𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖

 "DEWEY!"

He whipped his entire body around in surprise, eyes narrowed in confusion as you sped toward him before his face broke out into a wide, welcoming smile. 

It was actually him. 

"(Y/N)!"

You ran down the entire length of the hill before collapsing into his arms at the very bottom. Dewey groaned, nearly falling backward onto the grass but instead latching his arms under your elbows, swinging you through the air a few times before gently lowering you back to your feet.

He and you exchangde several letters back and forth in the months you were gone and of course you called him on the phone whenever you were feeling especially nostalgic. But it felt like forever since you'd actually seen Dewey Riley in person. 

He had the same eyes as Tatum, you realized. God, you missed her so much.

His smile weakened and he stepped back, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I heard what happened and got the first plane out here. How've you been?"

"I-" you caught yourself before you could say you were doing fine. You didn't want to lie to him any more than you already were. With a gulp, you peered back over your shoulder to where Randy was still standing at the top of the hill. He shrugged, raising his arm in a half-wave as if telling you to take your time. "Do you maybe wanna go talk someplace else?"

Dewey agreed eagerly and you led him over to the empty gazebo at the edge of the courtyard between the boy's dormitory building and the empty parking lot. The majority of the student body had already left for lunch but a good few still lingered here and there, dotting the grass in small groups.

You sat down on the worn wooden picnic table inside the gazebo and pulled your arms flush against your chest. Even Dewey knew something was up, or else he wouldn't have flown all the way out here to check on you. This wasn't just a coincidence like Randy tried to convince you it was. This was something else. Something bigger.

"You know, I was actually starting to get over it," you sighed, looking down at the rough surface of the table. Dewey sat down across from you, ears pricked up as he eagerly waited for you to continue. "I stopped seeing my therapist every other day, I can watch slasher movies again, I even stopped having nightmares a few nights ago."

The one last night didn't count; it felt too real. More real than all of the others combined. You absentmindedly began picking your fingernails against the chipped white paint as you spoke. "I mean, things were perfect until now."

Dewey rapped his knuckles against the wood, chin dipped into a slow nod. "I'm glad you're doing alright. I was just so worried."

He had every right to be. Ever since Tatum's death, he's taken you on to fulfill the unoffical role of little sister. You knew he felt immensely guilty for his role in the massacre. Even if his intentions were pure, he was still convinced that it was mostly his fault.

As you thought to yourself, Dewey looked both ways, making sure no one was nearby, before lowering his shoulders and clearing his throat quietly. "Look, (Y/N), if Loomis is back--"

"He's not. Neither of them are."

He sat up straight once more, taken aback by your confident remark. You licked your lips and cupped your chin in your palm . "The night of the massacre, Stu said he was going to come back for me. But it's been so long and I just...I just think they're actually gone now."

 The truth burnt your tongue like bitter whiskey, but you knew it needed to be recognized sooner or later.  

"Alright," He said, disagreeing but not willing to fight you on it any further. "Then let's say it's a copycat killer. If there's some deranged psycho trying to follow in Billy Loomis' footsteps, you probably already know them. They're probably in your life already, getting off on that shock value. I just want you to be careful."