You ended up standing by the window after a while, almost a whole 2 hours passing until your parents pulled up to the house- in a cab. You were at the door just as they were opening it, stumbling inside and bringing with them the reeking scent of alcohol. Immediately you're more scared than you'd like to admit, because when your father was drunk he was hostile and dangerous. You were a grown woman, though, and this was your house.

"Dear." your mother hissed as she slipped off her shoes.

"Mother." you say back calmly, picking their bags off the ground.

"What's all this?" your father asks, a knowing glint in his eyes. He already knows what you're going to try, and he's confident he can convince you otherwise before he even proposes the idea. You shrink under his gaze but push forwards anyways.

"You guys have to leave." you say flatly, holding out the bags.

"What?" your mother says this time, hands on her hips.

"I'm kicking you out. It hasn't even been a day and you've already crossed the line. You guys can't stay here." your father rolls his eyes, pushing past you towards the kitchen and prying open the fridge.

"Is there anything here to eat that isn't junk?" he scolds, slamming the fridge and turning to you. "Make me lunch like a good little hostess." You stood there for a minute, stunned, bags still in your hands. You drop them to the floor.

"Get out of my house." you say, this time much more firm and demanding. Now your mom saunters in, failing to stand upright as she collapses onto the island chairs. "I'm kicking you out, are you guys deaf?"

"I've seen you get like this before!" your mom slurs, "You don't mean it, you love us!"

"Get to dinner, (Y/N). You know I don't like when you talk back." he stands with his arms crossed in the middle of the room, a frown on his face. You stand your ground, shaking your head and crossing your arms as well.

"No, you assholes need to get out of my house!" your voice is rising steadily, and you take a deep breath to try and control it.

"Assholes?" your father scoffs, his frown turning into an amused smile before going straight back toa frown again. "Get. To. Dinner." this time he waits in silence for you to move, and when you don't, his eyes go dark. "(Y/N). Last chance."

"Or what?" you challenge. The regret you feel after those words is almost overwhelming. Your father crosses the kitchen in seconds, hand gripping the front of your shirt.

"I don't like this new attitude!" he holds you nose to nose and your stomach plummets. Your eyes gloss over no matter how much you don't want them to, and your bottom lip quivers until you bite it in order to hold it still. "I'm going to count to 3, and if you aren't making us some fucking food by then you're going to regret it!" your dad hisses lowly, his alcohol-scented breath washing over your face and scaring you even more. Not knowing what else to do, only knowing you need him to let you go, you nod. "1." he begins, but you already know better than to let him get to 3. "Good. You learn your place, asshole." he returns your curse, and you let your head sink and your shoulders droop. Why had you even tried?

You don't care what you're making, you just randomly grab chicken, broccoli and rice from wherever they were held and get to work preparing them as quickly as possible. Your mother and father sit at the island the entire time, not saying a word to you, but sharing many with one another. Over the sizzling of the chicken you heard little, but the bits and pieces you caught were about how much of a disappointment you turned out to be. Once the food was done you threw it randomly onto plates and slammed them down in front of your parents.

"This? This is what you expect us to eat?" your mother raises her eyebrows in disbelief, almost looking horrified that you would even think to serve them a meal like the one you had made. "This is chicken shit! No wine? No caramelized onions on the chicken? Not even a stir fry for the rice?" Your mother raises a hand and slaps it over the top of your head, making you yelp. "This is disgusting!" grabbing the plate and standing from her seat, your mother moves to the garbage can and dumps your 30 minutes of work into the trash.

"What the fuck, mom?!" You say before you can think twice, and your father is on his feet.

"What was that?" he spits, leaning over the counter towards you. You gulp, knowing you're already in too deep to back down. They'd know they could walk all over you if you let this slide. They can't just throw your food away.

"I said what the fuck! She can't just throw my food away!"

"I can, and I did!" your mother retorts, stumbling over to you to get in your face. "You can't do shit! This house is a mess, your cooking skills have already gone downhill and you are endlessly disrespectful!" your mother lifts her hand again, and it's slapping over the top of your head once more.

"D-Don't touch me!" you force out through the urge to sob, pushing your mother away a little too hard. Your father barges past her and catches your wrist in a death grip, so hard you let out a cry of pain. "Let go!" you almost wail, praying no one upstairs would hear you and come to your aid. You didn't want your parents dead. The guilt would be too much.

"You keep your hands off your mother, you hear? What, did you learn to talk back from your manwhore of a boyfriend? Is that where you learned to touch your mom, too?" your father spat at you, voice steadily rising until it was an ear-ringing shout. You grit your teeth, viciously attempting to rip your arm away again, but your father's hold held through. "You know what? I want to talk to Danny about trying to assault my wife!" your father shoved you away and you lost your footing on the slippery kitchen tiles, colliding hard with the ground but scrambling back to your feet in seconds as your father stormed from the kitchen towards the front door and the stairs. The other slashers would know!

"Dad, stop!!" you scream, hurrying after him. You dive forwards, catching his arm but he whips around and deals a hefty right hook to your cheek, sending you spinning to the floor once more with a scream. Your father takes off towards his bag, your mother standing and following close behind. "No!!" you scream, tears spilling over your face. Your head is still spinning, but you force yourself to stand and hurry after him. What he wanted from his bag, you weren't sure but you knew it wouldn't be good. A blade? A bottle? You weren't prepared for what he pulled free from the suitcase.

A fucking revolver. You let out a blood-curdling scream, scrambling backwards and tripping over your own feet as the barrel is turned to you.

"Stay on the fucking floor, you bitch!" your dad spits, then races past you and upstairs. Danny had no chance against a gun. You leap to your feet but before you can even take a step your mother has an arm around your torso.

"Let go!!" you scream, but your mother persists. Braving the pain, you whip your head backwards and connect with her nose. Pain explodes in your head, but the snap of her nose breaking tells you the pain was worth it. You didn't even look at her as you sped off towards the stairs, tripping once or twice in your hurry but crawling up nonetheless. "Danny!!" you screech, but it's too late.

"You son of a bitch!" you hear your father scream, and as you finish ascending the stairs you see the gun set on Danny, who held his hands up with eyes darkened by terror and helplessness. His gaze flicked to you and the fear heightened.

" Sweetheart!!" he screamed, but you shook your head. A door to your left was about to be opened, but you dove for the handle and pulled it shut again; that was Michael's room. You didn't want him getting involved.

"Fuck, FUCK dad, stop!!" you cry, leaving Michael's door to dive for your dad. He turns the gun on you and you stop dead in your tracks. The gun moves from you to Danny, neither of you daring to move.

"Dad, please don't!!! Stop, you aren't thinking right you're-"

"I'm not thinking right? I'M NOT THINKING RIGHT??" your dad was creaming at the top of his lungs now, "DANNY TRIED TO ATTACK MY WIFE!" the gun turned back to Danny and your father dove forwards, in one swift movement grabbing Danny and forcing his back to your fathers stomach, gun flat against his head. Your legs gave out and you collapsed on the floor, shaking your head and sobbing so hard you couldn't breathe. You shouldn't have tried to kick them out. You should have just dealt with the three days. The door behind you is opened again, and your head whips around as Michael bursts from his room.

"Michael no!!" you try to stand but your knees give out anyways. Michael is stopped in the doorway, your father and him staring one another down.

"What the fuck is THIS?" your father screams, the gun pressed harder against Danny's skull. Another door opens, and Jason bursts from his room as well, followed closely by Norman and Freddy, then soon after you can hear Brahms exiting the walls. Your father would be cornered, all of the killers in your house having doors beside or behind you, so no one could come up from behind him. Danny might get shot because of you!! Jason rushes to your side, helping you to your feet, gaze locked on your father at all times. Freddy shoves Norman back into his room, him being the weakest and least experienced. Brahms is frozen at the top of the stairs.

"What is this, (Y/N)?" his voice returns to a normal tone, a scary calm in the eye of a storm. "I know these guys. They're killers." Shit. Shit! Michael takes a threatening step forwards, but he's stopped when the gun is jammed harder against Danny's head.

"Please, Dad!" you scream through your tears, holding out a hand. "They won't hurt you, please! Please just go and we don't have to talk about this again-" the gun is pulled from Danny's head, aimed at Michael, and a shot is fired.

A scream rips itself from your throat as the bullet connects. Michael grunts, but barely moves, his shoulders tightening and his grip on his knife making his knuckles whiter than snow. Before your father had time to move the gun back to Danny again, Michael was diving forwards, slashing his knife downwards. Two more bullets are fired into Michael's chest and you scream again. Jason forces you behind him as your father lets out a scream. You push your way past Jason and watch as Michael has the knife pressed to your fathers throat, waiting for your word to deliver the death blow. The gun is discarded on the ground, and no one but you seems to notice that. You don't want to touch it.

"Michael don't kill him!" you scream, rushing to Michael's side as he was pulling the blade back. Michael stops, your father scratching at the Shape's hand and screaming bloody murder. Your head was pounding. You couldn't think. "Let him go, Michael!!" you demand through your sobs and tears, and Michael does. He throws your father to the ground. Without missing a beat, your father is leaping across the room for the gun, but Danny catches what's going on just in time, doing the same. Both their hands ghost the metal of the firearm, but it's knocked just out of their reach, further away from you. You're frozen to your place as you root for Danny. Your dad is on his knees first, diving for the gun again, but Danny grabs his leg and pulls him backwards, not thinking as he pushes forwards with his injured leg, groaning in pain and falling to his stomach. Seeing the exploit, your father lifts a fist and brings it down on the wound, drawing a scream of pain.

You watch in horror as your father's fingers curl around the metal of the gun. You don't have time to move as the gun is aimed directly back at Michael; three more shots, and Michael is on the ground, blood oozing from his wounds. A red-hot rage mixes with your overflowing terror, and you pick up Michael's knife as the gun is turned to Jason; two shots. Then, it moves to Danny, but you're quicker. You don't think as you let out a scream that rips your throat to shreds, you don't think as the knife is lifted and slammed downwards at light speed just as the gun is fired. As the blade sinks into your father's neck, the gun is thrown aside, the bullet moving off course and whizzing past your ear, missing it by a hair. Your father screams, his terrified gaze flickering to you as you lift the knife out and slam it in again.

"Jesus fucking Christ!!" your mother's voice echoes loudly, and before you can stop yourself you're running down the hall, leaping and tackling her to the ground. You pull your arm back and she lifts her arms to block your hit, but you don't stop. You slam the knife right through her arm, pushing it down until the blade on the other end is buried into her face. Your breathing is heavy and your mind is racing so fast you can't make sense of what you did. The red staining your hands is yours, right? Your mind slows to a halt and realization crashes down on you.

"O-Oh, oh my god...!" you wail, hands tangling in your hair as you stare down at the dead woman below you. "Oh my god, oh my god oh my god!!" you shake your head violently, scrambling to your feet and stumbling backwards. You collide with Jason, whipping around to face him and spotting the bloodied corpse of your father. Your legs shake, your vision darkens, and you fall to the floor, curling in on yourself as sobs shake your entire body like a ruthless earthquake. "I killed them!!" you scream out, tugging on your hair so hard you might rip it right out- you would have, if Jason wasn't grabbing your arms and untangling your hands, if Jason wasn't pulling you close to his chest. You hugged him tightly, sobbing uncontrollably, sobbing harder than you ever had in your entire life, harder than you had that night with the camping rope.

"Sweetheart..." Danny breathes out, kneeling beside you. You can't look at him, you almost got him killed. "You saved me." he wraps you in a hug, sandwiching you between himself and Jason in a cocoon of protection.

"Wait..." your thoughts catch up to you, "What... Michael. Where's Michael?!" you push away from Jason and Danny, whipping around to find Michael. He's still on the ground, but he's sitting up now, a shaking hand pressed over the bullet wounds. His breathing is heavy and uneven, the first and only time it's ever changed from his usual calm, slow breaths. He was dying. You knew it. And you couldn't save him.