Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.
Warnings: Major character death.
Couple: Slight Caulscott
REVIEWS ARE LOVE
Summary: "A companion piece to This Isn't Everything You Are. A What If scenario told from Max's point of view.
Where Butterflies Never Die
You watch him curled up on the floor, crying, trembling, bruised face, blue eyes full of fear and you just can't help it.
You frown.
A pang in your chest.
You wonder with bewilderment.
Is this Nathan Prescott?
Nathan Prescott who shot Chloe in the girl's bathroom.
Nathan Prescott, the guy who threatened you.
Nathan Prescott, the one who beat up Warren.
Nathan Prescott, the guy who calls you insults as much as you take photographs
Nathan Prescott, the guy who drugged Kate.
Nathan Prescott, a serial killer.
And yet…
You should have left a long time ago. Warren and Chloe already left the dorm; they're probably waiting for you outside.
You should go.
But here you are. Staring at the boy on the floor.
A sob. More sniffs. Then-
"Everybody hates me"
You feel your heartstrings being pulled by an invisible chord. You swallow nothing.
Disbelief would not be enough to describe how you're feeling right now. It must be a dream, you tell yourself because there's no way Nathan Prescott is breaking down in front of you, (there is no way you're feeling sorry for him).
There's no way this is happening.
But he's still there.
And you're still there too, watching him with morbid incredulity fascination
You hate him.
You know you do and you should for all the shit he has done.
In fact, you should be gloating, mocking him, throwing him back every insult he has ever said your way.
Even so, seeing him like this…It feels wrong.
You can't bring yourself to do it.
Instead, you take two steps closer.
He curls in himself further if that's even possible.
As if possessed, you reach out a shaking hand. You're not conscious you're even doing it.
It's like you're in auto pilot.
Your fingers are grazing his arm when he flinches.
Nathan Prescott flinches, backs away from you, scared. Really scared.
Backs away from you as if you're going to hurt him.
In that moment, you do not feel pity for him. (You do)
You do not feel tears prickling in your eyes. (You do)
You don't understand what's happening.
If the tornado is actually coming for Arcadia Bay it might as well be now. (You never thought you'd see the king of assholes in this way).
This is not Nathan Prescott, you realize. Or at least he's not one you know.
Because the Nathan Prescott you know is dangerous, psychotic, rude and self entitled.
The Nathan Prescott you know wouldn't be cowering on the floor, avoiding your stare, shaking and apologizing as if he knows he has done something wrong.
As if he knows he deserved the beating. (You think he didn't deserve it).
You're truly and utterly confused.
Against your better judgment, you try reaching for him again.
"Don't touch me" He whimpers and, finally meets your gaze.
Your hand freezes in the air. Your whole body freezes actually, and when you feel your throat constrict, you know you were holding your breath.
Oh God.
For as long as you've known Nathan his eyes always looked glazed over, almost like he was either very medicated or simply blazed.
His eyes looked at you. At the same time, his eyes weren't really looking.
(Lost)
Right now though, right now he's looking at you.
There's no blur, no glaze, nor rage or disgust to hide behind. This time there's only clear (pretty) blue irises and you-
You hate it.
It's so much better worse now.
Without any kind of barrier shadowing the emotions in his cerulean orbs everything is out in the open.
And it's the scariest thing you've ever seen.
Why?
You realize that right there, with your eyes meeting his head on, hand stretched out, his face covered in blood and cuts and bruises he is just-
Broken.
Precious
You don't know how to deal with a broken Nathan Prescott.
Your throat feels dry.
Your hands start itching, in the same way they do whenever you get a photo op.
That's impossible, Max. Don't be silly.
There's not a single thing around worth taking a shot.
(There's Nathan. Beautifully hurt Nathan).
You ignore the dark voice in your head, whispering, wanting for a camera to be in your hands in order to preserve this Nathan moment in time.
I don't know if you've noticed but this is no time for a picture.
So you get up, avert your eyes and start to say "I'm sorry for-
"Don't" He cuts you off, pupils dilated from fear or something else.
The bruises contrast starkly with his pale complexion; red, purple paint in a white canvas. They're practically glaring at you.
(That's your excuse for trailing them with your eyes over and over.)
Before you can say anything else, Nathan scrambles for the wall, trying to lift his body up, grunting in pain. Automatically you try to help him get up.
You first feel the stinging sensation in the back of your hand.
Then, you process the fact he has just slapped your hand away.
"What the hell-
"Please, just stop, Max!"
His voice sounds so miserable and again, you find yourself at a loss of what to do.
You want to ask him so many things.
You don't want to say anything.
You want to help him.
You want him to burn in his own personal hell.
You hate him.
Why am I doing this?
Why am I here?
Chloe is right, you decide.
You're too soft on people, especially on those who certainly do not deserve any type of kindness from you or anybody else.
The broken boy mumbling nonsense on the floor moans in pain.
Your heart does not hurt for him.
(It hurts so much.)
What happens next is a blur.
One moment he is being quiet, the next he's screaming at the top of his lungs "FUCK THIS. I can't handle this anymore. Screw everything!"
Sooner than you can react, he gets up from the floor and flies past you straight for the door.
You stand there dumfounded.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Four seconds.
Five seconds.
Chloe!
Your mind literally screams.
How could you be so stupid?
You're running out of the boys dorm in less than a heartbeat.
The scene that greets you outside chills your bones.
Chloe and Warren are staring wide eyed at an insane looking Nathan who somehow managed to take back his gun.
The gun that he's now pointing at everyone in close proximity.
He's yelling, profanities coming out of his mouth like gunshots. Hands in the air, gesticulating around wildly.
His voice is loud in the sudden silent tranquility that has cast itself upon every single person present.
You find yourself speaking up before you can stop.
"Nathan, listen to me. You need to calm down."
"Calm down? CALM DOWN, REALLY?" Nathan turns around. And he still looks broken. His eyes are still unfogged. "What the fuck do you know, Max Caulfield? Huh?"
He briefly aims at you, and then switches to Chloe and Warren when he notices them move from the corner of his eye.
His stare remains on you, though.
"What do you know about me? You think you know everything don't you"
He laughs humorlessly.
"Always getting on my case, always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. WHAT DO YOU REALLY KNOW?!"
You flinch.
Chloe is mouthing something at you.
You don't need to lip read to know what she's saying.
Use your fucking power, Max.
Why don't you?
You start to sweat.
The beginning of a headache.
Dizziness.
Slowly, you raise your hand and-
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Oh, shit.
Like on that rooftop two days ago, you're on your own.
Once more, you're scrambling for words you don't have.
Nathan beats you to it.
"Not gonna say anything? What, cat got your tongue, bitch?" His tone is a mix between mocking and…
Sad?
"Well, how convenient. When it matters, you don't have fucking anything to say. But what about when we were in the principal's office? What about that? You were so fucking talkative. Ready to spew shit about me when you know nothing. You hear me?! NOTHING"
His eyes look painfully tortured, the total opposite from his crazed expression.
"The Feminazi of Blackwell really thinks I hurt Kate, am I right?"
You stay quiet.
Every bone in your body is frozen.
How ironical.
Nathan shakes his head. "It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. Nothing does" He chuckles.
If you hadn't been standing so close you probably wouldn't have heard him.
And he sounds so defeated, in his words something so final and conclusive you can't help but feel anxious.
(The storm is coming.)
The boy with the stormy blue eyes starts moving forward.
You stand your ground.
He stops when there are only a few inches separating the two of you.
You're practically breathing the same air.
Your hands are curled up in fists, your nails claw at the skin of your palms.
It hurts
Blood slides down your palms.
You swallow nothing.
Nathan stares at you.
Looks at you.
He seems to be memorizing every feature of your face.
(You ignore the way his eyes linger on your lips).
Nathan presses the gun to your chest.
He sighs.
The entire world turns black.
There's a ringing in your ears.
A constant ringing that just won't go away.
Your vision is blurry, your head is swimming, swimming so fast you just can't make a connection between thoughts.
You don't know what happened.
You don't know what is going on.
Everything is a jumbled mess.
Splotches of color-people?- pass in front of you. You're not really sure since you can't focus on anything at all.
Everything is shaking.
An earthquake?
Your knees fail you and you fall to the ground.
You don't feel pain.
You don't feel anything.
Numb.
You try to grab onto whatever you can, trying to regain your bearings and get a hold of yourself.
And you realize, there's no earthquake.
The ground is not shaking.
You are.
This realization makes you notice other things.
Like the fact that there's something wet and sticky on your shirt.
In your face.
In your hair.
Your mouth tastes funny.
Salty and metallic.
Just like-
While you were pondering this your mind decided to function again.
First, you regain your sense of hearing.
You can make out lots of screaming and some sobbing.
You don't understand.
After that, your eyes stop seeing abstract figures.
You blink and out of habit, your eyes zoom in on Chloe.
Her mouth is hanging open, wide eyed, paralyzed in her spot.
Warren, next to her is the same.
You start to panic. What happened?
Shaking your head, you turn your gaze to the floor.
That's when you see it.
Red.
Red all over.
So much red.
Blood.
Nathan Prescott lays on the ground, right in front of you.
A pool of red liquid surrounds his head.
It must come from the gaping hole on the side of his forehead. Right where the bullet went trough.
Brains are splattered on your clothes and the floor.
Your scream can be heard throughout the entire academy.
You crawl on your hands and knees away from the body, sobs and tiny squeaks coming out of your mouth.
The smell is awful. You're covered in it, it suffocates you.
You can't breathe.
Your stomach spasms, and the next thing you know you're retching, throwing up your breakfast, convulsions shaking your body.
Even when there's nothing left, you keep trying to empty your stomach.
Your hands can barely support you.
Then you feel a pair of arms embrace you and they feel familiar.
Friend.
Safety.
Chloe.
She whispers soothing things in your ear. You don't hear her words but it comforts you nonetheless.
You latch onto her and cry. Cry out like you never have in your eighteen years of life.
In Chloe's arms you come undone.
You sob, scream, hold her tight because if you don't you fear you'll break apart.
You don't know why you're crying so much.
Maybe it's because it feels like you have lost a part of yourself.
(Innocence)
From above Chloe's shoulder you get a glimpse of vacant, empty blue eyes.
There are no emotions in them.
No rage.
No hurt.
No sadness.
No disgust.
They're not even glazed over.
That only makes you cry harder.
(The storm came.)
One hour after, when the police and the ambulance arrive and you have calmed down from the shock, you'll look at his lifeless body.
You'll mutter a prayer for his soul.
You will reach out a hand.
And when you rewind back time to the moment in the dorms (him trying to get you, calling you a nosy bitch, Chloe holding Nathan back and Warren head butting him) you will stop Warren from beating him to a pulp, you will stop Chloe from insulting him.
You, on your part, will try to not look at him and think about understanding, pity, blood and death.
You will try to not take the gun away from him and throw it out a window.
You will try to not follow him to his room.
(You will try not to feel sorry for Nathan Prescott.)
You will try not to think about his words before he shot his brains out.
Beautiful.
What you will allow yourself to think about as you exit the dorm, however, is if you ever even knew a single thing when it came to Nathan Prescott.
If you whisper a silent (useless) thank you to God for your power, well…. Who could blame you?
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM OR WHO YOU'RE MESSING AROUND WITH"