess at what she had stumbled across in his CD case.

She burst into a small giggle fit at how serious he looked on the cover of the CD. "No. I'm good."

"It's actually pretty good," he admitted with a small laugh. They eventually pulled into a parking spot and he got out.

Ginger trailed behind him, grabbing his hand and noticing for the first time he seemed a little taller. "Did you hit a growth spurt?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm a little old for that. You know what happened to me, I told you the whole thing." The smell of popcorn bordered on offensive as they entered the theatre. He let go of Ginger's hand to dig his wallet out of his back pocket when they got to the ticket counter.

"Actually! You don't stop growing until you're twenty five. You still have some ways to go, buddy," she informed him in a teasing tone.

"Two for Thinner please," Sam told the acne ridden attendant behind the glass. He shot Ginger a sideways glance as he handed her one of the tickets and lead her away from the counter, nodding his thanks to the wage slave that was eye-fucking her the entire time.

The lobby was bustling with activity as everyone got their refreshments and lined up to be let into the theatres. By the arcade she spotted Jason McCarty and his shitty friends. She quickly shuffled around Sam, hiding behind him and clinging to his arm as they made their way towards the ticket checker. Sam gave her a weird look, his attention divided between whatever she was hiding from and the person letting them through the line.

"You're acting weird. You can't act weird, remember, then I can't take you out anywhere," he warned her with a paternal sternness.

As soon as she found out what theatre they were meant to be in, Ginger hauled Sam into the safety of its darkness. And with that, he was unable to ask what the fuck was going on. The theatre was already rumbling with noise from the speakers. She charged ahead of him and rounded the corner in search of their seats.

"Ginger!" his harsh whisper cut through a brief silence in between previews, but she was gone. He hurried after her, squinting in search of her figure moving through the crowd.

As he started to make his way up the steps to where she was waving him over, Jason and his bros came in. They spotted Sam and all greeted him by dapping him up. It was a quick interaction since even Jason respected that the theatre was no place to engage in small talk, something Sam was very thankful for. When Ginger saw who came in behind them, she shrank in the darkness. Sam made his way to his seat, eying the redhead with suspicion.
The previews for upcoming horror flicks flashed across the screen and in an inopportune moment, she and Jason locked eyes, her face perfectly illuminated and recognizable. Ginger sank into her seat, attempting to hide her face in her jacket, but it was too late. He definitely saw her. Sam finally picked up on the underlying tension and it made him jump to conclusions immediately. He forced himself to get his head on straight before he started asking her questions, but the more Jason kept looking back at the two of them, the more it itched at him. He had to know.

He leaned over to Ginger and whispered, "What the fuck is going on?"

"It's not what you think," she said, as worn an excuse as that it was. She reached over and grabbed his hand, putting up the arm rest so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

Jason stopped double taking after that, but the hushed tones of a conversation between him and his friends persisted until someone behind them told them to be quiet.

"I don't know what I think. Why don't you tell me what's actually happening so then my mind won't have to fill in the blanks?" Sam continued, his whispered voice raising a bit and attracting the attention of the person beside him.

Ginger huffed in frustration, holding his face and stroking her thumb over his cheek. "I can't tell you everything right now, don't worry okay? You and me are good. He's just got a thing for me. It's completely one-sided."

He gave into the urge to claim her lips with a gentle kiss, but the uncertainty continued to tug at the corners of his mind. "That doesn't make me feel better-" he started to say, but someone turned around and incredulously demanded:

"Hey! Can you shut the FUCK up?"

Apparently the movie had started.

"Um, excuse me?" Ginger shot back at the stranger seated in front of them.

"Excuse you, bitch," the guy's girlfriend butted in.

Ginger's eyes burned with intensity as she stared the girl down. She got the compulsion to suddenly kick her leg out and she did it so hard the girl went flying and cracked her nose against the seat in front of her. As Sam watched the girl in front of them get forcibly ejected from the seat, not even five minutes into the movie, he was stunned. The boyfriend immediately stood up and tried to sock Sam in the face, luckily falling over the back of the seat as Sam scrambled away to safety.

Everyone around them started to clear the area, griping collectively about how their viewing experience was being ruined. Ginger jumped up out of her seat, pushing Sam down the aisle with the weight of her body and leading him by the hand out the exit. The theatre boyfriend abandoned his bleeding girlfriend to chase after them. Lucky for the two of them, the lobby was still fairly populated enough for them to lose someone in the crowd.
Sam's grip on Ginger's hand tightened and he took the lead, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder in an unusual feat of strength. Sure she was a tiny thing, but there was no way he should have been able to pick her up like a ragdoll. He reserved that contemplation for later, focusing his purpose on getting them the fuck out of there as he opened the side door to his van and set Ginger down on top of some bags of tree trimmings.

"Um...fucking OW?" she complained, adjusting her weight on the pile of branches and twigs that were stabbing into her.

"Sorry," Sam said quickly, pulling the door shut and hopping into the driver's seat to start the engine again. Their assailant was sprinting after the yellow van, unable to keep up once it got up to speed.

Ginger crawled up to the front and sat down, sulking.

Sam, still running off adrenaline from the chase, smiled over at her.

"Don't," she said.

"Don't what?" he asked, the smile growing wider as he kept his eyes on the road.

"You were right," she admitted reluctantly, hugging herself and pressing into the passenger side seat.

"Well, I love to say I told ya so," Sam teased, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

She glowered at him, folding her arms and opting to look out the window. "Where are we going now? Everyone knows where you live. Your address is literally on the side of this fucking truck."

"People also know my dad has a gun," he informed her, pretending to take issue with her tone and it being betrayed by how he couldn't stop smirking, "You're just sick of hanging out with me huh?"

"No. Maybe I just need to be outside more, I feel claustrophobic," she explained, rolling down his window and sticking her head out of it.

"You're doing that a lot lately," he observed, passing by where he intended to take her and continuing on aimlessly as he tried to think of safe place that was also outdoors. With that monster on the loose infecting people, there wasn't any place they could really hang out.

"The trees smell nice," she told him matter-of-factly, inhaling the coniferous air deeply. At first she thought it was raining and stuck her hand out to check, but the droplets were more solid. The air was colder now suddenly, freezing the water in the atmosphere into snow that started to dust her sleeve. "Fuck. We can't be outside now."

"Ah, right. I completely forgot about that," he sighed, grateful for an excuse not to be circling the neighborhood any longer while she made up her mind.

The speed limit would still be 60 on the way back towards his dwelling until it actually started snowing. Sam hadn't learned his lesson about speeding since the accident and wanted to get out of the weather as soon as possible. He rifled around for the pack of cigarettes that had fallen onto the floor by their feet, averting his eyes momentarily from the road. In that split second it took for him to decide to ask Ginger to find them whilst returning his focus in front of them, Ginger was screaming for him to look out and there was a loud THUNK.
The vehicle quaked and Sam swerved, shrieking all manner of obscenities as he blindly found a spot to pull over. The windshield was painted red with chunks of viscera. As the animal slid across the hood and rolled across the roof of the truck it hit the pavement behind them with a sickening crack. Its insides trailed behind the wheels to where the van was stopped. Snow fell around them, further quieting the abruptly silent scene. Ginger looked over at Sam, queasiness preventing her from saying anything.
He tried to use the windshield wipers to clear away the blood, but it left streaks. He silently cursed himself for not using anything to prevent the windshield from icing, watching the blood crystalize and start to freeze over. He revved off the shoulder of the road and made a U-turn, his headlights forming a spotlight for what he had just hit.

"Found our guy," Sam said with a nervous laugh.

Ginger opened the passenger side door and sauntered over to investigate the carcass.

"Ginger, don't-" Sam warned her, cut off by the door thudding back closed which made him breathe out a sharp sigh. He threw himself out and went after her.

It looked like there was steam coming off of the creature in the light. The head was the only thing in tact. As Ginger got closer and crouched down, she examined its canine features more closely. It was definitely the wolf from her nightmare, meaning it had to be the same one who attacked her and gave her this curse in the first place. Sam stopped behind her, horrified by the gore she knelt in front of.

"Come on let's go before someone sees," he told her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him then back at the body. It started to twitch and they both reeled back, Ginger quickly getting to her feet. As she stumbled away back towards the van, the mangled creature stirred, gurgling out a low growl. Its sinew began to slowly weave itself back together, pulling its body back into one piece.

"Come on LET's go let's go let's go!" Sam ordered, taking command of the situation as they ran to safety.

Once Ginger was back in the vehicle, he revved the engine and made sure to splatter the beast across the road. The tires screeched to a halt and he backed up to make sure there was nothing identifiable left by the third time they ran over it and continued on into the night.

Chapter Text

When Ginger asked Sam if he wanted to go out to eat, it failed to occur to him that she meant real food. Not people food. It was becoming harder for both of them to sustain themselves on what they were used to for their waking human lives.

"So what you wanna just go to the park and grab up whoever looks good?" Sam asked her while they were driving through Bailey Downs.

"Kind of yeah," she replied a bit indignantly, folding her arms

Sam bit his lip, smiling mischievously, "Are you serious? We'd just... go out and hunt?"

Ginger glanced over at him, her voice seeming perfectly logical, "Better get used to it now right?"

Sam's lip remained slightly curled upwards, and he seemed somewhat excited at the prospect "We'd just... go out there and find someone... like... a human snack..."

Ginger nodded, running a hand through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp and behind his ears. "Of course puppy."

Sam blushed, finding the feeling of her sharpened nails unexpectedly pleasurable. "Well now I'm excited..."

"To kill or are you still being a perv?" she asked as she kept petting him anyway, enjoying how much control she suddenly had over him.

Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he let out a soft moan from the contact, looking up at her with a longing look "To hunt. But I mean... is it even possible for you to be unattractive ever?"

She admired his face in the light of the setting sun, cupping his cheek and stroking her thumb across it. "I'll reward you after you find us someone to eat. Oh and your van is perfect for kidnapping, isn't it?"

He grinned, a sharp predator-like grin. "You're really gonna make me work for this, aren't you?"

Ginger smirked, nodding only once and leaning in to kiss his cheek when they were stopped.

Sam's face lit up when she kissed it, and he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "So this is your idea of a night out, is it? Just stalking innocent pedestrians and making me pick one for you?"

"I don't know why you expected it to be a normal date," she said nonchalantly.

"Okay, how do you see this going down? Are we actually gonna bring the person back home to eat them, or are you just getting me worked up for nothing?" he implored her to give him some kind of game plan.

Ginger sighed, as if it was obvious. "I see us finding the perfect victim, taking them somewhere secluded in the woods, eating and then I see us fucking in your van. Does that appeal to you at all?" she asked him, slowly turning her head to look at him and licking her lips.

She hoped he would give in, that her infecting him had started his cravings of raw, warm flesh as much as how bad wanted to constantly screw. They both felt the same need to destroy something and it was definitely going to be a great bonding opportunity.

A shiver crawled up Sam's spine at her proposal, her words sweet music to his ears. His heart started pounding in his chest and the blood heated up in his body. "Yeah... that... that really does appeal to me..." he tried to be cool.

"Good boy," she praised him with a sweet smile and another head scratch.

"You... think... I would... be a good boy for you?" he almost whispered as he focused his eyes on the road.

"You've been a good boy so far," she told him, placing her hand on his thigh to help reassure him further, "and if you're really good you get a reward."

Sam shivered at the touch of her hand, and he let out a deep sigh, "That... sounds nice. So, who am I looking for, exactly? What's your type?"

"My type?" she laughed, taking her hand off of his lap after she had her fun teasing him. She looked out the window, seeing a few potential candidates, but none really catching her eye. "I don't know... what kind of person would you eat?"

Sam laughed, "I dunno. I mean, this is a pretty new situation for me as well... any hot women you think look like they might be tasty?"

"Oh so it has to be a woman? It can't be a guy?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes. Not like she was opposed to the idea, but she was suddenly very curious as to why he'd want a 'hot' woman specifically.

Sam seemed to be doing damage control, his words chosen a little more carefully. "I mean... it doesn't have to be. But I guess I do prefer women, I'm usually straight," he glanced at her, and back at the road, "so... what's your type then?"

"Usually?" she raised an eyebrow, the thought of Sam with another boy becoming very appealing to her and driving a new urge to specifically find a cute boy to watch him eat. "Um... like...what's my type of girl or? We're still talking about food right?"

Sam glanced over at her with a smirk driving a little while farther. "Oh you're right, we're just talking about food. Of course," he laughed, and shot that devilish grin at her again.

Ginger thought hard for a moment, realizing that she had really only eaten boys. "I don't know," she finally says, "I'd eat anyone I think. Unless they were really skinny. As for my type of woman I think maybe blondes."

Sam's eyebrows raised in surprise and he nodded, pulling into the park in the center of town to find a parking spot and shutting the van off. "So I can expect a hot blonde to get in the van with us?" he asked, looking way too smug for Ginger's taste.

"Then nothing, perv!" she told him, smacking his arm. Ginger had her own plan, she was going to find someone and they would readily come with her. "You wait here, and then I'll bring them to the back. When they get in, you drive."

The notion of her going out to pick up another girl got his blood flowing, and he leaned over to kiss the side of her neck softly before being made to pull back. "Fine, I won't be a pervert. Just come back with someone hot, okay?"

"Oh I will, I know your type now," she said with a devious grin, pulling him in by his shirt collar to kiss him on the lips.

He kissed her back, holding her close to prolong the connection between them. After pulling back, that same devilish grin from before was plastered across his face. She pecked his lips, stroking his cheek and stealing one last kiss before getting out of the van. She shut the door behind her and headed off down the path, into the little wooded area beyond where Sam could see her. He leaned against the steering wheel, lighting a cigarette while he waited for her to return with their feed.

Ginger smiled to herself, her evil plan now fully in effect. She found a seat on a nearby bench near some skater boys, taking out a cigarette and asking them for a lighter in her most demure tone. One of them fell for it, hook line and sinker, immediately hypnotized by her and wanting to know everything about her. "what's your name?" "do you smoke?" "where's your boyfriend at?"

All of her answers were satisfactory: "Ginger" "Sometimes" and "Don't have one!"

The one she thought would look best with Sam tagged along with the understanding that they would be smoking weed in 'her' van alone. She lured him to the back of the vehicle and they got in. Hopefully Sam was so hungry that he wouldn't be too angry about Ginger's little scheme.

Sam was sweating while he waited for her, his breathing getting shallow and the anticipation worsening with every passing second. The thought of her bringing someone back and making him eat them was having a strong effect on his mind. After a moment, he heard someone enter the van and he looked to see who Ginger had brought back. When he saw the skater boy, he felt betrayed but there was a weird look in his eye, as if Ginger had somehow finally found the solution to his desires.

"Who the fuck is this?!" the boy asked, clearly panicked

Ginger subdued him after locking the doors to the van, using her full weight to pin him. "Um...Sam? Drive?"

Sam snapped out of his trance enough to put the van in gear and press on the gas. After they started moving, he turned toward the back seat and looked at the boy in the rearview mirror. Ginger distracted the boy by kissing him and that seemed to do the trick for whatever reason. He began to kiss her back, though his heart was pounding in his chest. Oddly enough Sam felt his mouth start to water as he watched them and turn into insatiable hunger as the boy's fear intensified. Ginger bit into their captive and he screamed, a sound that filled Sam with a new need, a desire he'd never felt before.

Ginger sat up looking up to see if they were headed to their destination yet. "You okay over there? Be a good boy and hurry up Sam. It's getting hard not to just end him myself."

Sam gave a slow nod, but he barely managed to stop himself from pulling the van over, to take the boy and feast upon him right there and now. The desire that had awoken in him only grew stronger by the second as a new hunger arose within him and Ginger started to scrape at the boy with her claws. Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he sped the van up a little bit more, finally reaching the woods and finding a place far away enough from everything and everyone.

Ginger stepped away for a moment, allowing Sam to take his turn. Sam's breath was shallow and labored as he moved into the back. He licked his lips as he inched closer to the whimpering boy. The boy was drained of all color from the terror, and Ginger waited in the corner to see what Sam would do. The boy's pulse quickened as he felt Sam's breath on his neck, and he started to breathe erratically between his whimpers and cries. Sam's eyes locked onto the boy's and he bit into the side of his neck, drinking deeply from him.

Ginger watched with a mix of adrenaline and excitement as the boy succumbed to his demise, her attraction to Sam deepening. Sam's eyes locked onto the boy's neck and he drank from him with Ginger slowly moving in alongside him and joining in the act. After a while Sam pulled away, his body trembling slightly and his pupils forming slits.

"This was never the type of date I expected," he admitted, swallowing the taste of his meal.

"Is it more like something else?" she asked, digging into part of the spoils of their labor and coating her face with blood as she took a bite.

Sam's breath caught in his throat as he watched her in awe. She was so animalistic with blood covering her, and he found it more attractive than he was willing to admit.

"Is it like a ritual? Foreplay?" she asked with her mouth full as she chewed and swallowed. Her hands, and her face were covered in blood and she sucked some warm viscera off of her fingers

Sam felt like he couldn't breathe for a moment with Ginger capturing his full attention. He crushed their blood soaked lips together with a kiss that she didn't refuse. When he pulled away she pressed what was clutched in her hand against his lips.

"Eat, puppy," she told him.

He obeyed, the scent being too alluring for him to resist. He leaned in and took a bite, chewing it for a while. Ginger ran her hand through his hair, staining it with blood. He reached his hand towards her and stroked her cheek gently, his touch bloodied by what is dripping from her chin.

"Absolutely stunning," he said.

The red complimented his prettyboy face very nicely and his lips beckoned her in for a kis which she gave into. His breath skipped a beat and his touch turned a little more affectionate as he brought her closer and wrapped his arms around her. She kicked the limp body aside, laying down on her back and pulling Sam on top of her. His lips found her neck as his body pressed against hers and his hands wandered under her bloody clothes.
She tensed at his touch, running her hands along his arms and noticing how much stronger he seemed in the moment, like he could snap her in half without even trying. Sam's breath started to get heavier as they stole kisses from one another. His touch became rougher and she submitted to him completely, twitching whenever he found a part of her that was sensitive. Once his focus traveled down between her legs, his tongue flicked and probed at where he knew her to be most sensitive as her nails raked through his hair and scraped at his shoulders. Her eyes drifted over to the dead boy's. She maintained eye contact with him while Sam had his way.
She was a whimpering mess within a few moments, moaning softly as she fisted at his hair.

Sam's breath quickened as his lips met her neck again, his teeth scratching at her skin and biting down hard until he reached her lips and his kisses were tender. He shoved his pants down and slid inside her with enough ease to almost fit all the way. Ginger gasped sharply and moaned out whorishly, her nails digging into his arms as her body tensed under him. He took in the sight of her blood covered face, leaning down to kiss her before continuing.
She held him close to her, hooking her legs around him so he was forced the rest of the way inside of her which caused him to gasp sharply, and almost cry out in surprise. She relaxed in his grasp, introducing her tongue to his and savoring his saliva. The desire to eat barely felt different than what he felt now. There was an insatiable urge to consume her in a way. He kissed her as if he was trying to steal the air from her lungs. She breathed out soft pleasured noises into his mouth as she kissed him, her tongue lapping into his mouth to brush against his as he rocked his hips forward.
His hands scorched her with needs that she didn't know she had until he'd touched her and her mind was melting. He continued to kiss her relentlessly, hardly allowing space between their lips for even a second. His hands run into her hair and grip it tightly, her whimpers becoming encouragement for him to finish her off. She ground her hips back against him, biting his lower lip and sucking on it slowly before pulling off and attaching her teeth to the side of his neck. His mouth opened with a little gasp and his eyes fell shut. She trailed her lips along his jawline until she reached his mouth.

"Who's a good boy?" she asked before beginning to pepper his bloody face with soft kisses

This girl was breaking all boundaries and he wasn't sure how to act anymore. He felt that being completely dominated by her desires was pure bliss. He swallowed the lump in his throat, staring at her with a wide-eyed look as he kissed her bloody face.

"Is it me?" he asked quietly, his breath coming in shaky gasps and his hands still grabbing at her hips to pull her against his movements.

"Is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a mumble in between kisses, "Are you a good boy Sam?"

She wrapped one of her legs around his waist, pulling him firmly against her. His breath hitched audibly and he shivered, his hands leaving bruises on her hips and thighs as he controlled her movements. He nodded his head in response to her question, his mind and body totally enraptured by her, a total loss of his control.

"I'm a good boy, I'm a very good boy..." he assured her desperately.

Ginger smiled against his lips, her breaths hitching into little pleasured whines as he brought her closer to the edge. "You are a very good boy," she praised him as she scratched behind his ears.

That touch was all he needed to lose himself and let her completely take over his mind. His hand pulled at her shirt and she allowed him complete access to her. His mouth was soft and insistent. His hands were everywhere, grabbing and squeezing at her as he planted kisses all over her. She writhed under him, shuddering with pleasure when his mouth found every spot that was neglected up until that point. She had never been with a boy until Sam and of course he knew that, it probably added to the thrill for him.
He knew where to touch, where to put his mouth, for how long and in what ways. The way her body shook and how her hands gripped at his arms sent a wave of satisfaction through him. He enjoyed the sound of her breathing getting heavier and louder with every stroke now that he had slowed down with his thrusts. She kissed him desperately as the heat between them built up. Her sounds were as subdued and persistent as the motions he went through to satisfy her. Sam's breath came in small gasps as he felt her tightening around him and couldn't help but be sent over the edge a few moments after.

"Very good boy Sam," she told him breathlessly, dazed on the floor of his van and still covered in blood.

Sam smiled down at her, his breath still quickened and shaky from adrenaline as he stared at her with wild eyes. He was still on fire with her taste and the taste of their shared kill.

"Hey, Ginger?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she questioned him with a noise from the back of her throat as she cleared it.

Sam blushed and glanced away for a moment, a small smile forming as he looked back at her. "I was wondering... if you'd be willing to... do this again sometime?"

A small smile graced her features and she breathed out a laugh, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Definitely."

He was glad she liked the idea, and her laughter made him smile even wider. Ginger admired his face, smearing some blood down his neck and torso from his face.

"I don't think it would be the same with anyone else," she suggested.

The thought of her being with someone else besides him sent a pang of rage through him, and he shook his head fiercely. "I think you're right... this is something special between us...."

"That's right you're my puppy no one else's," she insisted, hugging him and pulling him close to her.

His body reacted to her words as if she pushed every button possible, he felt like a dog in heat. He loved the way she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her, claiming him. He squeezed her tight like he was never going to let go. She held him for as long as she could, until the high started to wear off and she realized they had a mess to clean. Slowly and reluctantly, Sam pulled himself away from her, letting out an exhausted sigh as he got back up to the driver's seat. Reality was beginning to set back in and he needed a cigarette. And it was getting dark.

"Let's just push him out and leave," Ginger suggested, putting her shirt back on and climbing into the passengers seat.

Sam looked back at the body for a moment and then shrugged, deciding to follow her lead. There's no way either of them should have been out in public looking the way they did, so he didn't argue this. After making himself decent, Sam pushed the body out. He slammed the door shut and locked it before getting the keys out and starting the engine.

There was no way they were going anywhere but Sam's house after that. Ginger's parents were home and her mother would certainly have questions that she didn't feel like making excuses for. Ginger was fascinated by a glimpse into Sam's normal life. He'd told her a little bit about him, how his mom decided to run off to the city to pick up on her dreams of being an interior designer. How he barely even visited her because she was so busy. Now she saw what the enigmatic Tracy Miller looked like.

"If your parents are divorced why does your dad keep pictures of her up?" Ginger asked Sam as they were undressing in his bathroom.

"Some people just can't let shit go?" Sam said in a tone that made it seem like he was just guessing but had plenty of time to think about it. "He blames himself because of the drinking and how she went on about him ruining her hopes and dreams. Made me feel great to hear I'm just a mistake someone made that ruined their life."

The last bit of what he said trailed off into a bitter laugh as he started the water and waited for it to warm up. He came up behind Ginger and his arms snaked around her waist. She watched him kiss along her shoulder in the mirror.

"Well... one cunt's trash is another one's treasure," she tried to joke to ease the tension, her hand finding its way into his dark mop of hair so she could scratch behind his ear.

He breathed out a small laugh as he nuzzled into her neck, then joined her in admiring their shared reflection.

"You're making my life worth living, so I'm glad she had you even if she fucked off," Ginger told him, looking his reflection in the eyes.

Sam chewed his lip. He was silent as he kissed her cheek and lead her by the hand over to the shower. Ginger got the feeling that there was a silent understanding between them that was easier to understand the more they spent time with each other. He was very kind to her when he scrubbed the blood away, it reminded her of when Pamela would bathe her and Brigitte. She showed the sisters how to bathe each other when they were old enough to understand, something that ensured they were caring and tentative towards each other.
Her mind went back to the past for a second and it went away when she realized Sam was done. She took the sponge from him and returned the favor, passively memorizing every part of his body as she scrubbed flakes of crimson off of him. She realized she was on her knees in front of him and the instant they made eye contact, he became painfully aware of how close her face was. He swallowed hard, she felt her mouth watering, but when her hand grabbed a hold of it and she brought it to her mouth, he grabbed her wrist.

They toweled off in silence as Ginger wondered why he never let her do this one thing. He wouldn't even explain it. The truth was there was nothing worse than a bad blowjob. Sam knew that from his storied escapades with girls throughout the years. Ginger making it to age sixteen without ever having been even kissed by someone made no sense, but it was a little obvious. Sam had to teach her everything she didn't already know about herself, so when it came to him being her test subject, he tried to put it off any chance he got. Besides, she was awfully...bitey.

"Maybe after the cure your teeth wont be as...sharp?" he suggested, hauling her up off the floor and onto his bed so that she was on top of him.

There was no reason to rush something that had been done a million times and done a million wrong ways. Even the pros found some way to fuck it up. They'd start doing something distracting and he would have to start over, and by then he was normally just so frustrated that he would find another way to finish himself off, with or without the girl's help.

It was much more fun to get someone else off anyway. With Ginger it was like a game that Sam was endlessly entertained by. Everything was a surprise to her when he did it, even if she was telling him exactly what to do. Her pupils pinned out with his desk lamp illuminating her face, it made her look like some wild animal caught in the headlights whenever her eyes snapped open to meet his gaze. That's when he knew he had her on the edge, his fingers tapping and pressing against her until they were slick enough to slide in with ease.
He quieted her begging with his lips. "Please" was all she could say, and he knew very well what she meant. She was insisting she needed something more to satiate her, but her body had already made that very clear to him, he was just stalling because seeing her in a state of complete desperation was cute. Ginger didn't need anyone, certainly not a man, but right now she needed him because he made her need him. He tricked her. It brought a devious smile to his face that she felt when he kissed her, and he breathed out a laugh against her lips.

"What is it you want?" he asked without straying too far from tasting her tongue.

"Fuck me please?" her voice was weak, and tight like the vice grip she had around his fingers.

His cock twitched and he breathed out another laugh into her mouth, pulling away to look at her. "Hmm?"

"Please fuck me Sam," She looked like she had a gun to her head and he kissed her again to make her a little less scared of what he might do or not do.

He couldn't keep himself from tasting her, sucking his fingers clean before spitting in the palm of his hand. Ginger got herself comfortable, kicking the mass of Sam's blankets aside with her panties around her ankle. He was cautious in making his way over to her, admiring the view for a moment as he selfishly stroked himself off. Her eyes lingered on his face, but she seemed to be taking a mental note of the way his hand moved.

"You're so pretty," she said, her hands busying themselves with pulling his pants down some more.

The words rolled out unrehearsed and without regret and it brought a flush to his face.

"Fuck off, I was gonna say that," he laughed, breathlessly, finding the right angle on the first try, just like every other time they did this.

She gasped, her eyes shutting tight for a moment as she breathed out a soft pained noise. He began to slowly buck his hips forward.

"Like when you do that, you're so pretty when you do that," Sam told her, his lips attaching to hers like a magnet and not disconnecting until he needed to breathe.

He rutted up against her until he was buried all the way inside, gasping sharply before an "oh fuck-" forced its way out of the back of his throat. He hid his face in an attempt to muffle anymore noises, but she grabbed his hair and gave it a tug to be able to hear him better, spitting in his mouth and spreading it along his tongue with hers.

"More of that," he panted.

"You're a nasty little boy," she half-joked, spitting into his mouth again and jamming her fingers down his throat so he was forced to swallow it.

Sam moaned in approval around her slender digits, sucking slowly as she pumped them into his mouth.

"You can fuck me harder than that, I know you can, stupid boy," she said, almost sounding bored.

There was a glint in his eyes she didn't remember seeing before, and his lips curled up into a smirk. He sat back, grabbing her hips and suddenly dragging her towards him. He propped her ankles up by his shoulders and jackhammered into her until she was a whimpering mess, eventually slowing down like it was some act of mercy so he could give her that look. Like he was so proud of himself, like there was nothing she could ever do that would give her total control over him.
He let her legs drop at his sides and leaned in to steal a kiss from her. She reached out and slapped him hard across the face, causing him to pause momentarily and process what had happened.

"Did I say stop?" Ginger asked in a saccharine tone before striking him again.

The sting from it made him question his entire life's purpose, but he got himself together at her command in a desperate attempt to make himself useful. Ginger had a smile of amusement on her face as she watched him, but she still wasn't satisfied. She hit him again and this time he moaned like a whore and it made her breathe out a laugh he had never heard before, a twisted evil little snarling laugh.

"You can do better than that!" she told him.

A slight change of angle was all he needed to shut her up or at least keep her from being able to do anything but praise him. Each time he jerked his hips forward she called him a good boy, the term of endearment hitching in her throat until she couldn't say another word and could only make noises as she squirmed under him. Her frenzied hands gripped at the sheets and at him as she dug her nails into his flesh. He was almost out of breath as his hips battered her into his mattress.

"Lay down," she ordered.

Sam cleared his throat and a small laugh came out as he nuzzled into her and kissed her neck.

The thought to turn her around drifted across his mind, but collapsing against her and taking a break while she used him as a dildo made more more sense for the time being. He would let her use him to get off until he couldn't stand it anymore, and that proved to be difficult within mere minutes. Ginger coiled around him like a snake, biting at his neck and leaving her marks all over him. He was all the way inside her and unable to move as he sputtered and whined into the crook of her shoulder. She ran her clawed fingers gently through his hair, causing him to melt into her as his mind was erased.

"Oh shit," he said suddenly, attempting to jerk his hips away from her and feeling some sort of resistance.

Ginger continued to rub up against him like a cat and he had very small increments of time to work with.

"Stop-! Seriously-" he gasped, mumbled curses tumbling out of his mouth soon after as he struggled against her.

"What's the matter? Getting close?" she teased with a pout, cupping his face in her hands and pecking his lips.

"I'm stuck," he said through gritted teeth.

Her eyes widened in confusion and slight terror.

"I dont know, I'm as scared as you are!" he said in a panicked whisper.

Footsteps creaked along the floorboards and there was a tap against the flimsy door of his room.

"Why now? Of all times?" Sam said, practically sobbing minus the tears. He pulled the covers up over them both and the two of them struggled to find any position that was not face-to-face.

"Sam?" his father called out from the other side of the door.

"Can this wait?!" he shouted back, the blanket falling off his shoulders as he tried to move Ginger's leg around him and found that it caused him pain.

"I know what's going on in there, Sam you're not exactly being sneaky about it," his dad said with embarrassment coloring his tone.

"God I'm nineteen fuckin' years old, I'm sorry about the noise but fuck's sake."

There was a long pause and Ginger could see the man's silhouette moving around in the slit of hallway light under Sam's door. "Well. Yeah. I think you should take your friend home. I have to talk to you about something."

"Will do!" Sam shot back, now in a state of anxiety that unfortunately didn't kill his boner.

Ginger burst out laughing at Sam's frustration and he silenced her with both of his hands.

"Alright. I think I know what the fuck is going on. And I'm freaking out. It's not funny," he said, grimly serious and leaning back down so their faces were closer. He took his hands off her mouth.

"Oh yeah?" Ginger asked through a grin, still not wavering.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "We're tied."

She was not taking this very seriously at all. "To what? What kind of poetic bullshit are you gonna spew now?"

"There's nothing poetic about this. I knotted you."

There was a brief pause as her eyes scanned his face and she sucked on her teeth, "Do you do this to everyone or just the ones you really like?"

"I dunno. Never done it, but I've had to pry two dogs apart before! So I know what the fuck is going on!" he whispered, exasperated.

Ginger's expression was completely wiped in disbelief and the atmosphere changed in an instant.

"...so just pry yourself?" she finally said, her eyebrows knitting together.

"You have to let go first," he said through his teeth.

She gritted her teeth as well, mimicking his tone, "I. Can't."

"Well then I guess there's no way out of this!" he laughed bitterly.

She shifted under him in an attempt to get comfortable and he grabbed her shoulders. "Stop moving. And for the love of god whatever you do, don't sneeze."

"Just fucking finish then," she told him with an eyeroll.

"Absolutely fucking not. I'm gonna wait."

"For how long exactly?"

"Fuck..." he breathed, his grip on her softening as he rested his weight on her again.

He was swallowed up by her kisses soon after, the same way the heat inside of her swallowed him up with a deep pulse like she was trying to suck all the blood out of him. Everyone wondered what she felt like inside and he was the only one lucky enough to know. Remembering that made it a lot harder to resist the urge to completely mark her as his. Something bound them together in ways that he could not explain to anyone, they were each other's secret. He was hers already and she had to be his.
There was something inside her like gravity that had pulled him in from the start. It had filled him with a glowing light that made everyone else on the planet become nonexistent for a brief moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. He'd been unable to give a name to the feisty redhead he had been jerking off to since he figured out it was something you could do. She made the sounds he wanted to hear and pleasing her was its own reward. He knew her name, now and that's all he manage to say in between heavy panting and mumbled curse words.
She seemed to take enjoyment out of how he trembled in her grasp, petting him and telling him how good he was, how he was such a good boy. She kissed him until he was completely weakened and she was wringing the most pathetic sounds out of his twitching, spasming body. He held onto her tight, gasping for air like a flood finally drained around him and she had been the only thing to keep from being swept up in the tides.
He still couldn't pull out and she used it to her advantage while there was still time. It almost made up for how they wouldn't be able to fall asleep together after this. It felt like he had woken up in someone's mouth on the edge of finishing in a dream. The instant gratification with just a few strokes drove him to bury himself deep inside her as they breathed in each others sounds, until it almost hurt from how good it felt.

"If this lasted for hours I really wouldn't mind," Sam told Ginger, his arms holding her tightly to him.

"I don't think I could stand it," Ginger retorted, finally holding still and reaching over to grab a cigarette.

"I think it's a nice bonding experience. Even if it is forced," he said with a smirk, moving as much as he could to avoid potentially being ashed on or burned as she lit the Marlboro Red 100 that was perched between her flushed lips.

Ginger took a long drag of the cigarette and then put the filter up to Sam's lips so he could do the same. "Yeah. I guess I could get used to it. I'm gonna need birth control though."

Sam's face lit up at the prospect, after all he was just a teenage boy at his core. "You're telling me that I get to dump loads in you? Regularly? You? Ginger Fitzgerald?"

She seemed very unamused by his verbiage and blew smoke in his eye, causing him to flinch and attempt to jerk away from her, but he couldn't since they were still attached.

Ginger took a drag of the cigarette and ashed it in a nearby ashtray before responding, "I guess you do until I'm fucking sick of you."

"You can't get sick of me you're mine!" Sam insisted, nestling into her and squeezing his arms tightly around her.

"Is that how this works?" she asked. "You know I'm killing this thing right?"

"Well fuckin eh, I'd hope so," Sam guffawed, looking at her like any other option would be insane. Neither of them had their shit even remotely together.

Ginger handed Sam the cigarette so she could play in his hair, breathing out a big plume of smoke, "Do you think the wolfsbane would work?"

"For a fucking home abortion, Ginger?" Sam asked incredulously, hesitating to smoke until he realized she was serious.

It was evident in her face that she wanted to get rid of this thing and it made perfect sense to both of them that the perfect solution was right in front of them. It was over on Sam's desk, waiting to be whipped up and put in a syringe.

"Where would you even shoot it?" Sam asked, worry lacing his voice.

Ginger's voice raised a few octaves at the worst possible time. "I'm not fucking shooting it, moron! Are you fucking psycho?"

There was a knock at the door as Sam's father returned to remind him that quite a bit of time had passed. Luckily the predicament the two teens had found themselves in had subsided and they were able to separate, albeit reluctantly. The closeness they were forced to share by their changed biology seemed to create a new type of bond. Sam very quickly had the urge to do it again, but he was in enough trouble already.

The two of them got dressed and headed out to the van, riding mostly in silence the entire way to Ginger's house. The two of them were completely content in each other's presence, inhaling nicotine and listening to whatever nu metal album Sam had in the CD player.

Chapter Text

Brigitte was examining herself in the mirror one morning when she noticed her teeth were somehow a bit more serrated than she remembered. She slid her tongue along the sharp points and flinched when her sister's fist banged against the door.

A few moments later the door opened and Brigitte was scared enough that Ginger could smell it on her. "What's going on with you? Are you on the rag now too?"

"No... but there are some other changes you might like to know about," Brigitte replied acidly, her jaw set.

She brought Ginger into the light so she could show her the fangs.

"Shhhhit!" Ginger hissed.

"How did this happen?" her sister asked, attempting to hold back any anger since this had to be accidental.

Ginger was tense now, looking around the room as she searched her memory for any possible time she could have possibly infected her.

"It didn't happen at the party," Brigitte ruled that option out.

The two of them thought for a long moment, Brigitte looking expectant since her older sister usually had an explanation for anything to put their minds at ease, though this was a much more complicated and dire situation.

"The pact..." Ginger finally said.

"You two did what?" Sam asked incredulously from behind the wheel of his van.

Ginger sat in the passenger seat and was trying to explain to him before he started freaking out, "It was before I knew."

"And so why hasn't anything been happening to her then? She's like...immune to this?"

Ginger was audibly irritated by his interruption to the horrible news she had for him, "No. How the fuck do you even figure that out anyway?"

He took a deep breath, looking out the windshield as he finished up his cigarette.

"I don't think I'm immune," Brigitte informed him.

"You're fucking around," he said, "You probably just didn't get it into your bloodstream. It's not a one hundred percent chance you get HIV from someone if you fuck them, it's just risky."

"Wait..." Brigitte said suddenly, grabbing onto the front seats to come up by Ginger's shoulder. "You gave me your chapstick the other day because it was cold out."

"So?" Ginger asked, her expression looking almost annoyed.

"You really don't pay attention in class do you?" her little sister sighed, sitting back down.

A look of amused realization also dawned on Sam's face and he just muttered, "Oh shit..."

Ginger smacked him in the arm and he tried to hold back a snort of laughter and disguise it with a cough as he started up the van.

Brigitte continued her explanation, "You can get bloodborne illnesses if both your lips are chapped."

Sam nodded as he pulled out of the school driveway. "Yeah. That's how blood works, alright!" he said with a smirk.

The rest of the ride was filled with the sisters' bickering back and forth while he attempted to tune it out with the angsty screams and shredding guitar solos of Shadows Fall. The two of them only yelled at each other louder over the music and Ginger got in a fight with Sam over her turning it down. It went from "you always want to be me anyways!" and "you never give me a choice!" to "you're hurting our fucking ears!" So at least his attempt to drown out their argument brought them together for a moment until they were at their destination.

Sam finally turned the music down and pulled Ginger over to steal a kiss. "If you drop out of school, I'm busting you up," he warned her in a strangely sweet voice, "Have a good day."

"Yeah whatever have fun trimming your drugs," Ginger muttered petulantly as she grabbed her backpack and got out.

"Drugs that I give you for free," Sam reminded her.

She shot him a forced momentary grin before deadpanning and shutting the door.

In the distance, Jason and his friends were watching the Fitzgerald sisters emerging from the local drug dealer's vehicle.

"How's that feel, Jase?" his taller friend, Ben, asked as he puffed on a joint the three boys shared.

"Like I give a shit," Jason snorted, clearly giving a shit.

His other friend Tim was highly amused, taking the joint from Ben and hitting it which made his voice sound strained, "You know you can just say you're jealous, it's fine."

The hockey player blew the smoke directly in Jason's face which drove the blonde further into an annoyed state. He had been experiencing changes lately that he couldn't explain, and his friends hadn't exactly been the most supportive, but these changes were effecting his emotional regulation. It was already a skill he barely had a grasp on, and for whatever reason he only felt better for a couple days after she stabbed him in the neck with something.

"Not jealous over a freak, probably dodged a bullet," he finally said after Ginger caught him looking at her and didn't seem like she was going to break eye contact.

"Your freak got bagged by the cool older dude, it's a part of life, my friend," Ben told him, giving him a sarcastically reassuring pat on the back.

Everyone was forced to go to class within a few moments and as Jason took his seat behind the girl who had rejected him, he felt a little curious as to what she had done to him the other day. His impulse control was non-existent. She turned around to look at him, her necklaces brushing against the back of her seat.

"Can you sit anywhere else?" she asked him before he even had the chance to speak like he had fully intended.

He seemed amused by her annoyance, "I can. You can too."

"I was here first," she said through gritted teeth.

"That sort of thing suddenly matters to you?" he tried to quip back.

"Oh if only you knew the actual order of events," she said with a saccharine smile, slapping her notebook closed and collecting her things to move to the other side of the room.

He didn't follow her after that because the seats around her were all taken. The revelation that he was the side piece and he didn't even get anything out of it made him furiously angry. He asked to be excused about ten minutes into class, complaining that he "didn't feel well."

"You sure you aren't just too high or 'tripping' on something, McCarty?" the teacher teased him, not taking his obvious discomfort seriously at all.

"I think...I think I might've taken some bad shit actually-" he said, starting to get into the role necessary to pull off his ruse by clutching his stomach and leaning over like he was gonna heave.

Ginger watched nervously, remembering that one of the symptoms of Wolfsbane was nausea, and thinking there was maybe a potential that he was succumbing to poisoning. Her eyes stayed glued to Jason as he pretended to gag and almost fall out of his seat.

"Alright alright, you need to go to the infirmary. And then they'll be calling your parents, I'm sure," Mr. Wayne said with a mix of concern and annoyance etched on his face.

Jason had to keep up the act all the way out of class until he was out of view. Class continued in relative peace after Mr. Wayne took up twenty minutes to go on a freestyle lecture about the importance of staying sober, especially in school, because when you grew up to get a job you'd be subjected to drug tests, which was definitely what would be happening to Jason. When Ginger got to her next class, she was informed that she was needed in the office. Her heart sank down to the pits of hell as she looked over at Brigitte and attempted to convey some sort of telepathic message.

She trudged along to the office, feeling like she was on a death march. What the fuck did that little shit tell him? Why were men like this? No...why were stupid fucking little boys like this? Why did they do shit like this after getting their feelings hurt and then pretend not to have feelings? Were they only capable of evil for their own amusement? Her mind was whirling with misandry and other justifications for killing this motherfucker right then and there, but when she opened the door to see he wouldn't be joining in on this meeting, she was a bit stunned.

"Have a seat, Ginger," the dean said.

She closed the door behind her and took a seat, placing her backpack on the floor by her boots.

"I hate to say this, but we are going to have to suspend you and I'm sure you know exactly why," he began, "You and your sister have always exhibited some unsettling behaviors, but now that you have stepped into actual criminal activity, I'm afraid we'll have to take action."

Ginger felt trapped, gripping onto the arms of the seat.

"Do you know what I'm referring to?" he attempted again to get her to talk.

"No, I'd love to hear whatever story he told you," Ginger replied with a pleasant voice to match a forced smile.

"Well, for starters, the janitor found this in the trash when he was cleaning out the girls' room..." he said, reaching into his drawer and pulling out the syringe Ginger had used to inject Jason with the cure.

She swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in her throat, her ears starting to ring and drown out the dean's voice. He was saying something about how Jason is a young man with a promising future in hockey, and that shouldn't be ruined by someone like her. If she needed help, maybe her parents could find some for her, but she would be expelled if they found her fingerprints on that syringe. The entire time she stared at the syringe, bagged up like it was evidence.

"So what you called the cops?" she suddenly asked as she snapped out of her fog.

"...I'm afraid we will have to once your mother is present, but I haven't even given her a call yet. I didn't exactly expect this from you, Ginger. I gave you the benefit of the doubt."

"And...you don't think maybe I gave Jason the benefit of the doubt? You don't think maybe I didn't want to do what he wanted me to do and I had to defend myself? And he's just making some shit up?" she suggested, which kept the older man behind the desk on pause as he was reaching for the corded phone.

He looked curious to hear her version of events, but was cut off as he started to ask her for details. The phone was ringing and already in his hand so he answered it.

"Yes? Oh. That was quick!" he said.

He wore an out of place smile for a second that quickly faded as the person on the other end of the line explained something to him. He jerked his head away from the phone as Jason's voice seemed to grab a hold of the phone and start screaming loud enough for Ginger to make out that she was being called a few slurs. The dean looked completely terrified as he looked across the desk at the teenage girl. She had the feeling that nothing she could say now would really convince him that her actions were wholly innocent.
There was only one way out of this now that made rational sense to her and that was to get rid of him before he could make any phone calls. One slash to his throat and he was on the floor gurgling and jerking around like a fish out of water. His hand gripped feebly at Ginger's ankle as she stepped over him to pick up the phone and held it to her ear with a blood stained, clawed hand.

"Yes, hello this is the girl's mother," she said as the dean finally lost enough blood to die.

Meanwhile, Sam was "trimming his drugs" in the comfort of a room he spent more time in than the one at his actual house. He had a few other projects to tend to as well and was dividing his attention between them all. He did this in relative silence for a few hours, save for the music he had on in the background. People came in to buy shit to start growing in the spring and that kept him occupied in between his own personal tasks. He received a text when he was sitting back down and picked up his phone, flicking it open.
It was from Jason McCarty. He wanted to pick up a nitrous tank and that was some big money that Sam would be silly to refuse. His deal was free delivery and throwing in 50 dollars worth of balloons which he began arranging after saying it would be no problem at all. The policy of only delivering things in bulk or when he was on the way somewhere was enacted after Jason's friend Ben made things weird. People were no longer allowed over to the greenhouse or Sam's dad's house where they were able to be too handsy. None of this was out of the ordinary, something however felt wrong about this, but Sam ignored his intuition due to all the mental confusion he had recently felt as a symptom to the lycanthropy.

Brigitte didn't see her sister until lunch and took the opportunity to go to the office and see if she was still there. The door was locked, which normally meant that both the dean and his secretary were on their lunch break. Brigitte heaved an uneasy sigh, knocking on the door anyway. It opened and she was yanked inside. The scene was a shock to her initially, but it quickly sunk in that they had to think of a solution. Ginger was rambling manically, explaining that he was going to call Pamela and the cops and that they tested Jason's piss and found out he was "poisoned" with something.

Brigitte was spiraling the entire time, unable to keep from retching into a nearby waste basket.

"He was trying to get me arrested, B!" Ginger said.

Brigitte took a moment to collect herself, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand before looking up to meet her sister's gaze. "So you just decided to add to the kill count?"

"What else was I gonna do?! What about your brilliant ideas that you always have. Got anymore?" she was tearful now and angry at anyone in her general vicinity.

Brigitte sighed as she reluctantly looked around. "You said that they tested Jason," she remembered.

"Yeah. I don't know if it's the hospital or the cops-"

"The cops are definitely involved now," Brigitte said.

"Well then FUCK, B, I don't FUCKING KNOW!" Ginger screamed, flinging a chair across the room.

Brigitte regained composure through sheer force of will, but still yelled in response, "Call Sam then!"

"The fuck is he gonna do? Drive us off into the fucking sunset?"

Brigitte couldn't keep her tears back either now, "Either that or it's jail. He has a cure and a getaway vehicle, we can go to America or something. You can even keep eating people if you want, just eat people who suck. Anything is better than watching this go on!"

"You think that would be so cute, don't you? Like a fucking fairytale. Like a Disney movie," Ginger said with incredulous laughter as she paced around the room, tracking blood with her boots.

"You're spreading the evidence around," Brigitte muttered.

"You're a little fucking girl. Wonder for how long," Ginger said acidly, picking up the phone and punching in Sam's cell number.

His phone rang, but he was driving and he didn't recognize the number, so it wasn't exactly a priority, especially while on business. Everything was packed neatly in a cardboard box and Sam was let into the garage. Once he backed in, the door came back down.

Sam was counting the bills out that Jason handed over when he noticed it was pretty early in the day. "Shouldn't you be in school right now, bud?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Actually...funny you mention it," Jason said with a strange smirk that caused Sam's eyebrows to knit together. "Ginger Fitzgerald stuck me with something. A needle."

Sam sighed, trying to wipe away his look of disbelief.

"Wonder where she'd get something like that. You know? I didn't think she was like that."

"Yeah I don't know man. That's rough," Sam tried to say to excuse himself from wherever this conversation was headed.

"Dodged a bullet, right?" Jason said with a Cheshire grin that made him look quite inhuman.

His teeth were sharp and Sam noticed his nails were sharp too.

"Yeah I think I'm gonna get the fuck outta here, man," Sam said suddenly, bolting out to his van with Jason right behind him.

The younger, but somehow much stronger boy grabbed onto Sam by his army jacket and threw him up against the side of the County Greenhouse van, pinning him.

"But I wasn't done talking," Jason said, feigning disappointment before throwing Sam down hard on the concrete floor of the garage.

Sam wheezed as he felt his ribs break and he saw stars for a moment. Now it was becoming clear what was happening and he felt possessed by an urge outside of him to assert his dominance over this moron. The entire time, Sam's campy ringtone played from inside the van and it was made perfectly audible as the driver's side window was smashed in the ongoing struggle. It wasn't hard to overpower Jason and throw him down on the concrete until it was pooled with red and the boy wasn't twitching or trying to fight back anymore. Sam was panting as he stood over McCarty, eventually reaching into his van and grabbing his phone out of the cup holder.

It was that fucking number again and it had called a dozen times.

Sam answered it in annoyance, "What? Who the fuck are you?"

Ginger's voice crackled through the shitty line on the other end, "Hi Sam... so uh..."

"Now is really not a good time," Sam tried to interrupt.

"Now's as good a time as ever, actually!"

Sam stuttered wordlessly as the realization set in that he had murdered another human being. "Listen... I have a fucking really fucked up mess to clean up right now."

"Wait really? Same!" Ginger said with a smile he could hear that only added to his disturbed state.

"Ginger, I just killed Jason McCarty," Sam said, cutting the conversation with a harsh silence as she was processing the information.

"...damn. I was gonna do that," she finally said.

He guffawed in disbelief so loud she could hear it and practically see the look on his face.

Ginger looked over at Brigitte nervously as she clutched the phone and Brigitte looked pissed.

"What is going on?!" Brigitte asked, reaching her boiling point.

"Our problems are mostly solved, we just have to figure out a way to clean it all up," Ginger said in some vain attempt to reason with her.

Brigitte threw her hands away from her sides in exasperation at how cryptic everything was, "Is he gonna help us?"

Ginger smiled, making sure Sam could hear her when she said, "Of course Sam's gonna help us. He doesn't have a choice."

Sam sighed when he heard her say that, but it was unfortunately true at this point. He could only imagine what he was in for when he got there, but the picture was mostly painted out by how well he knew Ginger and the fact that they were all embroiled in some kind of trouble now. They had to plan for a getaway, that's what he figured as he collected Jason's bloodstained cash and put his body in the back of the van. No one else was home for now, there was already evidence, so Sam didn't care that he was tracking blood into the house as he ransacked the place for anymore money or things that seemed valuable.
As he rooted through Jason's room he noticed the smell of dog blood and noticed what looked like hide and viscera all over the bed. Apparently Jason had his furry companion as an appetizer. Sam probably got his fingerprints all over everything, but if they had found the syringe as evidence then they definitely already knew who he was due to his past of being in the drunk tank. He was slipping into his old habits within minutes and already preparing for a life under the radar, hopefully with Ginger and Brigitte if she had to come with. It would be like a Tarantino movie or some shit. He was definitely taking that Nitrous tank back too.

The drive to his place where he wrapped Jason up in a trash bag was a blur, so was the drive to Bailey Downs High. Sam remembered taking a bite of him when he noticed he was still warm and thought he shouldn't go to waste. There was no way he was going to just walk into a highschool without cleaning himself up, not until the end of the day, and the Fitzgerald sisters agreed they would package things up in trashbags too.

Luckily Brigitte was close enough to the janitor that she didn't need too much of an excuse to invade the closet and steal them. No one saw her, but her heart was racing the entire time she navigated the empty, echoing halls, and still thudding in her chest once she was in the safety of the bloodbath Ginger had managed to somehow conceal for a couple hours. The two sisters worked to wrap up the pieces of the bodies nice and tight, so they wouldn't leak on the way out to Sam's van. They waited a long while, until it was almost dark. Eventually everyone was gone, even the janitor, and the sisters were able to let Sam in through the back door so he could help them.

"So that's him?" Ginger asked in reference to Jason's body.

Sam didn't say anything, he just shut the doors and got in the van. Brigitte got into the front, forcing Ginger to sit with the bodies. They smoked cigarettes in silence and there wasn't even music on which made things especially grim and awkward.

"So..." Sam said after a while of driving to nowhere in particular.

"So yeah what happened?" Ginger asked.

His voice became shrill with anger, "Uh, how about you tell me? Because I wouldn't really be in this mess if you didn't- I don't even know where to really begin, actually, since you did SEVERAL things that if NOT DONE could have prevented this!"

It occurred to her that his feelings were hurt, which was oddly precious.

"So just fucking explain yourself. Start to finish. What the fuck did you do to this kid?"

And so she told him the full lore, everything about Jason's weird crush on her and how she used it to her advantage because she didn't care whether he lived or died and figured no one did. He was just a test subject, a guinea pig, and Sam informed them that the "cure" he found didn't actually work the way he thought it did.

"Jason was not cured, he either didn't take enough or this stuff works more like a treatment that you have to take for the rest of your life," Sam observed.

"Great," Brigitte groaned, "This is just great."

"Looks like we'll be living like junkies," Sam said in a tone that mimicked agreement, but made Ginger feel like he was mocking her.

"Hey!" the redhead barked, leaning in between the seats and pointing an accusing finger at Sam. "The fuck makes you think we're going on some little adventure living in fucking motels and shit? This isn't some movie. You think you can just take two little girls in your van wherever you want?"

"Oh you're suddenly a little girl?" Sam scoffed, ignoring most of her commentary to try and reason with her, "I think we should consider the options, you know if there are any."

"Well if we're just going to be going around killing shit, I think we should go live in the woods," Ginger said with a sigh as she leaned over to discard her cigarette in the ashtray up front.

"Yeah I'm not really looking to star in Werewolf Jailbreak this summer," Sam remarked.

Ginger couldn't help but snort with laughter at the mental image.

"This isn't funny," Brigitte reminded them sternly.

"Jesus, sorry. These people were all assholes, why are you even upset that they're dead?" Ginger asked her.

"If we take the stuff, it'll curb our urges," Sam continued, "Jason never had any casualties that we know of. Besides his dog."

"And what are the side effects of that?" Brigitte asked.

"Uh...well..." Sam faltered.

"Jason didn't tell you?" the younger sister interrogated him.

"Well shit, Brigitte, I didn't really get to ask while he was trying to maul my face off!" Sam yelled, startling her a bit.

Ginger grabbed his jacket and threatened to jerk him into the back of the van, causing him to swerve and yelp out.

"Don't fucking scream at her, jackass!" she warned him, letting go.

Everyone took a moment to collect themselves.

"Sorry," Sam said softly, glancing over at Brigitte who still eyed him a bit nervously.

He turned on some music and let her pick something, even though she barely knew who any of the artists were.

"Do any of these not have screaming?" she asked after a while of deliberating between the least offensive or edgy sounding ones.

Sam looked over at what she had picked, "Ah yeah those are shouting. Not so much uh screaming."

Brigitte looked back at her sister wearily. "This is the guy?"

"Yep that's the guy," Ginger said, giving Sam a pet on the head.

Brigitte sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.

They disposed of the bodies somewhere in Manitoba, the country's murder capitol. Maybe nothing would seem too out of the ordinary until the bodies were identified. After rinsing out any blood at the carwash, the trio headed down toward the border of the country, hoping to at least make it to America by morning.

Chapter Text

A few hours after making it through customs, Ginger was fast asleep in the back while Brigitte struggled to rest her mind at all. She eventually crawled up front with Sam and found a cigarette to smoke.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to drive would you?" he asked groggily, looking dead after his sixth cup of gas station coffee.

"Unfortunately, no," she said around the cigarette's filter as she lit it.

"I didn't think this plan through very well, did I?" Sam asked with a weak smile.

He reached over and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it.

Brigitte spoke after a while, "Do you think we're fucked?"

"Oh absolutely," Sam said with a small peel of bitter laughter.

"Are we just supposed to assume new identities and live new lives?" the young girl asked.

"None of us are really legal adults anymore, except me I guess. I can't even buy booze in this fucking country. Fuck," Sam realized aloud.

"And what you two are doing is super illegal now," Brigitte added.

"Fuck," Sam said again, to punctuate her statement.

It occurred to him that his birthday coming up in a few weeks was going to make that even more of a problem and he started to feel a tinge of nervousness make its way through the tired fog in his brain. Sam sighed, convinced that ten hours away was enough distance between them and Bailey Downs. It was also getting so foggy it was dangerous to keep driving, so he pulled over at the first motel they saw. There was one room with one bed and Sam kept falling off the edge so much he just eventually opted to sleep on the floor, which surprisingly wasn't that uncomfortable. He found he could probably sleep just about anywhere.

The next day they continued their journey a little further into the state of Wisconsin, eventually having to stop in some place called Mineral Point. From the looks of it, the place was some old mining town where attempts were made to create a trendy hotspot for lovers of the arts. There were lights going off on Sam's dashboard that were indicative of the van needing some serious work done. He had never tried to drive it that far and wasn't even sure if it was safe to do so.
The first motel they stayed at ended up kicking them out after a few days. They bounced around until they had found a place to finally rest their heads where nobody asked any questions about why someone would need to rent out a motel for an entire month or more. As long as the money came in on time, there were no problems and the housekeeping left them alone for a little extra.

A couple days into being at the new digs, everyone was getting a bit stir crazy, so Brigitte was out at the library. Sam and Ginger had the room to themselves.

She sat beside Sam at the table as he meticulously fiddled with that black orchid he couldn't shut the fuck up about. It did look cool, she gave him that.

"So you're like... some kind of nurturer or something," she said, partially teasing him.

"Wouldn't say that," he said, "I fix shit though. I guess with living things that's what nurturing is."

"You're not gonna fix me by being nice to me," she told him, struggling to keep her hands to herself since he was occupied by a delicate task.

"Not gonna stop me from trying," he said.

She watched him for a little while longer until she couldn't stand it anymore. Her hand squeezed his thigh and grabbed him between his legs, possessing him to look over at her nervously.

"What's wrong with you?" Ginger asked.

"Nothing I'm just kinda busy right now," he said, clearing his throat but not returning his attention to his hands that were now frozen in place.

"Just take a break," Ginger whined petulantly.

"These things are time sensitive. It won't take long just... go over there," he said, pointing over to the motel bed.

She huffed and got up from her seat, going over to throw herself down onto their bed with a scowl. His face was illuminated by the lamp overhead as he looked over at her and breathed out a laugh at how bratty she was being. She watched him as he worked some more.

His voice was soft yet stern, his eyes trained carefully on his task, "And don't even think about doing anything else distracting."

Ginger rolled over away from him and huffed, pulling the covers over herself to wait for him. The urge to at least get things started so it would be easy for him to take over was difficult not to give in to, and the thrill of punishment for being caught only provoked her further. She held it together as Junkie XL played distantly in the background. The sound of Sam puffing on his cigarette and setting it down to pick up his plant trimming tools was oddly comforting.
She turned over again to be able to look at him and he met her gaze.

"Just a minute and I'll take care of you next," he told her, blowing smoke far away from the plant and stubbing the cigarette out in an ashtray.

"Hope that means you'll kill me," she replied in a deadpan.

"Now why the hell would I go and do that?" he said with a smirk.

She thought back to how easily he got rid of Jason. "Haven't gotten used to doing it yet?"

"Some things are easier to come to terms with than others," Sam replied in that way that made her think he always knew what to say.

She hid her smile in the bedding and nestled down into it more, picking up a book off the night stand and flipping through it to examine Sam's bookmarks. She took in some of the information, mostly things that could be used as a natural medicine marked with different colored stickies. She flipped to the back cover and saw a legend. Blue was for ones that worked well, yellow was ones that almost worked, orange was potentially poisonous, pink was lethal. She laughed at how he used green to signify things that caused some kind of high.

Sam was finally done with whatever the fuck he was doing and came to join her, laying behind her and slipping his arms around her to pull her against him while he kissed along her shoulder.

"Going through my stuff again?" he teased her.

"Just looking for any nudie pics stuffed between the pages," she replied, craning her neck for him to attack with kisses as well.

"Don't need 'em anymore," he sighed.

His breath on her neck commanded all of her attention and she clapped the book shut, putting it back where she had found it. The music flipped to the next track and she got a bit more comfortable.

"I like this song," she said as her hands found their way into Sam's hair.

Sam watched her for a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully, "I like you."

"Yeah?" Ginger asked, "Why?"

"Because. You're hot. You're smart. When you look at me, your eyes pierce through me like a fuckin' harpoon."

She tried to hide how hot her face was getting. "You wanna be stabbed and dragged around."

He crawled on top of her so she had no choice but to allow their lips to meet.

"I want you all the time Ginger," his voice was warm against her neck everywhere his lips touched, "I think about you all the time. All day. And not just like this."

"Ugh god don't even say it," she groaned, dreading hearing it from anyone, even her own family.

He stopped for a moment and breathed out a laugh, "Say what?"

"Nothing you're gonna trick me into saying," she said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

Sam smiled knowingly, a smug expression that he wore so well it didn't make her want to smack him.

"I think you wanna say it," he said, pecking her lips.

Ginger rolled her eyes, but kept kissing him. He seemed more than okay with finishing this conversation later.

At the library, Brigitte was searching for a book on bloodletting. She remembered something Sam had said about leeches, and the only other step before a life of ingesting poison couldn't be diving into the local river. She found quite a few other books on infections and took them all over to the front desk that was manned by a young woman with cropped, gelled hair and thick black eyeliner.

She looked up at Brigitte, chewing her gum, then looked at the stack of odd books. "Need a library card."

Brigitte anxiously fiddled with the ends of her jacket sleeves. "I'm not from around here. Sorry."

"I'm not from aroand here, soory," the librarian mocked her accent.

Brigitte was unsure of how to respond and her eyes darted down to her shoes.

"You're a long way from home," the girl observed.

"Just passing through, figured I'd look around," Brigitte said.

"Right I'm supposed to just let you take these books wherever you want?" the other replied with a voice that trailed off as she looked around in a file cabinet under the desk.

Brigitte noticed her name tag as she pulled out a form and placed it on the counter. She was apparently referred to as 'Stokes'. She also had freckles that only seemed to be made noticeable by constant exposure to the sun.

"You're lucky I don't care about this job," Stokes sighed, "pay the deposit up front so I don't have to cover for you."

"I'm here all month with my sister and her boyfriend," Brigitte informed her.

"Then you can come collect it before you leave, no problem!" The librarian slid the paper over some more.

As Stokes logged the books into the computer, she realized how strange they were in combination. "A month? That's a bit odd. This isn't exactly the place to go sight seeing."

This girl didn't seem to be on drugs either, so there was no way that had anything to do with this peculiar tourist trip. She did mention they were just passing through and for a small town like this, that typically meant a few days tops, not a whole month. Brigitte was unaware that she probably seemed like a potential trafficking victim, but that worked in her favor. Stokes reached across the desk and crumpled up the form as Brigitte was filling it out.

"Don't worry about it," she said, "I'll cover it. It's only forty bucks anyway."

Brigitte stared at her in slight confusion and disbelief, but she just assumed pity was being taken on her since she was a kid. Gratitude was evident in her eyes and she just muttered a quick "thanks..." as she collected the books and placed them in her backpack.

Once she was gone, Stokes looked at the form Brigitte filled out, looking over it before stuffing it into her pocket. The fake name she wrote down seemed pretty real.

Brigitte came back to the motel just in time to see the aftermath of what Ginger and Sam had been doing. Sam was in the bathroom and Ginger was laid up smoking a joint.

"Jesus do you knock?" Ginger asked between puffs.

"This room fucking reeks, we are so not getting our deposit back," Brigitte replied, sidestepping the question.

"Well money is a little tight right now so until you can get your own room, you'll have to deal with aaaaall the bullshit," Ginger taunted her, offering the joint which Brigitte grimaced at.

Sam came out of the bathroom and plucked it out of Ginger's hand, taking a long pull from it. "What's all this?" he asked Brigitte as he picked up one of the books that was on cleansing rituals.

She sat on her bed and took the books out of her backpack, cracking open the big red one titled "Bloodletting".

"Are you out of your mind?" Ginger asked with irritation, grabbing the book out of Brigitte's hand.

"Sam said leeches purify blood," Brigitte said.

"He also said silver would help us," Ginger replied acidly.

"Yeah well if all I got is folklore to go off of and the doctors don't wanna take this very seriously, that's all I can tell you," Sam defended as he flipped through the ritual book and smoked.

"I'm not cutting myself. We are so past that shit," Ginger said with an eyeroll, getting up and grabbing the joint from him.

The two of them looked at the book Sam was holding.

"I think it's worth a shot," Brigitte said with a shrug.

The smoke started to irritate her and she got up to go open the window, then turned the fan on in the bathroom.

"Contact highs aren't really a thing," Sam said a bit indignantly in response to her storming around.

"And you really shouldn't be attracting any attention from the cops," Brigitte argued.

"The van will be fixed tomorrow, allegedly," Sam countered.

Ginger was moody, it probably being about that time of the month and sending her into a rage at the slightest inconvenience or annoyance. "Alright shut the fuck up! We're all going a little stir crazy. Let's go do something."

"Like...split up so you two can go suck face somewhere and I can get kidnapped?" Brigitte said sardonically.

"You'll understand soon enough," Ginger said with an ominous tone.

"There's an arcade," Sam offered as a potential way for them to entertain themselves.

"Typical guy answer," Ginger scoffed.

"Hey it's literally the only thing within walking distance," he said, holding his hands up in defense.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to be seen. We're not even that far from the border," Brigitte said with her discomfort causing her to shift uncomfortably where she sat. She turned her attention to another book from the stack titled "Romanian Folklore".

Sam paced around, but found he really had nowhere to pace. "Well," he sighed, "I'm going fucking insane. So."

Ginger was of course, unable to be reasoned with by her sister and knocked her shoulder. "No one's gonna recognize us here. Americans are so self centered, they don't know about any Canadian murders. Watch, I betcha ask anyone around here about the guy who ate a dude's face off on the Greyhound bus and they'll be like 'huh?'"

Brigitte just gave her a slightly defeated look and remained set in her decision, "I don't think it's a good idea."

Sam sided with her now as well and decided to make it known in an attempt to reel Ginger in, "Now I'm a little nervous. It's perfectly likely that they would put out some sort of alert or whatever. We really aren't that far so we should probably lay low for a little while, until we're back on the road."

"So what, we're just gonna land wherever and make new lives for ourselves?" Ginger asked. "You don't have any kind of plan? At all."

"I had a vague sort of idea for what we could do, but you might not be the best suited for it," he said a bit unsurely, as if even admitting this information would get him in trouble.

She raised her voice a little, "What the fuck are you about to say?"

"Gambling. Card counting. You any good at math and probability and shit like that?" Sam asked, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

"No," Ginger said, crossing her arms. "But you know who is?"

They both looked over at Brigitte who slowly looked up from the book she was reading.

Chapter Text

"So you think you have a blood infection and this stuff is gonna fix it? Try going to a doctor maybe?" Stokely snorted from a seat across the table from Brigitte.

The two of them were each studying something of their own, though Stokely's materials had more to do with her schooling than folklore and obsolete medical practices. The library was desolate this time of day, with one kid using the computer in the corner to look something up that Stokes dreaded having to erase from the history log.

"It's not something a doctor knows how to fix," Brigitte replied with her nose buried in a book about bloodletting.

Stokes squinted, her eyeliner smudged from a long day at work and her fishnet clad arms folded across her chest. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

Brigitte's frustration was evident in her tone, "It's not something they know about. My sister's boyfriend already went to the doctor and his test results were inconclusive."

"So shouldn't he still be getting tested so they can figure out what's wrong with you all?" the other girl asked.

"Just trust me, okay?" Brigitte said in an attempt to conclude the argument.

"I don't trust," Stokes said matter-of-factly, "especially not men. He could have just lied."

"I didn't trust anyone either, besides my sister, but he changed my mind about a lot of things," Brigitte begrudgingly admitted in Sam's defense, "but I'll be honest I don't really care about guys or dating or any of that. I'm more...cerebral."

"Yeah I don't care about guys either. In case that wasn't obvious," Stokely said in reference to her less than feminine appearance.

Brigitte took a moment to analyze Stokely, not seeing anything that stuck out to make her appear particularly masculine aside from her hair and the way she sat in her chair.

"It isn't," she said in an earnest deadpan. "I just thought you liked to play soccer."

The other girl smirked and her demeanor softened a bit. "Not a sports person actually. I'm pretty cerebral too."

"Right. What is it you're studying again?" Brigitte asked, at least a little bit genuinely interested in the conversation with what seemed like a new friend.

Though, the older teen girl's demeanor dampened that, when she shot back with, "What's it to you?"

Brigitte's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and her lips curled up almost in a smirk that she tried to contain. "Is it that embarrassing?"

"No. Just not exactly anything anyone cares about. Environmental studies, real depressing shit," Stokes said, almost pouting as she fiddled with her pencil.

"I care," Brigitte said, and it may have been the first thing she had confidently uttered in years.

Stokes looked across the table at her, still twirling her pencil between her fingers that wore chipped black polish.

Brigitte continued to defend her stance on the matter, "I might end up having to live in the woods soon anyway. It would suck if I couldn't find food that didn't kill me... or drinkable water."

The library clerk cracked a small smile that warmed her usually icy tone, "Yeah. Sure."

"You're not worried about your little sister wandering around this place?" Sam asked Ginger as they sat in the only place with a working heater; a taqueria.

The redhead was shoveling chips and salsa into her mouth like her life depended on it. "No," she said as she chewed, "She's like us now. She can handle anything."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her lack of concern, taking a sip of his beer. "Pretty flawed logic, don't ya think? What's not to say there's another one of us running around out here? Or something worse."

"Worse?" Ginger asked acidly once she washed down the chips with her own beer.

"It's hard for me to think that anything is impossible at this point," Sam clarified with a wry smile.

Ginger rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat. "Yeah right. The only thing I can think of that would be getting her in any trouble is some fuck like you putting the moves on her."

"I don't think dudes pick up chicks at the library," Sam tried in vain to reassure her. "At least I wouldn't. Be too worried they'd outsmart my tactics."

"Psh. Perfect place to pick up a dumb little geek," Ginger muttered as she continued to drink, gazing out the window at the shitty little town they found themselves stuck in.

Sam nodded, shrugging in admittance that Ginger was unfortunately right. These days kids were abducted with heightened frequency and young women weren't safe either. Even if Brigitte did put up a fight, anything could happen to her because she was so small and frail.

"Well she's a smart kid. She won't hop into the first white van that rolls up asking her to help find their puppy," he said as he finished up his plate and wiped his mouth. "Just a big yellow one."

"A big yellow one driven by a dumb puppy," Ginger specified.

"No dog stuff in public, Ginger," Sam said very seriously, his voice hushed with the hope that no one would hear them.

"Okay. Fine," she sighed, leaning back in her seat. "How about when you get the truck back, you ask me to help find your puppy?"

"You're one twisted fuck," he laughed, adjusting to the tone she so badly wanted to set.

"I just get bored," she said petulantly in defense of herself.

"You're lucky I kinda hate you," Sam informed her.

"You're lucky you're useful," she shot back.

That actually seemed like it hurt, but he didn't dare let it show on his face. She still knew because she was watching him, practically salivating at the chance to see him jerk a tear or react in some way. Sam stared back at her as he polished off his beer. Ginger felt a small pang in her chest as he broke eye contact. With a satisfied sigh he set the empty glass down on the table and put his hand up to get the attention of their server.

"This place definitely has rats," Stokes said to Brigitte as she was welcomed into the motel room.

"I hear them in the wall at night. I also heard the people in the room next door digging in the walls and Sam said they were looking for copper wire," the awkward teen volunteered the information with a sense of unease.

Stokes smiled with a mixture of concern and amusement on her face as she sat down on one of the beds.

"Um...that's my sister's bed. You don't wanna sit there."

The other girl immediately shot back up, reeling away from the contaminated surface and cringing. She carefully sat down on the other bed.

"Ew don't get it on mine!" Brigitte griped.

"Get what on it?! What the fuck man!" Stokely shrieked back, standing up once more.

Brigitte didn't have much to say for herself and her guest eventually let her guard back down to take a look around the room. Stokes noticed the plant by the window and went over to get a closer look. It was a purple flowery plant that almost looked like lavender, but it wasn't completely budded.

"That's the cure," Brigitte said.

Stokes nodded slowly, still looking skeptical.

The distant sound of two people arguing was heard, their voices phasing into familiarity the closer they got to the room. Both Brigitte and Stokely had their eyes glued to the door as the muffled sound of Sam and Ginger arguing filtered through it.

Ginger was desperately trying to explain herself, "I was just playing!"

"Yeah you are just playing, aren't you?" Sam responded, his voice made suddenly more audible as he opened the door.

He stopped with his hand still on the knob when he was suddenly face to face with a stranger. Ginger was already infuriated and this surprise was the perfect scapegoat for her.

"Um, B?" she asked, "The fuck are you doing?"

"W-we were just hanging out..." the younger Fitzgerald stammered out.

Ginger scoffed with laughter, almost amused by what she thought was going on, "We let you have a little bit of freedom and you blab to the first dyke that gets her hand down your fucking pants?"

Brigitte was suddenly empowered by some sort of primal fury, her fists clenching so hard by her sides that her knuckles went white. "Ginger stop being such a massive fucking bitch!"

Both Ginger and Sam were a bit stunned at the outburst, but Ginger started to chuckle.

"You're a little lesbo..." she observed.

"It's not like that, but I'll fuck off. Don't worry," Stokely interjected, clearly affected by the cutting words being thrown around.

She made her exit without even looking over her shoulder or shutting the door behind her.

Ginger was clearly pleased with all the chaos she had caused as Sam and Brigitte exchanged a silent moment of understanding with just their eyes. The door to the room was shut calmly and the lock was turned. Ginger walked between the two of them and went to go sit at the foot of her and Sam's bed.

"So..." she said.

Sam was still all fired up from the added anxiety, "Oh did you wanna keep arguing or-?"

Ginger sounded delighted, "Yeah kind of!"

"Well I don't think anyone wants to hear it," he said with a bitter laugh.

Brigitte left the two of them alone to run out after Stokely, slamming the door shut and creating a vacuum of silence in the room. Ginger was still in the same spot, kicking her feet and twiddling her thumbs as she looked expectantly up at Sam. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he thought carefully about what he wanted to say. Internally he was trying to sever himself from any remorse he could potentially feel.

"So are we parting ways eventually?" he finally asked.

Ginger felt a pang of betrayal slicing through her like a piece of sharp glass. She didn't say anything, just scowled.

"I just need to know if you two are gonna blow. I don't care if that's what your plan was all along, I get it. Girls are just how they are."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ginger interrupted his spiel. "You think I fucking planned this? I'm some kind of evil fucking mastermind? Yep sure Sam! All women are just gold diggers trying to use you. That's why they pick a stoner who can't even get out of his dad's house."

It looked like it was hard for him not to take what she said to heart, but he made one last attempt to appeal to her humanity, "You know I don't remember ever taking the time out of my day to degrade you as much as you do it to me. I get that it's like... a thing or whatever, but you can't do it all the time."

Ginger looked down at her lap, busying her hands by picking at her nail polish. The distance between them that remained was starting to cause her to ache.

Sam continued, not caring if she was even still listening and wanting to get it all out so she could at least think about it. "Like even being infected with this shit, I don't feel this anger towards people. Not you, not your sister... I didn't even want to hurt McCarty, but it came over me because it was about you."

Ginger chewed her lip, tensing up even more now and feeling almost on the verge of tears which disgusted her.

"I know you're pissed off," Sam said gently, "but don't be pissed at me. I'm just trying to help."

The sun was starting to set now in the distance and it was getting dark fast. Brigitte caught up to Stokes and stopped her before she reached the bus stop.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to be friends," Stokes said. "How old are you anyway? And what the fuck are you guys running from? Drug charges? Murder?"

Brigitte suddenly realized that this was where the two of them had to part ways. Too much had been revealed about the trio's circumstances and this was her chance to avoid being found out. She had no reason to trust this random library clerk and Ginger was right to be upset about the invasion of their privacy.

Brigitte took a deep breath. "I wish that I could tell you everything, but I can't. I already said way too much already."

Luckily for both of them the bus arrived and its doors opened.

"You're all fucking insane. Just stay the hell away from me, alright?" Stokes said with finality as she clutched the strap of her backpack and boarded the bus.

Brigitte was left standing out in the cold on the curb as it pulled away.

Chapter Text

Brigitte hadn't slept longer than an hour and it was the listless type of rest, the sleep of soldiers with their boots still on. Every time she drifted past the edge of consciousness, the flash of a nightmare would jolt her awake with a start. Ginger and Sam snored peacefully to her left which was almost amusing considering how they stayed up until 3am bickering. The younger Fitzgerald sighed sharply through her nose as she saw the first few cracks of daylight peeking through the dusty motel's curtains.

Eventually Brigitte decided to haul herself up out of bed. A dull ringing in the back of her mind started to swell as she showered, gasping as if she was being struck or stabbed each time she closed her eyes and saw visions of blood and exposed, warm tissue. Her stomach growled.

She spent a long time looming over the sink, gripping at its porcelain edges until her knuckles went white. Her reflection was slightly more distorted than it was yesterday, her eyes taking on that same feral appearance as her sister's often did and Sam's did on occasion. Her ears were a little more pointed, almost elvish in appearance, but that could just be hidden by her hair for now and if anyone saw, it didn't matter because they were leaving this place that day. She didn't want to leave, remembering Stokely and feeling a sore spot where her companionship made space that would be empty now for the rest of time.
Sam's gentle knocking at the door broke Brigitte out of her self-consuming thoughts. She quickly got dressed and emerged from the bathroom after all the humidity from her shower was long gone and her hair was half dry. She went to go sit at the edge of her bed, looking over at Ginger and seeing her tail poking out over the waistband of the boxers she borrowed from Sam. She shuddered at the thought of her spine elongating and swore she could feel it, but it wasn't as much of a nagging pain as this hunger. The trail mix and jerky would not suffice anymore.

The morning routine unfolded slowly, but steadily, with the older teens not saying much until they had their coffee.

"Would ya lay off it? I've only got three ounces to last us 'til we get to civilization and I make some connections," Sam was saying to Ginger as Brigitte packed her things.

"Sorry. Maybe you shouldn't have fucked my tolerance up," Ginger shot back.

He laughed in disbelief, attempting to dampen her attitude, "Your metabolism is fucked. Not your tolerance."

Rolling her eyes, Ginger turned away from him, noticing Brigitte holding onto the books she borrowed from the library. She came over and offered her little sister the joint which she refused with a sullen look.

"You wanna go say bye to your friend?" Ginger asked in a mischievous tone veiled in fake sympathy.

"Is that your way of kicking me out so you guys can screw one last time?" Brigitte scoffed. "Can't we just get going?"

"I was just trying to be nice..." Ginger snorted contemptuously.

"Brigitte is right," Sam interjected, "We've aroused enough suspicion here and we're not that far from home. I'm surprised no cops have come yet."

Ginger continued packing as her selfishness forced her to mirror her sister's sulking.

The trio was back on the road and they were all pretty hungry. Nothing sounded good, not even the tried and true McDick's was appealing to anyone. It became pretty clear what they had to do and Ginger of course had the perfect solution. It became harder to focus on the page of the book Brigitte was reading as Ginger and Sam discussed where to find a victim. What sounded like an insane suggestion a few days prior, now seemed perfectly rational to Brigitte. She had an ache inside of her and it wasn't for Stokely or any boy or really even for food. She wanted to tear something apart, to let the rage she had pent up for years finally take over.
There was a loud tearing noise as the book in her hands split at the spine, her sharpened claws pulling it apart like a piece of string cheese. Pages fell out onto her lap, now disorganized and lacking their intent, reduced to useless trash. Ginger and Sam both turned around to see what the commotion was and neither of them knew what to make of it. Brigitte started tearing the book to shreds, littering the van with little bits of paper.

"Can you fuckin' NOT?!" Sam yelled, the van swerving as he let go of the wheel for a second to confiscate what remained of the book.

It exploded all over his and Ginger's laps, causing Ginger to snort with laughter at how annoyed he became. Now with the added danger of papers blocking up the pedals, he had to pull over on some shoulder by a wooded area. They were about an hour away from where they'd been resting their heads and still in the boonies. When the vehicle came to a stop and Sam was distracted, Brigitte broke out of the back and sprinted into the brush.

"Fuck sakes..." Ginger muttered, throwing open the passenger side door and abandoning a cigarette she was in the process of lighting.

It wasn't hard to track Brigitte's scent, but she was nowhere to be seen. Ginger stumbled to a halt in a patch of dead leaves and sniffed the air, her brows furrowed together in concern and confusion.

"B?" she called out.

No response.

The smell was coming from that exact spot. Ginger felt herself going a little insane, checking around the area and looking behind a boulder. She circled back around and something wet and red fell on her from above, painting her nose and left eye with its hue. She wiped it with annoyance and saw that it was blood which prompted her to look for where it came from.

Above her, Brigitte sat nestled in the fork of a tree's branches with her face and hands stained with blood. She grasped onto the upper part of a large hare, taking a bite out of its exposed insides.

"Um... Thefuckeryoudoing up there?" Ginger asked.

"I can climb," Brigitte said simply.

"That's great," Ginger said, putting her hands on her hips. "Can you get down?"

Sam was beyond irritated at this point and his bestial urges weren't helping his temper. They were not as far away as he'd have liked them to be and now Ginger had come back without her sister to tell him that she needed rescuing like a cat.

"You've gotta be joking," Sam said in exasperation. "I'm not a firefighter or a fucking lumberjack, I trim hedges."

Ginger folded her arms across her chest. "You're still the only one with this sort of experience. Don't you have something in there? A rope?"

Sam heaved a sigh and went looking in the back of the van, rifling around for a few minutes and coming back empty handed.

The two of them stared each other down before he finally said, "I don't know where the rope is, Ginger."

It occurred to her that it was probably left at the motel after their perverted escapades. Her voice was small, like a kid that was scared of getting in trouble, "Well don't you have more than one rope?"

"Shockingly enough, no! I brought one. Like an idiot!" Sam said with a small laugh as he kept searching for anything that would possibly help. "And it was for emergencies, like this. Not playing around."

"Alright well if she fucking got up there she can figure out how to get down," Ginger said, retrieving a new cigarette and lighting it before marching off back to where her sister was.

Brigitte was dangling her foot down, but too scared to attempt her descent.

"Just fucking jump! You'll heal," Ginger suggested as she approached.

"No! Are you insane?" Brigitte shouted back.

Sam came over to join them, breathing out a small laugh at the sight of her, stuck and helpless. Ginger took a drag of her cigarette and handed it to him, going to stand at the base of the tree.

"Alright land on me then!" she offered, outstretching her arms. "We can both get hurt."

Sam shook his head and walked away, muttering, "I can't watch this..."

Brigitte took a deep breath, looking down at her sister who was making grabby hands and nodding up at her insistently.

"No. That's fuckin' stupid!" Brigitte told her sister, hugging onto the tree nervously.

"Just do it!" Ginger insisted.

Brigitte closed her eyes, letting out the breath and counting down mentally from three. Her full weight slid across the bark and she was in the air for a moment, colliding heavily with the body that waited below. Ginger shrieked as her small frame barely cushioned the fall and took most of the damage. Their heads cracked together and Brigitte swore she felt herself get concussed but couldn't process it by the time one of her knees hit the hard ground. Sam came running over at some point and his voice sounded like it was underwater. He was asking her something, but she couldn't focus on his face.

Ginger was stirring and groaning, too weak to fully shove Brigitte aside. The younger sister scrambled away through the fallen leaves, stumbling over toward the tree and climbing up it to get to her feet. Her dislocated knee was at Sam's eye level.

"Fuck," he hissed, looking away but then almost mournfully gazing back up at Brigitte.

She stared back at him grimly.

"D'you think it'll just go back?" she asked.

"I don't know..." Sam said through gritted teeth.

Ginger slowly sat up, leaves stuck to her hair and eyes shut tight. Her nose started to bleed. Sam looked like he was trying to do something to stop it, but his hands stopped just short of actually touching her face.

"Is what gonna go back?" she asked.

"Uh-um..." Sam stammered out, looking a bit green.

She opened her eyes and saw her sister's mangled leg. She guffawed, laughing a little. "Might grow back pretty fucked."

Brigitte looked down at her knee and quickly away from it. "Alright just get it over with."

Sam's van remained parked on the shoulder a mile or two away, the silent witness to her distant scream that was drowned out by highway traffic. The trio returned, both shouldering Brigitte's weight as she hopped and limped along. Sam placed her into the back of the van with care and gently shut the doors before returning to the driver's seat. Ginger seemed almost unaffected by the ordeal, lighting herself another cigarette as they started off down the road again.

When they finally got to their next "home", Brigitte's concerns about sharing a space with them were the source of her agitation. She tried to sit quietly and read, but the two of their habits combined were a distraction that annoyed her more than usual. When Sam was in the bathroom, Ginger came over to Brigitte's bed, crawling over to her.

"I have an idea," she whispered, wearing a devious grin.

"What?" Brigitte asked, hardly interested but humoring her.

"We take Sam's gun, and we go act like we're lot lizards. Then when we lure the guys here, we rob them and eat them." Ginger was entirely serious and awaiting Brigitte's thoughts.

"That's not gonna work with me," Brigitte said, not thinking herself to be the most desirable and wanting nothing to do with getting close to men.

"Sure it will. You're young, you're pretty. You have all your teeth. You can borrow some clothes," Ginger insisted, smacking her sister lightly with the back of her hand.

Brigitte just stared back at her with a hopeless expression.

Sam came out of the bathroom, looking a little antsy as he paced around. Ginger got up and threw herself back onto the bed on the other side of the room. Brigitte returned her attention to her book, trying not to acknowledge Sam's pacing around.

"Sam?" Ginger said gently.

He immediately froze and turned to her, grunting.

Her demand was simple, "Come here."

Like a dog, he did as she said and attached himself to her like the stage five clinger he was. Brigitte was sick of watching the strange dynamic unfold. Maybe Ginger's plan didn't sound like an entirely bad idea, but still there was no way Brigitte was willing to put herself in danger. She avoided looking at the two of them as they got more tangled up in one another. It felt awfully a lot like Ginger was rubbing him in her face and for some reason it bothered her.

Sam was the one to break the silence after a while, unable to resist his hunger for another second. "Alright. We gotta do something."

"I'm ready when you are," Ginger told him as she ran her fingers through his hair. She glanced over her shoulder at her sister who sighed wearily.

Ginger managed to convince Sam to go along with their plan since he was starving and already past the point of logic himself. Brigitte didn't agree to be bait though, opting to wait with him in the van outside and watch as Ginger lured a couple of men over from the gas station across the way. Sam's stomach was in knots as it growled and he chewed anxiously on his nails. Brigitte looked over at him, observing his mannerisms for a long, silent moment.

"Don't be scared," she tried to tell him in a soft voice.

"I'm not," Sam sad with a snort of laughter, "She can handle herself. She can handle both of them I'm sure. I just don't like the idea of whatever's going on in there and I'm mentally preparing to see it."

Brigitte nodded and flicked her gaze away from him, back to the window of their motel room with the curtains drawn. They gave it a few minutes. Neither of them sensed any danger, but they waited and watched until the men were probably both distracted. Brigitte was armed with a crowbar and Sam was mentally prepared to shoot someone, but he was going to avoid it since it would be pretty loud. The gun would only be used to threaten their prey and move them into position.

He got out and Brigitte followed suit, unlocking the door and apparently not being quick enough because Sam shoved her inside with his full weight and locked the door behind them. Ginger was straddling one of the victims' laps without her shirt on. Sam pointed the barrel of his pistol right at the guy's head and his friend backed away, holding his hands up with his fingers spread and his pants falling down as he was unable to do anything about it.

The hick who was standing looked even more scared than his friend who Ginger was slowly crawling off of. "Look we didn't- we can just leave man...You don't gotta-" he tried to say, but Sam interrupted him.

"Why don't you have a seat right there?" Sam asked, now pointing the gun at him instead.

"Oh shit, I told you she wasn't twenty years old!" one of the guys told the other.

"You said you didn't care!" his companion shot back.

"All the cash you got," Sam recited calmly.

Ginger noticed he had this pitch memorized as she watched the men empty out the American currency onto the motel bed. She collected it and started counting it out, finding that it wasn't much, just under a thousand.

"Sorry, boys. One of you has to go," she sighed. "Which of you has more in his bank account?"

"What?!" they both blurted out in cacophonous unison like a couple of chickens, one on the verge of tears again.

"How much do you need? Maybe we can both give you what you need and nobody has to get hurt?" one of them tried to suggest.

"Hmmno!" Ginger giggled.

Sam hummed in agreement with her, "Yeah see you need an incentive not to fuck us over. I need to make sure you're not gonna run or scream or do something stupid if I walk you over to that ATM."

"Dude I swear to fucking god I don't wanna die, that's enough incentive!" the frightened john who was now clutching his pants to keep them up was saying.

Sam, Brigitte and Ginger all exchanged a silent look of acknowledgement. The trio, now bound by their shared hunger and blood, not just their circumstances, all were able to communicate with one another. They didn't need words. The two men were trembling now, looking between one another and at their captors. There was no time to even think of a potential escape before Sam had gotten himself out of the way and just let the two sisters go to town. It was only fair that Brigitte have her first kill since she was feeling the worst of the effects, after all.

As Sam turned his back to the unfolding scene of bloodshed behind him, he turned the TV on and turned the volume up to conceal any strange noises. There was no way that anyone would be complaining at a dump like this. It would just sound like some strange orgy. The girls were quick enough to go for the throats so there was no screaming and no struggle. There would definitely be a mess, but the room wasn't in their name. They weren't staying at this place, they were staying at a completely different place a few towns over.
Still, however, they'd need to clean up and get as far away from here as possible after this was over. These were all things Sam thought as he drank some whiskey he was almost done with. The ripping and the tearing, the gnawing. It was all just sounds until it was finally time for him to partake. Sam was called over by Ginger whistling when Brigitte decided she'd had enough and was throwing up. She had done as good a job as he had expected, not really getting to any of the good parts.