𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕩

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Mickey's voice was the first thing you heard when your eyes finally fluttered open. It was quiet and distorted at first, like a warped record. But the more you focused on pulling yourself back into consciousness, the easier you found it to catch bits and pieces of background noise like the beeping of medical equipment and the faraway murmurs of hospital staff.

When you finally gathered the strength to sit upright, you realized that your bed was surrounded by swarms of police officers and nurses alike. They whispered amongst themselves and shot you sideways glances as you blinked yourself back awake.

As you took in your new environment, you wondered briefly if you were back in Woodsboro General Hospital, if somehow college, the copycat killer, and everything in between had been some stress-induced fever dream from the night of the massacre. But then Mickey's camera flashed and you winced, shoving the blocky device away from you with a bandaged hand. "Back off."

Randy scrambled out of his chair and made an appearance at your other side. He didn't look nearly as worried as he had been last night, or whenever it was he found you stumbling out of the sorority house with blood pooling in your socks. Seeing him calmer made you feel relatively better.

"You passed out," he explained, tapping his fingers against the metal rods that were fashioned to support the bed like thin armrests. "Dewey and I drove you here."

That's right, you thought, Dewey was the one who went after the killer. "Did he..." you started to ask before realizing you were setting yourself up for disappointment. Randy deflated and stopped drumming his fingers. "Nah, the killer got away."

There was a lull in the conversation and you pursed your lips, staring down at your feet that were hidden beneath a thin white blanket. The air of the room carried the faintest stink of antiseptic and made you even more nauseous than you already felt. There was no doubt about it now that you were involved in this and the realization made you tremble.

It was then that you felt the weight on your cheek and brought your hand up to your face delicately to feel the thick gauze bandage that had been plastered against the cut, secured with medical tape around your jaw. It was still damp to the touch with warm blood and the taste of copper was still abundant in your mouth. It would no doubt scar over and become identical to the mark that came before it.

"How're you feeling?" Mickey chirped, cutting through the silence. He was still clutching his video camera, but the red light wasn't flashing anymore and it was draped between his legs, no longer in use. His usual snarky demeanor had vanished and you could tell he was genuinely worried for your wellbeing.

"Not good," you winced, sitting up straighter. Randy's hands flew up to try and help you but all he really accomplished was getting his arms tangled up in the various wires and IV tubes that dangled behind your head like overgrown vines.

There was a knock on the open door and heads turned to see Dewey standing there, looking guilty. You couldn't imagine how awful he must feel. He came all this way to protect you and he was failing miserably. Again. He studied you for a moment, eyeing the wires and equipment that surrounded you and then the unmistakable white patch on your cheek. He exhaled deeply through his nose and averted his eyes back out into the hallway. "I'm gonna go grab some coffee. Does anyone want anything?"

Mickey shook his head and started fucking around with his camera again, thumbing through old files on the little blue screen. Randy was about to do the same when suddenly, he sprang up and shook himself free of the cords. "Yeah, wait-shit, I'll come with you. I can show you how (Y/N) likes hers."