He took his shaking hand back into his other and listened to her request. If the past two decades have told Dewey anything, it was that he hated hospitals, but he knew that, even without a serial killer, his life was in danger. Plus, a couple Tylenol tablets can only do so much. "Alright," he said. "I'll go. But only when this is all over."

If there's one thing Dwight Riley doesn't do, it's back down from a fight, so he wasn't just going to lie down because of a withdrawal when he could be kicking some Ghostface in the ass. "I'll let you have some privacy," he said as he limped out of the bathroom. "Just don't take too long - my mouth tastes like shit," he jokingly added. He know, though, that he'd wait as long as he had to, and he'd be just fine with doing so.

Dewey's agreement to admit himself to the hospital was not exactly a won battle to Gale. By the time the killers were caught, he could be past the worst of it and no longer need to go. Still, she nodded, accepting this as Dewey left her to herself in the bathroom. Numbly she went to work brushing her teeth and then stepped into the shower; unlike Dewey, she had come prepared with her own toiletries and had her usual shampoo, soap, and cleanser. She tried to focus on just the movements needed to clean herself, one motion at a time, but her mind was still stuck on Dewey and his words to her. She kept going over in her mind exactly what he had said, the way that he had looked saying it, the way he had touched her this morning and last night. She thought far longer and harder about Dewey and his revelation of love for her than she did about the killer they were about to hunt, and she cared far more about it too. Still she couldn't decide what to do with her caring. So he loved her- that didn't mean she could trust him again. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She didn't realize that she had forgotten to get a change of clothes before getting into the shower, and she felt like it would be stupid to put on her pajamas again just to take them right off. It was a little awkward, maybe more than a little, but she wrapped the tiny hotel around her, barely covering herself to the upper thigh, and went into the bedroom area, gesturing to Dewey.

"All yours."

He closed the bathroom door behind him and approached the table he set the Tylenol bottle down on last night. He unscrewed the cap and popped on in his mouth; he was tempted to do another, and almost did, but he reminded himself that he had just sworn to Gale that he'd get better. He placed the bottle down and sat on the bed as he waited for Gale to finish up in the bathroom.

He rubbed at his forehead as the pain slowly subsided. The rhythmic motion made him lose all track of time, and before he knew it, Gale was coming out of the bathroom. When he got up and looked in her direction, his face went blank seeing Gale in only a towel, a towel that barely fit around her at that. His heart rate rose again and his body felt hot. "Thanks," he quickly sputtered before ducking his head down to the floor and hurriedly limping back to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and released a heavy breath.

Wow. Just...*wow*. He hadn't really seen much, but seeing her legs told him everything he was already certain of - she was still as beautiful as he remembered, if not more. He shook his head and refocused himself to the task at hand. He readjusted himself and was grateful to see complimentary toothbrushes and toothpaste sitting on the counter. He brushed away the vomit residue and washed his beard with a couple handfuls of warm water. Once he finished, he went to open the door and leave, but stopped when he remembered what happened the last time he left without warning Gale.

As badly as his dumb male monkey brain wanted to just leave and catch a peak, he mentally slapped himself and did the decent thing. "I'm ready to come out. Are you dressed?"

Gale had hardly missed Dewey's reaction to her emergence from the bathroom. She wasn't blind, after all. It was actually sort of nice that he still reacted like that to her, that he still seemed to see something he found attractive. She fought a smile as she dressed in jeans and a casual blouse, trading out her usual high heels for more practical flat heeled boots. If she was going to be chasing down killers, practical was important.

By the time Dewey called out to her, she had dressed, repacked their things, put on some makeup, though less than normal, ignored the texts and emails from work, and was in the process of pulling her hair back in a ponytail. "Yeah, I'm ready to go when you are. We can pick up coffee and something for you to eat on the way to the hospital."

She couldn't resist adding, "If you had this woman's number it would be much easier, but let's hope she will be at the hospital soon, or that we can get to her sister if she isn't."

Knowing she was decent, he left the bathroom and approached the table where his phone sat and his coat slumped over the back of the armchair. "I don't usually get random people's phone numbers, especially when there's another Ghostface out there," he defended. He turned on his phone to check the time, but was greeted with a notification: *Breaking News - Woodsboro's Sheriff Judy Hicks and son Wesley found dead at their home*.

"Oh my god..." he mumbled; he couldn't believe it. He had his problems with Judy, and Gale sure did, but Dewey knew she was a good officer and generally a good person. It only happened a few hours ago, the report said, and in broad daylight as well. "Gale," he called to her before showing his phone screen to her. "We have to go. Now."

Gale had very little to say as she drove her rental back to the hospital, showing no regard for the majority of traffic laws on the way. It wasn't like she was going to get pulled over- with Judy Hicks and her son just found murdered, in the middle of the morning, in their own damn home, she knew that every cop in town was going to be swarming the scene, wanting to find anything to help find the killer of their fallen sheriff. Fingers tight around the steering wheel, she focused on the road, the muscles of her back and neck tight with strain.

She had never liked Judy. The woman had been a pain in the ass, an insufferable suck up, and clearly had the hots for Dewey long before their separation. They might have survived together, but she never liked her and barely had respect for her.

That didn't mean she had ever wanted the woman dead and certainly not her son. As much as she disliked her, Judy was a human being, one who Gale had known for years. Her death hit differently than that of faceless, nameless kids Gale had never known. And God knows how Dewey must feel.

She snuck a glance at him, worried for his mental state now in addition to his physical condition. If he had hallucinated before, how would he handle the stress of the death of someone he knew so well? Would he blame himself, convinced that Judy and her son would still be alive if he had managed to stay in the hospital last night?

She wanted to reach out and take his hand or touch his leg, and her hand actually twitched with the desire to. However she kept her hand on the wheel, and when they pulled into the parking lot, she was almost cut off by a silver car rapidly pulling into the closest spot to the hospital, just as Gale was attempting to do. She cursed under her breath as a young woman with long dark hair and a young man with a goatee piled out haphazardly.

"Nice driving," she said ironically, as though she hadn't ran two stop signs.

They had clambered into the car as fast as their aging bodies let them. He couldn't believe it, that Judy was gone. She was a teacher's pet for sure, and nobody could deny that she was crushing hard on him, which he never appreciated but was too awkward, even in his forties, to put a stop to it, but she was good at heart, was a great mother, and a damn fine cop. He knew there was nobody else who could replace him other than her; he saw the same burning desire to defend the defenseless in her as he had, and still holds, when he was a young deputy back in '96.

And to go after her son as well boiled his blood. Ever since the first murders, Dewey couldn't stand the sight of brutally murdered teenagers, practically children - he couldn't stand the others' deaths either, but it always felt worse when it was kids. He had met Wes many times when he was a young boy and Judy had to bring him into the precinct because her deadbeat husband couldn't stand being a parent. He was a skittish boy, but he always managed to be polite - Dewey remembers one time when the boy drew a crude picture of everyone at the station and the then-Sheriff couldn't help but place it on the billboard that hung outside his office for everyone to see. It made everyone's days a bit brighter - even Gale thought it was cute.

Now all of that was gone. He could never love Judy romantically, but dammit if he didn't love her as a friend - he had told her that too when he was on a drunken bender at the bar not long after he was dropped by the county, and to his surprise, she accepted it. His eyes were filled with water now. He could've stopped this, if he had just stuck it out yesterday then maybe she and her son would be alive.

His self-hatred came to a halt when Gale suddenly hit the breaks; for a brief moment, Dewey saw a car fly by them. A couple seconds later, none other than Sam Carpenter came barreling out like a bat out of hell. Something's wrong. "That's her," he stated as he unbuckled himself.

"Her? Samantha Carpenter?"

They didn't have much in the way of luck, and stumbling across Samantha immediately, just the person they were looking for, didn't seem to be a true improvement. As Gale got out of the car as quickly as she could manage to, practically running to catch up to and cut the young couple off, she recognized from their hurry and the look of raw fear in the young woman's face that there presence was more than a simple visit to Samantha's sister. As Dewey had noticed, Gale could clearly see that Samantha was upset. She couldn't know if it was because of Judy and Wesley or if something had happened with her sister, but she was the person they were looking for, and she was about to find out.

"Samantha! Samantha Carpenter!" She called, coming up behind the two, and when the woman spun around, face and posture defensive, Gale spoke fast.

"I'm with Dewey Riley, I'm his wife. We heard about Judy and Wesley and we're here to help you and your sister get this fucker in the ground."

She didn't really notice that she had just called herself Dewey's wife. It was the word that had came out, and there was no time to overthink it or explain. Nor did Samantha seem to care as she ground out that she had to get to her sister- the murders had indeed drawn out every cop in Woodsboro, leaving her sister almost certainly unprotected and helpless in the hospital. Seeing her fear and urgency and quickly understanding that it was justified, Gale nodded, glancing to make sure Dewey had caught up, and shot a glance at the man, still not introduced, beside Samantha. She noted diatractedly that Dewey was right- he looked at her too long for her liking, and he did have shifty eyes.

"Okay, you're right, no time to waste. Get us to your sister."

Dewey jumped out of the car simultaneously with Gale and limped quickly to Samantha and her boyfriend. She looked panicked, and from what she told the pair for good reason - with no cops to keep her safe, Sam's sister was definitely up for grabs now. When the young couple turned back around and hurried inside, Gale and himself followed suit, the group blasting past the receptionist to the elevator - they were sure to have security on their asses for this some time soon.

As they piled into the elevator, and Sam clicked the floor number, Dewey unholstered his revolver and spun its cylinder out to count the bullets - all six slots were loaded, and Dewey, the seasoned ex-cop and Ghostface survivor he was, had twelve more rounds secure in his pocket. His mind was rushing at that moment to everything that led Gale and him into the elevator, and it was only then did he realize that Gale had referred to herself as 'his wife' - he guessed in the rush of it all, words flew by his head and he simply needed a moment to recall them.

He looked to her beside him and locked eyes before giving a subtle nod. *Whatever happens, I'm with you, as your husband*.

When he heard the elevator ding, he placed both hands on his firearm and waited for the doors to open. His breath hitched and he raised his revolver directly ahead as soon as the doors slid open and he saw Ghostface looming over Sam's sister as she crawled away, clearly badly injured. In the blink of an eye, he shot at the killer.

Samantha Carpenter is making tracks in her rush to get to her sister, and Gale can't blame her for it. She and her guy are very fast, especially on Dewey with his limp. She thinks distractedly as they join the two in the elevator that he will certainly be in pain later, having pushed himself to run to keep up with people 25 years younger than himself. As they wait with anxiety for the elevator to rise to Tara's floor, Dewey loading his gun, Sam is almost vibrating with her fear for her sister, leaning forward towards the elevator doors with intensity, as though she can will them to open faster. Gale too fumbles in her oversized bag for her own handgun, loading it and taking its comforting weight into her hand. To Sam's credit, she doesn't so much as blink at the two people she doesn't actually know standing at such close range with loaded weapons. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, twitches, his eyes nervously flitting between them both as though he expects them to suddenly turn and point them in his direction.

No, Dewey was right- something was off about him, more than awkwardness or discomfort. But Samantha's boyfriend was a focus for another time. Getting to her sister before it was too late was the priority now.

Standing beside Dewey, Gale shifted slightly, their shoulders brushing, and she didn't pull away when he met her eyes, giving her a nod that she understood without words needed. In the trepidation of this moment, all too familiar in the suspended approaching horror they knew they were walking into, he was nevertheless telling her that he had her back, that he was in this with her and would protect her with all of his ability- with his life, if need be. Gale nodded back, returning the sentiment with her own returning gaze.

She had just enough time to hope that their morning conversation, tense and mind-blowing as it had been in its declaration of mutual continued love, wasn't an ominous omen of what would happen next before the elevator doors sprang open, and the four of them tensed, ready to jump into action, both Dewey's and Gale's arms raised, guns ready for anything they might encounter.

The first thing she saw was the blood on the floor- not a massive amount, but enough that it was clear that the teenaged girl, crawling helplessly and sobbing in pain on the ground, was badly injured. Gale could see the outlines of several bodies in doorways, clad in scrubs and hospital gowns- the bystanders, presumedly, who had gotten in the way or tried to stop the killer from going after the girl. And there was Ghostface, stalking the girl's crawling frame with deliberate, predatory delight, head tilted as its knife raised only inches above her face.

When Dewey shot at the killer, it flinched and staggered back, seemingly hit in the upper chest. Gale fired off a shot a second or two after him, hitting somewhere around the stomach area, and although the killer reeled, clearly it had come prepared with a bullet proof vest, for it didn't fall. Instead it scuttled back, fleeing around the corner of the hospital corridor, and although Gale considered running after it for a moment, her attention ultimately was drawn to Samantha and her boyfriend running forward to the girl on the ground. As Samantha and her boyfriend pulled her up, mostly carrying her, a running, breathless string of comfort and promises flying out the older girl's lips, Gale looked over to Dewey, wordlessly confirming with him what they both knew needed to be done.

Samantha's sister needed help, and fast. Samantha and her boyfriend would be little assistance to them without weapons and with their attention distracted by the younger girl's needs. They needed to get out of the way, get Tara to a doctor, and let Dewey and Gale go after her attacker and take them down.

"Get her back in the elevator, go get her help, and stay the fuck away from this floor, barricade yourself in a room if you have to," she barked at the younger three. "Go!"

Sam tried for a moment to argue, but her sister's blood and obvious agony quickly swayed her to do as she was told. As they disappeared behind the elevator door, Gale gripped her gun, every muscle taut as she listened for any signs of the killer. They approached the corridor the killer had turned down, moving slowly but with purpose, weapons drawn, and then Gale stopped Dewey with a hand on his arm, nodding towards a closed doorway. She could hear something behind it, something breathing. The killer, drawing them in?

Eyes meeting his, hand still on his arm for a moment, she kept her gun raised in one hand, making sure Dewey was also ready with his weapon, and with a sudden jerky motion, pulled the door open, revealing a cleaning closet- and the body of a dying security guard, choking on his own blood from the slash in his throat. As Gale jumped back in surprise, gun still up just as the man took his last gurgling breath, she saw the outline of a black figure out the corner of her eyes coming up behind them. As she opened her mouth to shout a warning, the long blade of the killer's knife was already descending.

With an additional shot from Gale, the killer was running. Dewey knew better than to think he was gone with his tail tucked between his legs, and so did Gale if her glance had anything to say about it. As Gale directed the Carpenter's and the boyfriend back into the elevator, Dewey, with his gun held by both hands to his side, peeked around the corner where the killer ran off to from the opposite wall - no way he was going to stick his face right next to the wall where a knife was waiting to stick itself into his forehead. The hallway was void of life and doorways were lined with bodies of patients and staff. Without a killer in sight, Dewey gave an affirming nod to Gale before they stalked down the hall side-by-side taking slow, quiet steps.

When his arm was grabbed, his anxiety momentarily spiked before he realized it was Gale and that she wasn't pulling him out of immediate danger. She indicated towards a door and Dewey immediately moved into place, gun raised. This was it, the killer is right there, and there was going to be a fight. He met Gale's eyes in affirmation and she then steadily approached the door and swung it open, hand back to her gun in a millisecond. A figure came falling out, and Dewey was ready to shoot, but he noticed the garb was different than the sparkled black robe the killer wore - it was a security guard. His throat was gashed open and whatever blood that didn't leave from his neck was coming from his mouth. The terror in his eyes lasted only for so long before they blanked and his body slowly halted its squirming.

Realization came upon him when he noticed that they're back was turned from everything else behind them -

A sharp, recognizable pain hit him in the shoulder blade. A gloved hand tightly grasped his opposite shoulder as the blade was pulled out and then shoved back in, this time hitting his back where many previous stabbing scars adorned. Why was it always the back? The trauma of being stabbed in the back when the first batch of murders occurred left him anxious of anything that could come up behind him, and he especially never appreciated when kids dressed up in Ghostface costumes for Halloween got a kick out of scaring him every year.

Despite the immeasurable pain he was experiencing, he flew his elbow backward and smacked the killer in the face, a grunt of pain emitting from the ghoulish mask. He staggered for a moment and hit the doorframe in front of him before he willed himself to turn towards his assailant. Before he was able to raise his weapon, the killer manhandled his arm and kept the gun facing the floor as they tried to stab him with their free hand, which Dewey held just mere inches from his face - with so many fingers on the gun, the trigger was accidently pulled twice. He couldn't react fast enough when the killer pulled their knife wielding hand away and swung upward into his gut.

His face twisted in pain and shock; he never got hit there before, and he had made sure not to before due to the vital organs that rested there, but his age caught up to him. A breathless wince of pain left his throat as the pain grew; it was hot and felt like his organs had been twisted to their limit before snapping into two. When the blade of the buck knife left his body, he knew he was a goner - there was a lot of blood in that area, and now there was nothing keeping it from spewing out. His back hit the wall and his legs gave out beneath him, causing him to fall with a great thud to the ground. He could taste metal on his tongue before red dripped passed his lips. He clasped his free hand over the wound in his belly and gurgled out, "Gale..." - but he couldn't finish the sentence.

When he saw the killer's head snap towards Gale, terror rose into his throat. If he was going to die, right here right now, he wasn't going to let Gale go down with him. With all the strength he had left, his foot shot out and kicked the killer in the shin.

Dewey's name had not yet left Gale's lips when the knife buried itself in his shoulder, once, twice. For a moment Gale froze, cold with horror of watching the past play itself out yet again as the blood immediately blossomed over the back of his shirt, alarming in its amount. As Dewey nevertheless continued to fight, elbowing the killer in the face, Gale regrouped mentally enough to fire off a shot, not with intent to hit the killer- Dewey was still grappling with him, too close for her to take that risk of missing the killer and hitting him, or the shot bouncing off the killer to further injure him. She shot instead at the ground beside the killer's foot, inches from hitting his ankle, in an attempt to distract him, draw his attention away from Dewey and onto her. She had to give Dewey a chance to get away, she had to get the killer off of him and towards her, so she could shoot him in the head and be done with it. She had to-

As the killer shoved away from Dewey, sending him nearly falling to the ground, and turned to Gale, Gale took another shot, but although it hit the chest, the killer continued forward, seeming to be charged up on adrenaline, and took two wild swipes at her with the knife, catching her left arm twice with the blade. When Gale leapt backward, barely hanging onto the gun with her right hand as her injured arm naturally weakened its hold and dropped in response to its cuts, the killer turned away from her, burying the knife with vicious brutality into his stomach.

Gale's breathing stopped, and a choked cry burst forth from her throat as she saw Dewey's face twist in agony, the huge amount of blood already spilling out from his stomach, far more so than his back. She saw the blood coming up past his lips, his body collapsing to the floor, and she believed with terrible, cold certainty freezing her own blood in her veins that this time, Dewey had been wounded mortally. This time, she was truly watching Dewey die.

She heard her name on his lips, possibly the last word he would ever be able to speak- his last moments, he was thinking of her. Wanting her with him, wanting to warn her, to urge her into actions to keep herself safe. Even as blood continued to trickle from his mouth and gather beneath his fallen frame on the ground, Dewey's hand clutched at his stomach, and his legs kicked out at the killer- trying to save himself, to save her. He had always been such a hero. Her hero.

The killer staggered, having to regain balance as Dewey's foot connected with their leg, and that gave Gale just enough time to pull from her shock enough to raise her bloody arm to give extra support to holding the gun as she shot twice more at the killer, aiming for the head. Her arms were shaking, and she missed entirely the first time, caught an area near the shoulder with the second, and as she prepared to take a third shot- the last round she had left- the killer dodged and ran, disappearing down a doorway leading exit which presumedly lead to a staircase. Gale didn't give chase. Fuck the killer getting away, fuck other possible victims that he might get on the way. None of that mattered to her then. Dewey was all that she could focus on, Dewey possibly living out the last few moments of his life with her. She had to be with him, she had to be there to give comfort, to help him as much and if at all humanly possible.

Dropping to her knees beside him, neither noticing nor caring about the blood soaking through the material of her jeans, she pressed both her hands against his, bearing down with all the force she could on the stab wound of his gut. She could feel the warm, sticky blood seeping between his fingers, staining her own, and yet she pressed down as hard as she could, desperately praying without real coherency in thought for their combined efforts to slow the bleeding, to somehow undo the damage already done.

"HELP, HELP, WE NEED HELP IN HERE!" she screamed, so loudly it actually burned her throat, but she pressed on, terrified to leave Dewey alone or even for the time it would take to find a phone. "WE NEED A DOCTOR, NOW, HELP, HELP!"

She knew that Sam would be letting the staff on a lower floor know what was going on as she got help for her sister. Surely any minute now, hospital staff and police would be bursting through the elevator doors, coming to tend to Dewey. They had to. They just had to, because if they didn't- if they didn't-

She didn't realize she was crying until the tears hit Dewey's face where she leaned over him, until she heard the breaking of her voice when she addressed him, speaking fast to say everything she needed to say, that she needed him to hear before he couldn't any longer.

"Dewey, hold on, please- please, you have to fight, Dewey, please. Dewey- Dewey, please stay with me, please don't go. I love you. I've always loved you, there's never been anyone but you, I need you to stay. Please, Dewey, please."

She heard the elevator doors open then, the bustle of activity of doctors coming forward, security guards behind them, but she didn't move immediately, her eyes locked on Dewey's even as they continued to pour tears, unwilling to look away or let go until someone physically moved her to reach him. Even then she couldn't turn away, couldn't let her eyes leave his. It felt to her as though if she did, it would somehow take away strength he needed to get through each remaining moment.

"No...please, no, please, please," she chanted, barely aware of what she was saying, only of her need to keep talking to him, to keep throwing out into the universe her need to keep him in the world with her. "Please don't go, please."

It was hard for his lungs to push out breaths of air when his throat was backed up with blood. When he finally saw the killer retreat, he turned to his side and hacked up all the crimson liquid from his mouth onto the floor. Moving back onto his back, he watched as Gale rushed over and placed her hands over top his own that held over his wound and pushed down to pressurize the wound. His body instinctually flinched at the pain and a groan escaped his throat, but he knew that, if he wanted to survive, he needed to endure some agony. He couldn't help the tears that pricked his eyes and fell due to his lack of strength to blink them away.; it felt like there was more tears than he was producing though.

His eyes finally focused and locked with Gale's, whose were also dripping with tears. His hearing was faint, but he could still just hear her pleas and declaration of love to him and him alone. He weakly raised his other hand and placed it gently over her blood stained ones. He squeezed his fingers as hard as his body allowed him and spoke between labored breaths. "I...love you...Gale."

He knew he already said it before, but he also knew that this may be the last time he gets to tell her that. He didn't want it to be the end though. He had practically served his life on a silver platter to death for so long, whether it be by car accident, overdose, alcohol poisoning, or just a bullet to the head, but now he was desperate to keep it. In all honesty, he was terrified.

He raised his free hand and just barely grazed her cheek with his fingertips.

"You'll...be okay," he whispered comfortingly; he knew that one day she'd come to terms with what happened, maybe not tomorrow or the next day or next week, month, year, but, eventually, she would.

Her touch left him and his view was flocked with new, unfamiliar faces. His eyes sifted through the crowd and found hers again, and he could see that she was horrified; he wanted to embrace her and stroke her hair again to give her some sort of comfort. Suddenly, his vision went hazy and his head felt dizzy. He set his head down on the cold tile floor that was covered in his blood and could do nothing but fight off the looming threat of death; he knew the chances of survival were low, but he'd try with any fight he had left to push his body to not stop itself.

In the blur, Dewey thought he saw Tatum. She was dressed the same as she was *that night* and looked just as snarky as she always was. "Get up, old man," he thought he heard. Something similar to this happened after he got stabbed in '97 - seeing Tatum as if she'd whisk him away to whatever heaven there was - but he had refused it then, and he wants to now. But a passing thought crossed his mind, that maybe he should rest - he was so tired...

"* r*"

"*C* l *e* a *r*"

"Clear."

Dewey was shocked back into reality when volts of electricity surged into his chest. He sucked in an involuntary breath and proceeded to cough as if he had been a chain smoker for the last twenty-five years. Hands grasped his body and lied him across a stretcher, wheeling him off to God knows where. He only made out the words 'large intestine', 'surgery', and 'remove'. If unknowingly being resurrected from the dead told Dewey anything, it was that he was going to stay. In his one moment of weakness, he lost his life and almost left Gale all alone - and what would Sidney think? No. He can't die. He *won't*.