Deanna was 11 when she had her first period. It came as a very unpleasant surprise, but unlike what she'd heard, it didn't hurt, just felt really uncomfortable. It was definitely weird bleeding from down there instead of... well, instead of practically anywhere else. When John found out, courtesy of a few stained jeans, he averted his eyes but tossed her a couple extra dollars every month (at least, when he remembered to.) Sammy asked questions, but like when he had found out about their real lifestyle, Deanna had no idea how to explain this to him. She didn't even get what this was. She briefly considered asking John about it, but she had a feeling the experience would be very uncomfortable. Maybe if Mom was... No, Deanna wouldn't go there. That left her with the only other adult she trusted both with her life, and to know the answer to every single thing ever. Uncle Bobby.

She was 12 when men started catcalling her on the short distance from the motel to the nearest convenience store. She knew that what they were shouting at her weren't compliments, but she showed nothing. Monsters are much worse than humans, she told herself. On the couple of hunts John had been forced to drag her into, her total kill count was 5. Granted, 4 of those were salt and burns, and the 5th was more of her managing to sink a blade soaked in dead man's blood in a vampire's thigh before John could chop off its head, but still. Hunting was hard, she'd never came out unscathed, and she learned something new every single time. She was bigger, stronger, and way more experienced than anyone her age.

From the safety of the suspiciously stained glass of the convenience store, Deanna watched the men out of the corner of her eye. A hooker walked up to them, and after an auction with blood money, made off with one of the men. It was barely something new to her so she turned her attention to helping herself to some smaller treats in between their normal supplies.

She was so distracted when she left the store that she passed close enough to one of the men for him to reach out and cop a feel on her not even there butt. She yelped and tried to run, only to bump into one of his friends. Then she was surrounded, and suddenly she was face to face with that vampire again: scared, helpless, and very, very small. A car pulled up to the store and the circle around her loosened. Deanna saw her chance and took off like a bullet. She was crying by the time she got to the motel room. When she tried to tell John what happened, he told her that humans were easier to handle because anything could kill them; and besides, she had her knife on her, so what was the problem? Then he gave her a gun- a Colt- and told her she was too old to cry. Sammy asked about it late that night when John had passed out on the couch, but she brushed him off, ashamed of the actions she had and had not taken.

Deanna was 13 when John left abruptly with a couple of other hunters to hunt down a nest of vampires. He shoved them into the nearest motel with some cash. Three days after, John checked in with some bad news. Apparently, they got a lead on an even bigger nest several towns over, so he'd take a while longer. By then, Deanna had already cut down to two meals per day for her since it didn't take her long to realize what they had wouldn't last. She tried to tell John this and got a dial tone as a reply. While she counted their remaining cash, she made a call to Uncle Bobby only to get his voicemail. As per protocol, she left a message regarding their situation, knowing full well that if he was also on a hunt, it might be a day or two before he'd get the message, then another day before he could get there.

The problem staring her right in the face, was that if she didn't do something soon, they wouldn't make it past tomorrow. So she did the only thing she knew how and cut down again on her meals so that Sammy might still eat for two more days. Yet it still wasn't enough. What if no one could get to them in time? She couldn't let Sammy starve. She needed another option.

Poker was a no-no. The last time she played, she got caught by the guy she tried to trick, and nearly got a concussion. Pool was even worse. The lighter sticks were easier for her to handle, but never had much give, which cost her- which cost John- a lot of money. Money she had yet to earn back. And darts? The top of her head was barely level with the bottom of the board.

Then the answer came to her like a slap in the face. She was appalled that she even thought about it, but she thought of the wads of cash men gave hookers before the... before they did it. Maybe she could run off with it. She didn't even have to do anything. But as a precaution, she would bring her knife with her. This was for Sammy. Sure, she could starve herself for him. She'd done that plenty times before. But she didn't like the weak feeling starvation brought. She loathed the thought of some monster suddenly bursting in and snatching Sammy up. Anyway, she'd be fine. Right?

At around 2 the next morning, a bruised and battered Deanna shimmied into their motel room through the bathroom window where she took a shower and tried to clean up best she could. But no matter how much soap she used, no matter how much she scrubbed, her skin still crawled. She could feel it, right there. She'd never be the same again. Deanna touched the amulet Sammy gave her that cold Christmas years ago. This is all for Sammy, she reminded herself. Still, she hated herself for thinking that this was a good idea. Because maybe it had worked, and maybe she managed to score much, much more than hustling pool or poker could get her, but considering everything else... Deanna decided not to think about it. She could lock it away, just like she locked away every monster, ghost, and bump in the night she knew existed. This was just another bad memory. Another nightmare.

It was three days later when Bobby returned her call, and yet another when John came back. He was exhausted, she could tell, but the first thing he did was glance at their food on the table and tell her she was lucky to have even gotten more than she started with. No doubt Uncle Bobby relayed what she told him over the phone- that she hustled some poker with a couple of dumbasses. No one could know the truth. And by the graces of whatever was in the sky, she'd never have to do it again.

Barely a month passed by when John tossed them into another motel and Deanna found herself wishing for the millionth time that she could hustle poker better.

In which Deanna will do literally anything just for Sam.

I hope you enjoyed!
-Poisonous