Fictober 2023: Day 11: “You lost it. Well, we lost it.” - Tara wakes up. For Bailey.
Fandom: Scream
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence.
➖
Sam was supposed to be better than this. A good person, a positive role model for her sister.
Turning out like Billy had been her biggest fear all these years, the paralysis demon stalking her night and day, the devil pushing her to fall.
She tried so hard every damn moment, every second, to keep herself in check, to walk away.
She’d tried to walk away.
But Tara… Tara’s not like her.
Or maybe the problem is that she’s too much like her.
Either way, the end result is the same.
There’s a body between them and a bloody knife.
And Sam had just stood there and let it happen.
There was nothing she could have done. That’s what she tells herself.
It all just… happened so fast. How could she have stopped it?
One moment she has an arm wrapped around Tara’s shoulder, steering her unsteady sister home after one too many drinks at a Blackmore Christmas party, ignoring the jeering asshole behind them, the next…
He should have just shut up. Why didn’t he shut up?
What sort of person sees “a serial killer” on the street and decides to follow them, to shout crude remarks, to scream I know what you are? Only an idiot.
He’d been hoping for a fight, and he got one. Just not the one he was expecting.
Tara had managed to slip from her hands with more grace than Sam had thought her capable of in this state. She’d only managed to catch a glimpse of the fury on her sister’s face before she had turned away to storm up to their stalker of the night.
He had laughed right up to the moment he caught a fist in the crotch and another to the face. Tara was quick and ruthless; he never stood a chance to defend himself. Just like she was taught.
All the while, Sam had stood frozen, unable to move.
“That’s my sister you’re talking about,” Tara spits, grabbing at his jacket and pushing him to the floor.
The venom in Tara’s voice had shocked Sam, keeping her feet pinned to the ground. Tara tells him to have some respect and to mind his tongue with an authority their own mother could only wish to command. It triggers a warmth that spreads through her, fingers tingling and twitching at her side.
Her sister growls at the weeping man on the ground, something menacing in her voice as she tells him to choke on this. The crack of his jaw beneath Tara’s boot sends a shiver down Sam’s spine.
To be defended so vehemently, it cuts through the chill of the Winter air. She feels her heart swell in her chest, feet stepping forward, drawn, Tara’s name falling from her lips.
Her sister turns her head to meet her gaze.
There’s a tantalising look in her eyes, desperate and eager. Hungry. It fills Sam with adrenaline, excitement flooding her veins.
She wants to take hold of the knife Tara slips into her hand from her sleeve. She wants to know what happens next more, to watch.
The man below them is too busy curling into himself crying to notice the silent exchange above him. If he had, it might have saved his life.
Sam’s quick to close the distance under Tara’s stare, the blade offered up to her as she comes to stand beside her. She takes her wrist in one hand, the other curling over Tara’s, closing it tight over the handle of the knife. An answer.
An offer.
The smile Tara looks up at her with is unnatural on her face, it sits like something from a dream, so close to something real and yet not quite right.
Sam finds it captivating.
She’s seen it before in 3am wakeups and in cracked bathroom mirrors. Glassy eyes and bared teeth, half-lost in a world no one else can see.
She never wanted that for Tara, but now it’s here, she finds she’s not strong enough to stop it.
Sam watches, fascinated, at the methodical way Tara plays. It’s designed to hurt, to elongate. To make a mess. There’s something… researched, about it. Deliberate, designed.
She thought she would care more about the corpse choking out at her feet, at watching the life drain from his eyes, but she finds that it isn’t nearly as interesting as the blood splatter on her sister’s face or the flexing of her hands around the blade.
She wonders what that says about her.
She wonders what it means that she lets it happen.
With each minute that passes, Sam watches the way Tara’s enthusiasm fades, anger slipping away to exhaustion, the long night creeping back up on her. She stands, slipping her arms under her sister’s and walking them back until she hits a wall.
She slides down, cradling Tara in her lap like the precious goods she is. They sit there for a while, her hand running through her sister’s hair, eyes roving over the corpse. No matter how hard she tries, Sam finds she can’t wipe the smile from her face. There’s a supernova in her chest and pride in her heart.
It shouldn’t be there. She knows that. She knows.
But it is. And it feels so good.
Sam’s attention is snapped back to reality as Tara mumbles something incoherent, cold nose seeking warmth in her neck.
“Sam?” she whispers.
“I’m here,” she replies. “I’ve got you.”
Tara twists in her grip, eyes roving over the scenery. “You’ve always got me,” she says, blinking at the dead body only several feet away. “What happened?”
Sam muses on the confusion in her sister’s voice. She has mere seconds to figure out how to respond, whether the truth will only hurt her, or if it will set her free.
She wishes the choice she made was because she thought it was the right one.
“You lost it. Well, we lost it.”
The words sit in the air, she can practically hear the gears in Tara’s head spinning round, calculating, analysing, understanding.
“Oh.”
Sam’s mouth goes dry as she waits. It feels like she’s on trial, waiting for a verdict, to be judged.
😌 fangs 2B: Tara and Sam arguing because Tara wants to use her blood to heal Sam faster but Sam is reluctant because she’s a big strong wolf who can heal well enough on her own, thank you. Of course, Sam eventually gives in.
You already know who it is 😈
"Absolutely not."
"Sam. You're being ridiculous."
"Oh!" Sam exclaims, throwing her arms out. "I'm being ridiculous? That's rich coming from Mx I-won't-try-and-feed-from-you-even-though-I'm-literally-dying."
Tara crosses her arms and glares back at her sister, unimpressed. Gods, why is her sister so stubborn?! "This isn't the same and you know it!"
The way Sam rolls her eyes and turns away sets Tara's blood boiling. She chews on her cheek until she tastes blood.
Blood.
It always comes back to blood these days.
"Sam, please. This is the least I could do if I'm gonna be chugging you like a Capri-Sun.
Her sister spins on her heel, snapping towards her, the picture of frustration. "Tara, you need the blood. All of it. You can't just be giving it away again!"
Tara finds herself growling at her sister's obstinance. "I'm not going to miss a few drops. Your neck looks like you've been mauled!" Because she has. Tara can't bear to look at the wound, knowing that she did that. "A little blood and you'll be all better."
Sam scoffs. "Or a little time and I'll heal just fine on my own. I'm a wolf Tara, you're not the only one with accelerated healing." Her sister has been forgetting that recently, she thinks, that Sam's not some weak human that she needs to protect. Sam's the protector in this pack.
She goes to remind Tara that she doesn't need to worry about her, when she finds herself sprawled out on the floor.
She hadn't even seen Tara move, she'd barely managed to recognise the tug on her shirt before she was colliding with the linoleum. She turns her head, looking up at her sister standing above her.
"It won't just heal the wound, Sam. It'll also kick-start your own natural healing and help restore the blood you lost. Something you obviously need."
There's a smugness in Tara's tone that her wolf bristles at. Sam's still stronger than some baby vampire. The little shit.
Flashing golden eyes are the only warning Tara gets before Sam is pouncing from the floor. But she hadn't even needed the warning, her senses in overdrive and her mind racing in a way she hasn't ever experienced before. She's thrumming with energy. It was a simple thing to step out of the way and grab at the back of Sam's shirt as she falls past her, yanking her backwards.
Back on the floor, flat on her ass, Sam pouts up at her sister. Ok, she could admit to herself, she's a little off her game.
"Take the L, Sam," Tara says, moving to crouch down beside her.
Sam sighs, flopping backwards. "I don't even know what that means." She rubs at her face a moment, before groaning loudly into her hands. "Fine. Fine. But just this once, ok? Just until I get used to it."
Tara hums noncommittally in response, piercing a finger with her fang and holding it out to her sister.
“I’m not,” Tara mumbles as she tries to hide her face, curling up in Sam’s lap. “I’m not, Sam.”
Sam’s heart aches at the trembling cadence that surrounds Tara’s words.
“Why would you say that?” Sam asks shakily as she slides her palm underneath Tara’s shirt. She frowns when Tara flinches away from her touch as her fingers briefly brush along Tara’s scars. “Babygirl, what’s wrong?”
The soft use of “babygirl” mixed with the hurt she can hear in Sam’s voice is enough to make the anxiety in Tara’s stomach unfurl; it’s the first time Sam has used it since they were kids. Tara lowers her hands enough to meet Sam’s searching gaze.
Sam’s throat hitches when she spots the wet sheen of tears that gloss over dark eyes.
“Tara—“
“How can you call me beautiful when—when I’m covered in these disgusting scars.” Tears slip along Tara’s cheeks as she inhales a shuddering breath. “I’m hideous—“
“No.” Sam’s voice is firm as she cups her jaw. Tara sniffles, but doesn’t squirm in Sam’s hold as Sam stares up at her with a determined expression.
“You are beautiful, Tara. Your scars will never take away from that,” Sam says, inhaling deeply as she attempts to steady herself. “You’re so beautiful. In so many ways. You’re beautiful because of your heart.” She gently taps Tara’s chest. “You’re beautiful because of your smile.” Sam raises her hand to brush her thumb along Tara’s lips briefly. “And the way your dimples show? Absolutely adorable.”
Tara bites her lip, lowering her eyes demurely. “Sammy, stop.”
“What? It’s true.” Sam pauses, a small smile quirking the edges of her lips. “Honestly, Tara, you’re beautiful in general. I mean.” Sam release a long suffering sigh. “I have to fight Chad off for a reason.”
Tara sniffles, rubbing at her eyes. “Stop it,” she says again, this time in a whine. “You’re being dumb.” A flush spreads across her cheeks as she pushes at Sam’s shoulder.
“Well, tell your boyfriend to stop trying to sneak over then,” Sam counters in a grumble, rubbing Tara’s back soothingly. She sighs, drawing Tara into a tight hug. “You’re beautiful with or without your scars, Tara. That’s never going to change.”
Thinking of how nervous Sam had sounded at the beginning of 6 when she called Tara and said. “You’re supposed to answer when I call. I was thinking we could make dinner together. If you want.”
and then the idea of Sam being attacked by Ghostface after she leaves that voicemail popped up. Sam is killed and no one finds out until hours later.
Tara never returns her call.
Tara gets home after Chad saves her from DR Frankie and she asks Quinn if she’s seen Sam but Quinn shrugs and says she never came home.
Tara finally listens to the voicemail and feels a bit guilty hearing it but then worried when she realizes that Sam should be home by now. Cue Quinn telling her to come into the living room and Tara comes out to see Sam’s picture on the television and details about Samantha Carpenter being brutally murdered.
Hey Bailey, fuck you. 💔
Tara storms home with an apologetic Chad on her tail, the rest of their friends trailing behind. She ignores him, furious about the scene he caused and the attention he drew to them. Tara's not some child who can't make her own decisions, how dare he try to control her, how dare he.
How dare he think that "Sam asked me to look out for you!" was any sort of explanation, that it was reasonable or acceptable. She's going to kill him, and then she's going to kill Sam. Sam who can't stay out of her business or let her have some freedom for one goddamn second. Tara doesn't need to be monitored every fucking moment of the fucking day!
She slams the door in Chad's face. She's not dealing with him tonight.
Tara throws herself onto her bed and smothers herself with her pillow, screaming into the material. She's angry, but mostly she's angry at herself. How could she put herself in that situation? One where she needs to be saved from. Tara's spent all this time talking about how she's not a victim, and she goes and tries to make herself one. Eugh.
She allows herself to be distracted by the buzzing of her phone. She flips through the texts from her friends, sighs at her twitter notifications blowing up, and ah, winces at the missed call from Sam.
You know you're supposed to pick up when I call. I got out of therapy early, so I was thinking maybe we cook dinner tonight. If you want. I'll see you soon.
Great. Now Tara feels guilty about this too. Another apology she needs to make.
She rolls out of bed to knock on Sam's door. "Sam?" she calls, cracking it open and peering in. The room is dark and empty.
She checks the living space next, but there's only Quinn on the couch watching TV, flipping through the channels.
Frowning, she checks the time on her phone and tries to call her instead. Sam doesn't pick up.
You know you're supposed to pick up when I call, Tara teases, leaving a message. Call me back, where are you? I'm sorry I missed your call earlier, I was out. I'm sure your little informants will tell you all about it tomorrow.
Love you, she adds as an afterthought to delay putting down the phone in the hope Sam will suddenly pick up.
"Tara?" Quinn calls from the living room. She sounds... alarmed.
"What's up," she asks, walking back into the room. Quinn looks at her, shocked, and turns her head back to the TV, clicking the volume up on the remote.
The phone drops from Tara's hand as her vision narrows in on the television screen. She can hear Quinn talking to her in the background, a phone ringing, but all she can focus on is the voice of the reporter on the TV.
Standing in front of a shocking scene...
A woman now confirmed to be Samantha Carpenter...
The police have not revealed any other details however...
The following video has been circulating online. Warning, this footage is not for the faint of heart...
Need that Tara feeding from Sam scene 👀 Fangs 2B methinks?
"No."
"Tara... please."
Sam's desperate pleading is ignored as Tara shakes her head, leaning forward against the counter with shaky arms, turned away from her. It's easier to rebuff Sam when she doesn't have to look at her.
"We're out of options," Sam exclaims, stepping closer. "We have to try!"
A growl reverberates through Tara's chest and she slams her palms down against the countertop. "There is no we, Sam!" she yells over the crack of the granite beneath her hands. She leans forward and takes a desperate gasp she shouldn't even need.
Tara swipes a hand through the dust and runs it through her hair. "This is my problem. I'm the one who-"
"Our problem," Sam interjects. "We're a team, remember? Together forever, no matter what."
"Fucking hell Sam, we were kids when we said that." Tears well in Tara's eyes at the reminder of the promise Sam had made to her a decade ago. She'd promised they'd always be pack, even if Tara never turned. Then a year later she'd fulfilled that promise, chasing their father off as he tried to force Tara to turn (or have her die trying). How does Tara repay her? By getting herself killed and turned into a broken vampire, and then eating their mother.
A touch on her shoulder startles her out of her thoughts.
"You're still my pack, Tara. Wolf or no wolf. Human or vampire."
Tara bares her teeth at her sister, pupils mere pinpricks in her now-garnet eyes. Sam's eyes flash, a bright gold that glitters in the moonlight, and her hand moves up to cup the back of Tara's head, the other grabbing her shoulder and turning her around.
"You're starving to death - true death - and I can't lose you, Tara. It would kill me. If there's any chance this will work, I need you to take it."
The sincerity in Sam's voice is a stake through her unbeating heart.
"I don't want to hurt you," Tara whispers, unable to look her sister in the eyes.
Sam's hand slides to her chin, lifting it with a laugh. "I'm a full-blooded wolf with years of experience, and you're a starved baby vampire, do you really think you can hurt me?"
"What about mom?"
Sam sighs. "I don't know what happened Tara, maybe you took her by surprise, maybe she just wasn't as strong as she pretended she was..."
Tara studies her for a moment before she speaks again, voice small and uncertain. "...What if it doesn't work?"
Sam does what she always does when her sister is scared, she pulls her into her arms. "Then we'll figure it out... Now please, try."
Tara rests her forehead against Sam's shoulder and takes a deep breathe, an obsolete instinct that manages to persist, even weeks after her heart last beat. She can feel the pulse of blood thrumming beneath Sam's skin.
It calls to her. She's so hungry.
"Promise me you'll stop me if I go too far," she moans, fighting against the urge to sink her teeth into her neck, to rip and tear until the blood is free.
Sam raises a hand to the back of Tara's head and threads her fingers through her hair, claws tickling the skin. "I promise."
Tara gives in and bites.
It tastes so good.
It's not the bitter tartness of the animals Sam bought her, or the humans that were offered to her, nor Amber's own blood.
This is decadent.
Tara keeps waiting for the sharp nausea to appear, for the blood to rebel in her stomach, for her body to reject it like all the rest.
It doesn't happen.
She gets to feed for the first time since she first turned and... her mother. It makes her feel strong. No more blurry vision and shaking limbs, the constant ache in her body dissipates, her stomach feels full.
She needs more.
Her nails dig into Sam's back, squeezing her tighter, teeth sinking deeper.
"Tara," Sam warns. The girl doesn't respond, unable to hear her, lost in the blood.
Sam digs her claws in, tugging at her sister's hair. She pulls, detaching Tara from her neck. Her sister's eyes are blown, more black than red, and distant, unable to focus on anything other than the blood trickling over her skin.
Tara struggles in her grip, but Sam's strength prevails, as she expected it would. She doesn't know how Tara managed to overpower their mother, but she always knew, without hesitation, that Tara wouldn't be able to hurt her. Not like this anyway.
The girl whines in her grip, her gaze fixed on her neck. Sam turns her around, pulling Tara's back to her front and holding her to her chest. She pulls them both down to the floor to sit and wait.
The blood-high will fade, she knows, and her sister will come back to her. She just has to be patient.
Sam leans her head against the back of Tara's and resists the urge to cry in relief.
Aster Carpenter thinks her life is as near to perfect as it can be… until she uncovers her mother's secret: she's been killing people. Turns out her aunt and her cousin were lying to her too. Can you blame her for what happens next?
- - -
“Mom, I need to talk to you.”
Sam’s head snaps up at Aster’s words, a pit forming in her stomach. They’re hard, firm. Almost cold. She flicks her eyes to the side to meet Tara’s before fully turning to her daughter with a smile on her face, dinner preparation forgotten. She ignores the dread trickling down her spine.
“What’s up, Starlight? Is something wrong?” Sam asks, concerned. Aster sounds unusually serious right now. She’s not sure she’s ever heard her sound like this. She’s so proud that neither of their daughters ever had to be serious. They got to have the fun and safe childhood that she and Tara were robbed of.
The wolf inside her whines, unsettled. A warning if ever she heard one. Something’s happening, and she’s not going to like it.
Aster steps forward and rests her hands on the back of a kitchen chair. “I need you to sit down.” She takes a deep breath. “You too,” she adds, nodding her head at Tara.
The sisters share a look before slowly taking a seat at the dining table.
Do you know what this is about?
No, do you?
Sam’s leg bounces nervously as the minutes drag on, unable to take the silence and the itching beneath her skin as Aster tries to find the words she wants to say.
Eventually, she does.
“I saw a missing persons report online a few days ago,” she says, eyes fixed on the table, thumb rubbing against the chair as if she’s self-soothing, a habit of her childhood long since been left behind.
Or so Sam thought.
Something about the action stings, she notes. It’s a squeeze of her heart, knowing her daughter is so anxious about this conversation, that she would ever be nervous to talk to them.
“Oh… Did you… know them?” Sam asks, sharing a look of confusion with Tara. She can’t remember the last time she felt so off-balanced. She wishes her daughter would just get to the point and say whatever it is that she wants to say, but then again, Aster has always preferred to be coy with her words. Why tell you what she wants when she can simply suggest and hint at it instead?
It's more fun, she remembers her telling her once.
It doesn’t look like she’s having any fun right now, chewing on her lip and fighting twitching fingers, unable to even look in their direction.
The air is so saturated with Aster’s anxiety that Sam can practically taste it, sour with a metallic undercoat. It’s a taste she knows well, but not one she ever hoped or imagined would come from her own family.
“No,” Aster says, tilting her head to the side. “But you did.”
Sam frowns at that.
“What, who?” she asks impatiently, beginning to scan through a mental catalogue of the people in their life, questioning when they spoke last, trying to recall anything unusual. With her daughter's next words, Sam begins to feel like there should be an alarm screeching overhead, as loud as the one in hers.
She wishes there was. Anything to change the trajectory of this conversation.
“Well, Tara knew him at least,” Aster scoffs.
It’s the foreign bitterness in her voice that makes Sam realise this isn’t a conversation. It’s an interrogation. She’s alarmed to find she knows this tone well. She’s as familiar with it as the scars on her body. It was her own once, a lifetime ago.
“Intimately, even.”
Sam’s mouth audibly clicks shut at her words. The insinuation isn’t lost on her.
Finally, Aster looks up. “Do you remember Friday?”
She speaks to Tara, but her eyes never leave Sam.
“You were all over him in that bar. He wanted you to go home with him.” Aster glances at her aunt. “Did you?”
“Aster!” Sam cries out, horrified by the rapid understanding that hits her. She was there. She saw.
The realisation of what she might have seen makes her wolf whimper inside. Aster isn’t confused, she’s confrontational. Despite the questions she’s asking, Sam gets the impression that she’s not looking for answers, only a confession.
Sam licks her lips, mind racing to find a way to respond. “Don’t talk to her like that,” she settles on.
Aster has always been a good kid. She rarely gets into trouble, but in this moment, Sam wishes she had, if only so she had more practice on how to deal with her when she’s out of line. Because she is so out of line right now.
“Tara is an adult. And what – or who – she does in her spare time is her own business,” Sam continues through her clenched jaw. Even the thought of what she’s saying has her holding back a growl. She doesn’t like saying it any more than she likes thinking about it, but it has to be said. It is true, and Aster clearly needs reminding there are things that just aren’t her business.
“Jesus, mom,” Aster blurts out, snapping her head back to Sam. “I don’t care who she sleeps with. In fact, I would be thrilled if she had a life for once!”
Tara’s affronted hey! gets drowned out as Aster continues to raise her voice.
“I care that the dude she sleeps with is reported missing the very next day!”
Aster begins to pace, shoulders tense, clenched hands held tightly against her chest.
“I care that you were also there. I mean, you two may very well have been the last people to see him before he went… missing. That’s kind of a big deal, don’t you think? Maybe you should talk to the police, tell them what you know.”
There’s a sardonic laugh to her words. It’s caustic. Sam’s never heard her daughter like this before. It only makes the weight in her stomach grow heavier. She realises now what her gut and her wolf were trying to warn her about.
She can’t know. She can’t. Not that.
“But you won’t, will you?”
Aster stops and shakes her head. “Because you know he’s not missing.” She turns on her heel, tears in her eyes.
“You killed him, didn’t you mom?”
- - -
Aster squints unhappily down at her phone, group chat open and the screen lighting up with every new message. Once again, plans are being made, and she’s stuck being left out.
It’s not their fault of course, they try to include her. She’s the one with an overprotective family who won’t let her out past 7pm, or dark. Whichever comes sooner. The thought makes her roll her eyes. If only she had super strength, lightning reflexes, and claws that can cut through anything, oh wait!
“It’s for your protection Aster.”
“We just want you to be safe sweetheart.”
“Listen to mom squirt.”
Usually she doesn’t mind being babied, but this is one area they could stand to loosen the reigns a little.
She’s feeling a little desperate tonight. You’d think since school broke for summer break, she’d have more time to hang with her friends. Unfortunately, her family never got the memo. She wonders if mom even actually has a job, given that she’s always around, but she supposes the money must come from somewhere.
Actually, gramma Gale probably just gives it to her. She’s soft like that. A bitch sometimes, but soft.
Aster’s considering straight-up lying for the chance to escape so she can have just one normal evening being a teenager and hanging with her friends, doing stupid things, and kissing her boyfriend, Rafe, when she hears salvation from across the hall. Dropping her phone onto her bed, she creeps across the room and presses an ear to the wall.
- - -
“Hey Sammy,” Tara calls, swinging around the doorway and into the master bedroom. She adopts the tone she knows Sam can’t resist, light and warm, and so hard to say no to.
It’s been a while since they’ve… been out, and Tara’s feeling antsy. She’s bored, to be frank, and she expects Sam to entertain her. She could go by herself of course, but it’s never as satisfying an experience as it is with Sam by her side. Everything is so much brighter when they’re together.
“I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight, have some fun,” she says smiling sweetly at her sister.
Sam looks up from the laundry basket, half-folded clothes spilling out onto the bed. She so desperately wants to say yes – she loves the kids and wouldn't change her life for the world, but sometimes she misses the freedom they used to have, when plans could change at the drop of a dime and there was so much less to worry about – but there’s a queasiness that bubbles up at the thought of going out tonight that has her saying “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” instead.
She regrets it immediately as Tara’s smile drops. The quiet “oh” she lets out tears her in two. Her gut tells her don’t do this, but disappointing her sister has never been an option. Not since they came back into one another’s lives.
“Because of the girls?” Tara questions with a twitch of her lips as Sam stands frozen and fighting a battle within herself. The smile doesn’t compare to the one Sam broke moments before. “Because honestly Sam, I think they’re old enough now. I think we can trust them to spend an evening alone, don’t you?”
Despite the teasing tone, Sam can still feel the disappointment radiating from her.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” she rushes to explain. “It’s just… a gut feeling, like something’s going to go wrong.”
Tara stares at her for a moment, searching for any words left unsaid. Finding none, she sighs and pushes off the wall. “Okay, another night then.”
Sam can hear the acceptance, she knows she’s going to get her way this time, and yet…
“No- wait, fine.”
She can feel the questioning rumble from within. What is she doing? What she always does, putting Tara first. Her gut has been wrong before. She’s long past letting paranoia control her.
“It’s fine, we can go out. The girls are old enough to behave themselves. We can have some fun, like we used to.”
On the other side of the wall, Aster bites her lip and silently pumps her fist in the air. She dives onto her bed, catching her phone as it bounces in the air. Flopping onto her back, she responds to the group chat.
She’s free to hang tonight after all.
- - -
Aster doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, surreptitiously gained with the help of a fake ID and an inattentive bartender, the rush of sneaking out, or simply her friends’ laughter, but she swears she’s never felt happier than in this moment.
She’s crammed into a crowded booth with 5 other peers, all as extraordinary as she is. She’s halfway to drunk, face flushed and tongue tingling with the herbs Rafe had handed out – a little something to level the playing field and help progress what might have otherwise been a suspiciously difficult task, he promised. And it was no lie, her drink hitting her harder than it ever has before.
She’s spent a lot of time with the pack at the compound, but never like this, never able to be free and loose and away from chaperoning eyes. It feels incredible.
Aster’s giggling into her boyfriend’s shoulder when suddenly the world becomes a little less funny, as her eyes catch the last person she wants to see right now. Well, the second to last.
Across the room, perched on the lap of some slimy stranger, is her aunt. The woman who helped raise her, who’s virtually a second mother to her. She’s smiling at this man and running a hand through his hair, and all Aster can feel is revulsion.
She quickly slides down in her seat to retreat from the view. She can scarcely understand what she’s seeing. It can’t be real; she must be mistaken. A trick of the light. She’s drunk. She must be drunk. Or maybe she’s being fatally poisoned by the herbs and it’s all just a death induced fever dream.
Sitting up to peer around Rafe’s broad shoulders again, she’s horrified to learn that unfortunately her original assessment was correct. Her aunt is also here and having her… night out. With a man. This stranger. She kind of wishes she was dying. Is this what she meant by fun?
It feels so wrong.
Something about it just feels… so very wrong.
Despite her repulsion she can’t look away, determined to understand, to figure this out. Her gut says this isn’t right. It’s her wolf instincts, her mother told her once, and that she should listen to them. So she listens to them.
She focuses on the couple, narrows in on Tara’s racing heartbeat, on the bitter smell of the man. She wrinkles her nose in disgust. She can smell his intentions beneath the reek of sweat, hair gel, and cheap deodorant. What he wants is plain to see, werewolf or not. It should be so out of his reach. She can do so much better than him. Why is she entertaining this?
The sight of his hand coming around to cup her from behind and one crawling up her shirt has Aster seeing red.
How dare he. How DARE he.
She doesn’t realise she’s gouged furrows into the table with her claws until Rafe knocks her shoulder with his and asks her if she’s okay.
She can’t take it anymore. It makes her feel sick.
Standing up without a word, Aster prepares to intervene – getting in trouble be damned – when she feels a shiver run up her spine. There’s a twitch between her shoulder blades, and she feels her attention drawn to the bar.
Somehow what she finds there feels even more shocking.
Her mother sits at the bar across from the booth, lazily fingering a shot glass and… watching. She’s watching?
What the hell is this?
A small part of her worries about Sam noticing her, but it doesn’t take long for her to realise there’s no chance of that. Sam is as transfixed on Tara as Aster was, scowling at the scene before her. Her mother’s no happier about it than she is, so she wonders why she doesn’t do something. Anything. Why doesn’t she put a stop to it?
Aster all but falls back down into her seat, legs feeling dangerously weak beneath her. Suddenly shitty beer and stale bar snacks no longer feel appetizing. There’s a writhing in her stomach, leaving her overcome with nausea. The cacophony of noise that was comforting before now feels suffocating.
She just wants to go home.
Whatever this is, Tara will be fine, she tells herself. Mom won’t let anything happen to her. Sam won’t let her little sister be taken advantage of, or whisked away, any more than Annie would let anything happen to her. It’ll be fine. If this is… If this is what her aunt meant by having fun, then Aster will just have to… deal with that. Accept it.
God, what is she going to tell Annie?
- - -
48 hours later and Aster’s still feeling a little traumatised. She hasn’t been able to look Tara in the eye since, well, you know.
It’s been hard. She wants nothing more than to talk to someone about what she saw, to vent, but there’s no one she can turn to with this. She can’t tell Annie what happened, she worships her mother. Aster can’t bear to be the one to break that illusion for her.
She’s been pretending it’s her time of the month to hand wave away her weirdness. Unfortunately, with a werewolf for a mother, that’s not an easy lie to sell. Sam doesn’t believe it, the look on her face when Aster tried to use it as an excuse said it all, but praise the Moon, she didn’t feel the need to question it, and Aster’s never felt so grateful. At this point she’s not even worried about getting in trouble for sneaking out, she just doesn’t want to admit to what she saw.
She’s hiding away in her room, as she has been all weekend, sprawled out on her bed and wasting time on social media, when she scrolls past a picture of the very memory she’s been working so hard to repress.
With a wince, she scrolls back up the page to be faced with an image of the man who was touching her aunt that night.
It turns out to be so much more than just a selfie, it’s a missing persons announcement.
Frowning, Aster clicks through for more information. He went out and never came home that night. He has a wife, two kids. She scoffs, that didn’t stop him trying to score. He probably just ran off with some other woman.
It makes sense, but for some reason the idea just doesn’t sit right within her, it feels like she’s missing something. Something important.
From the corner of her eye, she spies a book on her desk. It calls to her. She’s drawn by the same feeling that struck her on Friday. Her gut.
The phone slips from her hand as she gets up to retrieve the book. It’s sat there untouched for so long it’s actually begun to attract dust. Whoops. It’s a pack history book, and she was supposed to have finished reading it weeks ago, but Aster’s never been much of a reader.
Collapsing back onto her bed, she starts to flip through the pages.
It’s one near the back that stands out to her. The Ancestors, the chapter title reads. It’s a boring slog describing what little is known of the old werewolves, the ones all modern werewolves are descended from.
As she speed-reads through it, spurred on by a tickle along her spine, she draws to a stop on a paragraph about Moon Madness. A curse, it says. A sickness. Characterised by a toxic silver in the eyes and tattooed across their skin. It symbolises a mark of sinners, cast out from their packs. The result of… having partaken in the consumption of sentient flesh.
The thought makes her shiver.
The illustration on the next page makes her sick.
It reminds her of the campfire stories the older wolves would tell the cubs during camping weekends, of monstrous beasts who were once wolves, who stalked the night and ate bad little wolves who wouldn’t behave. How you would never see them coming, only catch flashes of silver in the moments before they would swallow you whole.
Nothing more than a ghost story to scare the children into behaving… and yet here it is… so familiar.
She’s always known her mother was different from other wolves, from Aster’s own form. She’d never really thought about it, never questioned it. Even once she’d integrated into the local pack and realised that wolves are all very similar once shifted, it had never occurred to her to ask why her mom didn’t look the same as all the others.
Maybe she should have.
Brushing her fingers over the picture, something stirs within her. Her instincts.
They tell her it’s connected.
Her mother. Her wolf form. This man.
She doesn’t want to believe it, to think about it, but all she can see in her head is the image of her mother at the bar that night. The anger in her eyes, the way they followed his every move.
She looked like at him like she wanted to kill him.
But that’s only a turn of phrase, right? She wouldn’t- she wouldn’t actually hurt someone, would she?
Taking one last long at the picture, the cursed beast on the page that reminds her of her mother, she snaps the book shut.
She has to know the truth.
- - -
“You killed him, didn’t you mom?”
Aster waits for the denial, for the laughter. For something, anything. But there’s just silence.
Then she hears it, the hitch in her mother’s breath, audible even over the creaking of the wood as she sits back in the chair. Sam’s heart thumps in her ribcage, betraying the unaffected expression on her face.
Her mother watches her carefully, and Aster stares back, unable to look away. From the corner of her eye, she can see Tara looking between the two of them, eyes wide, her own chest beating a mile a minute.
“Say it isn’t true…”
Aster’s words are barely more than a whisper, but she knows her mother heard her. She knows. It infuriates her, the way she won’t answer her, the way she won’t say anything at all. There’s a heat rising in her, not unlike the sensation that flashes through her before a shift. It feels like her blood is boiling from within. Her claws creep out, digging grooves into the chair as she clings to it like a lifeline.
“ANSWER ME!” she roars, teeth bared. Across the table, silver eyes flash back at her, a warning, as Sam slowly rises from her seat.
“Aster, there are things you’re too young to understand.”
Sam speaks slowly, like she’s talking to some child. Like Aster doesn’t know exactly what’s happened, what’s going on. She’s not an idiot, she’s seen the evidence for herself. It’s impossible to miss, now that she knows what to look for.
“Too young? I’m 15, not a kid! And I’m certainly old enough to know that murder is wrong.”
She watches the way Sam grinds her teeth at her words, spies the peek of black claws before Sam’s fingers retreat into closed fists. Tara whispers her mother’s name, reaching out to rest a palm on her arm, muscles tense and twitching beneath it.
She’s angry.
Good.
Angry people make mistakes.
“Because it was murder, wasn’t it?”
She says it with a smirk despite the way her heart is shattering, despite the shards piercing her lungs, making it so hard to breathe. Aster knows how to wear a mask, how to hide her thoughts, her feelings. It’s how she stays so popular, how she gets what she wants. She never thought she would ever have to wear it to protect herself from her own family.
“Does Tara know?” Aster spits, nodding to the woman pushing at Sam’s shoulder, trying to get her to sit back down. “Does she know what you are? Does she know what you’ve done?” She thinks back to the other night, to the smile on Tara’s face, the tinge of excitement in the air. She thinks of the scowl her mother wore, the way she was spying on them from across the bar. She wonders how many times it’s happened before, if that’s why Annie doesn’t have a father. If that’s why Aster even exists, just another project to keep Tara happy and busy and under Sam’s control.
Despite the hand on her shoulder, Sam remains on her feet. She gently nudges Tara away before turning back to her daughter and stalking forward to stand before her.
“You have no idea why I’ve done what I’ve done.”
Sam stands several inches taller than Aster and with significantly more strength, but she’s never found her mother threatening before, and despite what she’s learned, she still doesn’t. Aster inches closer, heels leaving the ground as she stretches up into her space.
“I know why you did it,” she sneers. “You killed people because you liked it!”
The words reverberate around the room and sit ringing in their ears. Aster pants, glaring up at her mother. She’s never felt like this, never felt this… disconnected from her. It’s like she’s looking at a stranger. Maybe her mother never really existed, maybe she was all just an illusion, a mask of her own cloaking the monster beneath.
“That’s ENOUGH, Aster,” Tara snaps, pushing her way between them.
As Aster stares at her, she begins to realise that her mother isn’t the only one she doesn’t know. She can see it in her eyes, there’s no confusion, no questions. Tara’s world isn’t falling apart, not like Aster’s.
“That’s enough,” Tara says again, softer this time. “Why don’t you calm down and then we can talk, okay?”
Tara reaches out for Aster’s shoulder, but the girl just shakes it off, stepping backwards. She knew. She knows. Of course she does. How could Aster have missed it? Sam never does anything without Tara, she never so much as makes a decision about dinner without her. They’re so joined at the hip they might as well be one person.
“You knew,” she mutters as she retreats from the room, shaking her head at them. “How- How could you? You raised me to be good, but all along you were- you just… it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”
It feels like the floor is slipping out from beneath her feet, the room becomes blurry beneath tears and shuddering breaths. She thinks her legs must be about to give way below her when arms wrap around her waist, holding her to their chest.
“Hey, what’s going on? Aster?”
Annie’s voice comforts her like a light in the darkness. With her close, her tilting world becomes balanced once again, and she finds herself finally able to break in the arms of the most important person in her life; her best friend, her cousin, her sister.
Grasping at the arms holding her up, she twists in their grip to wrap her own around Annie, burrowing her face in her shoulder. The tears come easy now in her embrace, mask washed away, too desperate to find mooring to cling onto it.
“They’re monsters,” Aster whimpers into Annie’s skin. “I hate them. I hate them. Take me away, please.”
The words make Annie’s head snap up to look urgently between her aunt and her own mother, silently begging for answers. An explanation. Anything.
Sam jerks her head down and turns away, as if she can’t bear to look in their direction any longer. She catches her mother’s eyes instead. Tara breathes deep, glancing to Aster for a moment, before giving Annie a slow nod. Take her away, it says. She needs you right now.
Annie wants nothing more than to stand her ground, to demand answers, to know just what the fuck is happening, but with Aster whimpering in her arms, she knows she will put her first, as she always does.
Sam watches as Annie picks up her daughter and lead her away. She listens closely for the sound of the bedroom door closing before she lets everything out. She barely chokes back the roar that threatens to escape her as she lashes out, claws slicing through wood with ease. “FUCK,” she yells, kicking her chair over for good measure.
She hears Tara sigh and call her name, but she can’t bring herself to turn around. She can’t face her. How can she? This is all her fault. She wasn’t careful enough, she must have- she- she… “how did this happen?” she whispers.
A touch on her back coaxes her around.
“How did she find out?” Sam croaks, falling into Tara’s open arms.
“We’ll figure this out, Sam. Everything will be okay,” she promises. Tara closes her eyes and holds her sister close. She hopes life doesn’t make a liar out of her this time. Nothing is more important to Sam – to either of them – than their family.
“She didn’t mean it,” she comforts. “She’s just… shocked.”
Tara thinks of that first morning all those years ago, of waking up and learning what Sam had done, the confusion, the disbelief, the fear of what it all meant… it’s a lot. But she came around, Aster will too. She has to.
One demands to see Tara gazing endearingly at her sister as she kills someone.
The other demands to see Sam being unconcerned with the fact that Tara has just killed someone but being so worried about her mental state and her tears.
I finally figured out who Sam and Tara's sibling relationship keeps reminding me of and I somewhat hate and love the answer. Because its Sam and Dean from supernatural. What finally got me to realise that was the willingness to sacrifice themselves or anyone else for their sibling. Also they would totally make demonic deals to bring each other back to life.
I can't speak on the topic because I've never watched it, and men bore me. But, you're not the first person to draw this comparison to me so I'll have to accept it's true. Pretty sure Bailey was talking a Supernatural AU to me at some point. We've definitely talked about several AU's involving demonic deals for their sister.
