Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own the Ginger Snaps movies, nor any of the content or character therewithin.

Here it is folks—straight from my unsatisfied imagination to your computers—my Tyler/Brigitte fic, if you can even call it that. I'm not a big shipper, but I definitely saw potential in their relationship. Plus, as I said in the author's note for "Comfortable," the ending of Unleashed makes me sad. Brigitte deserves better than to end up in Ghost's basement, even if her only other alternative is a sexually charged road trip with our favorite Happier Times orderly ;) After all, that's what the movie is about—sex and violence and the odd cravings Brigitte struggles with. I'm attempting to explore that a little deeper here.

I'm female, so writing from a male PoV isn't particularly easy. I attempted to do Tyler justice, but if anything about his character and dialogue seems way out of place, please tell me. I'd like to make it work.

I'm also from the US, so please excuse my Canadian geography and conversions to the metric system. I tried. I really did. Online maps and high school algebra only get you so far.

A few final notes, detailing my version of the Ginger Snaps Universe: (Not everything will agree with what is common knowledge of the movies. I had to tweak some things to make them work.)

Bailey Downs is located in suburban British Columbia.

Happier Times is located about an hour north of Edmonton, Alberta.

Time line is as follows:

October 2000: The events of Ginger Snaps take place.

Early Spring 2003: The events of Unleashed take place and continue up until the point where Tyler gives Brigitte the first injection in her room. After that it diverges into my storyline.

I'm using the headings Past and Present—Past indicates flashbacks to the time during which Brigitte is in Happier Times (or before that), while Present indicates time after the escape. Both progress in chronological order from their first sections.

Enjoy! And please, please review. I feel like writing this was not a waste of my time, so let me know that reading it was not a waste of yours. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.


Brigitte leaned her head against the car window, watching the white line along the road stream by in a continuous blur that might have made a normal person's head spin. Every so often there was a gap in the paint, signaling an intersecting road—and Brigitte's mind recorded these chinks in the chain resolutely—eleven, twelve, thirteen—trying to avoid eye contact with her driver. She did not look out the windshield to see where they were going; she merely trained her eyes to the white line, wishing she had thought things through before jumping willingly into a car with Tyler, the oversexed orderly from Happier Times.

He reached over to change the radio station, and didn't bother to ask her opinion until after settling on a grungy ballad rife with guitar solos.

"Is this okay?" he questioned, glancing at the girl he was transporting quickly before refocusing on the road ahead. She did not respond—detailing her preferred musical selections wouldn't have made much of a difference either way.

His fingers tapped the steering wheel along to the drumbeats until the song ended and the news came on. Perking up, Brigitte disengaged from her hypnotic activity to screen for mentions of escapees of any kind. Tyler, however, upon noticing the switch to commentary, hit the search button and let the radio scan for another station with music.

She rolled her eyes as he hummed along with the new song, letting her head bump against the glass before settling back against the window—nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…

"So…Brigitte…" he finally said, "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. Just drive," she muttered. Without removing her gaze from the white line, she added, "As far away as possible."

Tyler sighed, indicating his disapproval, so she clarified her request.

"Look, just get me into Saskatchewan—drive five feet across the province border and leave me in the dust for all I care."

"Brigitte," Tyler said, "that's eighty kilometers. Another hour's drive. I mean, you don't even have money for gas."

"Look, I'll give you whatever the fuck you want—when we get across the border," she spat. "Just drive the fucking car."

Tyler, unused to anyone ordering him around with such contempt, smirked.

"Fine," he said, again eyeing the petite form in his passenger seat, curled against the door as far away from him as she could possibly get, "But don't think I won't take you up on that offer."

He watched her shoulders tense as she turned to look at him for the first time since they had pealed away from the Happier Times facility an hour before. Her hostile response was understandable, given her misplaced words and his willingness to milk them for all they were worth, but her odd eyes, reflecting oncoming headlights most unnaturally, made Tyler nervous. Days ago, the irises had been a sickly sort of green, but now, in the waning light, her glare was almost golden.

As Brigitte turned back to the window, Tyler's confusion dissipated and got lost in a million other thoughts. It wasn't the driving that bothered him—he spent hours cruising around on his days off, letting his mind wander where it would. Nor did her inability to reimburse him for his trouble make any difference. They had made a bargain, fair and square: get her out and she'd find some way to compensate him. Tyler wondered what exactly she would do when confronted with keeping her promise. He had read her wrong before—and her ability to catch him off guard, more than his attraction to her tiny girlish figure, intrigued him. Tyler tried to conjure thoughts of Brigitte, naked and trembling and most importantly, at his mercy, but had difficulty picturing her as anything but the wild-eyed young woman beside him. He settled back into the seat, changing the station again to prepare for another hour of stony silence. The highway was clear for miles ahead, so he pressed his foot to the pedal, going from ninety-five to one-twenty in a few seconds and making it more difficult for his aloof passenger to watch the road pass beneath them.