REALISTIC FICTION | s.k

PART II

REALISTIC FICTION, BY EMPLOYEEOFSHADYSIDE.

warnings for strong language and 1994, 1978 + 1666 spoilers.

"HEY— FUCK, DON'T STAB ME YOU BITCH!"

THE only thing you could do when you started to slowly die in your house was drag yourself (as the car remained totalled and gone) over to the nearest hospital.

When you entered the stark white building it only took one look at your bloodied hands and pale complexion for the doctors around to get you checked in immediately. Was it that bad?

The nurse had stitched your wound closed, and before you could get up and leave, the nurse had pushed you down into a bed and told you to stay a night. Thank the gods for nurses, but weren't they real fucking picky with your health.

Atleast you weren't in an ass bare hospital gown.

The day went by slowly, and you'd resorted to walking around the hospital. At this point, your wound didn't hurt much (although it'd only been a few hours, but it sufficed enough to know you weren't actively bleeding out) and all you could wish for was that the second event didn't take place soon.

Especially since it was in the hospital. And you had heard Sam a few hours ago.

Shit, did you have any blood on you? Her blood, specifically? Jesus, what were the chances of you surviving this?

You'd stopped in the middle of the hallway when you heard a group of voices around the corner come round.

"[Name]?"

No. You shut your eyes closed, turning away from the group. If they were here and you were here and she was hospitalized, then there was nothing you could do, because the story had progressed, she had gotten angry and you had already been weaved into these events.

You were a hostage to to your own beloved media, and although you'd knew the movie genre, there was no way you were dying. Not here, not now, and not ever.

You turned back, vision taking in three central characters. Simon, Kate and Josh. They hadn't been holding anything, and a quick glance behind you said that they had been heading to the vending machine.

"Shit."

𖥔 𖥔 𖥔

You'd ran down the hall you'd came from, viciously sprinting (despite your fresh stitches, but, hell, you were in a movie) to Sam's hospital room.

Something told you, just deeply nestled in your thoughts, that your arrival had altered things, and that everything you knew could, and perhaps would, go to shit. Anyone could die, and anyone could live. Possessions were free reign.

You burst through the door to see three sets of feet behind the curtain. Deena had arrived just a few minutes ago, which meant, "Fuck!"

You backed away from the door, breath held in your throat. There wasn't any blood on you, no, nope, all you had was your own seeping wound, dripping and undone under the immense pressure—

Killer Bitch #1 passed through the door, skull mask clad on his face, dressed in a wading black coat. He ignored you completely, knife glinting angrily in the direction of Number One Asshole, Peter.

Well. You hated little white boy bitches like him, but if you considered everyone as real, this felt like a death that'd plague a peaceful piece of your mind.

You pulled the back of Skull Fucker's coat, making him twist inhumanly around to reach you.

"Hey — fuck, don't stab me you bitch! — Sam! Deena! Could you maybe stop fighting, just for the tiniest—" You jutted your elbow back to fasten your grip on the now stopped killer, "We're about to be fucking killed here!"

"What? [Name]?" Deena stepped out of the curtain, eyes widening at the sight of you and Skele-bitch trying to slit your throat.

"Go!" You choked out, ducking underneath the killers slash.

Deena ripped Sam from her bed, running back down the hallway. When you'd dropped your grip on Scream-Wannabe, he'd began making track runner laps down to catch them.

With little time to catch your breath, you sped off to assist them. After all, you knew everything that was going to happen. Right?

𖥔 𖥔 𖥔

"What the hell?" Sam and Deena had gone down another hallway, completely opposite to where you had gone, and diverging from the stories fucking plotline.

You went back the way where the rest of the cast was, breathing heavily when they saw you.

"[Name] are — are you bleeding?" Kate said, eyes squinting, and hands gesturing towards you.

"Huh? Did the stitches spill?"

"What? No, your throat."

You brought a shaky hand to your neck, feeling a slick liquid come off. "Don't — you don't need to mind that. First off, where the fuck is that ambulance, because that Scream-killer shit isn't going to wait."

"Wait — what? Back up, Scream-kill—" Josh said.

You looked out of each entrance — Bingo. You saw the ambulance parked down the second exit way, and, you counted internally, 3, 2, 1...

"Run!" Deena and Sam sprinted past you, turning a sharp right away from you.

You pulled the three of them out the door, watching Skully follow the couple. "Get in the ambulance!"

You sprinted back down towards the front entrance, fingers crossed events hadn't been altered, and that Deena and Sam were still alive, because, quite frankly, this story wouldn't be ending without—

An ear shattering scream broke through in front of you, and on auto response you dove towards the killers lowerbody, pushing him out of the way.

You grabbed Sam and Deena by their shirts and got to the ambulance as fast you could, hearing Skull Mask breath heavily behind you.

"Jesus fuck, I don't remember you being able to run!" You muttered under your breath.

Simon and Kate pulled up to the front of the entrance, "Get in!" They yelled, banging the door open with a punch.

The three of you pushed inside, Kate pushing the drive before you could even catch your breath. Through the window, you could see Skull Mask stop at the door.

"Fuck you!"