The finale (Ghostface x reader)

𝙱𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚣𝚕𝚎𝚍

Sidney stood there, shocked.  She knew it had been a bad idea letting her tour manager bring her back here.  She just wanted to go back to her cabin, where nothing could get to her or hurt her.  

Sadly, this time, she was facing off something far worse than a killer copycat.  It was her past.  And it had been less than five fucking minutes since she got here, god dammit.  Did the author hate her or something?  Why couldn't she ever just catch a break?

"Well, looks like we're all here," Dewey said, feigning excitement.

"Worst family reunion ever," Randy snarked.  "Come on (y/n), let's go home.  I didn't leave the kids for this."

"Oh yeah, how is Anthony," Dewey asked.

"And why did you say it as a plural?  Did you steal more kids," Sidney questioned.

"We didn't steal Tony," you quickly defended.  "If anything, we adopted him after the dipshit detectives let Tom get killed!"

"Well, is there any new kiddos," Dewey asked, trying to write off the impending war.

"Yes," Randy answered.  "Me and Darry adopted these two twins, Chad and Mindy.  Sweetest little things you'll ever meet.  If we ever let you near them."

Dewey wanted to question, but he also knew Randy had a point.  And if he questioned it, he'd be disrespecting Randy's wishes, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

But he hadn't spoken to him in over a decade, and when he did finally reach out, it was an effort to trick him and you into reconciling with Sidney.  He knew he shouldn't really be surprised Randy didn't want any kids near him.  He was too untrustworthy.

Suddenly, before any more anger filled words could get flung at someone, there was a pounding sound on the window.  Outside, protesters had begun to gather, holding up signs and chanting about 'the angel of death'. 

"What the hell is that about," Randy asked.

"That is the reason I'm here," Dewey answered.

Upon trying to get a better look at the signs, you noticed something.  

Casey's smiling face was plastered on one, right next to a happy Steve.  It was a photo of them together, most likely on a date.

You had to blink back tears.  You had almost forgotten what that happy smile looked like.  It brought back a rush of memories to see the two people on that sign.  The two who made you feel welcomed in this shitty town when you first arrived.

The two who made you feel safe with them.

The two who were the first to warn you to stay away from Stuart Macher and William Loomis Jr.

The two who were the first victims in a massacre.

And the one who had died, trying to protect you when you couldn't protect her, because you were too fucking scared to talk like a normal human.

Randy noticed you had froze up and gone quiet, and when he looked over, he saw the large photo slapped on a poster.  He figured out what was going through your head pretty quickly, considering you relied on him pretty heavily when they first got knocked off.

Maybe the fact you had relied on him like that was a reason he was able to get over that hate he harbored towards you after the Woodsboro Massacre.  He had seen you vulnerable.  He knew first hand you were just as innocent in all this as everyone else.  Dewey had been a surrogate older brother, sure, but no one tried to lean on him like that, assuming he was still grieving Tatum at the time.

Maybe that was the difference. 

All that aside, Randy quickly grabbed your shoulders and began pulling you towards the back exit.  He had worked in this bookstore between times when he was fired from Blockbuster, so he knew an employee door was around the back.  He could get you out before any other traumatic responses got triggered, and avoid the growing crowd in the process.  Perfect.

"Where are you going," Dewey asked him.

"I'm leaving, and I'm taking (y/n) with me," Randy replied. 

"What?  Why?"

"Let them go," Sidney stated.  "You can't keep them here if they don't want to be."

For once, Randy was thankful Sidney was there.  He got you out of the building, and into the rental car.  

"Come on, we're going home," he told you.

"Wait," you said quietly.

"Come on, I don't want you going silent for a week again!  I need you able to talk at board meetings!  You need to be able to tell your son you love him!  These people are only gonna freak you out more!"

"There's somewhere I need to go," you tried to demand.

Randy looked at you, and sighed.  

"You wanna go to that pizza place Casey brought you to all the time, don't you?"

"Please?"

"... you're lucky I'm hungry.  We are stopping there, getting lunch, and going.  Home.  Got it?"

"Trust me I don't want to spend another second here."

Randy shook his head, and backed out of the parking lot, doing his best to avoid hitting any of the protesters (despite how much he wanted to just plow through them like this was a violent action movie, but we don't talk about that).

"I know you were close with that one worker.  You think she's still around," Randy questioned.

"I'm hoping."

Randy grinned.  Not because he was thinking about potential 'I've got an in with an employee' discount, but because he knew just the thought of seeing this employee and going to this nostalgic place was making you feel better.  How did he know?  You were already starting to get your voice back.  It was a miracle.

"What was her name again?  It was something really out there, reminded me of Animal Kingdom..." Randy trailed off.

"Lenora," you answered.

"Yeah, that's right!  Lioness Lenora, mafia frontwoman, and culinary extraordinaire!"

"Actually, the restaurant was successful enough that they pulled away from the mob," you explained.

"Hey!  Don't take away her titles, she should be allowed to be seen as badass!"

"Chefs are badass, do you know what bullshit they have to put up with?"

The two of you proceeded to spend the rest of the car ride making jokes and trying to get each other to laugh.  And Randy was glad for it.  He was thankful for anything that kept you oblivious from the Ghostface masks hanging from street lamps and posters hung in windows about the anniversary of the Woodsboro Massacre, with faces of the victims on almost every one.

He couldn't handle you going quiet in fear when he was here, even if it was for a few minutes.  He was a lot like Stu, in that regard.  Wanting to keep you feeling comfortable enough to keep talking.

So he kept cracking jokes, and praying you wouldn't take too hard a look out the windshield.

It had been less than an hour since you arrived, and it already looked like all Hell would break loose.

A/n: big things coming Sunday morning, big things!

That being said, if all goes according to plan, you'll be reading this ON Sunday, so...

Happy birthday to me, and god have mercy on my notifications tab.  May the little bell icon rest in peace.