A/N: PersonallyI don't think Snaps universe werewolves are able to revert back to a human form after they've been fully transformed. It's not referred to as the curse for nothing you know? However since the chances of a serious Ginger/Jason pairing ever happening unless they were werewolves I figured bending the rules was justified this time. Both characters don't get nearly enough love that they should. It's always B who gets the fics.
1. Baby's First Coffin
Her faith was wounded and so was her body. If she were to die here, it wouldn't matter that the faith was gone; that the bond had been severed in the most violent way possible. If she died it would almost be like fulfilling that childhood promise they'd made, hands together as one. Out by sixteen or dead in the scene. Oh sweet fucking irony.
Then again if she were to live then it'd be a whole other story…
Her almost-chuckle became a grimace and a painful gasp followed it quickly. It'd been hours since she'd been sober enough to get up and drag herself away from her own murder scene: Up the stairs, out of the back door, through that crack in the neighbour's fence and then the woods. There'd been barely any thought left behind her actions then. A primal instinct had guided her rather than a well crafted plan. Stay in the dark, avoid the light, avoid the people – Such precautions were almost programmed to her spine. So she'd dragged herself forwards, let the rough ground scrape off skin and drain her strength while the survival instinct had slowly helped her through the horror and doom.
She'd stopped upon reaching a tree in the distance, a roof of leaves covering her from the gray rain above and her grotesque form keeping her safe for the time being. Just breathe, live for another thirty seconds, then another and another and slowly pull through this. Only some unspoken desire had slowly dissolved her form. Hair had fallen, the tail shrunk, her paws regained the original shape and everything else had eventually fallen into place as well leaving her defenceless and weak.
So there she lay on the ground naked and shivering, unable to move or protect herself should the need arise. Her hair was gone, her head bald and sharp. There was a fucking hole in her mid-section and it kept pouring out everything. She leaked sense, blood, and courage onto the ground. She looked so pathetic while wearing this dirty skin, and a beaten expression. She'd tried eating while still a bit stronger. The things she'd craved before were like poison when she tried to swallow raw meat, or entrails. They came up as quick as when she'd first tried consuming them. There wasn't a trace of the beast in her now; it was dormant and sated for awhile. It'd left behind a human that barely stood a chance at survival.
Ginger didn't know if survival was even an option. Moving around hurt more than anything, smeared her eyes in tainted tears and helped achieve nothing. She'd already lain here for days, albeit protected by her werewolf physique at first. She wouldn't hold on for much longer and she knew it. This meant that her sister would get away with murder, live through it to see another day. It had to be punishment enough, because if it wasn't how could she lay here and even consider dying? No, it had to be punishment enough.
She resisted the pain enough to pull her legs against her stomach. It was so fucking cold here.
There was a sudden change in the air; a new scent appeared and overwhelmed her enhanced senses quickly. Her breathing became more rapid, her muscles prepared for anything and her brain prepared for handling the pain that would follow from such movement. As the scent grew stronger she started hearing steps against the soft ground. The noises around her, which were already almost non-existent, became quieter and stopped entirely. Ginger leaned against the tree trunk she hid behind and tried to remain motionless to avoid detection. She was too weak to fight.
"Ginger? I know you're there." A familiar voice from the past called to her, making the world colourless just like that.
It wasn't quite nostalgia, or happiness to know he was there but she couldn't help feeling somewhat relived. Relieved to know that the loser she'd had a one night fling with was standing there, looking for her. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much. To feel this way about him and not B was sickening. Ginger leaned her head back to see the sky above, stare at the lack of sun on that grey surface. Was there no end to the absurdity of life?
Muffled steps against the soft underbrush of the forest approached her and the stabbing scent that'd already reached her nostrils became more unbearable the louder the noise got. His face appeared into view soon after, smirking mischievously when she flinched at his sudden appearance. His hair was wet and imprinted against his forehead. He was recognizable though, despite the rather obvious changes. At least he still had his clothes on, she thought, letting her gaze drop from his face and onto his body. He stood there next to her equally his eyes scanning her poor condition. "I could smell you from miles away," he said before squatting down so that their faces were on the same level and he needn't look down to talk to her.
"I've heard such crazy things about you two," he continued, ecstatic and amused by their killing spree. His voice was weak with lust and enjoyment as if just thinking about their deeds made him aroused. It hadn't been that amusing to B, now had it?
Ginger looked away. Staring at him made her miss her own appearance. She was ugly now, a broken body of dirty skin and torn tissue. His hand touched her cheek, bloodied fingers trailing down it. "Why'd you exclude me on all the fun?" The gesture was almost gentle, as if what they'd shared had brought them closer to one another instead of just being a conquest or a distraction. She shivered at his touch but couldn't force cruel words out of her mouth. The pain was so numbing that she had trouble focusing on anything else.
Jason noticed how she didn't respond to his gesture or words. Ginger looked so beaten with the blood red having pooled all over her stomach. Her hair was gone and so were the determination and the fuck-off attitude he'd had to fight for so long in the past. She'd killed a lot of people before vanishing though, so she'd probably enjoyed it. Hell, by the sound of everything he'd heard in the past few days Jason was positive that Ginger had enjoyed the slaughter fully.
The mess she'd left behind was a whole other deal though. Brigitte, that freak of a sister of hers had vanished as well, leaving their parents behind confused. Trina Sinclair had been dug up from their backyard. The guidance counsellor and the cleaner at school were mutilated. Sam was dead in their basement, and it rather puzzled Jason seeing as Sam wasn't that close to either sister, or at least shouldn't have been. No one would know now, not after their house had gone out in flames.
He noticed her shiver again and removed his jacket, wrapping it around her silently. She didn't resist, or say thank you, just sat there. Ginger noticed his jacket had bloodstains and the revelation stirred her doubts, invoked questions. Did he have a body count of his own now? She'd never thought he was the kind of guy to have such pent-up anger inside, seeing as he was a lot calmer than she'd been at that stage. Who'd have thought that about the wuss?
"What do you want?" She finally asked him, eyeing her saviour suspiciously while she pulled the jacket on tighter and tried to keep her distance from him. Being closer to him would probably be a warmer solution but for some reason his all too convenient appearance made her rather timid. After all, she was the one who was seemingly without her werewolf strength, wounded and naked in the middle of nowhere. He had the upper hand here.
"I'm getting close now. A few hours tops," he explained, wondering if it'd been the missing girl whose hand had stabbed Ginger. "You didn't answer my question," she growled, showing a little of that lovely aggression of hers. He found himself smiling at that. She'd be back to normal eventually, he thought, somewhat relieved. "We're a pack," Jason explained, saying it as if he actually believed in it.
"No we're not." She was quick to deny his words, their meaning.
"Yes we are." Jason repeated his claim with a more serious voice this time. Why was he so cocky, why wasn't he jerking off as usual? He should've been chasing off all those girls that'd stood him up in the past, laying them to piles of corpses. He shouldn't have been here with her because in reality they'd shared nothing. "You made me Ginge." He was convinced that it'd actually meant something. Now what the fuck was up with that nickname? Ginge? Ugh, she'd liked it better when he'd called her Fitz and vanished from her life right after they'd had sex.
"We're no fucking pack. You just wanted to get laid." Cranky, she was getting extremely cranky. He wasn't supposed to start thinking for himself with that worm brain of his. He wasn't supposed to find her and play her knight in shining armour. Not when it'd been Brigitte that'd stabbed her! Why was everything suddenly upside down!? Was it some kind of cruel mockery?
Jason grabbed her weak shoulder before she had the chance to react, yanked her quickly towards him and locked his arms around her sobbing being that was once again moaning in pain. "Really Fitz?" he whispered in her ear, his voice low and suggesting. It brought forth a memory of them together: how it'd felt to lie on him, skin on skin. Those sensations were faulty, even she knew that. He was a jerk who'd only felt good when she'd been in heat, entwined with him.
She grimaced when he slid his hand over her armpit and made it slide down her naked front, all the way to the hole in her stomach. "Jason," she gasped, as he touched the wound, while still efficiently restraining her with his other arm. She was cold but he wasn't warm either. His hand was lukewarm against her skin. "Shhh," he simply shushed her quiet again. Then he noticed the scars on her shoulder and focused his attention on them instead. He ran his fingers over them and felt the difference between the rough scar and her soft skin. She'd been near ravished, clawed and dragged around. He'd been changed in a much more pleasant way. His eyes ran over her stomach again and came to a conclusion.
"She fucked you up pretty good."
So he knew about Brigitte. Ginger didn't know whether she wanted him to know or not. "Keep your fucking hands to yourself McCardy," she hissed but was still in no condition to writhe or complain further. He knew this, she knew this. Appearances were the only thing she still had, so he'd let her keep them. He wasn't monstrous after all; he wasn't cruel like she was.
"If I leave you here, you'll die. Alone." Jason was beginning to get bored with their game. Her words were always so spiteful, like no one could understand her or have anything to say that was worthy of her attention. Still he felt affinity towards her; she was after all his maker, whether she'd done it on purpose or not. Not to mention they were alike. His senses had urged him to find her, not Brigitte. He could've infected someone else to keep him company, but the thought hadn't even occurred to him after he'd begun understanding things. He knew he could work out an arrangement with her somehow; get her co-operative, less bitchy maybe. Now that she was wounded it was his chance to prove to her he was worth having around.
"And if you don't?" Ginger lacked decisiveness and wasn't happy to find out what he had to suggest. He'd tell her anyway. "You and me, Ginge. Together." He put it as simply as possible.
She didn't downright loathe the idea, she just hated it. Unbeknownst to her, their minds were trailing on the same path though. Both wanted a pack, companionship, a partner. She'd wanted to share this with Brigitte, have her experience the same satisfaction, pleasure. Now it seemed that honour would befall on that lame motherfucker. But she'd live. She'd live to make her betrayer pay. She'd live even when they'd done everything to kill her. She'd beat the odds.
As if to enforce his words Jason brought his lips to her neck, pecking her delicate flesh carefully. He'd look after her and she'd heal and then she could extract her revenge. If all he wanted from her was intimacy she could do it. She'd done it before, drowned all excuses with the jolt that came with being close to another person. He wasn't smart, she could barely stand talking to him but she could withstand him for the goal.
"I'm cold," she finally answered with a raspy, vulnerable voice. Jason smiled against her, complacent. "Maybe we should get you something to wear then."
A/N: I'm currently looking for a beta to help me with the grammar of this story, so If you're interested, do drop a line or two ;)