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prxciouslullaby · 25 days ago

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SUMMARY: Randy can’t help but wonder where they fell apart. [Part 1] [AO3 link] MAIN PAIRING: Randy x Stu CONTENT WARNING(S): Internalized Homophobia, Tatum's death

Randy’s staring at himself in the mirror as he fiddles with the collar of his jacket. His outfit’s casual, nothing crazy for Stu’s party, but the rings and watch add a nice touch to an otherwise boring outfit. It’s recently become his signature style, a subtle way to elevate everything in his closet without actually buying new clothes. He’s pretty proud of himself for that one. Not that anyone seemed to notice, though.

His bedroom door swings open. He whips around to see Martha standing in the doorway, seemingly auditioning as the long lost third addition to the Grady twins from The Shining given her stance and gaze. Randy doesn’t voice this, though, as he knows she won’t get the reference.

“What’s the matter with you?!” he asks instead. The question doesn’t come off as angry as he intends it to be, Randy realizes, as Martha squints her eyes at him.

“Where are you going?” she asks, completely ignoring his question. Randy rolls his eyes and turns back to the mirror. He combs his hands through his hair and gives himself one last lookover before Martha speaks again. “Hey! I said—”

“Out,” he snaps.

“But what about curfew?”

Randy turns back to face Martha. Her arms are crossed and although she’s no longer squinting, her eyes have a glint of mischief in them that tells Randy all he needs. He points his finger at her.

“If mom or dad asks, you didn’t see me.”

“Why not? What’s in it for me?”

“I won’t tell them who actually broke the kitchen window.”

After years of hearing their parents claim his angelic baby sister could do no wrong, he has evidence to disprove it for once. Martha’s eyes widen and Randy’s grin betrays his excitement at finally having leverage over her. It’s short-lived excitement, though, as Martha’s expression softens and turns startlingly serious.

“You’re not afraid you’ll get killed?” she asks quietly.

Randy’s heart catches in his throat. It’s a question he’s avoided thinking about since Casey and Steve died. The possibility’s always looming over him, despite memorizing the rules of horror. He is a virgin, after all, so he’s guaranteed survival by these rules. But there’s a part in the back of his mind that wonders if the killer would still be playing by the books tonight.

Randy notices Martha fidgeting with the sweater she’s wearing, and he swallows hard as he passes her and walks down the hall into the living room. He stops in front of the window beside the front door and pulls back the curtain to look out onto the street.

It’s a still and quiet night. Just like every other night. The cars lining the street look the same to Randy as they always do, and seeing the lights still on in some of the houses provides him with some comfort. He starts making mental notes of everything, though. Just in case. Everybody’s a suspect, after all.

Randy’s drawn out of his thoughts when he hears glass shatter and Martha yelp. He jolts and looks back to see her kneeling over a broken picture frame. He lets out a sigh of relief and walks over, shooing her away so he can pick up the pieces of scattered glass.

“Martha, watch what you’re—”

He stops as he turns the frame over.

Of all the pictures Martha could knock from the mantle, it just has to be the one with him and Stu as kids, doesn’t it? Specifically the one with them hugging each other with the biggest smiles on their faces at Randy’s 10th birthday party. Because of course it is. And to add insult to injury, the glass is broken over Stu’s face, of all places. Because of course it is.

An omen, clear as day. Randy can see that, he isn’t blind. If this were a horror movie, he’d be ridiculing the character for deciding to step foot outside after seeing such an obvious sign. In that moment, though, something tells him he should go to Stu’s party. For better or for worse. If Stu isn’t the killer, then Randy would at least be able to clear him. And if he believes that the rules are foolproof, he’ll live to see it through.

Randy takes the picture out of the frame and places it back on the mantle. He walks into the kitchen to throw the glass away and grabs a broom before he walks back to Martha.

“Clean this up before I get back,” he tells her as he hands her the broom. “Lock all the windows and doors. I have the key so if you hear knocking or a window break, call the cops. And if I don’t—” He stops himself. He can see how tightly Martha’s gripping the broom, and he once again recognizes that he’d be shouting at the screen because of how stupid the decision he’s making is. But the nagging in the back of his mind persists, so he holds the picture back up and points to Stu. “Prime Suspect number two. Billy-fucking-Loomis is Prime Suspect number one. Got it?”

Martha slowly nods in understanding, which is enough for Randy. He sets the picture down and walks to the front door. He opens it and turns back to look at Martha one last time. He realizes he’s studying her, as if trying to memorize every detail in case he’d need to tell authorities. The possibility that she could be the one to die tonight, and not him, horrifies him far more than he’d admit out loud. By horror movie rules, she can’t be on the target list — assuming there is a list, anyway — but he doesn’t want to take any chances tonight.

“You got any friends that would want to do an impromptu sleepover?”

< — — — — — >

The night is colder than Randy anticipates, but he’s thankful he doesn’t have to walk all the way to Stu’s house from Martha’s friend’s place. He isn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed at the lack of concern her friend’s father has as he drives him to the party, but he nonetheless thanks him as he gets out of the car. He makes his way down the familiar walkway and contemplates getting the spare key Stu’s folks have hidden on the porch but decides against it and rings the doorbell instead. The chime echoes in the house, but there’s no immediate answer.

Something feels off.

But everything has felt off lately.

Randy isn’t sure he can even trust his instinct anymore. His instinct that tells him that he knows these games and rules like the back of his hand — because he does — and tells him that he knows who killed Steve and Casey. His instinct that tells him that Stu is connected, somehow.

Stu.

His heart aches at the thought, admittedly. He can’t help it. How would you feel if your childhood best friend turned out to be a serial killer? No, murderer, Randy corrects himself, a murderer since he only killed two people.

...Allegedly.

Because there’s no proof, is there? Nothing to link anyone to the crime scene aside from circumstances and motives, but there’s nothing in that department either, according to the police. What a joke. He knows in his heart that Billy Loomis is behind the murders. He has to be, he’s the shadiest, most suspicious suspect to ever suspect, right there, right in front of them.

And then there’s Stu.

Defending Billy with every breath he takes, teasing and shoving Randy around like he hasn’t seen the same movies Randy has. The why of it all bothers Randy, because he can’t seem to figure Stu out. Either Stu’s too naive to see what’s going on or he’s in on it and committing the murders alongside him. But Randy knows Stu, knows he wouldn’t hurt anyone aside from roughhousing no matter how far someone might push him, knows he wouldn’t murder someone in cold blood. Stu just didn’t have that in him, he cared too much about other people’s feelings. So if Stu isn’t in on it, then Randy’s out here making a fool out of himself accusing him, his childhood best friend, the guy who’d stuck by him through thick and thin. And if Stu isn’t a murderer, what was to say he wouldn’t be the next victim?

Why is Stu taking so long to answer the door?

Randy rings the doorbell again, panic rising as it echoes throughout the house. He glances around the porch, trying to remember where Stu’s parents hide the spare key. How long has it been since the last time he was over at Stu’s place? Can’t have been that long...

Thankfully, Randy doesn’t need to search for the keys. The front door swings open, revealing Stu in a red robe that Randy can’t remember ever seeing him in. He figures it belongs to his dad, since he’s out of town and thus can’t get on Stu’s case about wearing. There’s a brief moment of silence between them and Randy catches a glimpse of relief in Stu’s expression before it’s replaced with that goofy smile of his that Randy adores.

“You’re early,” he says before stepping away from the door and motioning for Randy to come inside. Randy does so, the warmth of the house enveloping him as he feels his heart relax. Had it been pounding before Stu opened the door?

Stu wraps an arm around Randy’s shoulders as he leads him into the kitchen. There’s some stacks of solo cups next to an unopened case of beer sitting on the kitchen island. He really is early.

“How many people did you invite over?” Randy asks, the relief now fully subsided. Stu shrugs as he grabs two beer bottles and hands one to Randy.

“It’s a siesta, man, you know how word gets around.” Stu opens his bottle and takes a swig before turning back to Randy. “Tons of people could show up.”

Something about the way Stu says that doesn’t put Randy at ease. On the one hand, there’s safety in numbers. More people means less of a chance of being caught alone with the killer. On the other hand, Randy knows that there will be enough booze here to get everyone so drunk that being in a group will only serve to slow them down if they need to escape.

Assuming the killer would show up here, anyway. Which they very likely could.

“Earth to Ray?”

Randy blinks and realizes Stu’s waving his hand in front of his face.

“What? Sorry, you weren’t saying anything interesting,” he jokes. Stu’s face scrunches up in confusion and Randy is already bracing for the annoying teasing he’ll have to put up with for years once Stu gets back to what he was saying.

“I just asked why you didn’t use the spare,” he says, and Randy can feel his heart speeding up again.

“Couldn’t find it.” Randy opens up his bottle and takes a long swig, hyper aware of how suspicious the reply makes him look.

Fuck.

Stu’s eyes dart towards the ceiling, the way they do when he thinks really hard about something, and when they land back on Randy, it feels like they’re boring straight through him.

“Must’ve misplaced it.” Stu’s tone is flat but his expression relaxes as he takes another swig of beer. Randy does the same, his eyes never leaving Stu.

This feels familiar to Randy, sharing beer that Stu somehow always manages to have on hand. Randy asked him one time where he got the beer from, but only got a smug “Just enjoy it, man” out of him. He tries to this time, just like all the other times he’s drank with Stu, but it’s hard to focus when he’s imagining Stu’s lips wrap around something other than the mouth of the bottle he’s drinking out of.

“Got something to say, doofus?” Stu asks, taking him out of his thoughts once again before they can wander any further.

“I think you do.”

It’s so fast that he doesn’t really register what he says until he sees Stu’s eyebrows quirk up. Stu tenses then, his hands gripping the bottle, and his eyes flicker over Randy before he smiles and leans back against the kitchen sink. Randy’s heart flutters a little seeing the smile and he wonders just how much longer he’s going to have to deal with these emotions before they kill him.

“What you got against me?”

“What do you mean?”

Stu laughs, covering his mouth with his hand and pointing at Randy as if they were back in grade school picking on each other. Randy rolls his eyes and waits for Stu to finish laughing.

“Remember in junior high when we rented out Child’s Play and watched it here?”

Randy frowns, spurring more laughter from Stu. Stu swears that Randy had been so scared, he had cried for his momma. Randy doesn’t remember it that way, but no amount of explaining that he had merely been wiping sweat off of his face had deterred Stu from believing otherwise. No horror movie has ever scared Randy, let the records show, he’ll swear by it until his last breath.

“What’s that got to do with anything, dork?”

His tone, once again, fails to come off as stern as he intends it to be. Stu grins and walks over to Randy, pulling him close by his shoulders. Randy stares at him, willing every fiber in his being to relax despite being this close to Stu again. He faintly remembers why he stopped coming over to his place.

“Remember when I told you I’d never tell anybody?” Randy feels his stomach drop and he immediately glares at Stu. Stu laughs again and gently pinches Randy’s cheek. “Relax! Didn’t tell anybody, like I promised! Just wondered if you still remembered, is all.”

Randy goes to shove Stu off of him, in part to ensure he doesn’t accidentally reveal something he shouldn’t, but Stu moves quicker than he does. Stu wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on his shoulder. They’re hugging, Randy realizes. He hesitantly wraps his arms around Stu, unsure if Stu is pulling something on him. The hug is nice, though, and Randy resists the urge to question Stu as he finds himself relaxing in his arms. He figures he can have this moment of solitude with him, considering they were the only ones in the house.

Randy isn’t sure how long they stay locked in their embrace, nor can he pinpoint the emotion that washes over him as Stu’s breath tickles his ear. He is sure of one thing, though. He’s missed bantering with Stu, just the two of them, seeing Stu’s smile as he talks about the things that stuck out to him in the movie they’d just watched, hearing Stu’s laugh as he makes a stupid joke or witty remark. God, he’s missed Stu.

Stu whispers something in his ear, something so faintly that he nearly misses it.

“What?” Randy whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder, Stu will disappear from his arms and he’ll wake back up at home in his bed like so many nights before.

Stu pulls away just enough to leave his face mere centimeters away from Randy’s face. His eyes flicker up and down, and his expression is pained, as if whatever he’s thinking will kill him if he doesn’t get the thoughts out.

“We’re friends ‘til the end, right?”

Randy blinks, partly because Stu is so close it’s dizzying — and if he even leans in slightly, their lips will touch — and partly because he doesn’t quite get why Stu’s asking him the question.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer him, though.

The doorbell chimes and Stu instantly lets go of Randy to answer its call. Randy’s left standing alone in the kitchen, the ghost of Stu’s lips sure to haunt him in his dreams later tonight. He hears the chatter and laughter from the guests that have arrived and the absence of Stu’s warmth hits him harder than it has any right to. He takes a long swig of his beer, shoving his feelings back down where they belong, and walks out into the living room to join the others.

And the night went on that way. Randy watches as Stu mingles with their peers, cheering them on to drink more and laughing with them, and feels an uncomfortable loneliness settle in his chest. The more people arrive, the deeper the feelings hide. He tries to rationalize what had happened in the kitchen with just the two of them — they’d both been sober, that’s for sure — but he keeps coming up empty. Because he knows that what he was feeling — and had been feeling for years at this point — was wrong. And he can’t tell anyone about it, not really. Not unless he wanted to be ridiculed and ostracized for the rest of his life, following him wherever he goes.

But it’s not like he’s not normal. He was into chicks too, he watched porn and he’d even kissed a girl once. But it never felt like enough to prove that nothing was wrong with him, because no one had ever enraptured him like Stu had.

Well, except for one person.

And as Randy dances with a girl he barely knows in Stu’s living room, he sees Sidney walk in, carrying groceries and giggling with Tatum as they head into the kitchen. She looks great tonight, unsurprisingly, and he barely registers that his mouth is open until some other girl points it out while laughing at him. He attempts to walk over her, but gets swept up by some other teens asking to drink with them. He attempts to decline but is enticed when he sees the beer pong table they have set up.

I’ve got all night, he reasons and decides to join them in a round or two.

Randy quickly realizes that he’s shit at it, but the others playing are already hammered so they’re even worse. He manages to convince them that he makes all of the shots he misses and leaves the game feeling pretty proud for having downed only one cup of beer.

He sees Sidney sitting on the couch and plops down beside her with the biggest grin on his face. He hears Tatum and Stu snicker as he talks with Sidney, clearly finding his lame attempts at flirting entertaining. Sidney doesn’t seem to catch on, per usual. The longer he talks with her, though, the more he knows that this feels right. Was it selfish of him to want Sidney to be his girl so badly? Yeah, probably. But was he going to pass up what was possibly the only opportunity to ask her out and make his wildest dreams a reality? Hell no, he’d have to be stupid to do that.

The universe had other plans for him, though.

< — — — — — >

“Turn around!”

Randy’s laying alone on the couch, clutching one of the pillows as he’s shouting at the tv. He’s four or so beers deep at this point in the night but that was irrelevant. Because really, how stupid could Jamie Lee Curtis’ character be? Michael was right behind her and she’d easily avoid him if she just turned around—

“Behind you!”

When she doesn’t turn, Randy throws the pillow aside and gets up, thoroughly frustrated by a movie he’s seen over a hundred times. He glances around, stumbling a bit as he walks into the kitchen, and wonders where the hell everyone went. He leans over the kitchen sink and shakes his head, struggling to remember how he’d gotten to this moment. He vaguely remembers something about Principal Himbry that led to everyone running out and leaving him behind. Stu hadn’t been with them, though. Where was he?

His forehead’s starting to throb and Randy knows it’s only a matter of time before his head starts pounding. He stumbles to the fridge and yanks it open, only to find it ransacked of any food and beverages that he knows Stu’s parents keep stocked. He shuts it, grumbling to himself, and places his head against the fridge door. It’s pleasantly cold and helps to alleviate some of the throbbing, at least momentarily. It’s enough for his brain to have a moment of clarity, and he remembers the extra fridge in Stu’s garage.

God please have water or something.

Randy slowly lifts his head from the fridge and makes his way to the side door leading into the garage. He’s thankful that it’s conveniently located in the sideroom next to the kitchen. He grips the handle and tries to open the door, only to find it won’t budge.

What the hell? Is it stuck?

Randy jiggles the doorknob a bit before putting his weight on the door. It swings open faster than he anticipates, and he falls right through, tripping down the steps leading into the garage and landing hard on his side. Randy groans out in pain and instinctively curls up in the fetal position as he tries to get his body to stop spasming. His head is pounding now and he’s sure that he’s sprained — if not, broken — something.

After what feels like an eternity lying on the cold floor, Randy slowly lifts himself up. He hisses as he stands and leans heavily against the small railing that is really starting to feel like an afterthought to these steps.

“Fuck you, you sorry excuse of—”

Randy hisses again, a surge of pain interrupting his tirade. He clutches his side and nearly buckles over trying to steady himself. He’s not sober enough to deal with this, but he desperately feels the need to lie back down. He doesn’t want to lie on the garage floor again — he can practically hear Stu mocking him for finding him there — and attempts to walk back up the steps. He moves one foot and immediately slips, his body lurching forward and nearly hitting the steps again. His side catches his fall against the railing, though, sending another shot of pain rippling through his body.

“FUCK!”

He grips onto the railing, his breathing heavy and teeth grit so hard that they might just crack from the pressure. His head is spinning, and a part of him figures it might just be easier to let himself fall, mocking be damned. He stares down at the floor, trying to focus on anything that will make the room stop spinning, and notices that it’s wet. Wait, that’s not right—

It’s in that moment that Randy looks around him, only to be met with darkness, aside from the small area on the ground being illuminated by the light streaming in from the kitchen. And the garage door being open, letting in some of the light from the streets. Randy can see something hanging from the doggy door, though, but he can’t quite make out what it is.

Randy slowly, painfully, reaches his arm up to the garage light. He clicks it, but nothing happens. Shit, was the light broken? Since when? Not that Randy can get the answers to those questions given his current predicament, but he still can’t help wonder them nonetheless. He looks back at the ground, struggling to make out the source of the wetness by his feet. He leans down slightly, despite his body screaming at him, and after a few seconds of staring realizes that he can make out a shard of glass.

The smell hits him then, emanating from his wet shirt and pants. He reeks of beer, but more than what he expects from his breath. He takes in a deep breath as he shifts his weight back onto the railing. Someone had broken a beer bottle or two in the garage. No big deal. Assuming he hadn’t broken them just now when he fell in. Randy figures he can come up with a convincing lie to get Stu off his case if it comes down to it.

Randy turns his attention back to the garage door, or more specifically, the doggy door. His eyesight blurs a little then, much to his annoyance. He squeezes his eyes shut, in part because the pain surging through his side is a little stronger now, and stands there for a minute just listening to his breathing. A voice in the back of his head tells him that this would be the most boring scene in a horror movie if he was watching it. It’s a thought that almost makes him laugh.

Randy opens his eyes and focuses on the doggy door. His stomach drops as his brain discerns a pair of white boots, connected to some rather pale looking legs wearing a skirt. The torso they’re still attached to — thankfully — has blood running down its sides. Randy doesn’t think he’s ever sobered up faster.

“TATUM!”

His body is moving faster than he can register, his feet sliding along the floor and kicking shards of broken beer bottles away as he staggers over to her lifeless body. He stops just beneath her and nearly hurls as he sees her face. It’s bad, bad enough that he has to look away from her, because her injury is nothing like the movies. He’s trembling now, shaking really, as he looks around. He has to find Sidney. And Stu. Randy is not a religious man but he hopes to god that they were still alive, safe and sound somewhere. There’s a pit in his stomach, though, that’s telling him otherwise.

Fuck, where was everyone?

“Sidney?!” he shouts into the street. “Stu?! Anybody?!”

He hobbles out of the garage and makes it to the sidewalk before he stops and cusses under his breath. What is he doing? Has he not watched a thousand movies and chastised a thousand characters that had done this exact same stupid move that had resulted in their deaths? He’s out in the open now, vulnerable prey to the predatory killer. He frantically looks around, trying to spot the officer he’d seen earlier — where the fuck was he at?! — or any other living person but is met with nothing.

“FUCK!”

He smacks his head as he speaks, but he can’t help it. His heart’s beating out of his chest, adrenaline’s coursing through his veins, and a million thoughts are running through his head. He’s panicking now but he has no one to help or comfort him. He thinks back to Martha, her worried expression seared in his mind, and he feels just about ready to cry.

But then he hears something.

A twig snapping.

His head snaps in the direction of the sound and he sees someone crawl out from the bushes. Randy nearly cries from joy.

“STU!”

Randy practically barrels into him, clinging onto him as his life depends on it, and the words start to spill out of his mouth faster than he can make sense of them.

“STUHE’SHEREWENEEDTOGETTHEFUCKOUTTATUM’SFUCKINGDEADSIDNEY—”

Stu shushes Randy and pulls away from him just enough to make eye contact. Stu’s eyes are wide and he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“Randy? What are you—”

“STU LOOK AT FUCKING—” Randy frantically points at Tatum’s body and shakes Stu’s shoulders. “YOU’RE GIRLFRIEND’S DEAD, WHERE THE FUCK IS SIDNEY—”

“Wasn’t she with you?”

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I ASK YOU WHERE SHE IS IF I WAS—”

And in that moment Randy cuts himself off. Because why was Stu asking him that? He backs away from Stu and looks him over. Stu’s clean, aside from the sweat and beer coming off of him, and he’s staring at Randy like he’s crazy, as if there isn’t a dead body a few feet away from them. But there’s something more in his eyes, some other emotion he can’t quite pinpoint.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, his voice trembling.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Stu says, his tone too calm for the expression his face is wearing. Randy catches on quick.

“I didn’t fucking kill her. Why would I kill your girlfriend?”

“You said it yourself, Ray. It’s the millennium. Motives are incidental.”

Fuck, Stu cannot be serious right now. Using his own words against him? What the fuck is going on?

“I found Billy,” Stu continues, his voice raw. “Found him dead on the floor of my parent’s room.”

Well, there goes Prime Suspect #1 out the window.

“...What?”

Stu’s frowning now, eyeing Randy up and down suspiciously. Randy’s panic returns, stronger now, because fuck his best friend thinks he’s the killer.

“It was a bloodbath.” Stu takes a step towards Randy. “I wonder who—”

“No, no, no, no, no, don’t do this to me!” Randy steps back, a jolt of pain shooting through his leg. He clutches his leg before continuing, “I don’t have it in me to murder someone like that and you know it—”

“Do I?”

“STU, WE’VE BEEN FRIENDS SINCE WE WERE EIGHT! C’MON MAN, PLEASE—”

“Oh yeah? What happened to ‘everybody’s a suspect’?”

“I’M SORRY I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE KILLER, OKAY?! BUT YOU KNOW I HAD A RIGHT—”

“You had a right before you left me behind, Ray.”

Randy stares up at Stu in confusion. Stu’s face is really close to his now, and suddenly he’s back in the kitchen, hugging Stu and breathing him in without a care in the world.

What a shitty turn of events that’s led them here.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You stopped coming over! Stopped hanging out with me and watching movies—”

Randy can’t believe what he’s hearing right now. He’d make a joke of it if weren’t for the situation they were in.

“You left me!” Randy shouts, standing up straight despite his body hating him for doing so. The adrenaline wasn’t out of his system just yet, but he can feel it slowly being replaced with anger. “You stopped inviting me over to your place because— because— FUCK! Because you decided to be Billy’s little fucking lapdog! You met him and threw me aside like I didn’t fucking exist—”

“Because you threw me aside for fucking Sidney!”

“WHAT?! I MET HER AFTER YOU—”

“STOP LYING TO ME RAY.”

“WHAT THE FUCK AM I LYING ABOUT?! YOU LEFT FIRST! YOU LEFT WHEN BILLY WALKED RIGHT INTO YOUR LIFE TO CLAIM YOU AS HIS “BEST FRIEND” — WHICH WAS MY TITLE, BY THE WAY, THAT I’VE HELD SINCE THE THIRD GRADE, THANK YOU — AND YOU LEFT WHEN I TOLD YOU I THOUGHT SIDNEY WAS HOT — RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING MOVIE WE WERE WATCHING, BY THE WAY — AND YOU LEFT ME TONIGHT WHEN YOU WENT TO GET ME A BEER—”

Randy stops himself. Ridiculousness of the situation aside, Randy’s brain cells finally kicked in while he was shouting. Stu had gone to get him a beer. Stu had left during the movie, before the others had gone as well, to get beer. Beer that he took forever to bring back to him. Randy’s blood runs cold and he sees the hint of fear in Stu’s eyes staring back at him.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Randy’s running before Stu can get another word out. And Stu’s right behind him, gaining ground.

He has to find Sidney now. He has to make it through tonight.

#scream 1996 #randy meeks #stu macher #billy loomis #sidney prescott #randy x stu #stu x randy #sidney x randy #tatum is also present #if anyone could direct me to more randy and stu content I'd greatly appreciate it #idk if I'll write for scream again but we shall see

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