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Chapter Text

It was New Year’s at Woodsboro, and Sidney Prescott was celebrating it with several people dead. Some she knew, like Tatum Riley (she swore that the sight of Tatum’s corpse still showed up in her nightmares in violent technicolor), as well as Billy Loomis and Stu Macher (dead, and Sidney should have said good riddance if not for the fact she was still trying to process how exactly Billy and Stu had betrayed her, betrayed everyone, so very easily). Some she knew in passing, like Principal Himbry. And some she didn’t really know at all, like Casey Becker and Steve Orth.

Either way, 1996 of September was a month that still carried its repercussions into the New Year’s celebration as Sidney wondered what it would be like if Billy and Stu hadn’t decided to carry on their killing spree. If Billy had carried out some sort of more constructive way of dealing with what happened to his parents’ marriage. Did her mother really deserve to die like that? Did she? Did Casey, or Tatum —

Sidney already couldn’t take it right now. She had to leave. She brushed past a couple that was excitedly talking about kissing at midnight, and made her way outside.

***

Outside was calm, and clear. You could actually see the stars, different constellations. Sidney focused on pointing out each constellation, one by one, in her mind, the ones she knew at least. Then…

”Sid?”

Randy’s voice. Sidney turned around.

“You can’t stand it either?” Sidney said.

Randy shrugged. “I was worried for you.”

”I’m okay. It’s just…I wish Tatum were here."

Randy’s voice was gentle. “I know. It isn’t fair that she died like that. Nothing about this is fair."

Sidney shook her head. “It isn’t.”

Hesitantly, Randy walked towards her, placed a hand over her own. Sidney accepted it. Somehow, it felt different, like there was invisible electricity between the two of them, but she couldn’t do this. Randy was a good guy, but she just didn’t see him that way, and even if she did, Billy had cut into her heart as deeply as if he’d actually stabbed her that night. He hadn’t just broken her heart; he’d utterly skewered it. And to think she’d been stupid enough to trust him let alone love him. Imagine that!

She could at least take comfort in Randy’s company. She truly could. She could look out into the night sky as the New Year’s party raged on and know she didn’t have to go back inside if she didn’t want to. She would be perfectly okay. 

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a normal night home alone, Tatum knew. A normal night home alone, despite the massacre that had happened at the Stab BnB before. The house fire. Tatum was supposed to be staying over at her friend Rose’s house where they were going to be watching a TV show. Bingewatching Andor, or at least trying to bingewatch it. Tatum had tried, but it had seemed too close to real world politics for her liking. She’d at least give it a second chance for Rose’s sake.

”I mean, Diego Luna’s very pretty,” Rose had said lightly, and Tatum couldn’t say that she disagreed.

So she was scrolling through her phone. Stab: The True Story updates? Fuck Bryan Mercer, Tatum thought, not for the first time. Politics? She was going to avoid that sort of stuff. It was just then that she got a text on her phone.

Hello, Tatum.

It sounded cold. It sounded clinical. It already gave Tatum the creeps. She checked the number. The number wasn’t in her contacts.

Tatum texted back, Did you get the wrong number? I don’t know who you are. 

Silence.

When the text came back, it said, Nice little town you and your mother found.

How do you know my mom? Tatum texted back.

Me and your mother go way back. Very far back. Then, You’re taller than your mother is.

Tatum would have normally felt self-conscious about that mention; what Taylor Swift once sung about feeling like a monster on a hill or something like that, Tatum felt about her height. She felt like a towering skyscraper among ants, at times. Of course, Mom had tried to reassure her about it. “It means you stand out, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” she’d said, and it was enough to make Tatum feel slightly better.

But now she didn’t feel self-conscious. Instead, she felt unnerved. How do you know what I look like, she typed.

I can see you. 

Tatum already swore she felt her blood freeze over as she stumbled downstairs, drawing a knife from the drawer. And it occurred to her…had she forgotten to lock the door? Had she simply forgotten? The door was already open wide, and Tatum couldn’t recall forgetting to lock it. Mom had always taught her to be diligent.

Someone had broken the lock. Someone had —

It was in the kitchen that Tatum saw the figure. Black-cloaked. White masked. It reminded her of one of those Ringwraiths from the Lord of the Rings movies she and Rose watched in middle school, though Ringwraiths didn’t wear masks like that. 

Like if a Ringwraith and that Scream painting had a baby, she thought. The same killer from the Stab movies. From her mother’s nightmares. Tatum knew of their atrocities…and now this monster was in her house.

You have a knife, Tatum told herself. Whatever you do, don’t drop it. This knife is your life.

She could hold onto that knowledge even as the killer charged at her.

Tatum raised her knife. 

Chapter Text

Padme didn’t miss the way Anakin seemed uncomfortable on the way to the suite where they were going to have their wedding night. It was enough to, despite herself, make her wonder if he was having second thoughts about marrying her.

It was ridiculous, of course. She trusted Anakin. She loved him. She knew he would never leave her at the altar; when Anakin Skywalker committed to things, he did not turn back, not for one instant. And yet she feared the very moment he would change his mind.

Anakin must have sensed her anxiety at bare minimum if not her thoughts, because he said, gently, “I wouldn’t marry anyone else. I came all this way for you, Padme. Just you. It’s just…when you took my hand…”

”Is that what this is all about?” Padme already felt her heart break all over again for him and wonder how Dooku could have shattered his self-image like that. “I don’t find your hand repulsive, Ani. I really don’t. It’s not your fault that you lost it.”

”In a way it was. I was reckless…”

”You still didn’t deserve that.” Padme took his hand just then and kissed it gently. It felt cold against her lips, but it didn’t matter at all, because this was as much a part of Anakin as anything else about him.

She didn’t miss how Anakin gasped. Trembled a little, but not unpleasantly. He…liked the feeling, she realized. Her lips against cold durasteel. Or maybe just what it meant, really. Affection towards a new, hated part of him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Padme said. She knew Anakin thought she was beautiful, but he seemed utterly oblivious to his own beauty. His sun gold hair and expressive, classically beautiful features. “Every little piece, Ani.”

”So are you — ”

”You’ve told me,” Padme said gently. “I just want to show you how beautiful you are."

Their room, the room for their wedding night, was open. Padme could already feel how ready she was — this was her husband, after all, and they could make love to each other if they so desired to. And she felt the urge. Showing him how much she desired him and worshipped him and adored him, how her whole body was eager for it.

And Anakin — she could gather how ready he was. The shuddering breaths. The heat in his eyes.

”I want this,” Anakin said. “Do you?”

”More than anything.”

She led him into their room — their bedroom, she realized with a thrill. She never thought she would share something with Anakin. Their clothes were shed, and Padme found ways to kiss wherever anything was in reach, to caress, to worship. She didn’t miss the way Anakin trembled as she did so, the way he gasped out her name.

”You’re a masterpiece,” Padme murmured. “Every little piece of you, Ani.”

”In your eyes, yes,” Anakin said, and Padme was still impressed that he was still talking given her ministrations.

"Exactly,” Padme said. 

Padme didn’t stop. She made sure to kiss and caress where she could, including Anakin’s mechanical hand, and she didn’t miss how Anakin trembled a little bit.

He came quickly, but given the overload of touches, that was to be expected, and he repaid Padme with gusto, worshipping her body in turn. Padme hadn’t thought she felt so beautiful than under Anakin’s fingers and lips as he murmured love poetry to her.

Even his voice was beautiful, she thought. She could get lost listening to it. Be consumed.

When she climaxed under Anakin’s touches, Padme didn’t think it would feel so intense. So good. It was rapid as well. She could only assume that she hadn’t paid enough attention to her body in quite a while. 

***

Anakin Skywalker wasn’t exactly her first anything. Padme could remember that she had been eighteen when she’d lost her virginity, and it had been a clumsy, even funny affair with some of the details involved. But Anakin was the first one who had treated her like she mattered, like she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even lying beside him, she didn’t miss how much more relaxed he seemed, less self-conscious. He believed her, at least.

”How are you feeling?” Anakin said softly.

Padme smiled. “Good. You’re a quick learner.”

”I’m a slow learner,” Anakin said lightly, and Padme giggled. It was good to see him making jokes again. Then, “Padme…thank you. I…I don’t know what I did to deserve you…”

”I chose you. Deserving has nothing to do with it.”

Their time together would be woefully short, but Padme could enjoy the time she could afford in her new husband’s company. 

Chapter Text

“So you’re saying that this man’s my long lost brother?”

Billy nodded as Sidney spoke. Sidney took a deep breath. “And he’s angry Mom rejected him, so he tried to manipulate you and Stu into committing murder?”

Billy nodded. “I’m not happy with your mom,” he said, and Sidney could imagine it was a massive understatement. She already felt like she’d been punched in the chest. Not Mom, she thought, Never Mom. She didn’t know when she’d accept it, if ever. Could this Roman have altered the footage, or faked it, or taken it out of context? Billy continued. “But Stu and I aren’t onboard with murder. We’re not going to jail, I’m not some puppet on a string, neither is Stu, and Stu doesn’t want his parents mad at him.”

”You both did the right thing,” Sidney said. Then, “Billy…what if we called the cops? Told them about Roman trying to get you to commit murder?”

Silence.

”Good idea,” Billy said.

***

The snow was already billowing and howling outside as Sidney punched in the number for the police station, harder than she needed to. It didn’t matter. She was angry. Angry that her shithead long lost brother (couldn’t she have gotten the cool long lost brother, she thought, instead of a long lost brother who tried to manipulate her boyfriend and his friend into murder?) was meddling in their lives, trying to ruin everything. 

“Woodsboro Police Station?” Sidney said. “My boyfriend was threatened…”

She didn’t know if “threatened” was the right word, but Roman had tried to get him to kill her mother. Tried to manipulate him. That Sidney couldn’t forgive. 

(She’d call Roman a “son of a bitch”, but Maureen didn’t deserve being insulted by proxy)

Roman had tried to manipulate her boyfriend. Threatened her mother.

Sidney wouldn’t rest until he was behind bars and they were all safe. 

Chapter Text

“Billy, it’s midnight…”

What else Sidney was about to say disappeared instantly when she saw the look on Billy’s face. He looked awful, she thought. He looked like he’d been crying his eyes out, and she didn’t know what could have set off her normally stoic boyfriend in such a way.

”Billy?” she said. “Are you okay?”

”No.” Billy sounded so very small in that moment. “It’s Mom. She…she left."

Sidney already felt like she’d been punched in the chest. “What? Why?”

”I don’t know.” Billy’s voice cracked. “I heard Mom and Dad fighting, but I didn’t know what about. They were throwing all sorts of accusations back and forth; something involving your mom is my best fucking guess…”

”You think my mom would…have something to do with that?” Already, the idea of Mom having something to do with Hank and Nancy’s marriage disintegrating was too horrifying to imagine. Not Mom, she wanted to say. Mom would never.

But that wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to say right now, she thought. Billy wouldn’t lie to her. He never would. 

Billy laughed shakily. “I dunno. It’s just a shitshow. I had to come over here.”

”Well, come inside before you fall to your death,” Sidney said.

That actually got another laugh from Billy, a genuine one this time. 

***

They got inside. Sidney had no idea what to do right now; fortunately she was home alone, so…

”You want some hot chocolate?” Sidney said. “Mom makes it whenever I’m upset.”

”And when it’s about zero degrees outside. January in Woodsboro is always a nightmare.”

That got a laugh out of Sidney.

***

Billy made himself some hot chocolate before sitting across from Sidney with hers. “Mom and Dad’s marriage was going down the tubes for a while,” Billy said. “I should have seen it coming, but…I dunno. It’s like the Elm Street movies where you realize the Springwood parents aren’t gods. I mean, I’m lucky compared to them; Mom and Dad wouldn’t hurt me, but…”

”I get it.” Sidney didn’t know the Elm Street movies, but she knew Billy was upset and disoriented. And she was too. Even the idea of Mom accidentally breaking up a marriage…how was she even going to talk about this to her mother? “Mom, is it true?" The moment she asked that question would be like opening Pandora’s box or going down the rabbit hole. There would be no going back.

”I’ve never felt more alone.” Billy said in a small voice.

Sidney took his hand. “You have me. You’ve got Stu.”

Billy smiled faintly. “Yeah. I have you two.”

Sidney smiled back. “So. Emergency date night? I’ll even watch a horror movie with you. Humor you a bit.”

Billy laughed. "Well, we’re skipping the Elm Street movies and the Halloween movies. I think I’ve had my fill of fucked up families.” He paused. "Maybe Friday the 13th…well, that has a fucked up family in it too. You know what? Fuck it. We’re watching a Meg Ryan movie.”

”I don’t think you’ll see many fucked up families in Meg Ryan movies,” Sidney said reassuringly.

”Thank fuck.”

***

Even with the Meg Ryan movie they settled on, Sidney took care to watch Billy’s facial expressions. She always liked it when he laughed because of how radiant he looked, but here? It looked even more precious. Like she had to take out a camera if possible and take a picture of it, savor it, remember it. 

Sidney promised that she would, if only in her memory. Mentally take pictures of Billy’s laugh at the funny parts. Protect him from the inevitable gossip at school when Woodsboro’s students decided to speculate about what could have possibly split up Hank and Nancy. Sidney Prescott loved Billy Loomis and she knew that for him, she’d take on Woodsboro’s high school alumni to keep him safe. 

Chapter Text

“You know, alcohol’s not gonna rewrite history.”

That was what the hallucination of Billy Loomis, who Sam had gotten all too used to, said. She was used to him. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t resoundingly get fucked. Especially when he showed up while Sam’s head was already throbbing from the alcohol consumption from last night.

”It’s college, you asshole,” Sam said.

”Language,” Billy said.

”I can’t believe a Ghostface killer is telling me to watch my language."

”Just because I killed a few people doesn’t mean I want my daughter to swear like a sailor. Or get drunk. Getting stinking drunk is how your Uncle Stu made stupid decisions, and we don’t wanna be like Uncle Stu.”

Sam shuddered. “That creep isn’t my uncle.”

”He’d be overjoyed to meet you, you know.”

Sam groaned as she went to the bathroom to take her meds. “I think one Ghostface killer is enough for me.”

***

To hallucination Billy’s credit, he did give some good advice. Apparently a good hangover cure was ordering fast food. "How do you know this?” she asked Billy.

Billy shrugged. “You’d be surprised the stuff you learn when you have to look after Stu after a night of partying. Tatum learned it too. Had to hold his hair while he puked in the toilet.”

”…that’s disgusting.”

Billy shrugged. “That was Stu.”

Sam wrinkled her nose in distaste. At the same time, the image of Stu puking in a toilet did take the menace out of that particular Ghostface killer. “For a Ghostface killer, you seem awfully invested in me.”

”A Loomis is a Loomis. Besides, who says that horror movie killers can’t have soft spots? Even Freddy loved his little girl. Even Michael had a weird kinship with his niece. And Jason was quite the Mama’s Boy.”

"You’re talking nonsense.”

”Even we killers can love well, if not wisely.”

It didn’t take a genius to understand what Billy was implying.

”You love me? How can you even say that?”

"If it’s the truth. Even Ghostface can love well, if not wisely.”

Sam couldn’t argue with that. Even Charlie had apparently been in love with Jill and that was why he’d killed alongside her. Even Nancy Loomis (her grandmother, Sam thought with revulsion) loved her son. Ghostface could love well, if not wisely.

Sam just didn’t want to be loved by Billy. She didn’t want to know what that love would feel like. Violent. Destructive. Like a forest fire, perhaps, consuming everything in its path, including innocent victims. That would be what loving well if not wisely would mean: destruction and violence.

If this was love, she did not want it.

***

It was the weekend, no classes, so Sam could recover in her dorm from last night. Her roommate, Melissa, was off somewhere, and even as Sam tucked herself into bed to rest…

Billy mostly appeared in reflective surfaces, but creepily enough, the soft breeze across her temples suggested a gentle kiss from Billy as Sam rested off her hangover. Loving well if not wisely could be tender too. Apparently.

Sam didn’t know what to think of that. 

Chapter Text

The war was over. In the end, it was all Padme wanted, and even at the celebration where everyone seemed to be having fun, there was a sort of bittersweetness to it. She was glad that the Clone Wars were over, she truly was, but it came at a terrible price.

Palpatine was in custody now, about to stand trial for his part in the Clone Wars. Staging it, all to gain power. To think that Dooku and Maul, of all beings, had been trying to warn them about what was happening. And that Padme’s own husband had been a target for corruption ever since he was only a child…

Padme Amidala did not consider herself a woman who hated easily but it was safe to say that she hated Palpatine. It was the sort of hatred that settled in her heart like poison, and she already felt her stomach heaving.

She excused herself, blaming it on the alcohol, before heading off to the fresher.

***

She’d probably ruined her nice hair, she thought wryly, when she was done heaving into the fresher. At her side, Anakin was there, holding her head as she vomited, but he held her hair so very gently, so very tenderly. He was always gentle, her Ani. She wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t.

”Anakin,” she murmured before she took a sheet of fresher flimsiplast and wiped her mouth. “I…probably look terrible…”

”You’re always beautiful to me, Padme,” Anakin said, and Padme was reminded of another reason she’d married him. Then, “Was it the drinks? Should I take you home?”

”It’s not that.” Then, “I…hate Palpatine.”

”It’s all right. To be angry is to be human.”

”I know. It’s just…I never thought I would really, truly hate anyone. Even the Trade Federation or the Separatists…they didn’t have to be our enemies.”

”And maybe they don’t have to be.” Then, “I know how you feel, Padme. I hate him too. And it…hurts,” his voice cracked as he spoke. “Because he was like my father.”

”He wasn’t like your father,” Padme said. “He wasn’t the only father figure you had. You have Obi-Wan."

A faint smile from Anakin. “I do."

Padme knew that Anakin’s opinions of Obi-Wan were turbulent at best, they truly were — resentment one minute and unbridled praise and admiration the next — but he thought the galaxy of Obi-Wan as a father figure. 

“He was the one who mentored you,” she said. “He loves you and believes in you. He’s worth…seven, at least, of Palpatine.”

Anakin nodded. “As always, you’re right.” Then, “What about you? Palpatine used to be…”

”He wasn’t my friend,” Padme said. “I think in retrospect, there was a good reason for it." Then, “Do you want to go home? I mean, this is getting a bit much for me and I’m missing our babies…”

Anakin nodded. “It was getting a bit much for me anyway too,” he said. “You’re not alone.”

***

Padme neatened her hair and straightened herself out before emerging with Anakin. They excused themselves from the party, with the other Senators and Jedi being more than understanding (Obi-Wan in particular gave them a knowing smile) as they headed home. Once they emerged through the door, Padme smiled at the sight of Threepio (who they’d hired as a babysitter) acting out Anakin’s adventures in the Clone Wars, complete with his own pitch perfect imitations of Anakin’s enemies.

Leia and Luke laughed and clapped their hands, cheering on their father and their mother alike as Threepio retold their adventures. Then, “Oh, Master Anakin, Mistress Padme! You’ve returned. I ask you, how was the celebration?”

”We had to leave early. It was a little…overwhelming.” Padme smiled as she spoke. “Luke and Leia seem to be very into your stories.”

”Well, I didn’t think I had it in me.”

Anakin smiled. “Have you ever considered you do, Threepio?”

”Well, goodness gracious, I am flattered, Master Anakin. I never thought that anyone would say such a thing…"

”Luke and Leia like your stories,” Padme said. “I think you underestimate your talents, Threepio.” Then, “Come on, Luke, come on, Leia. How about we get you both to bed and you can hear more stories?"

Luke and Leia cheered on that idea, tired as they were, and that seemed to get them more pliable to being tucked into bed.

Padme could at least say that despite the strong emotions the celebration brought up, it was good to be home with her family. 

Chapter Text

“I didn’t realize there was so much green,” Rey finally said. “So much beauty.”

Ben’s face was solemn, but it softened when Rey said such a thing. “You really think so?”

Rey nodded. “I just never saw things like that,” she said. “On Jakku. It was nothing but desert as far as the eye could see.”

”And your parents thought that was an ideal place to raise a youngling.”

”Youngling?” Rey wrinkled her nose. “Is that what Jedi call children?”

”Yes. It’s a very clunky word.”

Rey nodded. “Obviously.” Then, “But my parents did the best they could. It was that or be captured by my grandfather.”

Silence.

”I suppose I understand,” Ben said. He seemed to still be adjusting to the very idea of it.

”Why do you care?”

”Because you deserve better, Rey.”

Rey nearly dropped her lightsaber right then and there. She never really expected anyone to outright say it before, to say such beautiful words.

”You…believe that?” 

“With all my heart.”

Rey smiled then, faintly. “You deserve better too, Ben.”

Ben looked solemn again. “I don’t know if I do.”

”You do. I mean, you’ve caused pain, but you’ve also had pain done to you,” Rey said. “You truly have. And I think you do have the potential to be a good person.”

”Do you now?”

”You didn’t have to comfort me after the cave on Ach-To,” Rey said. “You did anyway.”

Silence.

”It was the right thing to do,” Ben said. “You were suffering.”

”So were you.”

“And it felt right, reaching out to you,” Ben said. “I think you needed it.”

Rey nodded. “I did.”

***

They continued hiking. Even as they walked, Rey exclaimed in delight at certain details — a carving of lovers’ initials in tree bark, the flush of green-gold leaves. She didn’t miss how Ben seemed to brighten at her observations.

”It’s like you’re showing me the galaxy in a whole new way,” he said. “Like you’re showing me the sorts of colors I could never see with anyone else.”

Rey smiled. “You think so?”

”I know it. It never fails to amaze me how you can show me the galaxy in a whole new way."

He already had seen it in a whole new way, Rey thought, when Luke had resurrected him. Now…now it seemed that Rey was just helping him more with that. 

“Then I’ll continue doing it,” Rey said. “Gladly.”

Chapter Text

If Rey could send her thoughts to Poe across Coruscant like paper planes, she would, and she knew that Ben would too.

It was an unusual arrangement, this throuple they shared, but Rey and Poe both loved Ben dearly, and so they arranged such a thing. Plenty of trust building to be had, of course, but now, Rey couldn’t imagine her life without two of these amazing men in it. Rebuilding the Order was difficult, though. Poe was Chancellor now, taking up what Leia would have wanted, and Rey and Ben were rebuilding the Order.

But it was exhausting, Rey wouldn’t deny it. Even landing on Coruscant (she never got over how the whole planet was like one big city, the sheer beauty of it), she could already sense that Poe was waiting in the shadows, deep in conversation with Pooja Naberrie.

”You miss him already?” Rey said to Ben.

”It’s safe to say we both miss him,” Ben said.

***

Poe eventually broke away from Pooja, with an “Excuse me” and Pooja seemed to understand just about immediately. And Rey and Ben all but ran towards Poe, BB-8 squealing with delight.

The three embraced, and Rey already felt like she’d come home.

”I missed you both,” Poe murmured into their ears.

”We should have visited earlier,” Rey said.

”I know. Rebuilding the Order is hard work. How are your students?”

”They’re doing beautifully,” Rey said. “I’ve never been prouder of them.”

”Neither have I,” Ben said.

Poe broke away then, beamed brightly. Rey swore that his smile could light up all of Coruscant. “I’ve been working on the Republic,” he said. “It’s not the same without you two, though. Here.”

Rey smiled. “Let’s go home.”

To her, Poe’s apartment was good as home. 

Chapter Text

If Christina Carpenter could describe what exactly caused her to start drinking, it was the nightmares.

It wasn’t just that sense of heartbreak, or even being “the other woman” in this travesty of a love triangle. It was the sense of betrayal, of exploitation, in this whole mess. It was the whole sense of being used — that she had turned to Billy Loomis, trusted him, and he had turned out to be someone along the lines of Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger. It had been being rescued from a sense of loneliness that even Jimmy hadn’t really understood and the revelation that her savior was the Devil in disguise.

If Christina Carpenter had danced with the Devil and now had to take care of his baby, was she basically Rosemary from Rosemary’s Baby? Admittedly, Billy…Billy Loomis was no rapist. He thought of the act as absolutely abhorrent, even once opining that the rapists from I Spit on Your Grave got what they deserved when Jennifer Hill started going after them. He hadn’t raped her. Her first time with him had even been gentle, tender. She wondered absently if he had used this on Sidney, if he had said pretty words during their trysts to hide the ugliness beneath the surface.

Billy hadn’t raped her. And yet she still felt like she was bearing the Devil’s baby. Like she was Rosemary.

***

It was after a particularly gruesome nightmare about Sam, grown up, in the Ghostface costume, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she impaled Christina through the chest that Christina went for the bottle. Sam was still mercifully asleep; Christina was glad. She didn’t want Sam or Jimmy to see her like this. 

Christina poured herself a glass of wine. She knew it was risky to guzzle the whole bottle, although it was tempting, God willing. It was tempting to barricade herself in the bathroom with a whole bottle, guzzling down the horrors, the nightmares, the flashbacks, the burdens she carried, but she wasn’t going to. Christina Carpenter had more dignity than that. 

She still downed the glass with plenty of gusto, of course. After all, what was a little bit of stress relief down in the kitchen? Nobody had to know. Or judge.

For now, Jimmy wouldn’t start noticing and raising an eyebrow whenever she made a beeline for the mulled wine at a holiday dinner whenever a nightmare particularly acted up. For now, it was Christina’s little secret, mother’s little helper, that she used whenever the nightmares acted up. 

Chapter Text

Tina had gotten her the bath bomb for her eighteenth birthday. It was safe to say after the day Rachel had had that had involved her being accosted by someone blaming her for what her little sister did (because Jamie was her little sister. They weren’t sisters by blood, but that didn’t make Rachel love her any less), she needed to relax.

No Michael, no nothing. She just needed to relax.

Max must have sensed his mistress’ distress because he all but trotted over to her, whimpering. Rachel smiled wanly; that was one thing she liked about dogs. They just were incredibly empathetic creatures. Even as she scratched behind Max’s ears, she said, “I’m okay, Max.”

She wanted to say she wasn’t okay. That she was so tired. That she felt older than her eighteen years. That even though she wasn’t Michael’s main target, she still felt like Michael had taken her girlhood out back and murdered it, and it was so selfish because Jamie had gone through so much worse…

She could tell Tina, at least. She could tell Loomis. Tina, with her cheerfulness and ever present faith in Rachel when Rachel didn’t deserve it. Loomis, with his steady guidance. She couldn’t tell Mom and Dad; they had enough on their plate as it was.

Rachel Carruthers was just so very tired. At least, she thought, the bathroom would be a good place to start. And the bath bomb. Playing with it, having certain art come out of it…

Yes, she thought. That, if anything, was a good plan.

And for the first time since coming home from school, Rachel could relax at least a little. 

Chapter Text

“I found a way to save you.”

”Save me?” And the baby, Padme thought. They both couldn’t afford to forget their baby, not in the slightest.

”From my nightmares.”

”Oh.” The way her husband looked, he looked like he hadn’t looked in a while since he had the nightmares. He looked hopeful, genuinely so.

”I went to the library,” Anakin said. “Jocasta Nu’s archives. And I found a book that talks about healing techniques. Apparently you can even resurrect people who are already dead.”

”It’s…that simple?” Padme said. Would the baby be all right too, along with her, when the technique worked? She couldn’t help but wonder.

”Yes. And at this point, I’ll do anything to protect you and the baby.”

”I know.” Then, “I’m not going to die in childbirth, Ani. I promise you.”

”No, I promise you. This will work. I won’t fail you, Padme.”

”You won’t.” Padme reached up gently to trace his scar. “I know you."

Anakin relaxed into her touch, and Padme could tell that for the first time in a while her husband had hope. She knew the feeling, too well. It was like the clouds hovering over them had lifted and they could both breathe again. And everything was all right. 

Chapter Text

They didn’t just have one. They had two.

Two babies. Healthy. Screaming their lungs out, but wasn’t that par for the course with babies, really? Even as Padme laughed in relief and so did Anakin, she didn’t miss how Anakin looked relieved that in the end, he hadn’t had to use that technique, that Force reviving technique, at all.

She could still remember him gripping her hand as she had given birth — the way that his hand on hers had gotten her through the agony of actually pushing out two human babies.

”You’re safe,” Anakin said. “You’re alive. Thank the Force the nightmare was wrong. That it was only a nightmare…”

Padme didn’t miss how his eyes were so very wet. So very damp. “It was, Ani,” she said. “I’m here. The babies are here.” She beamed. “And I can’t wait to meet them…”

***

She was exhausted. The medical droid still informed an all too anxious still Anakin that it was all normal, that Padme was alive. Padme couldn’t say she blamed him. They had lived with the shadow of that horrible nightmare hovering over them for stars-knows-how-long. Anakin had already lost his mother. And they weren’t used to good things happening to them, both of them, during that time.

But Padme took the boy. Anakin took the girl. It dawned on Padme that she had a feeling they’d have a boy. Anakin had had a feeling that they’d have a girl. In a way, they had both been right. 

They had one of each. She never dreamed they’d have one of each.

”She’s so beautiful,” Anakin murmured.

”So’s he." Then, “I had an idea. For the boy…I was thinking of naming him ‘Luke’.” A pause. “It means ‘light’.”

”Our little light?” Anakin said. “That sounds perfect.” Then, “I was thinking…what about Leia for our daughter? Leia Shmi Skywalker?”

Padme beamed. She swore that somewhere, Shmi Skywalker was beaming in pride.

Two healthy children. Luke and Leia Skywalker. Their little lights, and Padme would have it no other way. 

Chapter Text

The last time that they had made snow angels, it had been disastrous, and Belle didn’t want to think about it too much.

Now, though, lying back in the snow, making snow angels and simply looking up at the sky, there was something peaceful about it. It felt like a second chance. It felt like a blessing.

Belle and Adam were given a second chance.

***

Even as Adam and Belle got up and looked at their snow angels, Belle beamed at him. “They look beautiful.”

”Yours does.” Adam kissed her cheek. “Mine…actually doesn’t look that bad.”

“Of course it doesn’t. It’s you, Adam.”

”You’re very kind.”

”It’s the truth. Man or beast…I’d still love you,” Belle said. “I fell in love with you, not for your looks.”

Adam looked solemn. Then, “To think I was so ashamed of what I was…”

”Who you are.” Belle kissed his hand. "Who. Don’t you ever use the word ‘what’ to describe yourself.”

Adam actually did smile. “I can believe you, the way you speak.”

Belle kissed his cheek. “I think we should go inside,” she said. “Mrs. Potts probably has some tea warmed up. And we can read together.”

“You could read out loud.” Then, “You always make the stories come alive when you speak.”

Belle couldn’t deny the flutter in her chest that arose. Pleasant, of course. Only Adam had really appreciated her love of reading. To think it had taken her that long to find a man like him…

"I’ll be happy to do it then,” she said.

They walked, hand in hand, back to the castle. 

Chapter Text

If there was anything that Mary the midwife was absolutely certain of, it was the fact that she needed to get Jamie out of this place. She knew what was going to happen; she knew that when Jamie was fifteen or sixteen, that monster Wynn was going to prey upon her. He would most likely see her as just a tool to fulfill the idea of being the hero in his own delusions. She knew that. She knew him. Not intimately, but she had lived among Thorn long enough to actually think that. She knew that much.

So it was one night, on October 30th, that she found Jamie, shaking like a leaf in her cell (Wynn hadn’t even had the decency to give her an actual room, Mary thought with disgust) and she said, “We’re getting out of here.”

”Mary?” Jamie’s voice quivered as she spoke.

”We don’t have time. Come with me.”

Jamie paused. Then she nodded, resolution in her eyes.

***

Running with a nine year old in her arms was harder than Mary anticipated, but she ran nonetheless. Jamie froze in her arms, shivered. “Mary,” she said. “He’s coming.”

”I know.” Mary could all but hear Michael advancing down the corridor like something out of hell itself. His footsteps, echoing, slow, interminable. It was clear that Michael was just biding his time before he found them. But Mary would be damned if he hurt Jamie. She really would be. “We just need to reach the top…"

Mary had only heard stories about the outside of Smith’s Grove from Jamie. Now…now she would be able to experience it, if only for a short time.

She reached the summit. The rain was already pouring down and she could already sense Michael gaining on them like a monster out of hell.

And she ran towards the fence. Ducked under a hole in it.

***

Even emerging from the fence itself, she slipped with Jamie still in her arms. Luckily, Jamie didn’t fall away from her. Mary righted herself, still holding Jamie, before heading towards a truck.

She buckled Jamie in…and it was there that she heard the truck driver’s voice. “Hey! What are you — holy crow, is that a kid?”

Mary nodded. "We’re both in trouble. Get inside. Our…our attacker’s coming for us.”

”Okay. Just get in the backseat. Where do you need to go?”

”The bus stop,” Mary said. “To Haddonfield."

***

They drove away towards the bus stop, Mary comforting a shivering Jamie in the backseat as the driver drove full speed ahead.

”I’m Daniel, by the way,” the trucker said. “Daniel Carpenter. Who are both of you?”

”Mary,” Mary said.

”Jamie,” Jamie said.

Daniel nodded. “Good to meet you both. I promise, I’m going to get the two of you to Haddonfield, safe and sound."

Mary could only hope.

Chapter Text

“We’ll find a way back home, Ben. I promise.”

Rey didn’t know if it was a promise that she could keep. It wasn’t even that she couldn’t do it; she didn’t come out all this way just to leave Ben to his fate. That much was clear. She’d done so much to try and find him, and now…she wasn’t about to leave him here.

The question was how. The blizzard outside was one of the worst blizzards Rey had ever seen and even peering through the mouth of the cave entrance, icicles like teeth, Rey couldn’t help but fear that this storm really wouldn’t let up.

”We’ll get out of here,” Ben said. “I know it.” Then, “I just don’t know if I am worthy of — ”

”Don’t say things like that. You are.” Rey smoothed out the blankets over them. “You have plenty of potential to be a better man, Ben. I mean, you’ve endured pain and caused some but it doesn’t have to stay that way.”

”I suppose not.”

”There was a reason Luke brought you back.”

”Because he felt guilty.”

”Because he cares about you,” Rey said. “I know it. And your parents still care about you and, well…”

”You do.”

”Yes. I do.”

That had been obvious the first time she’d kissed him. It had just felt right to kiss him. Like she just should, really. 

She snuggled closer to his strong frame. “Are you real?”

”As real as I can be.”

”I’m just almost afraid…”

”I’m not leaving you again, Rey. I promise.”

She snuggled closer to him, and the cave felt warmer than it had any right to be. 

Chapter Text

It had been Rory’s idea to take Leigh on a train ride. It was something that was going to happen before she ended up going, inevitably, to Yale. At least they could have some fun in the meantime, and so Leigh sat on the train with Rory and Logan, along with Grandma, Grandpa and Nana, looking out at the countryside as it passed by.

Even as she looked, Leigh couldn’t help but be amazed at the sheer amounts of scenery that she saw. The bright blue skies, the trees, the rivers.

”Sure beats looking at your phone, doesn’t it?” Grandma teased.

”It does.” Leigh was almost reminded of what Taylor Swift had once sung about in her song “The Lakes”, about wanting to see wisteria grow under her bare feet or something along those lines. She wasn’t seeing wisteria grow under her bare feet, or feeling it, but the scenery was something. 

Rory nodded. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” she said,

Leigh nodded. Even as the train rode by, she could at least say that something like this didn’t happen every day and she might as well savor it. 

Chapter Text

The people at the hospital absolutely hated watching over Stu Macher, and Doctor Williamson couldn’t say she was completely at ease with him. Stu himself was charming enough, that much was true; he could be funny and charismatic, but that was true for a lot of killers. Stu was nothing special. 

She had to still be on her guard.

The pictures on his walls were one of the most unsettling things, really. They were pictures of various people in Stu’s life — Roman Bridger, Billy Loomis, and Sidney Prescott. Sidney in particular he kept drawing over and over, capturing her perfectly at seventeen. It was like Stu was frozen perfectly in time, frozen at the age of his first kill despite being around fifty now.

***

”Did you do all these drawings yourself, Stu?”

”No, they’re AI generated,” Stu deadpanned. Then he laughed. “Ha! Got you good.”

Doctor Williamson had to reluctantly admit that that almost made her laugh. Almost. Given that AI seemed to be everywhere nowadays, she couldn’t deny that Stu wasn’t exactly on the mark with how exasperated everyone was with AI.

"I drew them myself,” Stu said. “You know…I always had a thing for Sid. Back in high school.”

”Did you now?” That certainly explained the drawings. Had Stu decided to kill people around Sidney to have her to himself? Given his disproportionate, even entitled reaction when Casey Becker had broken up with him, such things would not be out of character for Stu.

Stu nodded. “She was beautiful. Still is. She’s aged like a fine wine, Sidney.”

From anyone else, those comments would have been normal. From Stu, something caused Doctor Williamson to feel uneasy, at bare minimum. 

"I see,” Doctor Williamson said.

”Billy wanted her first. That was before Roman aired Maureen’s dirty laundry, see. He didn’t start out wanting to kill his own girlfriend. I didn’t start out wanting to kill anybody. Roman was pretty much the Palpatine to our Darth Vaders. And what a Mama’s Boy he was. If Billy wasn’t my best friend, we would have just gone home…”

”So if Billy had chosen to go home,” Doctor Williamson said, “Would you have followed him?”

Stu shrugged. “No shit I would. He was my best friend. And when he dated Sidney, I stayed out of the way. I wouldn’t shit on my best friend’s happiness.”

”You think he was happy?”

”Before Roman let the cat out of the bag? Yes."

Interesting, Doctor Williamson thought.

"She was beautiful, Sidney,” Stu said, almost dreamily. “And she could kick ass. I didn’t see her in that Father Death costume, not really, but I bet she looked beautiful in it…”

And back to disturbing again, Doctor Williamson thought.

"I don’t even hate her,” Stu said, “For dropping that TV on my head.”

"Even when it left you with those burn scars?”

Stu laughed; it was an uncanny sound. “Eh, it’s just some minor burns.”

”Don’t they hurt?”

”It’s been long enough. They don’t.” Then, “Besides…it was her. I wouldn’t mind fighting her again.”

”You can’t,” Doctor Williamson said. “Not without getting past security.”

Stu shrugged. “Maybe I won’t have to. Maybe she’ll come visit."

Doctor Williamson shook her head. “She has her own life, Stu. You have to respect that.”

”Her life’s always been entwined with Ghostface,” Stu said. “It’s her destiny.”

Doctor Williamson couldn’t help but pity Sidney Prescott. “It doesn’t have to be. And you don’t have to be a killer either, Stu. You can leave those days behind.”

Stu’s laughter took on a more bitter edge. “As if.”

”That’s all you can say, ‘as if’?”

”As if. My parents are dead and I can never talk to them again. Sidney’s still alive. She’s the only thing that’s constant here. We’re the only ones still alive.” The look in Stu’s eyes was almost like looking into a furnace. “It’s just us. Her and me. The only ones left.”

***

When the session ended, Doctor Williamson definitely had some observations. Her patient was obsessed with Sidney Prescott, a travesty of romantic feelings. He seemed to believe that they were the only ones left from that awful night — the only ones who mattered. And he was frozen there. Just to name a few observations.

Doctor Williamson swore those drawings of Sidney were going to creep her out until she was dead. 

Chapter Text

Shmi Skywalker could say that she was recovering, at least, from her experience in the Tusken camp. Cliegg had brought her soup, and Shmi almost smiled at the idea that her husband was treating her like she was sick.

”You’re safe now, Shmi,” Cliegg said. “And those bastards are never going to hurt you again.”

“They didn’t do it by choice.”

”Of course they did,” Cliegg said. “They’re monsters. They prey on women and children…”

”I overheard them,” Shmi said. “When I was being…held captive,” and even that was something she didn’t want to think about, shadows and weapons and the crack of weapons against flesh, “They were talking about someone. Someone named Dooku. And another one named Sidious.”

”So the Tuskens were pawns in these bastards’ games,” Cliegg said.

Shmi nodded.

Cliegg rubbed his temples. Then, “Shmi…we have to do something.”

”We’re not going to retaliate against the Tuskens,” Shmi said. “They have women and children in their ranks too, and they don’t deserve that fate.”

”We’re going for Dooku and Sidious. Whoever they are.” Cliegg’s voice was quiet, but his fury was obvious. “We’re not going to rest until they’re either dead or behind bars where they can’t hurt anybody else.”

”I know.”

Cliegg’s face softened. “But right now, you need to rest, Shmi,” he said. “You were tortured and you need to actually heal. I’ll sit by you and we can just…talk.”

Shmi smiled. “What did I miss while I was out?”

”Well,” Cliegg said, eyes sparkling with amusement, “Padme gave Threepio an oil bath.”

”Padme’s here?” Shmi said. She always liked the young girl: kind and practical, a good head on her shoulders.

”You know her?” Cliegg said.

Shmi nodded. “She’s an old friend of mine.” Then, “Is Anakin there too? Tell me about him. How far has he come?”

Cliegg smiled. “Well, he’s grown up. Nineteen now, I guess? He’s impetuous. Brave. Noble. He was willing to fight off some Tuskens attacking him to get you to safety. None of the women and children. Just the attacking men.”

”I knew he would,” Shmi said, gently. “He was…he was a wonderful child. Never hurt anyone.”

”I believe you.” A mischievous smile danced across Cliegg’s lips. “I think he and Padme have something going on between them."

Shmi laughed. “Do you?”

”He looks at her…well, like you look at me. And like how Owen looks at Beru. Like he’s seen a miracle. Don’t think bodyguards look at their Senators like that…”

Shmi did laugh again. It felt good to laugh again. Cliegg smiled at her; he too looked at her like he’d seen a miracle, Shmi thought.

Then, “I’m glad,” Shmi said. “That he’s so very successful now."

”I can imagine.” Then, “Shmi, I promise Dooku and Sidious…whoever they are, they’ll be caught.”

”I’m going with you. We’re a team, Cliegg…and if Dooku and Sidious are after me, they’re also after my family. I can’t have that.”

Silence.

”When you’re well.” Cliegg kissed her hand lightly.

”I know.” Shmi smiled up at him. “I love you.”

”I love you.”

Even as Shmi rested, she could take comfort in the fact she was back home, and not in that camp, being used as a pawn by Sidious and Dooku. Shmi was not the type to want anyone to pay, but here? She’d make sure her family was protected at all costs, no matter what. 

Chapter Text

Killing Billy was easier than getting rid of his old things, and Sidney almost hated that she even thought that. Even as she tossed certain things in a box that her father had put in her room, she wondered what she was going to do with them.

The old cliche was to cleanse it with fire, but wasn’t there a Friends episode or something like that where that went horribly wrong? Besides, Sidney couldn’t bring herself, despite better judgment, to set anything on fire.

Or maybe it was better judgment, Sidney thought. Maybe it was the sort of judgment that she needed. The last thing that she needed was to inadvertently start a house fire and have a very awkward conversation with the fire department. “I didn’t set my house on fire deliberately; my boyfriend and I broke up. After he tried to kill me. And I had to kill him before he killed me…”

Even outlining it in her head, it sounded horrible. It sounded macabre. And it had happened to her.

Shitty boyfriends existed; Sidney wasn’t blind. But the sort of shitty boyfriend who blamed you and your mother for the dissolution of his parents’ marriage, so he killed your mother, killed others, and tried to kill you? That was a new kind of shitty boyfriend. The sort that wasn’t just your ordinary kind of shitty boyfriend.

She was already going through Billy’s things when she came across something, a stuffed animal of hers that Billy had played with the night he’d crawled through her window. The night he’d killed Casey Becker; Sidney could put two and two together from there. 

So he’d killed Casey Becker, gotten rid of the Father Death costume, and then gone to her. At least the line about the Exorcist had been a lie. Would Sidney spend the rest of her life combing through the braids of lies?

She wondered. She wondered too if she should get rid of the stuffed animal. Billy had touched it with the same blood-soaked murder-scarred hands that had killed Casey Becker, and yet was it the stuffed animal’s fault?

It wasn’t. Maybe Sidney could file it away under “undecided”. That was a good idea as any.

***

”What do you want to do with them?” Neil said.

Sidney paused. It would be easy to donate them to charity, but…

”Send them to Mr. Loomis,” she said. “I mean…he deserves to have some mementos of Billy’s.” She wasn’t about to cheat Mr. Loomis out of not having any mementos of his dead son.

Mr. Loomis had messed up regarding Billy, but he did deserve to at least have some mementos of his deceased son. Something to remember Billy by.

”If Mr. Loomis will take it well,” Neil said. “I certainly hope he does.”

Sidney nodded. Despite everything, she almost hoped so too. 

“And how are you feeling?” Neil said.

”Mad,” Sidney said. “A bit sad, for what could have been. Stunned.”

”I know.”

Neil hugged her, and Sidney held onto him as best she could. She wasn’t going to lose him, or nearly lose him like she had that awful night at the Macher house. She simply couldn’t. 

Chapter Text

The town meeting — at least the townspeople had been excited, but Sally still wasn’t happy. Even looking over at Jack looking wistfully into a snow globe, Sally said, “You didn’t really describe him accurately.”

”Sandy Claws? Well, I took a little bit of poetic license…”

”It was like you were putting on a show,” Sally said. “Like you were…”

”Pretending?” Jack laughed sadly. “You got me." Then, “The townspeople are excited at least. And I’m glad. But…it’s hard to describe the feeling that you get in Christmasland. The snow, the bright lights, the color…”

”Jack,” Sally said, gently, “I know how you feel.”

She reached out, hesitantly, to him — a comforting gesture.

Jack accepted.

Sally was surprised and yet not with how charged it felt, like there was a bizarre sort of energy between them. She had always been more than a little bit captivated by Jack, and now was no exception. 

"There has to be some way to explain this,” Jack said. “Anything.”

”We’ll find a way,” Sally said. “I promise."

Their hands lingered longer than they really intended. 

Chapter Text

Tatum could only watch, stunned, as Roman Bridger polished his knife with Stu Macher lying dead on the ground. The way Stu looked…he looked like he hadn’t even seen Roman’s betrayal coming. Neither did Tatum, for that matter.

Roman, meanwhile, seemed perfectly nonchalant. “For you, Tatum,” he said. “Call it a trophy.”

He picked up Stu’s Ghostface mask and handed it to her. Tatum refused. “I…” She couldn’t speak for a moment. Then, “You didn’t have to…”

”I told Stu that you were to be spared. Apparently dipshit only cared about getting revenge on your mother. It was he who said that you were going to be killed with your mother watching.” Roman said. “Me? I’m not interested in killing you.”

”Am I supposed to consider myself lucky?"

”It’s a classic horror trope, I’ve heard. We killers can love well, if not wisely. Even Michael Myers had an…affinity towards his niece.”

Tatum thought back to Stu stabbing her through the walls of her mother’s panic room. Her, screaming for her mother even as she made efforts to dodge. She thought about it, and she wondered if she had more in common with Jamie Lloyd than she thought. Daughter of one of the greatest Final Girls of all time, a serial killer for an uncle…the only difference was that she was seventeen and Jamie, poor Jamie, had only been practically a baby.

"You sure killed a lot of people to get to me,” Tatum said bitterly. “And yet…you saved my life. I don’t know what to think of you.”

”I can deal with that.” 

The sound of police sirens was getting closer, and Tatum, despite herself, was already scared. “Hell of a time to bring in the cavalry,” she said.

”And I guess that’s the part where I go back to prison,” Roman said, with a certain weary acceptance. "I had a good run while it lasted.”

Dewey showed up just then, visibly shaken. “Tatum!” he exclaimed. “Are you all right? Roman, step away from her."

”He saved my life." Tatum blurted out, despite herself.

Silence. Dewey seemed to be trying to comprehend this.

"You can tell me more at the police station,” he said more gently to Tatum. Then, “Roman, you’re under arrest.”

”Thought so,” Roman said, before allowing himself to be shackled. “By the way, Stu Macher is definitively dead this time. I stabbed him."

”We’ll take more of your statement at the station,” Dewey said. “Get in the car, Roman. Tatum, you’ll be riding with Deputy Craven.”

That Tatum was glad for, at least.

***

They took their separate statements. Roman had to go back to jail, of course, but Dewey did at least allow Tatum to say goodbye to him.

”Thank you,” Tatum said. “For saving me. And I never thought I’d say that.” Then, “It’s not often someone like you saves someone like me.”

”Well, who gives a crap about horror movie tropes anyway? I was never a horror movie guy.” 

Tatum bit her lip. “I suppose.” 

Their hands didn’t touch through the bars. It still felt dangerous to touch Roman. To even shake his hand. Eye contact said more than physical touch ever could, really. 

“Safe journey, Tatum,” Roman said.

”You too.”

And Tatum walked away from the prison.

Chapter Text

The last time they had gone ice skating, it hadn’t gone well. Belle knew that much. It had been an affair that could have been much better. Now that the Beast was a Prince, though, they were about to give it a second try.

“Don’t worry,” Belle assured Adam. Adam already looked nervous even as he stepped out towards the ice. “It’s never too late for a second try.”

“Yes, I know that,” Adam said. “It’s just…” He sighed. “I made things…difficult for you back then.”

“You were a different man then,” Belle said.

“Or beast.”

“However you want to call it,” Belle said. “And you were having a bad time, what with it being close to Christmas.”

“Was I anywhere near this Ebenezer Scrooge fellow that I read about?”

Belle shook her head. “Never.”

Adam didn’t smile, but he seemed to relax at least a little bit. 

“You can begin again,” Belle said. “Think of it like one two three, one two three…”

“The first steps to skating.” Adam smiled then. “I think I can try.”

They stepped out onto the frozen pond. Belle was better at it, but Adam was starting to get really good at it, Belle observed even as he skated. In a way, it wasn’t much different from learning to dance. When they had danced in the ballroom, and Belle had never felt more swept off her feet by anyone.

In a way, it felt so very unlike after the wolves. It was like they were falling together naturally.

“Belle,” Adam said, “I can’t believe it. I’m skating. If possible, I could fly.”

Belle giggled despite herself. “I think I could too.”

They skated together. They weren’t flying, but it felt like flying even as they skated across the ice. 

Chapter Text

In the end, it was the same game, over and over. In the end, it was him trying to reach her, and her continuing to run. To run from him every time.

Now was no exception. 

Tina was dead. Jamie had failed her. Tina was lying on the ground, cold and hard, having sacrificed herself for Jamie. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. It was supposed to be Jamie saving her.

Billy already felt like a lifeboat in the chaos even as he dragged her away from Tina’s dying form. He didn’t let go of her the whole time.

And Michael was watching. He always watched. Even in the midst of it all, Jamie could feel something else from him: confusion.

Why did she keep running from him, he seemed to wonder.

And Jamie already knew why. Because she had no choice. Because she needed to. Because Michael was a threat, an ever-looming threat hovering over her, a mythical monster seeking to destroy her and everyone she loved.

And she vowed to get revenge on Michael somehow. For what he had done to Tina. For what he had done to others. Revenge wasn’t something that should settle in a nine year old girl’s heart. But Jamie felt it, thick and poisonous and corroding. She wasn’t even fazed by it; Michael had robbed her of her innocence back in 1988, or begun to.

All because he wanted to find her somehow. Reconnect with her.

The wolf felt a kinship with the rabbit, and he said so with his teeth.

Jamie would have preferred it if he hated her.

Instead, Michael loved her, in his own way. Loved like a wildfire destroying everything Jamie loved. 

Jamie only wanted revenge. He’d taken Tina from her. His forest fire idea of love had murdered Tina. She hated him for it. 

Nine year olds weren’t supposed to hate. And yet as Jamie sat in the back of the ambulance, Billy behind her, and asked if Loomis could kill Michael, she had the image of Tina taking the knife for her. The knife soaked with blood. Michael’s idea of love was violence. 

Jamie’s idea of love — well, she supposed that she was using violence too. Revenge, to honor the dead — after all, wasn’t revenge a form of honoring the dead, the wronged, the crushed and fallen?

Violence in different ways. Michael only wanted to destroy, Jamie to honor. That was how she wasn’t like him. Because she chose not to be — even as she felt that old killer’s side from 1988 starting to rouse. 

She could set it free at any time. She didn’t want to. 

But Tina was all she thought of as she was driven to the Myers house.

She knew that she was all Michael thought of, that confusion of why she kept running away from him again and again, why she feared him and hated him — but she knew Tina was all she thought of, to honor the dead. 

Chapter Text

It was safe to say that Stab had gone downhill since the first one, to Amber Freeman, but Stab 8 was basically the nadir. Rock bottom. Couldn’t get any worse than this. Critics were praising it for some reason, calling it a fresh take on the Stab universe, deconstructing it, subverting expectations…

But that was the thing, to Amber. Stab didn’t need to be deconstructed.

Stab was perfect. You might as well deconstruct the Mona Lisa or the Sistine Chapel. Stab was flawless. There was a shortage of perfect horror movies out there, so why in the name of Tori Spelling herself would anyone want to deconstruct Stab?

***

Amber hadn’t started out wanting to go out and kill people. Not really. She had been content with signing petitions on Change.org to redo Stab 8 and putting up with the sneers of people too busy shipping the Final Girl with Chromeface to really care about things like good moviemaking. (Richie, when she’d met him, had joked about killing them, but it had never made it into the final plan) She’d been content with writing fanfiction too, fanfiction that had gained an impressive amount of kudos on AO3. Fanfiction that had tried to fix Stab 8 to varying degrees, from bringing Sidney Prescott back to outright rewrites to outright ignoring Stab 8’s existence. Amber’s creative writing teacher had always said she was gifted. That was enough to actually make Amber feel, at least, like she was worth something when her parents acted like her writing was frivolous and stupid.

And Tara — sweet, wonderful Tara had looked at some of her writing once. It was worth showing Tara her writing, just a shy peek, and having Tara throw her head back laughing at a funny line (that wonderful Tara Carpenter laugh) or have Tara admit that she was rooting for the main couple to get together, or something along those lines. Tara had even admitted to Amber once, “You know, you ever considered getting published? This is really good”, and Amber had clung to that bit of praise as deeply as she had the praise from her creative writing teacher.

To her teacher, to Tara…Amber’s writing was never frivolous or stupid. That was all that mattered.

***

If one could describe how Richie had reeled Amber in (come step into my parlor said the spider to the fly), it had been that Stab subreddit. When Amber had said to Gale and Sidney that the messageboards had radicalized her, that wasn’t really true.

The truth was uglier than that. Richie was…good. Very good. Amber could still remember browsing the Stab subreddit, looking through post after post after she had linked her fic in the Stab subreddit post that allowed fic links to be posted. She was on a post talking about the Final Girl, Daisy, and whether shipping her with Chromeface was just romanticizing abuse, when she saw that there was something unread in her inbox.

Shipping debates could wait.

Amber checked out the message from stabfan27.

This is really good! I think the only thing that’s missing is the score from the original. You really captured the feeling of the original perfectly.

And that had been how Amber had met Richie Kirsch. That had been the seeds planted of what would eventually sprout into a whole new massacre. 

Chapter Text

If not for the fact that Amber was her best friend, Tara Carpenter reflected, she wouldn’t be watching Stab with her. But Amber was already excited for Stab 8, the first movie ever since the weirdly meta Stab 7, and Tara wasn’t about to rain on Amber’s parade.

She was more of a Babadook lady, really. If one was to psychoanalyze Tara and do a sort of “what your favorite scary movie says about you” sort of thing, one would say that it probably wasn’t a coincidence. And truthfully, it wasn’t. The Babadook was the closest thing Tara had to trying to understand her own complicated mother. Her and Sam’s complicated mother, who hadn’t been the same ever since that Christmas. It wasn’t like Christina Carpenter was awful to Tara. Tara knew there were worse mothers out there. Her mother was just an enigma wrapped inside a case of alcoholism that she was struggling on and off with. Granted, Amelia was no alcoholic, but she had issues of her own…

Tara would never say she liked Amelia, but Amelia was complex and allowed Tara to understand Christina just for a while.

Meanwhile, Stab was just…Tara mostly remembered stuff like the kitchen scene and the shock she felt even if it was common knowledge by now about Billy and Stu being the killers. She’d seen it at a sleepover, and it was all right, she guessed. Elevated horror was more her thing anyway. Amber, though, adored Stab.

Tara had come over to keep her company as her parents were out of the house. They could watch the movie over Discord, but Tara much preferred actual physical company. 

***

Even making the popcorn for both of them, Amber said, “Did you see the new Stab 8 trailer?”

”Haven’t been keeping up.”

Amber sighed. “You’re not missing much, really. It’s weird. They have the new Ghostface with a flamethrower.”

“…why?”

Amber shrugged. “Only Rian Johnson knows. But then again, it’s just a trailer. Maybe the movie’s better than it looks."

Tara thought Amber was being too optimistic, but she didn’t say it out loud.

”So,” Amber said, “How about we watch all seven of them? Yes, even the time travel one.”

Tara raised an eyebrow. “Time travel? I’m intrigued.”

Amber laughed. “It’s not one of the high points of Stab, but…yeah.”

***

Tara sat next to Amber even as the opening scene with Heather Graham played. She knew what was going to happen; anyone who was familiar with poor Casey Becker knew what was going to happen. It still didn’t stop Tara from being on edge as Ghostface chased Heather Graham through her own home. She glanced over at Amber, who seemed equally riveted.

They both knew what was going to happen, and yet it was no less horrible when the first kill happened.

The stage was set for movie night, and Tara watched all the way through to the end with Sidney Prescott, played by Tori Spelling, putting an end to the killers’ reign of terror.

***

The other sequels varied from decent to so-bad-it’s-good at best. By the time Tara and Amber were done, they were both exhausted.

”I’m glad I watched them with you,” Amber said. “Even if…well, the first one’s the best. Don’t fuck with the original.”

Tara laughed. Then, “I’m sure Stab 8 will do well. It’ll do the story justice.”

Amber sighed. “I hope. I mean, Rian Johnson did say he wanted to homage the spirit of the original. I mean, maybe the flamethrowers will make sense in context?”

”You never know,” Tara said. 

“I hope so."

”You could always write your own version. If Stab 8 doesn’t work out."

Amber smiled. “You think I can do it?”

”Course you can. You’re good at what you do.”

Amber beamed. “At least you get me.”

”Your uncle believes in you. Your creative writing teacher did.”

”Yeah. You too.”

Tara could only hope that whether Stab 8 was good or bad, she’d see what Amber was able to create from it. Amber had a way with words, the sort of way with words that was like a witch casting a spell. And wherever Amber’s writing led, Tara would follow it. She wasn’t a super Stab fan even with the movie marathon they did, but she’d do anything for a friend.