Disclaimer: I don't own anything and it gets to me every day...

A/N: Please review! Oh and I decided to start naming chapters because it makes it easier for me to remember which is which.

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When Brigitte reached the greenhouse, the sun had found its place in the middle of the sky, with thin clouds placed here and there. She wiped her forehead, and felt a thin layer of sweat and dirt rub off onto her hand. Her boots felt heavy from all the running, and her hair frizzed out over her face. She could feel a couple hot tears push behind her eyes and she quickly blinked them away, adjusting her sunglasses.

As she walked through to the greenhouse towards Sam's door, a figure wrapped in a thick, black scarf ran out of his room, slamming the door behind him (her?). He pushed past her, elbowing her in the side. She fell, hitting the ground.

She felt a curse slip her lips as he exited, and she checked her hands, which were painfully "carpet-burned", before pulling herself up. She made her way to his door, and rapidly knocked on it. Nothing. What had the asshole been doing in there before he had forced past her? Brigitte waited a couple of seconds, knocked again, and heard someone quietly moving inside.

"Sam! Open the door!" The second she finished her words, Sam yanked the door open, exposing a pistol pointed directly into her face. He was a mess of blue and purple. It looked like someone had thrown a blueberry pie in his face after cutting him up with the fork that had planned to eat it with. A large cut bled from underneath his ear and small ones littered his arms and chest, which she could see between the shreds of fabric that remained of his shirt. The cuts had been made with fingernails...pointy fingernails, because they had cut so deep thin lines of crimson were dripping down his arms and off his elbows. She jumped back, shocked at his appearance. And she thought she looked bad.

He threw the pistol down, grimacing, and pushed the door wide in his regular dramatic fashion, gesturing her inside with one arm clenched around his stomach. Brigitte quickly stepped past him, shutting the door behind them.

His room was a wreck of broken furniture and scattered clothes. His drawers had all been flung across the room and his television lay in a broken heap. One of the windows had a large crack in it and bags of pot had been ripped open in all areas of his room, making it smell strongly of blood and weed. Plants had been ripped out of their pots, and soil was everywhere. Sam moved towards his bed, pulled off the remains of his shirt and began rummaging through the leftover drawer. Brigitte gaped.

"What h-happened?" She managed to get out. Sam pulled out a tube of antiseptic from under a pair of khakis and began applying it to his body. Brigitte couldn't help notice the fact that he had some pretty nice pecs for the local drug-dealer. She had trouble tearing her eyes away until she remembered some of Ginger's first symptoms as a lycanthrope: lust. She was changing perhaps even faster than Ginger was, she thought. I have to control myself or I'll lose my head. She tore her eyes away and focused them solely on the antiseptic. I really am growing up just like you hoped I would Mom. "Why do you look like crap?" Why were you pointing a friggin pistol in my face?!

He crossed to his desk, ignoring the large split it had in its side and the missing leg off the chair, and began to collect the pot and putting it back in the baggies.

"A friend of your sister's has developed some hairy qualities. Jason, right? Why didn't you tell me he was a werewolf?" Brigitte noted the precise way he organized the weed, observing them closely before dropping certain kinds in their correctly labeled bags. "Bastard stole my best stash," he grumbled. Brigitte collapsed on the broken chair, tearing off the sunglasses and massaging her temples. If the monkshood wasn't permanent he was as free to hunt and kill as Ginger was. "I was about to blow your head off when you knocked on the door. I thought he was coming back for another round so I pulled out my dad's old pistol."

"At least he wasn't fully formed. He bumped into me after he left your room, his figure looked human enough, though I didn't get a close look." She trembled slightly. One fully formed lycanthrope was bad enough.

"Are you shitting me? I'd be dead if he was. That pimpled, hairy asshole nearly killed me already. I'm thankful that son of a bitch didn't give me internal bleeding." He pulled out a cigarette from behind his blood-streaked ear and lightly expelled a sigh as he put it between his lips.

"Are you okay though? He looked he got you pretty bad." Sam nodded.

"I wouldn't say I'm perfect, but it could have been worse. I was um, organizing certain items and he knocks on the door. I assume it's you and the second I pull it open his ugly face attacks me. I'll admit I'm not one for physical aggression so he beat the fuck out of me pretty quick. I remember him slamming me into the television and then I woke up, my green house trashed, head spinning, and you banging on the door. He wasn't much of a talker, I don't know exactly what he rushed in here for, but I have a suspicion it wasn't just for a few grams of marihuana." He finished, entwined a hand through his hair, rubbing out the cigarette which had been reduced to cinders. A look of realization crossed Brigitte's face.

"He knows about the monkshood", she felt a headache coming along. "He took it." Sam groaned and jumped up, searching frantically around the room, not really looking, but freaking out.

"This is just great. I forgot all about the monkshood! That dickhead bit me all over the place. I'm going to turn into a werewolf all over again! Brigitte, grab my keys from the potted plant next to the door, we're driving to the nearest craft shop-"

"It doesn't matter."

He gave her a questioning look. Brigitte picked up a pocket knife lying underneath a sock, crusted with blood. Brigitte guessed that Jason hadn't grown into his new fangs just yet and brought it along to help subdue Sam. Sam's face twisted into a look of disgust at memory of the knife and she saw him out of the corner of her eye lightly touch a large wound on his side, reminiscing the knife blade slicing into his skin. She let the blade hover over the skin of her arm, and Sam began to make his way towards her, worried.

"Brigitte, you want to explain what your doing?" He was starting to give her the usual what-the-fuck look, and she pressed the knife to her skin, her face remaining solemn as she sliced a small cut on the side of her wrist. A small bubble of blood formed at the very top of it, and bursted, leaving small trickles of blood to roll of her fingers onto the knife held loosely in her hand. She licked a drop of it off, the taste and smell driving her senses insane.

Sam leaned over her shoulder in amazement, meaning to grab the knife away from her, but gaped when the cut slowly folded over itself, healing the flesh until all that remained was a light purple scar. He grabbed her hand and looked it over, astounded, and jolts of electricity shot through her fingertips. Her mind was beginning to cloud over, and she fought it vigorously. She wasn't going to succumb that easily to temptation. She couldn't end up like Ginger, she had to prove she was stronger.

That didn't change the fact that she felt the feeling of want so intense it made her mouth go dry. She was losing a battle with herself, and if Sam hadn't been so transfixed with her hand he might have noticed she was staring at him with hungry eyes, inhuman eyes. She pushed the feelings away, however, and as the sweat began to form on her neck and her fingers began to dance closer towards Sam she took control of her body, flinging herself off the seat, startling Sam (who had still been heavily transfixed with her healed cut) and moving towards the opposite corner of the room, pacing.

Too close.

Too close.

Too close. She had to be careful. In the invisible guidebook to werewolves, the urge to fuck was the first step towards howling at the moon and eating neighborhood pets on a daily basis.

"Sam, where still werewolves," she stated. "The monkshood just holds off the transformation, not every for very long. Look, I'm already growing fingernails. And wanting to fuck you.

Ginger would be so proud.

"I kinda got that from looking at your arm, Captain Fucking Obvious." Sam moved towards the unharmed mini-fridge and pulled out a beer. He offered one to Brigitte and she shook her head, her fingers digging into her shirt. He then crossed towards the bed and landed on it. "Brigitte, what the hell are we going to do? He stole all the monkshood! I can't find a fucking speck of it."

"He probably realized that that was the only semi-antidote he had before he transformed completely", she whispered, contemplating. "What I'm confused about is how he found about the monkshood in the first place? It doesn't make sense...I didn't think he was smart enough to figure out what was in the syringe after I stabbed him with it...well I wasn't really focused on him enough to care, I just wanted to see it it worked.," she confessed.

Sam took another gulp of his beer before setting it on the table and leaning against the wall. Brigitte heard the school bell ring off from a distance and she settled herself in a chair.

"The little prick probably learned about in Biology. I can't think of many plants that turn purple when boiled...well excluding red cabbage, I'd love to see him jab some of that shit up his arm." He looked her. "Jason can use the monkshood as long as he fucking wants, but sooner or late his body will reject it and he'll turn fully into a lycanthrope.We have to think about us.

He moved off the bed and kneeled beside her, his fingers grazing the armrest of the chair. He had a frighteningly familiar look on his face...the same look he had given to her when they were hiding in the pantry, and he was asking her to take the syringe and leave Ginger behind. She hated that look.

"Brigitte," he whispered,"we might have to kill ourselves." Brigitte started at him shocked."I can't become a werewolf, to turn out like Ginger and have no control. She almost killed you without giving a damn you were her sister. We don't have that much time left as it is. Do you want to end up like that?!"

Brigitte shook her head. She didn't want to turn out like Ginger, but killing themselves...that was surrender. Their had to be a way. Sam was right, the limbo they had created between humanism and lycanthropy wouldn't last forever. The barrier between the two was already feeling fuzzier to Brigitte. Her thoughts had been getting into a jumbled mess. She thought perhaps she could always hear the sounds of snotty preps from half a mile away, smell cow feces from a farm in the next county. Nothing was making sense, she was traveling between two frequencies.

"Sam, we can't just give up. We'll find a way." She tried to sound encouraging, but her voice feel flat. Sam only nodded slightly at her words, fixated with the cuts on his body, which had began to heal at a past only a tad slower than Brigitte's, solemnly staring at the thin strands of dark fur that covered them. An awkward silence filled the room.

"Sam, is it okay if I sleep in the chair?" he nodded, still focused on the fur beginning to creep up on him. He finally looked up after a couple more seconds of silence. An embarrassed look crept onto his face, turning it a shade of red. Brigitte thought it was almost comical until she realized he was looking at her.

"Brigitte? Uh..."She gestured him to continued, he seemed to have trouble grasping the words. "Your bleeding." She looked down and sure enough, red drops were dripping from underneath her skirt. She was lucky she had all those pads she had taken from home before she left. She was sure she was sharing his tomato look until she noticed something...

"Uh...Sam?"

"What?"

"Your bleeding too." He looked down.

"Aw fuck."