TITLE: Resurrecting Randy

RATING: R like the movie

SUMMARY: Scream 2 rewritten with much more Randy, everyone's favorite geek.

DISCLAIMER: Belongs to Wes Craven, etc, etc, etc, etc. not me

AN: This will look a lot like the movie at first but once you hit the scene where Sydney is talking to Randy about the murders it's gonna start to change. I don't know how reliable the script I have is. I'm also cutting some scenes down so the thing doesn't stretch on for years.

AN2: Anyone whose read my other fics will know that I put songs at the top of each chapter… think of them as the soundtrack lol.

AN3: Keep in mind that I'm a hopeless romantic and I'm all for the geek getting the girl. This will probably have a romantic angle near the end. (Syd/Randy of course)

AN4(last 1 I promise): I'm having a little fun with Sydney… changing her wardrobe and a few aspects of her appearance. I dunno how you would spell her name… Sidney or Sydney but I'm gonna use the 2nd cauz I like it better. Looks more exotic.

~~~

Completely, Overwhelming

Stories that you've heard

When people tell you that

Don't trust him, He's pretending

That he cares for you

Even if there's nothing left to prove

~Misunderstood~ Mest~

~~~

Sydney Prescott woke to the shrill ringing of the phone. She raised her head from the billowy confines of the pillow, blinking blearily in the early morning sun. She reached blindly for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello Sydney," a gruff voice growled, "What's your favorite scary movie?" A few months ago this would've sent her into an all out emotional break down, complete with hyperventilating and sobbing, now it just induced a feeling of exasperation.

"Who is this?" she asked groggily, glancing at the clock to check if someone was actually harassing her this early. Normally the losers who did this didn't stumble out of their caves until at least noon.

"You tell me," the caller replied, obviously thinking he was being witty.

So you wanna play it that way, Sydney thought, reaching for her caller I.D.

"Cory Gillis," she read, "555-0176."

"Shit!"

"Newsflash Cory," she said, now fully conscious, "Prank calls are a criminal offense prosecuted under penal code 653M-." She heard Cory slam the phone back into the cradle and the dial tone sounded in her ear, "Hope you enjoyed the movie," she muttered to the dead line, hanging up her own phone. She turned to see Hallie, her roommate, breeze into the room, bubbling with far too much perkiness for this hour.

"Time to change numbers again?" she asked. Sydney had to appreciate the tolerance the girl had for all the prank calls and spaz attacks.

"Nah," she replied, sliding out of bed, "It'll die off soon. It's opening weekend." She padded over to the closet riffling through the contents as Hallie flicked on the T.V. She heard a familiar voice resound through the room and gave the T.V. a resentful glare.

"Yeah, but a nickel won't get you a coffee in prison anymore," Cotton Weary said to the host of a talk show. She grabbed an outfit off a hanger, yanking it with more force than was actually necessary. Hallie noticed her friend's anger and turned off the T.V.

"Get your ass in gear, you're late," she said, following Sydney out of the room and into the hallway of the dorm, "Don't forget about the Acid Rain mixer at Delta Lambda's tonight!"

"I don't think I can go Hallie," Sydney replied, trying to make her voice sound as pitiful and apologetic as possible.

"What?!" Hallie cried, a near screech, "You promised!"

"You know how I feel about organized religion."

"It's a sorority."

"Worse," Sydney deadpanned.

"Are you o.k.?" Hallie asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I'm fine," she said, almost instinctly. She could be coughing up several major organs and bleeding from every pore and she would still manage an 'I'm fine' if anyone asked.

"Yeah I see that remark is always stretched tightly across your face," Hallie replied, unknowingly voicing her friend's thoughts.

"Check out the news!" a girl called as she rushed down the hall into her own room.

Sydney glanced at Hallie, apprehension flooding her. Hallie walked back into the room and turned the T.V. back on.

"Last night at the preview of the new movie STAB two college students were killed. Authorities won't release any information except for the two victims names. Maureen Evans and Phil Stevens who were both Windsor seniors," the news anchor droned, in her usual emotionless voice.  Sydney watched the broadcast with a kind of morbid fascination. The bodies being carried out of the theater in large black body bags, the bloody footage of the abandoned theater, roped off with yellow police tape.

"Where's Randy?" she asked.

"He has film theory this morning," Hallie reminded her, her eyes never leaving the T.V.

Sydney dropped the bag of toiletries she had been carrying and closed the door of the room. She tugged the short blue sundress over her head and pulled her now chin length brown hair into a haphazard ponytail. A few auburn strands fell loose to frame her face. The plain brown was now shot with bleached highlights and her wardrobe had taken a complete 180 from the conservative jeans she used to wear. This was college and she was alive to take part in it. She was going to look good while doing it. She pushed out of the room and clomped down the stairs and out into the sun, ignoring the curious stares her fellow coeds were sending her.

She was suddenly blindsided by a group of reporters.

"Shit."

"Sydney did you know the victims?"

"Do you feel threatened by the murders?"

"Do you think the two cases are related?"

If people weren't staring at her before they certainly were now. Sydney Prescott, the press's personal whipping girl. She ducked her head and pressed through them, ignoring the shouted questions. She broke into a jog and gradually they fell back, disappointed but not surprised.

By the time she reached Randy's classroom she was panting softly and a sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead and she was suddenly aware of the fact the she had forgotten her deodorant. She peered into the room, hearing the tail end of the professor's question.

"… direct result of the movie itself?"

A pretty blonde on the left spoke up, "That is so moral majority. You can't blame violence on entertainment."

"Yes you can," a male student in the front countered, "the killer was wearing a ghostmask, just like in the movie. It's directly responsible."

Sydney felt her lip curl up in disgust. Of course they would be talking about this.

"No it's not, movies are not responsible for our actions," the blonde insisted, and Sydney found herself agreeing with her.

"It's a classic case of life imitating art, imitating life," a boy in the back of the room retorted. She recognized the voice as belonging Mickey, one of Randy's cronies and one of her casual friends.

"It's not art," a second girl said, sounding far to offended by the suggestion, "I had biology with that girl. This is reality."

"Thank you!" and extremely familiar voice called from the opposite side of the room. Sydney started at the sudden outburst and almost cried out in surprise, she smiled and ducked back behind the cover of the door listening to the rest of Randy's argument, "I agree with you. Let me tell you about reality Mickey. I lived through this o.k.? Life is life, it doesn't imitate anything. Sydney peeked into the room again and saw the majority of the class nodding in agreement. Randy seemed to be quite the popular one in that class. No longer the lone movie geek in a room full of jocks.

Mickey sneered, "Come on Randy. With all due respect the killer obviously patterned himself after two serial killers who have been immortalized on film."

"Are you suggesting that someone is trying to make a real life sequel?" the professor asked, breaking into the debate for the first time.

"Stab 2?" Randy asked, a you've-got-to-be-shitting-me smirk on his face, "Who would do that? Sequels suck."

Sydney let out a soft snort of laughter, and walked over to a near-by water fountain and taking a sip, able to hear the mixed responses that comment got from the rest of the class even from the other side of the hall.

"Oh please, please, by definition alone they're inferior films," he said ignoring the booing of several classmates.

"That's bullshit generalization. Many sequels have far surpassed their original," Mickey said, from his slumped over position in his seat.

"Oh yeah?" Randy asked, more of a challenge than a question.

"Name one," the blonde girl smirked.

"Aliens," Mickey suggested, "Far better than the first."

"Yeah well there's no accounting for taste," the girl shot.

"Thank you riddley scott rules. Name another," Randy called.

"No Aliens is a classic, o.k. Get away from her you bitch!" the talkative boy in the front said with a wide, empty smile.

"I believe the line is 'Stay away from her you bitch.' This is film class right?" Randy retorted quickly, earning a round of laughter from the class. Randy the class clown, Sydney thought, smiling and shaking her head. Randy looked up and saw her standing in the doorway. She saw his big oh-so-blue eyes widen as they searched her face for the reason of her unexpected but certainly not unappreciated visit. He rose slightly out of his chair and glanced around the class, their debate continuing around him. Sydney pursed her lips, motioning for him to join her in the hall. He grabbed his backpack and shouldered it, leaving his seat and starting for the door. His professor shot his a questioning glance and motioned for him to sit back down.

"I have to –uh- take care of something," he stammered lamely.

"So Mr. Originality," the brunette who had been offended by Mickey's comment called before he could reach the door, "how would you make the sequel different?"

Randy smiled and retrieved a spritz bottle of breath freshener from his pocket, "I'd let the geek," he began, pausing to squirt the bottle, "Get the girl."

He left the room and rested a hand on Sydney's arm pulling her out of sight.

"She's got a crush on you," Sydney teased, her grave news momentarily forgotten.

"Yeah I've been fending her off all year," Randy said, playing along, "But she'll have none of that. She just throws herself at me, pawing at me telling me I'm her one true love and she could never live without me."

"I guess you heard the news," she said, becoming suddenly serious. Randy screwed his face up and pulled her even father down the hallway. He took the time to relish the feel of holding her hand before they left the building and she broke away. He had known that this wasn't just a friendly hi-how-are-you visit.

"300 people watched and no one did anything. They all thought it was a publicity stunt," she continued.

"And it would've been a good one too," Randy replied, his voice stepping up several octaves to form a rather convincing British accent.

"It's starting again!" Sydney insisted, tugging at his arm. Randy stopped and turned to face her.

"It's not," he replied, "A lot of shit happens at the movies. People get robbed, shot, maimed, murdered. Multiplexes are a very dangerous place to be these days."

"Yeah and you are in extreme denial," Sydney shouted.

Randy began walking again and Sydney followed close behind, "And you should be too," he said, dropping the English accent, "This has nothing to do with us." Sydney's brow furrowed, and she smacked her friend lightly on the arm, she didn't need this from him. This disbelief. She needed Randy to reassure her that they would live through it again and he would be there for her, not Randy denying that anything was wrong when he knew damn well there was.

"Randy," she said, her voice, reaching a pathetic wail, "A guy in a ghostmask hacked up two people in a movie theater telling OUR life story."

Randy's eyes widened at her choice of personal adjective. OUR rather than MY.

"Coincidence," he suggested.

"You know what happened in Woodsboro," Sydney reminded him, "You can't deny it."

Randy's gaze softened and he stopped. He turned and placed his hands on her shoulders, "I know Syd. And I don't want to go back there again," he said softly. He sensed someone approaching and moved his hands off her shoulders and down to grasp her hands. Sydney's breath which had been coming in quick gasps, was slowing and becoming more controlled. He took some comfort in knowing that he caused that, "Can't we just go back to our pseudo quasi happy exsistence- Hello Derek!" he said, dropping Sydney's hands and stepping away, "How ya doing?" he asked, stumbling back as Derek brushed past him to reach Sydney.

"Hey," Derek says to Sydney, ignoring Randy entirely, "I heard what happened and you weren't in class today." He sounded genuinely worried but that didn't make it any easier for Randy.

Sydney fell into step beside her boyfriend and Randy trailed behind them, staring forlornly at Derek's broad back.

"Yeah I couldn't take anymore of the 'that's her' looks," Sydney replied sadly.

"Is there anything I can do?" Derek asked anxiously. Randy's shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes, 'Is there anything I can do?' he mouthed bitterly.

"Is there anything you can do to get us back to our psedo quasi happy existence?" Sydney asked, shooting Randy an amused smile. Randy plastered his brightest happiest smile on his face and nodded.

"You know what?" Derek said with a smile, stepping in front of Randy, either intentionally or unintentionally blocking his view, "I think I night."

"Oh really?" Sydney asks, smiling as she leans toward him, "What is it?"

Derek leaned down so his lips met hers and Randy watched, an expression similar to that Sydney wore when she saw the news that morning, on his face.

"That's a start," Sydney said, as she pulled away, slipping her hand into his. The hand which Randy had been holding minutes before.

"Get a room," Randy muttered sadly, following behind them, staring at their entwined fingers.

~~~

TBC!!!!!!!!! Review!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~