"Brigitte Snaps Back"
Author's Note: This will be, barring unforeseen events, my final Ginger Snaps fanfic. The only thing I've ever wanted to do is the only thing I've never allowed myself to do, and this is for me, more than anything else... and for Brigitte and Sam. As it was with all of my other (admittedly numerous) Ginger Snaps fanfics, this one incorporates bits and pieces of Karen Walton's original script into it and takes some parts of the revised script, as well as the deleted scenes, into account.
One thing I do change, however, is how fast the virus progresses, which, in the span of the story, actually just interprets the canon differently, rather than altering it completely for the sake of convenience.
Warnings include: violence, swearing, self-harm, sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. Okay, maybe not rock'n'roll, unless you catch some of the references I seem to write in without even thinking about it.
Prologue
(Dead in the Scene)
The warm mass underneath her expands with a ragged breath that sends small reverberations through the thick skin; it transfers the difficulty of breathing, through touch, to her. The chest contracts, deflating underneath, as the breath is released, echoing hollow in the dark.
She feels a tear slide down her cheek and onto the skin below, which expands once more, this time with a slighter, almost relaxed breath. Almost as if she (no. that's not her underneath. That's not her, it can't be her, it just can't) is now content, in a way she has never been.
Momentarily, she wishes for the same contentment, the same serenity that her sister, more or less, has found in this one breath.
No, she wants to say, no. Don't go. I need you, I still need you so much, you can't leave me alone out here, I would never I would never do that to you!
She feels the breath release, dispersing into the quiet of the room in the basement, and with it relinquishing the last bit of the intangible, fragile, unknown thing that others called life. Brigitte feels it slip out of what once was her sister.
The breaths cease.
Brigitte finds herself wondering what she is going to do with all this silence. The ambient hum of the house echoes in small amounts through the corridors, and Brigitte can hear her own pulse against the thick hide of the lycanthrope, but the rest is still, and she doesn't know what to do with any of it.
She takes in a breath, wondering if she, too, can breathe it out and let it end right there.
A gasp and a breath, from the hallway.
From the hallway.
Brigitte lifts her head, alert. She can see the trail of blood on the floor, illuminated by the pale lights of her room, but that is it. She can't see through the door, but she can hear ragged gasps coming from the hallway.
The thought pushes all others away. Brigitte stands up, steps over the creature's carcass and gets to the door. She hesitates, lingers in the threshold, shifting, unable to take that step into the darkness beyond the relative safety of her room.
Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. A struggle for more breath, for more life, and can she hope? Can she hope to hope?
Her voice breaks as she speaks at the darkness.
"S-Sam?"
