Tatum's eyes went round with shock as Dewey pulled away, and she leaned in towards Sidney, sensing the sudden change in her brother's demeanor and upset by it. Automatically Sidney stroked her hair, trying to calm her, but her eyes were on Dewey, knowing he was on the edge of explosion. Gale's eyes followed him, her shoulders taking on tension that pulled painfully at her stab injury, but she didn't try to straighten.
As he blamed himself out loud, his voice growing louder, Tatum's quieter tears started to pick up in speed again, her breathing hitching, and both she and Gale startled, flinching, when he kicked the trash can over. Sidney, torn as to who to go to, gave Tatum a quick squeeze of her hand before pulling away, ignoring her tearful call of her name. Going to Dewey, following him out in the hall, she kept a distance from him, just in case he started yelling or lashing out again. She knew he would never hit her, but she was concerned about him hitting the wall or other objects and accidentally hurting himself.
"Dewey," she said quietly but sternly, eyes staring him down. "This situation is absolutely shitty, I know. I can only imagine how you feel, but right now, what you feel needs to wait. I love you, but you do not have the time or indulgence right now to tell yourself or either of those women in there that this was your fault. It wasn't, but even if it was, they don't need to hear that. It will not help them. I know you're angry, I'm angry too. That's my girlfriend in there, my best friend," she said with feeling, unconsciously jabbing her hand towards her heart. "And you know I love Gale, you know how much this hurts me to see them both like this, in this much pain."
"But they are, Dewey. They are both in more pain than either of us, and they need us more than they probably ever have before. I'm not saying you can't feel this. You can, and I am always here for you. Come to me. Walk away if you have to."
She paused, catching her breath. "But you cannot say those things in front of them. You can't do things to worry or scare them more. They need you. So when you can be there. Please come back in."
She softened her voice, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. "I love you so much, Dewey. Don't do anything stupid. Don't forget, I need you too."
Her voice cracked slightly on the last sentence, and she sniffed back her own threatening tears, taking a deep breath.
In the hospital room, Tatum continued to fight through her anxiety, still streaming tears. In spite of her injuries, she had managed with cries of pain at the effort to push herself up a sitting position, which further broke through Gale's near frozen state to look at her with concern.
"You should be laying down, stop," she said, but Tatum, through her tears, retorted.
"And you should be in your room, and we both should be dead, but here we are."
With a gasp of pain at the effort, she reached out and grasped Gale's hand, squeezing. Gale froze, her eyes coming up to meet Tatum's unwillingly, and her heart cracked at the sincerity in their brimming surface.
"We love you, Gale. I love you. Please don't push away from that, please let us."
The heartfelt nature of Tatum's words made Gale feel as though she couldn't breathe. She went rigid, her face going blank and still even as her eyes filled with panic, and she pulled her hand back, bending over as she struggled to breathe. Tatum regarded her with alarm, asking her if she was okay repeatedly, but Gale only managed one sentence.
"I have to go. I need to go."
Even with Sidney trailing behind him, he kept moving, determined steps striding to the end of the hall to make it to the elevator. He wanted to put and end to the other killer, and if that meant he had to walk right into the devil's mouth, he would. Someone had to pay for the damage Walker caused.
He stopped short when Sidney cut him off and looked straight into his sad, angry eyes. He didn't believe her when she said what happened wasn't his fault. Another Ghostface attack was bound to happen, he should've known, and he didn't let Gale, his own wife and three time Ghostface survivor, work with him on the case, and all because he wanted to keep in favor of the town that voted him Sheriff.
He felt heat under his skin from his rage, and it hurt. *It's what you deserve* he told himself. *But I didn't want this to happen* his true self called, arguing back his anger. *Yet you let it* he bit back. The feeling deep in the crevices of his mind was repelling the rage he allowed it to be consumed by, and it made his head hurt, so he closed his eyes tightly shut to numb the pounding in his head.
*No* he thought. *Do what has to be done*
His eyes opened and glared down at Sidney. "Your girlfriend is *my* sister, and Gale is *my* wife," he spit out. "If you want to sit back and twiddle your thumbs when a killer is out there taking other people's sisters and wives away from them, then someone has to go out there. I'm the only one left with their head still straight on who knows how to find these bastards.
"They tried to take everything away from me," he added, tears beginning to prick his eyes again - his sensitive side was truly more powerful than his rage, and it knew what Sidney was saying was right. "They tried to kill my sister," he cracked. "They tried to kill my wife," he sobbed. He let his tears flow when Sidney wrapped her arms around him.
"They killed my baby."
Sidney took Dewey's anger without flinching or backing down an inch, continuing to look him straight in the eye. She gave a short nod in acknowledgement of what he had said, but came back at him just as firmly.
"I know who they are, Dewey. I also know this isn't a competition over who loves who the most or who has more to prove. We all love each other, period. They are your family, and all three of you are mine, the only family I have left. I have no intention of letting anyone get away with murder, but we do not have any information to go on. If you run out of here on emotion and adrenaline, you'll make a mistake you can't take back, and someone will be dead. Either an innocent person you thought was guilty, or yourself. They don't need that, Dewey. They don't need you to do anything right now but be here for them. That's what matters. Of course it matters if there's another killer, but right now, Gale and Tatum matter more. Besides, we already fucked up the final act. We took away from the killers the reveal at the end, no killer ever got robbed of the chance to unmask himself. The partner will be scrambling to regroup now and almost definitely laying low for a while, especially if they weren't the mastermind."
Her expression softened as Dewey cracked, and she pulled him back into an embrace, guiding his head down to her shoulder. She hugged him tightly, tears stinging her eyes, her voice husky as she responded.
"I know, Dewey. I know. It's unfair. They didn't deserve it. You don't deserve it. I know."
In Tatum's hospital room, Gale continues to struggle through her panic attack, her heart galloping until she truly is afraid that something is wrong, that the doctors missed something in her heart that had been damaged or literally cracked somehow in her fall. She stayed bent over nearly with her head on her knees, which made it no easier for her to breathe or calm down, but she feels she has to stay in that position to protect herself.
It feels to her like maybe her heartbeat will slow if she just folds herself around it as much as possible. Her face is drained of color, though Tatum cannot see it, and she doesn't respond to Tatum continuing to talk to her, her own tears almost stopping fully in her fear watching Gale.
"Gale? Gale, please, say something. Gale? Look at me!"
She made a stretch forward that made her cry out in pain that nevertheless didn't stop her from leaving forward, her own face pale with strain as she managed to touch Gale's shaking left shoulder. She kept her hand there, saying her name again as Gale barely heard her at all.
His anger remained, but it was considerably subsided. She was right, he had to be where it mattered, and it mattered that he was here, with Tatum and Gale. He may have been hurt by this, but not as much as they were; he wasn't the one with stab wounds in his back and chest, and he didn't have a stab wound in the shoulder and a miscarriage.
He feels pathetic, for walking out on them. He should've known to stay, and to not let his rage get the better of him, but he was too focused on getting payback. He wouldn't call off his officers, but he'd surely spend the night here rather than out there.
*"Gale? Gale, please, say something. Gale? Look at me!"*
Tatum's voice was muffled from the distance and walls between them, but he could still hear her calling out; maybe it was his paranoia selectively listening out for only four distinguished voices - Gale, Tatum, Sidney, and Ghostface. He pulled his head from Sidney's shoulder and left her arms to stride down the hall and back to Tatum's room.
Whether Sidney followed him or not, which he would find odd if she didn't, he continued down until he reached the room and opened the door. There he saw Gale hunched over in her wheelchair, chest expanding quickly and skin going pale. He got on his knees and slid in front of her, gently grasping her shoulders to push her back into the wheelchair before she hurt herself even more.
"Gale, hon," he spurred. "I'm here. Can you look at me, please?"
He pulled the chair that he previously sat in to him and moved off the floor; when he sat, he was looking at head level with Gale. He knew what was happening - it wasn't the first time she experienced a panic attack, and it certainly wasn't going to be now. He brought his hands to cup her face, fingers just slightly brushing into her hair, and he placed a kiss to her forehead.
He moved one of his hands down to grasp one of hers gently. "Can you squeeze my hand, and breath for me? Can you tell me where you are, and who you're with?" he asked. "Focus on me. I'm here," he repeated.
Of course Sidney followed; she too has become attuned to the voices of the most important people in her life and recognizes the anxiety in Tatum's tone. Coming in the room behind Dewey, she sees Gale and stops,letting Dewey go to her. Moving slowly and carefully so as not to scare her, she goes around the foot of Tatum's bed and sits on the edge again, reaching out to gently guide her to lie back down.
"Tate, you're going to hurt yourself," she said softly, as Tatum quickly grasped onto her with both hands. "It's okay, we're back. She's going to be okay."
Gale resisted Dewey at first, not wanting to straighten back, but when he continued to hold her shoulders, gently pushing her to sit up, she relented, her breathing easing slightly just from being upright. She had her eyes shut, and when Dewey told her to look at him, she continued to keep them squeezed shut, feeling that she needed to as a way of control. If she just didn't look, didn't see anything, she could pretend that no one saw her, that everything was okay. If she could control what she did and didn't see, maybe she could regain control of her body.
Her eyes flew open when she felt Dewey's hands cupping her face, wide and startled at first, not seeming to really see him. Then the familiarity of his touch sank in, even before she could really "see" him, as her body recognized him as hers, the love and care in his gestures. When Dewey held her hand, asking her to squeeze, she didn't respond at first. She couldn't process the simple request. After several moments of ragged breaths, she finally squeezed his hand, her eyes clearing as they met his.
"Hospital," she ground out, the words tight. "You. Dewey."
Seeing Sidney and Tatum just past him on Tatum's bed, she added, eyes flickering down from his briefly as she remembered and registered their presence, "Tatum. Sidney."
He smiled when she responded, aware of where she was and who she was with, and squeezing his hand. Her words were slow and rigid though, so he doesn't think he'll get much out of her going forward.
"Do you want to go back to your room?" he gently asked, although he didn't wait for answer before rising from his seat and rounding the wheelchair to lead her out. He looked at Sidney and Tatum, his eyes apologizing for leaving, but his feet took them forward anyway.
As he led Gale back to her room, the staff took notice and joined. They helped her back into the bed, and despite the blankness in her face he could tell it hurt her to move. A nurse directed his attention to a chair in the corner of the room that he could use should he decide to stay in the hospital - he couldn't imagine in a world where he ever would leave Gale to sleep all by herself in a *hospital*.
Except he almost did. He had let his rage guide him down the corridor and to the elevator, and if Sidney wasn't there to stop him he would've left. He felt responsible for Gale's panic attack, even if it was already on the brink of exploding before he even left. He sat in the chair at her bedside and grabbed her hand.
"I'm sorry," he croaked out. "I shouldn't have left," he continued, squeezing her hand. "But I'm still here. I won't leave you again."
He brought his other hand to her hair and brushed through it lightly. "You should rest. I know that feels impossible right now, but you need it. I'll stay right beside you until you do, if that helps."
Dewey was right, Gale did want to go back to her room, but words still feel impossible to hardly form in her mind, let alone speak. Sidney and Tatum tell them goodbye softly as he wheels her out, but Gale doesn't respond, though she hears.
Gale felt like her shoulder and most of her right arm was aflame with pain from her pushing herself, and her stomach and most of her lower torso throb. She doesn't say anything as the nurse helps her back into bed though, and she almost welcomes the pain. It feels right somehow, better than the emotional numbness. She turns her eyes towards Dewey as he sits beside her, taking her hand and stroking her hair. A part of her wants to reach out and crawl into his arms, no matter how much it hurts, but part of her, the same frozen part in control, wants to flinch away. She doesn't say anything, letting him hold her hand as she closes her eyes, but obvious from the lack of steady depth of her breathing she isn't asleep.
In Tatum's room, Tatum has managed to drift off, exhausted. Sidney sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her head, intent on making sure she was awake when Tatum was again.
He noticed that despite her eyes being closed, she wasn't asleep. He could see her eyes flick about under her eyelids and her breathing wasn't calm. He lied his head next to the hand he held and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.
Nothing was said - the room was devoid of noise aside from the hum of the air conditioner. His limbs felt weak, and it felt like his brain was short-circuiting from how intensely it had been working for the past couple of hours. His lungs stung when he breathed in, exhausted from keeping him breathing as his heart beat a million miles per second and his voice rose in octaves.
It felt like more time had passed then it really did as he blanked out, waiting for Gale to fall asleep. He felt useless sitting around, but he wasn't going to move. He had to stay there, for Gale and Tatum. And Sidney was right, if Walker has a partner then they need to recuperate and come up with a different plan - if they were even going to commit now that they were working alone.
It's not like the killer can't do it by themselves, if Bridger had taught him anything. But for all Dewey knew, this killer was an amateur or was Walker's lackey, or both - after all, he was in the film club, and had an obvious love for the Stab franchise.
Whenever Gale had fallen into her slumber, it took Dewey half an hour to get himself to leave her side and let himself get some rest in the armchair across the room. He however refused to be far away from her, and so he pushed it over in place of the chair he sat in before.
He positioned the armchair into a reclining position and sat down, back slightly elevated and feet pointing directly outward. It was an uncomfortable position, especially for his back, and he was silently wishing for his recliner at home, but he'd make do.
He lied awake for some time, but eventually his eyelids shut from tiredness. He dreaded the nightmares that would inevitably show.
It took what felt like an eternity to Gale to fall asleep, but in reality it was around 45 minutes. She badly wanted to sleep, to escape for a few hours or even minutes the reality of what was happening, but she also feared what she would see in her dreams. The dreams were inevitable, she knew; even awake felt like going through a waking nightmare.
Half heartedly she tried to stay awake, fighting sleep, but eventually the utter toll of the day on her body and mind overcame her, and she fell into a fitful sleep.
In her dreams, Gale is back in the barn, but this time, it isn't just she and Tatum in the loft. Tatum is there, but her body lies on its back on the floor, her eyes open, blank, and unseeing, blood splattered over her chest. Nearby lies Sidney, equally unmoving, and a few feet by her, Dewey, both lifeless and bloodied. Gale is alone with Ghostface hovered over her, looming tall and menacing, a sharp knife in his fist, stained with the blood of the others- the blood of Gale. As she struggles to breathe she realizes that she too has been stabbed, her stomach an open, bleeding wound rather than her shoulder. She can feel her life ebbing away, but this isn't what drives her to desperate fear.
It's the baby cradled in Ghostface's other arm, crying weakly, naked and covered in blood. Ghostface's head tilts, regarding Gale on the ground, and she reaches out a badly shaking arm, trying to force herself up and forward.
"No...please," she begged with a desperation she had never before heard in her own voice. "Please don't hurt it, please give it to me, please, please, no, no!"
Slowly, deliberately, Ghostface turned away from her, just enough so she could see him still holding her chld in one hand, the knife hovering over its chest. Gale cried out, continuing to plea, but Ghostface walked with cruel slowness, as the baby's cries grew louder. Looking at her with taunting evident in the tilt of his head, Ghostface held the baby by its tiny ribcage over the
Open air of the loft.
"No! No!" Gale screamed, her throat burning with the force behind it, but he dropped it. The baby was falling, there was no way she could stop it, and all she could do was scream in horror.
He was back in that cursed barn - *of course* - but he couldn't move; he was tied in place on a wooden chair. It was quiet for a long, dreaded time, and the area was dark apart from a circle of light casting down on the area.
The silence was broken when a beam of light snapped on and shone over a corpse with a rope wrapped around their neck that hung from the loft - Sidney's corpse. Her face was horribly swollen and bruises tattered along her cheeks and lips. Where there used to be hands were now bloodied stumps, no hands now capable of wielding a weapon.
The cut look rough and jagged, bone splintering out and loose flesh and skin hanging freely. Her eyes were glossed over and unblinking, yet they looked directly at him. It was disgusting, vile. Seeing the equivalent of a sister to Dewey torn apart made him nauseated, and he had to look away - even if he still felt her eyes boring into the back of his head.
Another light flicked on, and there hung another body, and it was Tatum. She looked as bloodied and bruised as Sidney, however Tatum retained her hands - but she was missing her feet. Now she could no longer run. The cut was just as bad as before, thick lines of blood dropping onto the straw covered floor.
He felt even sicker, not only at seeing his baby sister dead and with the same dead, staring looking, but because he knew who must be revealed next. The last and final light turned on, and there hung Gale. Her guts were hanging from her sliced open belly, organs slowly flowing out until they plopped onto the floor with a nasty, squishy thud.
He could feel all their eyes on him, and they all said one thing - *This is your fault*. He had told himself that so before, but seeing replicas of his family telling it to him hurt, and badly. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and his eyes couldn't be taken off the bodies hung before him. *This is your fault*
One of Gale's organs began writhing on the floor and muffling gibberish. *What the fuck?* he thought.
From the darkness under the loft emerged Ghostface - Dewey's heart stopped. The ghost-masked killer stopped at the pile of organs and reached a gloved hand inside, pulling out a small, wiggling, bloodied figure. The muffling turned into cries - the cries of his baby.
Despite looking like an underdeveloped fetus, the baby acted as if it were just born, arms and legs waving about awkwardly and eyes shut tightly as they wailed. Ghostface held the fetus by the head, letting the baby's body hang in the air. Dewey knew exactly what Ghostface intended, and although he would try to plea, he had no hope he'd be heard out.
"Please," he rattled. "They're just a baby."
Ghostface cocked their head slightly to the side, almost as if to say *You really think that's going to work?*. In one swift motion, Ghostface slammed the fetus onto the ground with a powerful throw. The crying abruptly stopped and the fetus exploded into a thick glob of mush, a wave of blood flying out at hitting Dewey in the face.
He didn't get the chance to react to it all when he stirred from his sleep at the sound of shuffling and quiet whimpering. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to darkness that blanketed the room, but he still managed to make out his wife's silhouette, her covers shifting around as she moved.
He knew that she must be having a nightmare - over a decade of time between one another led him to learn that. He tiredly pushed himself up on the recliner and placed his hand over hers that rested beside her. He couldn't exactly hold her to him like he usually did, and he almost started to panic when he didn't know what to do.
With his only idea, he rested his head just below her sternum - as to not press against her stomach - and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
Gale's eyes shifted back and forth rapidly behind her closed lids, her features tight and strained. Her muscles twitched frequently, and soft cries without words escaped her. She didn't feel comfort from Dewey's hand rubbing her knuckles or resting his head on her chest; in fact, this works its way into her dream, and she starts to fight back, thinking that he was holding her down, intending to harm her. Her body bucked up, trying to push him off of her, her injured shoulder and
stomach straining at the strength she is putting into this. The hand Dewey is holding shoves at him, attempting to knock him away.
In the dream she is still in the loft, the voices of the partiers below a loud cacophony, echoing, laughing and sinister. She did not hear her baby hit the ground and holds desperately to hope that even though she can't hear it crying, maybe it somehow survived. Maybe the partiers are too loud and drown it out, maybe it had been lucky and landed just a few feet down on a hay bale. Maybe someone had even caught it. Gale has to know, she can't give up on her child. Not while she still clings to life.
With painstaking, agonizingly slow movements, she starts to drag herself across the floor of the loft to its edge, aware of her own blood slicking across the floor as she moved. She can feel her own heart open and exposed, her bared ribs dragging painfully across the floor, her organs sliding out with each movement, but still she tries to keep going. Reaching the edge of the loft, she peers over, holding her breath, and there she sees it. The scattered body of her baby, it's soft skull crushed, red pulpy fluids seeping out its translucent skin, and yet it's eyes are open, black and empty as Ghostface's mask.
She can feel Ghostface standing behind her and doesn't move, too despairing now to care very much what he does. Her entire world is taken from her and she cannot survive. Why bother keep fighting?
But then they begin to stand slowly around her, the fallen bodies of her friends and family. Dewey and Sidney and Tatum, staggering forward, blood strewn and blank eyed, but coming to her, Ghostface at their side. She doesn't realize until they are almost upon her that they are in death on his sidez working in league with him, and as she backs away on her arms, crawling in a dragging motion, they corner her, pushing her closer and closer to the loft edge.
He wouldn't say that it didn't hurt for Gale to fight against him, but he knew she wasn't consciously doing so. And the fact that she still remained asleep despite his touch made him think that whatever nightmare she was in was a deep one.
He let go of her hand and pulled his head off her chest. He would've tried further to get her to wake up, but that included hugging or kissing or whatever else required intensive physical contact, and Gale's body was too weak and in pain to be subjected to that.
He felt guilty at the thought of going back to sleep, so he curled back into the recliner and rested his head pointing in her direction to watch her, and to make sure she wouldn't accidentally hurt herself by pulling on her shoulder or stomach.
"*This is your fault,*" his thoughts plagued him. The image of Sidney, Tatum, and Gale's dead eyes burned into his mind, watching him with such pain and sadness, like they spent their last moments calling for him to help, and in death they looked as if to tell him '*You could've saved us*'.
And his baby. The poor thing hadn't even developed proper eyes to plead for help with, and so they wailed for him. But he couldn't help them, no matter how hard he fought to.
Seeing Ghostface clamp their hand around his baby's head made him sick, almost on the verge of vomiting. They've never been short of wicked and psychotic, but a baby? It would even send shudders down the backs of the many victims of Ghostface's before.
He couldn't sit in silence and wait anymore, he had to do something to ward off his thoughts. He pulled out his phone - it was 3:27 AM now - and went to Google. It was a sad and dark thought, but he wanted to see what other expecting parents experienced and how they learned to cope.
Some articles were impossible to read due to the excessive ads popping up, but he found a handful of decent articles. One couple sited that they starting coping by naming their baby, and another planted a tree over the tiny box they buried with their unborn fetus comfortably wrapped inside.
Tears pricked his eyes again, and he had to turn off his phone. He couldn't fathom acting as if naming his child wouldn't hurt him more than not, or that planting a tree over their grave wouldn't do the same.
He didn't want to have to do any of that. He wanted to be able to hold his baby, and hug them and kiss them, to teach them how to walk and talk. But no, because it seems ever since 1996 that he couldn't go a day without feeling he had to watch his back, or to have his guard up to protect his family.
In her dream Gale is still trying to crawl backwards, even as it brings her closer to the edge of the loft. She stares up at Ghostface, who holds up his knife almost mockingly, showing Gale her own reflection in its blade. But then Dewey steps forward, eyes open and empty in death, his back and chest caked in his own blood, and as Gale watches, uncomprehending, he takes the knife from Ghostface, advancing towards her with his arm raised high.
"Dewey, no!" She cried out, speaking not just in her dream, but aloud in her sleep. "No, don't do this! I'm sorry, I didn't want this to happen, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
But he kept coming forward there was nowhere for Gake to go but over the edge of the loft. She flattened herself to the ground, eyes fixed on his desperately, but knowing he didnt see.
"Dewey, please don't! I tried, I'm so sorry- Dewey, no!"
She screamed as his knife came down, arms thrown up, kicking out in an effort to defend herself, and this translated to real life as Gale spoke aloud and screamed out in the hospital bed, thrashing against her Imaginary inflicted. Her eyes came open, and she sat up, conscious but only partly aware, her skin cold and clammy, chest heaving. Her shoulder is shrieking protest at her movements and her stomach pulsates angrily as well, but she ignores it, her eyes becoming more alert but still glistening with fear as she meets Dewey's.
The time he sat curled up in the dark wasn't long, as his attention turned back to Gale as she faintly fought against her dream assailant. However her efforts became harsher and faster, and she started speaking, loudly.
"*Dewey, please don't! I tried, I'm so sorry - Dewey, no!*"
He was already sat up in his seat the moment she shot up from her nightmare. She was breathing hard and fast, a bead of sweat dripping down her brow. Her eyes were wide and dilated with terror when she looked into his worried ones. Putting two and two together, he guessed her nightmare replica of him had done something - maybe he left her? Or he left her to die by the hands of Ghostface?
It hurt to think that in the deep recesses of her mind Gale thought he would leave her - if anything he wanted to be as close as possible with her. He didn't, and would never, interpret it as her thinking badly of him, he thought of it as Gale believing she was deserving of him leaving, even if she desperately didn't want him to.
"Gale?" he asked gently. "What happened?"
He reached a hand over to graze hers, just in the event she might reel back out of fear from her adrenaline high.
Still breathing in shallow, heavy breaths that do nothing to calm her, Gale stared back at Dewey, her eyes gradually clearing from their dazed sheen as she took in his features. He was alive, unhurt, and as her eyes scanned him up and down, checking for blood, for any injuries, then moved back up to his face, she saw that he had none of the flat, uncaring expression of his deadened dream self. He was talking, he was saying her name, concern and warmth for her evident in contrast to the Dewey of her dream. She continued to stare at him, still shaken, shaking, and when he brushed his hand over hers she flinched, startling, before her muscles released some of their tension in relief. His touch was gentle, not aiming to grab or hurt, and he was warm.
This was Dewey, the real Dewey. He was here with her here and now, he was safe, and he was himself, not some twisted version of Ghostface's puppet. She looked around the room for Tatum and Sidney, wanting reassurance that they too were okay, before remembering that they were in Tatum's hospital room, likely asleep.
"They're okay?" she said hoarsely. "Tatum and Sidney…it wasn't real."
It's almost a question as much as it is a self reassurance. With Dewey still watching her, she pressed her lips together, a sob rising to choke her, and then leaned towards him, almost falling forward into him and off the hospital bed entirely, heedless of her injuries or the pain it was causing her. She didn't care, she didn't even feel it. She needed him more fully than just touching his hand then. Her uninjured left arm wrapped tight around his waist, and she buried her face in his chest, not speaking for several moments as she tried to ground herself with his heartbeat, his solid presence.
"He had all of you," she said, barely audible, when she thought she had enough control to speak. "You, Sidney, Tatum. You were all…you were dead. And he had…he had the ba-"
She couldn't say the word. She still has yet to say the word baby, the possibility of what wasn't any longer. She choked, grasping the back of Dewey's shirt, and pushed past it.
"He had it, and I couldn't get it, I tried, and he- he let go of it. It was…I tried, I wanted to get it, but I was h-hurt, and...and then you were alive, you and the others, but you weren't, not really. And you…"
She was talking fast now, her face mashed into his shirt, and tears started to dampen its material.
"You took…you took the knife from him, from Ghostface, and you were coming…you thought…you were coming after me. You thought it was my fault, all of you thought it was my fault, and…"
She stopped, her back shaking, and said with a choked sob into his chest, "I want to go home, Dewey, I can't be here. I have to get out of here. Please, I want to go home."
"Yeah, they're alright-" he said, not quite understanding what she was saying, before Gale latched herself onto him. He gently wrapped an arm around her waist, avoiding her shoulder, and used his other hand to stroke her hair. He sat with her in several moments of silence, leaving empty space for her to decide to go quiet or talk. When she did spoke, it sounded just as bad as he thought it was, but this nightmare clearly hurt more, and not just for Gale but for himself.
He didn't care for the tears that soaked into his uniform, or how Gale grasped at him. His nightmare was bad, but this sounded worse. In his nightmare, they all only stared at him with judging eyes, but there was no clearer message when his walking corpse took the buck knife from Ghostface and swung down to end her. She thought she was to blame, and that everyone too blamed her.
"Gale," he gently addressed her. "I promise you, there will never be a time, in the rest of my life, that I would blame you for what happened."
He wanted to go home too, and he wanted her to be comfortable, but the hospital wasn't going to let her own so soon. With a fractured collarbone, stab wound to the shoulder, and miscarriage, they were going to keep her there for at least another day or two. "I'll talk with the doctors," he assured her. "I want you home too, but I also want you to be okay. I'll see how early we can get you out."
He bent down slightly and planted a kiss on the top of her head. He was certain Gale would refuse to go back to sleep willingly now, so he had to come up with something to do. He looked around and spotted an old tv sitting on a stand on the wall that he had ignored the existence of ever since he stepped foot in that room. "It's still late, Adult Swim should still be on," he suggested earnestly. They were due for a good laugh, even if none of them would do so outwardly.
Gale couldn't quite believe Dewey when he told her that he couldn't blame her, that he didn't blame her. Maybe he didn't, but she blamed herself; only now, with the shock of what had happened beginning to lift, was this becoming clear to her.
Sure, ultimately, Charlie Walker was to blame; she knew this. But who had given him the easy opportunity? Who had insisted on going into a dangerous situation when Dewey didn't want her to, and bringing Tatum with her in the meantime? It was her fault she was hurt, and that Tatum was hurt. And that meant that it was her fault she hadn't protected the baby.
What kind of mother didn't know she was pregnant? What kind of person went over 40 years choosing not to have a child, then let the only child she would ever conceive get killed? It didn't matter if Dewey blamed her. It remained true to her that blame was hers.
"I shouldn't have gone out there," she said into his shirt. "I should have listened to you. But I had too much fucking pride, and I thought I knew my shit, and I didn't know anything. I let a fucking teenager outsmart me. I got Tatum pulled into it and hurt, and I let- you don't have to blame me. I blame me."
She nodded against him when he reassured her he would talk to the doctors, still clinging, not wanting to let go or be let go of.
"I don't care if I'm okay. They can send me all the pills they want, make me go to a doctor every day, I don't care. I don't want to be here, I want to go. They can't make me stay if I sign myself out."
Problem was that she would probably end up collapsing before she got to the parking lot, and Dewey would just haul her right back inside.
She cracked a small smile when Dewey mentioned adult swim, lifting her head just enough to shift her eyes up to him. "Worse than Woodsboro's porn section. Or so I hear."
In Tatum's hospital room, Sidney lay awake in bed beside her, again on scrunched up uncomfortably on her side to give Tatum as much room as possible. Tatum had wanted her close, and Sidney had again been unable to resist the plea in her brown eyes. Arm wrapped carefully around Tatum's hips, avoiding the stab wounds on her back and chest, Sidney rubbed her thumb over her hip bone, eyes trained on Tatum's face in the bright light of the room.
Tatum had managed to fall asleep somehow in spite of thr florescent lighting and the glow of the TV. She had protested Sidney dimming the lights, spooked at the idea of any level of darkness, and Sidney couldn't blame her. For Sidney though, sleep was impossible though, and not just because of the limited space in bed.
She had almost lost Tatum today. If she and Dewey had been just a minute later...
She was used to being in danger, putting herself at risk out of necessity. But Tatum was different. Tatum was to be protected, always. Ever since that night in the garage, Sidney had fought to make sure that Tatum was always kept as far away from danger as she could ensure, because the thought of Tatum being harmed, let alone killed, was a loss she couldn't bear to consider.
She had sacrificed herself and probably others time and time again over the years to make certain Tatum was out of range or if not possible, surrounded by people who were stronger and experienced and could protect her. And it had worked. It had been fifteen years since Tatum was last seriously injured. But today, Sidney had failed.
She still couldn't understand what the hell she had been thinking. How could she have chosen to send Tatum directly into the path of danger, even if she wanted to go, even if she thought Gale was experienced enough to protect her? How could she have chosen to stay back to protect and aunt and cousin she barely knew over going with her girlfriend, the woman she had loved since they met in kindergarten?
If Sidney had been there she knew it would have been different. She would have watched the opposite direction of Tatum, she could have protected her and Gale both. They wouldn't be in the hospital all of them hated, with Tatum a mess of emotion and Gale so shut down it scared Sidney. Sidney would still be able to look forward to the day she became an aunt.
Sidney understood Dewey's rage; she understood his blame in himself, because although she wouldn't voice it, she felt it too.
Tatum murmured in her sleep, her brow furrowing, and Sidney smoothed her fingers over her temple, lightly massaging until she saw its lines smooth out. She watched her intently, whispering reassurance into her ear and stroking comfort into her arm or face any time she shifted in her sleep. She didn't want Tatum to even begin to drift towards nightmares, so she made it her mission to give her calm even in her sleep.
When Tatum stirred, eyes half open, and looked at her with bleary gaze, Sidney kissed her cheek, murmuring, "Still here, babe. Still got you. Sleep."
To her relief, Tatum let her eyes shut, her breathing evening out. Sidney might not get any sleep tonight, but she would make it her mission to see that Tatum did.
He hated hearing Gale blame herself. He expected it from her, of course, but he never liked hearing it. Sure she went off into a dangerous situation, but it wasn't unlike anything he would've done before he had the responsibility of Sheriff - he had entered the auditorium with her at Windsor College and went to Milton's mansion when he knew the killer was there.
"You were tricked," he said gently. "And you're not the only one who has been. We thought Loomis was innocent because of his phone records, we thought Mrs. Loomis was just a reporter, and we thought Bridger had been killed. This is no different."
Of course they all should know at this point not to take everything lightly when it concerned Ghostfaces, but they weren't awful people. They wanted to help everyone they could, and even if they had their suspicions on someone, they could never assume they were guilty without the proper evidence.
"I know, hon," he reassured, stroking her hair. "But there could still be another one of them out there, and I'd rather you be bed ridden in a hospital then our house - these guys are clearly not adverse to killing in the privacy of someone else's home."
He looked down at her when he felt her head shift upward, grinning at her slightly lighter tone. "I say you heard wrong," he said jokingly. "I'd much rather watch Robot Chicken than anything in there again."
Gale: Gale was unconvinced by Dewey's words. This feels different, because people she personally cares about were hurt as a result of her being "tricked". She shook her head, swallowing, but let it drop.
"Robot chicken? Tell me that isn't literally about a chicken that's a robot."
She pulled back just a little bit, then with slow movements shifted herself over as far to the right of the bed as possible. "Share," she said quietly. "If you won't let me leave tonight. I know it's small, I'll lay on my left side."
She didn't want to spell it out, but she wanted him there as close as possible. And she didn't want to keep him from sleeping if he needed it either.
"What? You've never watched Robot Chicken?" he asked genuinely. "I mean there *is* a chicken cyborg, but it's more like random comedy skits," he explained, questioningly watching as Gale shifted over in her cot.
She clearly was in to mood for negotiation, but he didn't want her uncomfortable. "I'll lay down, but I'm gonna be the one on my side," he said, setting it in stone. He pulled himself up, back creaking, and lied on his side, facing Gale.
He reached behind him and grabbed the TV remote off the bedside table. He switched it on, keeping the volume low, and turned the channel to Cartoon Network, which showed only adult shows at night when children were asleep.
*Children*. Shit, and here his mind had completely forgotten what had happened when it got even the slightest bit of happiness. He set the remote back in its place and turned back to Gale, placing his head in the crook of her neck - cuddling wasn't really an option, and it was the only way he get as close to Gale as possible without grazing any wounds.
His eyes squeezed shut when tears threatened to slip again; luckily he was able to blink them away. "I'm sorry, Gale," he whispered, almost on the verge of whimpering. "You didn't deserve any of this. I should've let you in on the investigation from the start. But I was selfish, more worried about my job than what you needed."
Gale: "Why would I watch a show about a robot chicken? Or one that sounds like it's about a robot chicken?" Gale asked, rolling her eyes. "Does that sound like my kind of thing?"
She gave him a small effort at a smile when Dewey did lie beside her, though it stuck at the edges and didn't reach her mind. She started to reach a hand out to him before she realized the shift in his mood, quickly becoming more morose. When he put his head into her neck, closing his eyes, Gale swallowed again, breathing in through her nose as her chest tightened. She wrapped her left arm around his neck, embracing him the best that she could.
"I was selfish, not you," she said back. "You wanted people safe. I was the one worried about what I needed, and it almost got Tatum killed. It- this is on me. I should have listened. I never listen."
She paused, taking another uneven breath before whispering, "You would have been such a perfect father. I'm so sorry you can't be. I'm so sorry I never let you be."
"No," he admitted. "But it's funny."
He felt her shuffle a bit as if to reach out to him, but she had stopped short. However it wasn't long before a hand gently hugged his neck, and his body instinctively pushed into it.
He just couldn't get behind that any of this was her fault, even if she hadn't listened to him. She wouldn't have been so pent up if he had noticed that she was going through a tough time with her career, and therefore wouldn't have been so quick to go against him. "Seems like we both have a hearing problem," he joked, but no inflection backed up his voice. "I should've seen that you were unhappy. Or at least I knew something was wrong, but I wasn't sure...how to ask you."
Admitting that he didn't know what to do for their relationship felt foreign to his tongue. Of the two of them, he had always been the first to try and fix things, but things had been going so good the past decade that his dumb brain didn't catch anything. Or maybe she had always been unhappy. Maybe she...wasn't ready to be tied down, with him.
He couldn't ask though. Not now, or maybe ever. If he was living in the world where Gale hadn't wanted to be married yet had gone through with it anyways and he was none the wiser, he'd gladly live in the fantasy than a world without her.
No...no, he wouldn't be glad. He wouldn't want *her* to live like that.
Tears immediately spilled when she told him he would've been the perfect father. Of all the things in the world, one of the only things he ever wanted was a child. He had practically been a father to Tatum after their dad walked out on them, but he wanted to raise *his own* child, almost to rectify the sins of his own father - he never wanted anyone to experience the same heartbreak and pain that he had.
"It's not your fault," he muttered. "You just...felt differently, and I accepted that. You would have been the perfect mother, though," he added. "They would've been as smart and headstrong as you."
Dammit, he had to ask, but he couldn't just outright say it. Saying *Did you want to marry me?* could be implying many things, but he only wanted to be taken as one. "I don't regret ever marrying you," he said, the only thing he could think of to subtly ask if she thought the same, but also to sound like it was a continuation of their conversation.
Gale: Gale had wondered more than a few times if Dewey did realize she was unhappy. He had to know she was frustrated and bored with no longer reporting, that her writing career being stalled as Sidney's flourished was even more maddening and disappointing. She had figured that she would work through it on her own or was too happy himself to really see how deep it went, and she had too much pride to tell him herself.
When she felt his tears against her neck, Gale raised the hand around his shoulders to his head, running her fingers through his hair gently. She knew how badly he had wanted a child, even though he never pressured her, and she felt self loathing rise, hot and seething through her chest as she answered hoarsely.
"I'm still sorry. You deserve to be a dad if you want to be. Maybe...maybe we can adopt, or..." she knew even as she said it that it wasn't the same. And what insane agency would adopt a child to them?
When he told her that he didn't regret marrying her, tears pricked her own eyes, and she closed them tightly in an effort to hold them back. She could think of so many reasons he should regret it, far more than reasons he shouldn't. Children was only one of the major ones.
"I don't regret marrying you," she said finally, barely audible. "But...I know how much you want this. I want you to have what you want and I can't give it to you. If you...if you need to be a father, and you need it the usual way...I want you to have that." She paused, fighting harder to keep back tears, nearly losing now. "Even if it's not with me. Because you're wrong. I have no idea how to do anything for a child."
Her hand in his hair gave him comfort, her long fingers sifting through his short locks to massage his scalp helping his muscles to untense. He wasn't adverse to adoption, but if Gale's faltering told him anything, it was that she believed it to not be the same as having their own, biological children.
His heart pounded less when she reciprocated having no regrets to marrying him, but it immediately picked back up again when she implied that if he really wanted a child, he could go and gallivant for a 'suitor'. "I would never go out and have a child with someone else," he said unequivocally. "There's only one person I'd want to make a family with. And you *would* be an amazing mother - you're more caring than you give yourself credit for."
He heard the wavering of her voice, even if it was slight - knowing someone for around two decades tends to teach you a few things about a person. He pressed a kiss to her jaw, lingering for a moment, before pulling back. "I can't imagine having anyone else in my life that I love more than you."
Gale let out a relieved breath when Dewey told her clearly and with emphasis that he would never want or choose anyone else to make a family with. It's a relief to hear, but also hurts. Why had she been so selfish? Dewey wanted something so normal and simple,- why couldn't she just have given it to him?
When he kisses her jaw, emphasizing again his love and desire for her, Gale's eyes opened, bright with unshed tears. They overflowed slowly and she hid her face from him, pushing it into the top of his head.
"I love you," she whispered barely breathing the words."I want you to have everything you want and need. If you want a ba- a...you deserve to."
He could feel wetness in his hair some moments after she nuzzled her face into it. He never liked it when Gale cried. It just wasn't something that happened outside of waking nightmares. He snaked a hand up to the back of her head and gently held her, rubbing his thumb slowly against her cranium.
He felt the same for her - she deserved everything she wanted - but he wouldn't go through with his wants if hers didn't align. A question dawned on him, but it felt stupid. Of course she didn't want a child, she had told him so for the past decade.
But how she reacted when he told her...it looked like it hurt. Not just for him, for herself too.
"What..." he started, unsure how to word the question. "What do *you* want?"
Gale let the tears continue to trickle slowly, coming from tiredness as much as grief. She relaxed a little as Dewey rubbed her head, slowly breathing out against him as her breaths evened out.
She was slow to respond to his question, not sure at first what to say. She thought it over, seriously, for the first time since she made her decision over 30 years ago to never have a child. It was stupid, and impossible, and it was over now before it even started. But as she thought about it, it became more obvious to her.
She slowly pulled away, enough to look Dewey in the face. Her own is pale and drawn and lined with her grief and exhaustion, but the wanting shines through all the same.
"When I found out," she started, her words halting. "It hurt so much. It still hurts. I didn't know it could. I didn't know...how much I would be sorry it was gone."
She swallowed, tears coming again to her eyes, and whispered her reply. "I wanted it, Dewey. I still want it. I want to have another chance, but I know it's too late."
Her face looked heartbroken, and it made his chest clench for her. He continued to rub the back of her head as she answered, but it slowed almost to a stop when she explained that she couldn't imagine ever being this hurt about a miscarriage, and that she desperately wanted to have their unborn child. His face fell further than it already was, not mad but disappointed that only now had she realized it, and now their chance was gone.
He couldn't, nor wouldn't, blame her for it though. He knew exactly why she was insistent on never having her own children, and he had respected her wishes. Plus, it was clear that she wouldn't have come to this revelation any other way, and she had been so determined to never get pregnant that they used every possible contraceptive possible, but they had come to assume that they had gone passed the age where egg and sperm production was healthy and abundant. He brought his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and using his thumb to wipe at the tears that trickled down.
"You couldn't have known," he told her. "And I'm not upset that you only found out now how much you would've wanted one."
Gale closed her eyes, taking in his comforting touch. She lifted her hand to cover his, stilling his hand against her face. Eyes still closed, she shifted closer to him with pained effort, wanting her body as close as possible while she let herself spill out everything that she was thinking, unchecked. It feels painful but somehow easier at this late hour, just to speak, especially with her eyes closed. Not looking and not having hardly anyone else in the building awake makes it feel safer.
"I thought I would be a terrible mother. I didn't know anything about kids or how to be around them, I didn't even like them. I never had anyone give me a decent example of what a parent should be and I didn't want to repeat that. What if I didnt even love my own kid? And then my job, I knew I couldn't advance higher with a pregnancy or a kid, and then it was that plus my body having to change plus being a bad mother, and then the killers kept coming and I couldn't have a kid and lose it to that or have them lose me or you. It was everything, and having a kid seemed like thr dumbest thing I could do, and maybe it still is."
She opened her eyes, still bright with tears. "But now I want one anyway. I still care about all that, but I still want it. I don't know how to go back."
He silently cursed all the things that gave Gale doubts about her plausibility of being a good mother; her alcoholic mother, absentee father, the network, the Ghostfaces, everything. How dare any of them scare her away from a future she now desperately wants. And when she was given the chance to choose for herself, it was ripped away by a little bastard dressed in a Halloween costume. Unfortunately, there was no going back though.
"I was always scared too, you know," he admitted. "When my father left because he thought of me as a disappointment, I figured I could never be enough for anyone. Even when I helped raise Tatum, I still thought I wasn't good enough, that I could do better. I always knew I wanted children, but I expected that one day they'd never love me again, and it...*hurt*," he continued, a lump rising in his throat. "But I accepted it anyways, 'cause how could anyone ever love me if my own father didn't?
"But then I met you," he said, a smile just slightly turning the corners of his lips. "It was rough for a time, and I thought maybe that you would leave too, but you didn't. And then with all the murders, Sidney became a part of my family as well - and I had never been closer to Tatum in my life. I used to go to bed wishing that I could wake up in a world where the murders never happened, but then I realized that I never would've had the family I have now. The circumstances could've certainly been nicer, but I wouldn't change a thing."
His eyelids grew heavy, exhausted from all the mental and emotional drainage the night had had on him. He pushed himself up just enough to press a kiss to Gale's lips before lying back down and shifting to a more comfortable sleeping position - as comfortable as he could be on his side on a hospital cot. "You should get some rest," he said. "The faster you feel better, the faster we can get out of here."
Gale: Gale listens intently, somewhat surprised that Dewey had been scared of being a father too. It's logical, of course, but it's still so obvious to her that he was a terrific brother, son, and husband, hell, just a terrific person, that he would be no less than a wonderful father. But she could understand, because she had felt the same way. She nods slowly, speaking of this more openly than usual again.
"I felt that too," she admitted. "No one would love me, because my mother didn't. I didn't think I even wanted to be loved. Until you."
She kissed him back, reaching to touch his face. "You were the best brother, and father, to Tatum. You still are, and to Sidney too. You had a lot to do with how they turned out, especially Tatum. And she's amazing," she said with quiet sincerity. "I love her, you know. And Sid. I never told her before. They never did either, but she did today. Tatum. That was...that was part of what freaked me out. I didn't know how to...I guess believe her. Or let her. I don't know."
She's getting tired too but fights sleep. "Okay. Sure."
She doesn't intend to sleep, but within fifteen minutes passes out, this time without dreams.
