Lazy Note: Hey there, Strangers. I've noticed the lack in ChaseScott fics, so here I am. There's been art of their broship circulating around Tumblr, so how could I not write something about them? But, to make it romantic or not... Meh, I'll see how I feel.

For the sake of the story, Max stopped the storm. How? I dunno, ask her.

Warnings: Sensitive topics such as self harm and implications of abuse and drugs.

Enjoy.

I'm Here

by

xLazyxWriterx

The pressure in her ears was deafening, mind numbing, causing the sirens and voices to become muffled blurs. She moved as quickly as she could, but it didn't seem like enough. The doors were in sight, and she ignored the burning in her heels from her uncomfortable shoes as she hurried to reach for the doors. With an arm outstretched and slender fingers trembling violently, she wasn't sure if she could get a proper grip on the cold, smooth handle. A voice - a familiar voice - was calling after her, but it wasn't important. Using all the strength in her thin arms, she swung one of the double doors open and was greeted by the brightness of the fluorescent lights and the medical stench of bleach.

In the grip of silent panic, frantic wide eyes searched. Her heart pounded harshly, drumming in her ribs and chest to create a painful ache. Her breath came out in shaky gasps. Fright consumed every cell in her body, swelling them with plump terror. With every second she practically felt the rise of her blood pressure, but she knew that this was the least of her worries. Taking an unsure step forward, she watched several people hurry around her in similar green outfits without a single glance in her direction.

A hand grabbed her shoulder, and Taylor was beside her. "Victoria?" Taylor was breathless, attempting to hold her back as she pushed her way to the receptionist.

Victoria moved her quivering lips, but no words slipped through. The receptionist stared up at her with concern, and Taylor had to speak up for her. The pressure was only building, the only sounds becoming her rapid heart and her rushing blood.

The receptionist slightly frowned, shaking her head, and Victoria felt the frustration well up in her throat. Taylor's comforting hand rubbed along her back as the receptionist attempted to speak.

Victoria cut her off once she found her voice. "I need to see him right now." Her voice was dry, heavy with cracks of her threatening sorrow and disbelief. The receptionist eyed her from behind her thick glasses, and Victoria attempted to keep her brows furrowed and her lips curled into a snarl, but she knew the lady staring up at her from her desk could see through her poorly constructed wall. Victoria swallowed harshly, whispering, "Please. Please..."

The receptionist's gaze softened, and she sighed. Turning to her computer, her eyes darted across the screen, and she told them his room number. Without a thank you, or even a second thought, Victoria pushed away from the desk and headed down the hall, dodging patients and nurses. She didn't know if Taylor was behind her, and she didn't care. With the room number repeating in her aching head, she made her way to the correct floor. The elevator ride had been nothing but claustrophobic and irritating, and when the metal doors finally parted she was out on her unsteady legs.

The hall was just as bright as the others, but much quieter. Her body vibrated with her heart beat, her skin flushing with heated anxiety. She came to a stop in front of the door with the number she had memorized. The door was like the others, but only this door made her knees feel weak and caused her dry throat to tighten. She wasn't sure what she was suppose to expect one she turned that handle and pushed through the door, and she wasn't sure if she was ready.

It wasn't even twenty-four hours ago that her cheeks were sore from the permanent smile she wore and a happiness that she had never experienced before pumped through her veins. Her name - "What a shocker - Victoria Chase!" - was announced and she was running up to the stage, grabbing the microphone and thanking... him.

Victoria resisted the urge to rub at her eye, knowing that it would only smear her already faded eyeliner. Victoria had tried to talk to him after she gave her speech, but his mind was preoccupied. He merely congratulated her, saying they would talk more of the trip later, and then just walked off. Twinges of disappointment had creeped in, but her pride and cheeriness drowned those feelings out. She spent the rest of the evening - most of the evening - talking and celebrating with the other Vortex members, drinking and dancing.

In the back of her mind, though... she wondered about Nathan.

He still hadn't shown up to the party - the party that he was in charge of, the party he was so excited for, the party they had planned to attend together... She wanted to tell him the wonderful news. She had won. She finally won and she was getting her chance at success! After all her hard work, after all the rejections! If there was only one person she could truly celebrate this with, it was Nathan Prescott.

It wasn't until her third call to him that worry started to seep into her stomach, and she began asking around for him. He didn't answer her texts, and no one had seen him. Possibilities of him having a meltdown all by himself were high, or him being stuck in the grasp of his father was even higher, and both ideas terrified Victoria.

It didn't help that Max had showed up out of nowhere earlier and wanted to have a heart to heart before accusing Nathan of wanting to drug her. Victoria didn't believe her, of course. Nathan was her best friend, and he wouldn't do something like that...

But... Something had been off for the past few days. Something about Nathan. He was irritable, always twitching, eyes covered in a mist of anger, frustration, and panic. He was distant, just a shelled figure walking aimlessly. He hadn't talked to her all day, as though he were avoiding her. She had heard some of the other members saying they saw him sulking off campus, and Victoria had wondered if his father had anything to do with that. Then, she heard about a fight breaking out between him and some other guy in the boys' dorm, but when Victoria showed up and knocked on his door, she was greeted with nothing but silence. The door was locked, so she couldn't enter.

Victoria had heeded Max's warning, even if she wasn't convinced that Nathan would ever hurt her. She had people around that could protect her, and she was confident that nothing was going to happen.

It was almost midnight, and the party was ending. Victoria had decided that she was going to leave early and go to his dorm, hoping that he may answer her this time. Walking through the cool air of the night, she went to the dorms. This time, his door was unlocked, cracked open. In fact, the handle was broken. The darkness of his room was intimidating, a familiar scent of liquor and pot tingling her nostrils. When she flipped the light switch on, she was greeted by the disaster of clothes scattered across the floor, mixing with DVDs and crumpled papers. His desk chair was half way across the room, and his comforter was torn off his bed, revealing blood stained sheets.

Spilled pills, broken booze bottles, scattered razor blades, and a broken frame. She had called his name, searching around the bed frantically. He was no where in the room, and her anxiety was building. She called him several times, and even called his house. No answers.

Hurrying out of the dorms, thoughts of where he could be rushed through her mind, mixing with the echos of Max's warning. In the parking lot, his truck was still there. She almost didn't spot it, still not used to the new paint job. She peeked through the window of the truck, frustration bubbling in her chest upon not finding him.

Back at the party, she found Taylor. Taylor did her best to calm Victoria, but she was in a panic. Taylor reassured her that Nathan was probably at home, and that he probably just had a melt down in his room. It would explain the trashed state, but it didn't explain the blood and razor blades. Taylor brought up the fight in the dorms, saying that she heard Nathan got pretty fucked up. That didn't help. At all.

Victoria called him, again. While he didn't answer her call... she got a text.

Stop calling me. I'm fine.

Words so cold shot through her pounding heart, and she saw right through the veil placed upon them. She instantly texted back:

Where are you? I've been looking everywhere for you! Why weren't you at the party?

He didn't text her back. She waited, and waited. She wanted to call him again, but Taylor snatched her phone out of her twitchy grasp. Taylor told her it was time to crash, but Victoria never felt so awake. Nathan wasn't fine, and she knew it. The deepest part of her gut cried out and twisted in fevered trepidation. Her mind kept flashing back to his stained sheets, and the pills scattered across the floor, some broken and smashed deep into the carpet. Shattered glass spread across a familiar photo of her best friend and his sadistic father, and the walls that cried and screamed in anguish. She could feel their cries, echoing Nathan's own.

She eventually let Taylor lead her back to their dorms.

She dozed off, her efforts to fight dreariness worthless. There were no dreams, only darkness.

The next morning is when Victoria's fears were developed right in front of her. Blackwell Academy was flooded with officers and reporters, and all classes had been cancelled. The students were gathered around curiously, whispering and attempting to gain answers. The officers merely dismissed the students. Some were pondering if this strange occurrence was because of Kate Marsh, or even Rachel Amber. Victoria searched the faces of those outside, none of them belonging to Nathan.

Back in the boys' dorm, his room was left as it was when she last saw it. It seemed more eerie with the golden light seeping in through his dark curtains, highlighting the wreckage. Victoria dared to call him again, and she was sent straight to his voicemail. She didn't bother leaving a message.

No one was permitted access to Blackwell, and all students were to either be in their dorms or elsewhere.

Victoria found herself knocking on Max's door. No answer. Peeking inside, everything was neat. Not a single thing out of place, and no Max. Their conversation from last night played in her head, and she remembered Max seeming nervous, antsy. She had been asking about Nathan, too, but for completely different reasons.

The secrets of the sudden investigation were peaking, and rumors were circulating. Of course, the secrets weren't kept long, but it was amazing that they were hidden as long as they were. News stations were covering the story, and all anyone needed to do was switch on the radio, or change the channel on a TV.

Mark Jefferson was arrested and being charged with the murder of Rachel Amber, among many other charges. He was found out at an old barn owned by the Prescott's, drugged and crawling out of some underground bunker. The police investigated the place after two teenagers came stumbling into the police station, both barely able to stand due to injuries and possible drug use.

Rumors of the FBI being called into town to investigate were becoming real. An investigation into the Prescott's and Mark Jefferson was happening...

But...

...What?

Upon hearing the news, numbness surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by her long intakes of the dry fall air. Every cell in her body seemed to become heavier, the weight becoming too much for her long legs, and her bottom hit the clean carpet of her room. Taylor was at her side, arm wrapped around her shoulder.

That evening, everyone in Arcadia Bay had switched on their TV's in hopes of hearing the entire story. The TV in Victoria's room flashed images of Mark Jefferson, the underground bunker - a photo studio - Sean Prescott, binders...drugs and syringes... Rachel Amber's body discovered, so many victims...

The two teenagers - the survivors - were shown.

Maxine Caulfield and Nathan Prescott were admitted to the hospital.

Her gasp was caught, her hand covering her mouth. The grief came in waves and threatened to consume her entirely. Questions - so many questions - pounded in her head. How could this be real? Didn't they know who they were talking about? Mark - Mr. Jefferson - was her idol, her inspiration! He was the reason she came to the hellhole that was Blackwell Academy. She gazed upon his with admiration, seeking his guidance and approval. He helped her with her portfolio - in the middle of the night - and he was taking her to San Fransisco to help kick-start her career. She... she wanted to win so badly...

Victoria thought back to the evening at the entrance of Blackwell Academy, and her hand brushing against his arm. Using her grief for something selfish, she batted her eyes at him and her tongue clicked with suggestive thoughts. She remembered him visibly tensing, distancing. He denied her. He brushed off her threats. He walked away.

But, he chose her. She won.

She won...

Her heart sank down to her gut upon seeing Nathan's class photo appear, the reporter mentions some sort of involvement. Victoria had pushed Taylor away, jumping up on unsteady legs and running out of the dorm. Taylor, thankfully, ran after her. Victoria didn't have a car, but Taylor did.

They drove in the barely surviving light, and by the time they arrived, darkness fell upon them.

Now, Victoria stared at the door that hid her best friend. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, mentally telling herself to breathe. Her trembling fingers pushed the door open, and she spotted the end of the bed. His legs were covered by a blanket, unmoving. She could see some medical equipment. She slipped in, shutting the door lightly. Taking a heavy step forward, her eyes landed on him, and every nerve in her body shrank with icy terror.

One of Nathan's hands rested against his rising chest while the other lay against his side, both covered in bruises and bandages. His handsome face was hardly recognizable; shadows laying upon his closed eyes, bandages covering fresh wounds, a puffy split lip, light matted hair against his glistening forehead. There were bruises in the shapes of fingers along his neck, bright against his pale flesh. His lips were parted, his breath coming out softly. For the first time in weeks, he appeared content in his unconsciousness.

Gasps wracked through her body. Her heart was no longer in her belly, but in her throat. The searing agony in her veins was too real, bursting and consuming her. Becoming light headed, but not taking her eyes off his broken face, she grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it close to his bedside. Both hands covered her mouth and nose, and she bit down on her tongue to help choke down any sobs that threatened to bubble up. She blinked back any moisture, focusing on his face.

How did this happen? Who could've possibly hurt him to this extent? The image of her longtime role model slipped through her mind, and she had to swallow back that lump in her throat. Victoria reached a cautious, trembling hand out. She was hesitant to touch him, afraid that he would crumble under any soft of contact. When her hand rest upon his, his icy flesh set shocks through her bones. She held his heavy hand in both of hers, attempting to give him some sort of warmth. She could feel her heat soaking into him, and her thumb began rubbing circles along the calloused skin. She pressed her palm against his, noticing just how much bigger he was than her.

Her lidded eyes caught a glimpse of swelling red, and she turned his wrist over to face her. Slits, some old and some new, occupied his skin. Her chin quivered, her mouth becoming dry and bitter. Her finger traced the freshest cut lightly, the rough texture of dried blood only made her feel queasy. Her heart felt as if her own blood had become tar, struggling to pump and keep a steady beat.

How could she still be breathing when she felt like this?

She rested her forehead against their hands, his coolness seeping into the pulsating heat of her face. He told her that he had stopped. He promised her that he wouldn't do it again, and she knew that promise was broken the moment her eyes wandered along the razors scattered across his carpet. She tried to understand, she did. She tried so hard to make sure he never did it again, but Nathan hid himself from her. He hid himself from everyone.

He never did it with the intention of death. No - he once told her it was just easier to feel physical pain sometimes.

His finger twitched, and her hands become ridged. She felt him shift slightly, and heard a light sigh. She slowly cranked her stiff neck to gaze up at him. His bloodshot eyes were barely open, unfocused and clouded with tranquility.

"Hey, gorgeous..." he breathed out, his lips barely moving. His voice was deep, rough, and it sent a shiver through her. She eagerly scooted forward, tightening her grip on his hand.

"Nate..." Her own voice seemed unrecognizable, weak and shaky. He took a deep breath before wincing, brows furrowing into a grimace. He let the air out of his lungs slowly, turning his head completely to look up at her. The purple shadows that lay around his eyes only seemed worse when his deep indigo's glanced around her face. She could only imagine how she looked; her clothes were wrinkled, her short hair was a mess, her make up smeared, and her own under eyes circles prominent.

Nathan's lips twitched up, murmuring, "You're okay..." His fingers gripped her own with every last ounce of his strength. "You're okay..." he repeated, this time quieter.

She leaned over him, clearing her throat. "Nathan," she freed one of her hands to rest lightly on his chest, "what happened to you?"

Nathan's eyes drooped shut, and he turned his head away from her. He shifted around again, his breath hitching and his grip tightening. His mouth moved, words barely audible, "...hurt you...he..." his hand that rested on his chest moved up to his neck, "...promised...no more..." His face scrunched up into a painful expression as he attempted to grasp more words. "...I... Ma... he can't con...control... no more..."

Victoria bit her lip, preparing herself. "Are you," she shut her eyes, "talking about Mr. Jefferson?"

"D-dark... room..." he stuttered. "...Rachel...Ka...te..." He gasped, jaw clenching. "H-he...gonna hurt me... you..."

Her insides felt as raw as if a winter wind was blowing right through her skin. Nathan twisted his head around to face her again, and his trembling chin made her eyes sting.

"I don't wanna...hurt..." the bright iris' of his eyes clouded over with tears, "...everybody wants to hurt... me. Everybody hates me..."

"No," Victoria leaned over him, moving her hand from his chest and resting it gently against his bruised cheek. "No, that's not true, I-"

"I-I didn't want to, Vic-" Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, "-I don't... I'm sorry." He winced under her touch before welcoming it. His cold cheek was texturized with goosebumps, her thumb smoothing them out. He sighed under her warmth, nuzzling her hand. "I'm sorry..."

"I'm here, Nathan," she whispered. "I'm right here."

He nodded, opening his eyes and allowing his tears moisten his face. They sat in silence, Victoria brushing back his hair and Nathan mumbling quiet apologies. She studied him, his face. The pad of her careful thumb wiped away his tears, and Victoria couldn't remember a single time that he ever appeared so vulnerable, so small, so distraught. His iris' witnessed such despair, such horror, and Victoria could only catch a glimpse of such depths. She moved away from his face, resting her hand against his heart, feeling it bounce against her palm. She turned back to the hand that clung to her own, and she had to bite back that lump once again.

"You promised that you'd stop..." Her hand moved across his chest and brushed against his wrist. "You promised me..."

"I'm sorry..."

She traced his thumb with hers tenderly. "I can't even begin to imagine what happened to you, Nathan. What would make you want to do this to yourself..." Victoria's vision began to blur. "I'm so fucking selfish. I should've been there for you. But, I'm not going to let you get hurt. You're going to be okay."

"Vic..."

"I feel disgusting for even-" Wetness clung to her long lashes, and her eyes burned with her makeup,"-thinking about him like that..."

Nathan grimaced. "I shoulda...warned you...I wanted to b-but..." A sob lodged itself in his throat, and he gasped out, "I'm so sorry, Vic..."

"I know."

"P-please... don't hate me..." Nathan whimpered. "Please..."

Her hot tears boiled over her eyes, falling and crashing on their joined hands. "You're my best friend. I can't hate you."

Her words only brought more of his tears, but also brought a curve to his mouth. She forced herself to smile at him in hopes of reassuring him. She turned her gaze back to the rough lines on his wrist, running her fingers over the bumps.

Voices echoed outside the door, some louder than others. Victoria wasn't sure of how long she sat there, her thoughts digging deep into her; What could she have done? Could she have helped Nathan? Should she have seen what was happening? Should she have known? What happened to Nathan? And Max? What was Jefferson going to do to her? ...What has he been doing to Nathan?

Her bottom was becoming numb, and she shifted in the uncomfortable chair, feeling needles in her thighs. Nathan's grip on her hand tighten, and his eyes searched her own. His tears were dry now, but his sorrow was still there. The trauma, the weight, the guilt... it was all clear.

"Please, stay," he whispered. "I need you."

Her teeth dug into her lip, and she nodded. He freed his hand from hers, reaching up to run a finger over her cheek and down her chin. Her palm rested against the back of his hand, and she kissed his wrist desperately. Trailing her lips along his scars, across his wounds lightly, each press of her lips more meaningful than the last. Tired, red, tear-rimmed eyes stared back at hers.

He was here, breathing and watching her. His cool, torn flesh was beneath her lips. She felt his pulse, and she knew his heart was still beating. He was here with her, reminding her of the reality of the situation. She didn't know what was to happen when she was forced to part from him. She didn't know what was to happen to him, or to his family. Victoria prayed to whatever God there was that he would be taken away from them, that he would be free of the Prescott name, of his father. Victoria knew they were part of the reason Nathan was laying in a hospital bed with bruised and bloodied flesh, and with little hope swimming in his despair filled gaze.

Victoria shut her eyes, pressing a long, final kiss against his freshest wound. She felt his arm tremble beneath her grip, and she reluctantly pulled away. When she peered over at him, Nathan's own eyes were shut, his expression relaxed and a small smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. She rested his arm on the bed, intertwining their fingers. She remained there, dreading the time to come for a nurse or an officer to kick her out. Even though he was at peace, sound asleep, she still offered him a small, reassuring grin.

"I'm here, Nathan," she whispered. "I'm right here."

I'm hoping for a Victoria/Nathan interaction in episode 5.

Pretty please?

Thanks for reading!

xLazyxWriterx