Brigitte is a very troubled soul. And it seems like the universe conspires to keep her that way.


The diner was always empty this late. Not that she'd ever seen it at capacity for anything, since its patrons were mostly a few locals with nowhere better to go, or whoever found themselves stopping off in this spit of a town on the way to somewhere else.

She'd long stopped remembering the names of these places. 'Moosetown' always came to mind, when she looked at them. This one was close to the northern coast, off Hudson Bay.

Brigitte liked the evenings though, when it was quiet. All she had to think about was cleaning the place down. And Hoskins, the owner, tended to leave her to it, which suited her.

It wasn't that he was a bastard, he was quite an affable old thing. Kind, patient, friendly to a fault, but she actually found that harder to deal with.

She didn't have a lot of experience with 'friendly'.

She rolled up one of the sleeves of her black work shirt and pulled her hair back into an untidy ponytail. Brigitte left her other arm covered, eyeing it for a moment. Didn't want to think about questions people might ask if they saw the scars running up her arm from her wrist.

She began wiping down the counter.

Hoskin's tinny radio could be heard from his office, out back. She found herself humming along.

Down by old house
Over the bridge
Down through the dark streets
Where we used to live"

Brigitte's guiltiest secret, her darkest truth in her heart of hearts, something she could never have told Ginger now, or all those years ago, lest admit she had become some sort of 'traitor to the cause', was that she was growing to like The Waterboys.

Two months of old Hoskin's taste in music would do that to you, she figured.

They'd made it through another moon. It had been rough again, by the skin of their teeth, in Ginger's case. But there hadn't been a…repeat of the last time.

Ginger never even brought it up. So neither did Brigitte. But she couldn't convince herself her older sister has just…forgotten it. Every once in a while she'd catch Ginger looking at her. Never said anything. Just…looks. Enough to make Brigitte slightly uneasy.

"You and I stand like strangers
In our Hokusai clothes
Like we come from some strange country
That nobody else knows"

Brigitte paused, leaning on the counter and drumming her fingers along. It would be difficult for them to be much stranger to one another, now. And Bailey Downs seemed like a world away.

She never thought she'd miss that life, flawed as it was.

Young Brigitte didn't know what she really wanted from life, but she knew it wasn't in Bailey Downs. What would she have made of…whoever she was now?

She wiped down the last of the counter and went for the broom. Brigitte began to whistle along with the song, as the trumpet picked up.

She loved moments like this. Nobody around. Nothing to think about. Like running on auto-pilot, as she swept the floor, moving along with the music. Everything seemed to fade away into the background.

It was almost cathartic. Her ultimate high. Her most frivolous leisure.

Not thinking.

"I do believe you're smilin', Brigitte."

She jumped, snapping out of her reverie, biting down the instinct that was telling her to break for the door and forced herself to face Mr Hoskins, who'd come out of his office.

He was standing behind the counter, arms crossed over his slightly overweight stomach. She thought he was in his fifties, though she'd never asked. Had hair starting to grey in patches, and a rough-shaven smattering of a beard.

"Don't mind me." He grinned, putting the till back together.

"Sorry. Got a bit carried away." She managed.

"You could dance on the tables f'r all I care, long as they're clean afterwards." He chuckled. "You've got a lovely smile, if you don't mind me sayin' so. Should do it more often."

Brigitte tried not to flinch.

He meant well, she was pretty sure of that. Probably.

But in his own sick, twisted fucking way, so had Tyler.

"See... you smile at the world, and the world will smile right back at you."

And then she'd let have what he wanted, let him grope and paw at her body. To get what she wanted, the monkshood she needed.

Everybody wanted something.

Still made her stomach turn.

"If you say so." Brigitte forced what she hoped was more smile than grimace.

And then she'd let him die, all-but fed him to Ginger on a silver platter, because Ghost had played her. Because she was an idiot.

Ghost had tried to use her to get what she wanted.

"Good work tonight, Brigitte." Hoskins waved her over with a smile, counting out a series of notes. "Same time tomorrow?"

What would Hoskins want? The dark thought bubbled up before she could stop it.

"Not going anywhere yet, thanks." She replied, taking the money and pocketing it. "Night Mr Hoskins." She said over her shoulder, undoing her ponytail and pulling on her coat, stepping outside.

The cold hit her like a wall as soon as the door swung shut behind her. She pulled her fraying black beanie over her head, a size or two too big.

Winter would be setting in soon.

She'd found that another useful bit of information. How she registered the cold. The longer she went without monkshood, or the closer to the full moon she got, the less she felt it.

Feel the cold, feel human. It was almost worth the discomfort.

She glanced upward. The sky was pretty clear out here, the town wasn't very big. Moon was comfortingly thin.

It still annoyed her, that she'd been so intent on focusing on the curse as some kind of infection, or treatable disease that she'd just ignored the possibility…

"Do you turn at the full moon?" Ghost asked, curiously.

"You watch too many horror movies." Brigitte shook her head, dismissively.

Maybe Brigitte just hadn't watched enough. It was kind of galling that Ghost, of all people, had stumbled onto the answer before she had.

Although, being trapped in rehab, without monkshood, inevitably crawling toward her transformation, surrounded by people she could only think of as "potential lunch", her mind had been pretty occupied.

"What are you standing around for? It's freezin' out here."

"Ginger?" She jumped, turning to see her sister huddled against the wall by the corner, hunched up in her coat and scarf. "What are you doing?" She asked, only partly suspicious.

"Can't I come and walk my sister home?" She grinned over the scarf covering half her face.

Brigitte frowned, suddenly more suspicious.

"Don't look at me like that." Ginger whined. "I didn't eat anybody. Or their dogs." She added, as if it was an afterthought.

"Not funny."

"It is a bit."

"…whatever." Brigitte shot her a sour look and moved past, eliciting a surprised noise from Ginger as she hurried after her.

She didn't protest when Ginger hooked her arm through her own, leaning into her as they walked on down the now dark, windy streets.

Brigitte didn't ask again what brought her out. She assumed Ginger either wanted something, or was up to something.

Sometimes it seemed like it wasn't enough that everybody wanted something, they all wanted something from her specifically. Sometimes she felt like she was fated to be pulled back and forth based on the wants and desires of others. Stuck forever as the victim.

Pamela had wanted her to grow up and apart from Ginger. Her school had wanted her to fit in. Her peers had wanted her to fuck off. Sam had wanted her to a meekly follow his lead. Tyler wanted her submission. Alice wanted her gratitude. Ghost wanted her as a tool.

Ginger wanted the most of all. Her love. Her forgiveness. Her respect. Her sympathy. Her patience.

Her life.

There had always been something else. There probably always would be. The thing was, Brigitte didn't know what she'd do when Ginger asked again for something she couldn't…or wouldn't give.

The last time it happened, Ginger gave in to the change, the curse, and killed three innocent people. Including Sam.

"It's getting pretty cold, why don't we hurry up?" Ginger asked, suddenly, breaking what for Brigitte had been an acceptable silence.

"I'm good." Brigitte sighed, yawning.

"But…but…" Ginger tugged on her arm, with noticeably more insistence. "You work so hard, you might…get ill."

Brigitte stopped dead in her tracks, bringing her sister to a stumbling halt too.

"Okay, what's going on?" Brigitte frowned, crossing her arms.

"Nothing." Ginger replied, too quickly.

"Ginger, if you've done-" Brigitte stepped forward, feeling her temper start to fray.

"I didn't-" Ginger argued, then seemed to cut herself off, as her eyes widened and she seemed to notice something behind her.

Brigitte glowered at her a moment longer, then turned around.

There was…something…squatting, all hunched up on the pavement further down the street. It's shoulders were rising and falling noticeably, and she could hear it breathing, panting almost. Ragged and heavy.

"Shit." She heard Ginger hiss from her shoulder.

Brigitte narrowed her eyes, trying to focus better in the poorly-lit street. It looked…sort of…like a person. But they looked…wrong. Their posture, stature wasn't right.

"Fff…fff-…" The…person loped closer, carefully. Their voice was a kind of growl, a rumbling snarl. Like they were having trouble speaking.

She saw more in the low light of a streetlamp across the road. Patches of fur, wiry hair. Exposed, scarred skin. Claws. Bulgy, muscled arms. Different sizes. Couldn't make out a face, just glowing, uneven eyes. A hint of fangs.

"Ginger?" Brigitte prompted.

"Let's go." Ginger pulled at her arm.

Brigitte half-followed, half-allowed her sister to drag her along. They began to put some distance between them and the figure, but not before she heard it one last time.

"Ffff…Fffiitttzzzzrrgghh." It snarled. "Fffiiittzzz."

Brigitte stared, eyes wide.

"Jason? Ginger, is that Jason?" She managed.

"Yes, now get your ass in gear!" Ginger snapped, tugging on her arm again.

They rounded the next corner at a run, the sound of a broken howl shattering the still night air as the lonely creature behind.

"What the fuck happened to him?" Brigitte yelled. "I thought you said you'd…killed him!"

They were back in their motel room. Not arguing, Brigitte told herself, just…talking it out. Only after she'd piled all the moveable furniture she could find in front of the door as a barricade…again.

"Well you thought you'd killed me!" Ginger retorted. "Twice!"

"Why does he look so…so…" Brigitte started, groping for a word. "…so…fucked?!" She managed, giving up.

"Jeez, B, you weren't exactly a pretty picture from what little I remember at Ghost's place." Ginger smirked, trying to play it off.

"Can you try and focus for just one minute." Brigitte punctuated each word, through gritted teeth, turning sharply on her sister.

Ginger suddenly seemed uncomfortable. She sat down on their bed-

-the bed, Brigitte mentally corrected herself.

Ginger clasped her hands together in front of her, glancing at the floor, the ceiling, the walls, everywhere but her.

"I don't really know for sure, y'know? But…I mean, it's been three years, B, maybe he's gone feral or something?"

"Feral." Brigitte echoed, thinking about how…animalistic Jason had looked, sounded. "Great." She sighed, dropping down on the bed beside her sister. She suddenly felt tired.

"Brigitte-" Ginger began.

"How did you know? You knew he was here, that's why you came out." Brigitte glanced sidelong at Ginger.

"I…uh…felt him. Kinda. Instinct thing maybe. Hairs on the back of your neck and all that." Ginger explained, smiling awkwardly. "Had to make sure you were safe."

Brigitte managed part of a smile.

"Sounds about right." Brigitte nodded, wryly. "I got an itch sometimes whenever my 'stalker' turned up. Used to think it was just Jason, but now I guess now it was only when it was you."

Ginger made a noise at the back of her throat that might have been confirmation.

"He's still following me isn't he?" Brigitte went on.

"Yeah." Ginger nodded. "He wants to, like, mate with-"

"I got that, thanks." Brigitte waved her off, not wanting to think too much about it. "Can you…feel me?"

Ginger had a funny look on her face for a second, before Brigitte replayed her words in her head and winced.

"Oh grow up." Brigitte shook her head, irritably, suddenly assailed by a whole new set of unwanted mental images.

"You said it, B." Ginger sniggered, shouldering her playfully.

"I meant-" She reiterated.

"I don't know, you sounded pretty sure." Ginger turned so she was facing her more.

"Look, I was just-" Brigitte slid back a bit, suddenly wary as Ginger grinned.

"-you just wanted your big sister to cheer you up." Ginger put on a sickeningly coy, teasing expression as she moved closer.

"I did not." Brigitte retorted, sliding back again. She felt her heart rate quicken.

"Did too." Ginger made pinching motions with her fingers.

"Ginger." Brigitte warned, grasping for severity as she lurched back into the middle of the bed.

"Brigitte." Ginger beamed, following.

"Ginger!" She half-wailed.

"Give it up, B!" Ginger laughed, then pounced on her.

Brigitte had about a second to replay all their 'fights' and 'scraps' as kids, growing up. Ginger always won.

Of course, they were a lot smaller back then, too.

Brigitte yelped as Ginger crashed into her and they got all tangled up in one another. The bed creaked, bounced, and the momentum rolled them straight over the other side. Brigitte flailed to grab something, only managing to pull the bedsheets off as they tumbled on, resulting in them being wrapped up haphazardly in a heap of limbs and covers on the floor.

Brigitte opened one eye, hesitantly. Ginger was on top of her. Their faces were close together. Too close.

"I think I win again." Ginger smirked. "Still got it." She glanced down at Brigitte. Their heavy breathing mingled together.

We can't fight what's in us, B.

"True. The only time I ever seem to win is when I have to kill you." Brigitte quipped, sarcastically.

I'm not like you, Ginger...I'm stronger.

Ginger groaned, rolling off her and onto the floor beside her. Still close.

"Such a downer." She chuckled. "You used to be fun." She slid an arm over her stomach, pulling her closer.

Oh really? That's not how I remember you the first fifteen years of your life.

"I…" Brigitte started, caught between the unbidden memory of her dead sister and the one now in front of her.

It's how I remember the last fifteen minutes of yours.

Ginger's expression softened a little. She looked at her, searchingly, like she was thinking about something.

"You look at me sometimes like I'm somebody else."

"You were." Brigitte replied. "You were a killer. You were dead. You were my nightmare. My accuser. My punishment. My predator." She finished.

Ginger exhaled. Brigitte tried not to flinch as Ginger reached out and pulled strands of her out of her eyes, tucking them behind her ear.

"I can't defend myself against things I didn't say or do, B."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you, before all this. Before I lost control." She went on. "Maybe things would be different if I had."

"Maybe not." Brigitte shrugged.

"You don't trust me." Ginger said, quietly.

Brigitte held her sister's gaze, unflinching.

"You do everything. You work, you got this place, you handle the monkshood, you handle the doses and injections, you cut yourself up every night for those notes of yours…"

"I have to." Brigitte replied.

"But you don't trust me, Brigitte."

Brigitte chewed her lip.

"I want to."

She was surprised to see that Ginger didn't seem surprised at her response. Three years ago, Ginger would have thrown a fit.

"I had another dream, last week, during the full moon." Ginger said, with a glazed look in her eyes.

"About…those other sisters?" Brigitte asked, inwardly grateful for the change of subject.

"You might see them if you stopped taking the monkshood. Even just once."

"Not happening." Brigitte shook her head. "What happened?" She slid her arm over Ginger's hip, mimicking her sister's action.

"Still on see bits and pieces. There was some old fort, men there trapped and surrounded by werewolves in the woods. Ginger…she…was bitten. They tried to kill her, then kicked her out." Ginger's eyes found hers. "Brigitte chose to go with her. Even knowing her sister was dangerous, knowing she might die out there."

"You want to know if I'd do the same? Ginger, I infected myself with your blood to try and get through to you, and look what happened. I gave up everything, and-"

"I fucked up." Ginger interrupted. "I know that, but that's not what I wanted to know. I wanted to know what she did differently, the other Ginger. I want to understand what she knew, what she did to have her sister trust her so much." She went on, insistently.

"Ginger…" Brigitte began, doubtfully.

Ginger seemed to place a lot of faith in these dreams she'd been telling her about. Brigitte still wasn't sure what to make of it, whether they were even really real. She didn't think Ginger was making them up, but she wasn't convinced they weren't just…some sort of product of her imagination.

Like Ginger had been, for her.

"If this is really my second chance, then actually give me a chance, B." Ginger sat up, and clambered to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Brigitte scrambled up after her. "Ginger?"

Ginger was already at the door, pulling away the furniture.

"I can lead him away. It'll work."

"Ginger!" Brigitte grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

"I'm your big sister, I'm supposed to help you, not the other way around!" Ginger put her hands on her shoulders, staring at her.

"You don't prove a thing to me by being an idiot!" Brigitte argued. "He's following me."

"I just want you to trust me!"

They stared one another down, by the door.

Everybody wanted something.

Brigitte frowned, thinking.

What did she want?

She wanted her sister back. She wanted to trust her, to be able to talk to her, to rely on her again.

Half of an idea formed in the tired core of her brain.

Maybe it was time for her to be the predator, for once.

"What day is it tomorrow?" Brigitte asked.

She paced back and forth, in the empty alley. There was barely any light. Shadowed on either side by the taller buildings.

Behind her was a large, pretty full dumpster. She'd stacked a few boxes in front of it. Above it was an old, rusty metal stairwell, built onto the side of the building. No way out but the way she came in.

Technically.

Her eye strayed to the bent metal pipe she leaned on the wall beside her, close enough to reach if she was fast. She hoped she was fast.

She shivered. A mix of the cold, her rising fear and the adrenaline she was mostly running on now.

A shadow moved at the far end of the alley. A hunched figure ambled into view.

Jason.

"McCardy!"

"Ffffrrittzz." It growled, loping toward her.

Brigitte fought the urge to run, fought to hold her ground.

Jason came closer, gradually getting quicker.

"Fffffiittzzrrggh." He snarled again, closing in.

Brigitte backed up a step, closer to the dumpster.

Jason paused. Sniffed at the air. The tension was so thick she could have cut it with a knife. If he could sense Ginger…

"You only ever could think with your dick." Brigitte sniggered.

Jason's attention snapped back to her.

"Bbrrrriittch." He growled.

"Ginger thought you were a dead lay."

Jason threw back his head and howled, raw and jagged, then he leapt for her.

Brigitte grabbed the pipe and lashed out with it, smashing it into his head.

She had seconds.

Tossing it aside, she spun around, tore up the haphazard pile of boxes and over into the dumpster, fighting her way through its unspeakable contents. She could hear Jason recover quickly behind her, already clambering up the side after her.

She turned, seeing his misshapen form struggling through, getting closer. His fangs bared, eyes wild and hungry.

"Ginger!" She yelled.

From above, an old metal ladder shot down and crashed with a sickening crunch into Jason, forcing him down through the trash and out of view. Brigitte scrabbled for the ladder and hauled herself up and free. Ginger's hand shot down and she grabbed it, allowing her sister to pull her up onto the walkway.

Together they pulled the ladder up again quickly, and kicked the lid of the dumpster down, then dropped the heavy ladder on top of it, trapping Jason inside.

The two of them made their way carefully back to street level, stopping to look at the dumpster.

"Think it killed him? That ladder hit him pretty hard." Brigitte asked, though she had her doubts, given Ginger's presence beside her.

"Probably not."

"They should pick it up in an hour or two. He'll be fuck knows where by morning." She grinned, weakly.

"Out of our hair." Ginger replied.

"For a while, at least." Brigitte nodded.

"Such a downer." Ginger sighed, teasingly.

"Look who I grew up with." Brigitte shrugged, elbowing her.

Ginger elbowed her back.

They shared a look. Ginger half-smiled. Brigitte tried to.

"I think I'm ready for sleep, now." Brigitte yawned, eventually.

"Oh no, not like that you aren't. Not in our bed."

Our bed. The thought hung in her mind for a fleeting moment.

"It's late." Brigitte argued.

"You smell like…like…fuck, B. You're hitting the shower first." Ginger hooked her arm and led them out of the alley.

"I'm tired." Brigitte grumbled.

"And lycanthropy has left me with a keen sense of smell."

"That's the last time I trust you." Brigitte glowered.

"As long as you take a shower, so be it." Ginger smirked. "Maybe I'll help." She added.

"Help." Brigitte scowled, shooting her a look.

More images. More thoughts. Ginger. Brigitte. Shower. Together.

Too tired for this now.

"I could hose you down." Ginger sniggered.

Brigitte snorted, leaning into her sister slightly as they made their way home. Their fingers threaded together, almost out of habit.

She tried not to linger on just why, for that moment, she'd really, really wanted that shower.