Author's Note:

I know a lot of people chose the save Chloe ending, but I just couldn't let Nathan die. He deserves so much better than all the shit he got dealt in life. And yes, I know he's a terrible human and his past actions and mental illnesses shouldn't excuse his behavior, but I still love him. He's such a complex character and a very well-written sympathetic villain. So this is my take on what happens after he's arrested.

Excuse my complete lack of legal/criminal knowledge, I tried my best to research the arrest process and trial/court process so if I get anything wrong, sorry!

Potential Triggers: Abuse, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt

"State your name for the recording," the police officer ordered casually from across the table. He was fiddling with the bulky recording box against the wall.

Nathan's leg was bouncing violently under the table, slightly shaking it and rattling the handcuffs chaining him on the table. But his hands were trembling as if his bones themselves were shaking. His eyes were flitting back and forth. He didn't hear the officer speak, but the lawyer sitting next to him nudged the boy politely and nodded to the officer.

"State your name, please," he repeated.

Nathan shook his head out of the cloudy haze of worries and replied, "Nathan Joshua Prescott."

"This is Detective Gregory interviewing suspect Nathan Joshua Prescott on suspicion of murdering Chloe Elizabeth Price on-"

"I didn't fucking kill her, all right?" he spat.

"Mr. Prescott, I highly suggest you stop talking," his lawyer interjected at once.

Nathan didn't seem to hear him. "Your whole investigation is bullshit! With one call, I can have all your asses fired!" he yelled with the slightest hitch in his voice.

"I think we're done here," the officer said, stopping the recording. He began packing up all the files laid out before him and started to walk out the door calmly.

The boy felt his stomach turn in panic as the detective stepping through the threshold of the door. "You can't keep me in here; I got rights!" he said, banging his cuffed hands on the table in anger.

The officer stopped, chuckling under his breath. "Actually, I can. You've been arrested, Mr. Prescott," he retorted back with a sly smile. "Or do you need to hear your Miranda Rights again?" He paused, still standing in the threshold, looking quite serious and somewhat disappointed at the youth before him. "This can go on all day, son. I've got all the time in the world." He stayed at the threshold, waiting for him to speak.

Nathan continued bouncing his leg as he thought through his options. Biting his lip a bit harder than normal, he decided to speak up. "Fine. Ask your damn questions," he muttered.

"Good choice, son," the officer said, sitting back down.

He unloaded the files again, pressed resume on the recording box, and picked up one specific picture from his file. He slowly slid it over for Nathan to see. Nathan averted his eyes immediately, still biting his lip and bouncing his leg furiously.

"Tell me what happened that day," the officer said calmly, "October 10th. Walk me through your day."

Nathan took in a sharp breath and looked to the mirror he was fairly sure was a window and said, "Look, I don't know. It was just any other day. I don't remember what happened."

"Aw, come on, Nathan. We both know you're smarter than that," he said.

"I didn't kill that girl," he said flatly. He pushed the picture back to the detective, not even bothering to look at it.

The officer sighed. He stared at the boy before him who was obviously lying. He needed this confession. Joyce needed it.

"Mr. Prescott, once again, I strongly advise you to stop talking right now," his lawyer repeated as gently as possible.

Nathan stared at his lawyer with eyes full of hatred. He took a deep breath, nodding. He sat back in his chair as much as he physically could and continued bouncing his leg rhythmically.

The officer slid the picture back towards Nathan and carefully placed the other pictures besides the first on either side. They totally about seven.

"This," the officer said, pointing to the photo he laid out first, "is Ms. Price lying dead on the bathroom floor of Blackwell Academy. She was shot point-blank in the chest. There were slight burn marks on her clothes, meaning the round was shot within inches of her chest." He gestured to the next picture. "This is the bullet found at the scene. It just so happens to match the gun," he gestured to the next picture, "we found while searching your dorm." He paused. "A girl is dead, Mr. Prescott. With your cooperation, we can end this today. You'll do maybe a year if we can make a deal."

"My client does not wish to plead guilty," his attorney said, "against my counsel."

"Son, let me tell you what's gonna happen," the officer began, getting frustrated. "You're being charged with murder in the second degree, possession of a concealed and illegal firearm on school property, possession, usage, and selling illegal substances. And that's just for this case. Depending on Mark Jefferson, you could either be charged with accessory to kidnapping or kidnapping, not to mention lots of other crimes. But let's get back to this case: Ms. Price's death. We have witnesses that put you near the scene, we have the gun found in your room, we know about the drugs. You're looking at minimum ten years if and when the D.A. decides to try you as an adult. We can make a deal if you just tell us your side of the story. Ms. Price's mother deserves to know what happened." He paused again, rethinking his strategy. "Think of your life, son. This doesn't have to define your life."

Nathan's stomach hurt. He felt like he was going to throw up. He hadn't had his meds since the morning before he was arrested a day ago. His lungs were burning and aching for a hit of a smoke. He felt a breath on the back of his sweaty neck. Goosebumps shivered their way down his arms.

"You killed me…" a voice whispered.

"No, I didn't," he whispered under his breath. His breath was shaking. "I didn't kill her, I didn't."

"Mr. Prescott-" his lawyer began.

"You killed me, you coward," her voice spoke right into his ear, drowning out whatever his lawyer said.

"Shut up," he muttered harshly. The voices had never appeared so quickly after not taking his meds for a few days.

"Look at this picture," the detective ordered loudly. "Look at her. I want you to look at what you've done and know that her mother has to bury her daughter in a few days because of you."

"Murderer!" she screamed in his ear, causing him to visibly flinch. "You're a fucking murderer!"

"Shut up!" he ordered over his shoulder at no one. He tried to stand up, but the cuffs pulled him back down. "I'm not a murder!" he screamed back. "I didn't… I couldn't… I just!"

"You're distressing my client!" his lawyer tried to interject.

"Look at the pictures," the officer demanded.

Nathan tried to take a quick glance at the pictures of the dead girl on the bathroom floor, but couldn't pull his eyes from them.

"Look what you did, you bastard!" she screamed in his ear. "You killed me! You're a murderer!"

He pulled his head into his hands and shut his eyes and covered his ears, trying to drown out her screams.

"I'm not a murderer… I'm not a murderer. I'm not a murderer!" he repeated, rocking slightly back and forth in his chair.

"I think we're done here, detective," the lawyer said, placing a hand on Nathan's back.

He whirled around, trying to shove his hand off, but was yanked back by the cuffs. "Don't fucking touch me!" he yelled wildly.

The lawyer backed away quickly, scared of the wild outbursts of his client. The voice just chanted ominously "murderer… murderer…" over and over again in his ear.

"Shut up!" he cried out.

Nathan began wildly trying to yank his hands free from the handcuffs. Officers burst into the room and pinned him to the table, face down. He was crying. They un-cuffed him from the table and forcefully shoved his hands behind his back, re-cuffed them, and escorted him out of the room and back into his holding cell.

His wrists were red and purple and his throat felt tight. He sat on the hard rock of bed and stared at the cold walls, shaking his leg violently and biting his lip. He kept hearing whispers coming closer to his ears and moving back, but they were so jumbled he couldn't make out any of them. Nathan massaged his aching writs and tried to keep still as every move of his leg upset his stomach further. He wished he had his headphones and noise machine, yet he doubted even the whales could help him now. He wanted a cigarette and he wanted his meds so the voices would stop. But mostly, he just wanted it to be over. He wished he could see his sister and be back in Florida where he grew up with the endless ocean and the humid air on his skin and the scent of salt on a sunny day. But he was here, in this grey and miserable cell being haunted by his mind.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting when an officer walked in and accidentally startled him.

"Mr. Prescott, your lawyer and your father are here to have a word with you before your hearing later tonight," he said.

"Dad?" he asked. "Why is he here?" If it's Dad, I doubt it'll be just a word… he thought bitterly. He got up slowly, his stomach crying out in unrest as he did it. The officer cuffed him and brought him into a room where his father and lawyer were waiting.

"Nate," his father said in his usual gruff voice, "nice fucking stunt you pulled back there."

"Dad, I-"

"Shut up," he spat. "You are pleading 'not guilty', got it? You will sit there and only speak when spoken too and I don't wanna hear any more of this shit you like to pull, got it?" He turned to the lawyer. "And you. Do not allow him to take the stand; he'll just fuck it up like everything else. And you will do whatever it takes to win this case, got it?"

His lawyer began writing notes as he replied, "Yes, sir. That's my job."

"Dad-"

"Nate, shut up," he interrupted again. "Start thinking of a great character witness. Someone full-proof. Oh! Make it that pretty blonde you like to fuck around with."

"Victoria and I aren't fu-"

"What the hell did I just say, Nate?" his father said in a low, dangerous voice. "Shut the fuck up. I am speaking." He turned back to the lawyer and said, "What's your defense strategy?"

"I believe that we might have grounds for the… for the insanity plea," he replied hesitantly, unsure of how the man before him would react.

Nathan's eyes widened in shock and anger. Insanity plea?

"With the whole Mark Jefferson incident and his mental history…" he continued, "I believe I can convince a jury that it wasn't a malicious crime of passion, only an unfortunate outburst from a tortured boy."

"Let's get that psychiatrist he used to see come testify," Nathan's father added. "Anyone with a medical degree will help the case, even if he's an idiot. I'll even pay him if I have to."

"Of course, sir," his lawyer replied robotically. "I'll look into it."

"And the blonde- what did you say her name was? Veronica? Whatever I don't give a shit- make her tell the jury about how you're a model student and all that shit. Yeah, get on that, too, while you're at it," his father said. He kept ordering the lawyer various things and pointing out loopholes to add to the case.

Nathan just drowned him out at that point. He was too angry to even care about what his father was saying.

"Nate," his father said, bringing Nathan back into reality. "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you."

His eyes locked onto his father in an instant.

"You know, Nate, I think I've had enough of your attitude tonight," his father began, standing up. "I'm trying my damnedest to clean up this shit that you made and you're not even the tiniest bit grateful."

"Dad, I'm-"

"No, I don't wanna hear any excuses out of your ungrateful mouth, you little piece of shit," he spat. "You listen to me. You will show me some goddamn respect while I drag your sorry, pathetic ass out of this mess you made. Like you always make."

Nathan was burning with anger but knew he would only make things worse by talking back with his father. So he replied, repressing his anger, "I need my medication."

His father let out an ugly laugh. "Your medication?" he exclaimed. "You need your medication?"

"Yes," he replied shortly, scowling up at his father.

"I can't fucking believe it..." he muttered to himself, putting a hand to his forehead to massage his temples in frustration.

Nathan didn't see it coming. His father swung with a hard right to his son's face. Nathan gasped and began to feel the all-too-familiar sensation of his nose bleeding.

"What you need, Nate, is some sense knocked into that fucked up head of yours," his father said, sitting back down. He chuckled while muttering, "Medication…"

Nathan felt numb. He felt detached from his body. He tried to listen to the rest of the stuff his father and lawyer said, but he couldn't process any of the words.

When it was over, the same officer escorted him back to his holding cell. But as they were walking back, Nathan's eyes happened to catch a glimpse of Mark Jefferson in handcuffs being taken into an interrogation room with a lawyer. Jefferson seemed to notice the boy, too, and the two locked eyes for a split second. A grin appeared on Jefferson's face but his eyes were dark and malicious. It felt like the devil himself had smiled at him and he shuddered, looking away immediately.

He's blaming everything on you… a new voice spoke behind him.

"Hey, um, Mr. Prescott," the officer said once they reached his cell. "You're nose…"

"It's bleeding, yeah, I know," he said, sniffing.

There was an awkward silence before the cop spoke again. "Right, ok. Well, do you need a tissue or something-"

"I'm fine," he said curtly.

You're going to die in prison, the new voice said. It sounded happy.

He sat on his cold, grey bed after the officer un-cuffed him and stared at the wall.

He's blaming everything on you and you're going to die in prison, it said.

A new voice rang out in the silence. You're father wishes you were dead.

"Probably right…" Nathan chuckled to himself darkly.

You should just kill yourself, a third added.

It would be so much easier than being alive right now… he thought to himself. I'm never getting out of this shit…

He tried to shake these thoughts after he thought them. He didn't want to kill himself. But, he didn't really want to be alive either. Nathan laid down on his hard lump of a bed and tried to distract himself. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe in and out.

But the voices couldn't be drowned out.

You've been through so much… You've lived long enough, one said.

All the suffering would be over, another would say.

But the one that really hit him said, No one would even care you were gone.

"No… no one would even care," he said, opening his eyes.

He thought about his mom but figured she would probably just drink his memory away like she did everything else. His father probably would be relieved. His sister was somewhere far away and he doubted she would even come back for his funeral given that she hated everyone else in their family. The Vortex Club, Victoria… Did any of them really care? Or were they just hanging around him because of his money and drugs? He contemplated all this till he finally came to one conclusion.

No one would ever try to use me again… he thought, falling to the deepest, darkest place his mind had ever been.

He took off his red jacket and the black cardigan underneath, leaving just the white t-shirt he wore underneath. The shirt was already a little bloody around the collar due to his father.

Nathan felt his adrenaline spike but he still felt like he wasn't fully inside his body as he took his right hand and placed it on his left wrist. It didn't hurt as much as his father's punch had, the scratching. His fingernails weren't that long, but he managed to break skin easily. He didn't even want to look at his work, he just stared blankly ahead as he did it. The voices around him were yelling at him to scratch deeper and harder, and he obliged. When he started to feel the veins and arteries in his wrist, he walked calmly over to the sink and toilet combo and ran the water on the sink, placing his wrist underneath the water. He sat on the ground and waited. He looked at his right hand and saw the blood on his fingers and smiled. It would be over soon, he hoped.

An officer was really annoyed. That damn kid's sink had been running for at least ten minutes. He knew he had a bloody nose, but Jesus, kid, give it up will you? There will be other shirts. Especially with a kid who had that much money.

He was strutting calmly towards the holding cell, ready to tell this kid off.

"Hey, turn off the damn wat-" His voice cut off mid-sentence. "SHIT!" he exclaimed. Immediately he called for an ambulance into his radio and furiously searched for the keys to the cell. He ran in and turned off the sink immediately. "I need some help over here!" he yelled back. He took the kid's wrist out of the sink and started taking off his belt, muttering curse words under his breath. He tried to feel for a pulse in his other wrist, but it was either too faint or not there. He put his finger under the kid's nose and tried to feel for breathing. To his relief, he felt a faint breath.

A couple more officers ran over to see what was happening. To their shock and complete horror, the floor of the cell was covered in a thin layer of blood-water and their buddy who had called for assistance was knee deep in it and fumbling around trying to help the kid who was bleeding to death right before their eyes. The officer who first responded had tied his belt around the bicep of the kid and was tightening it in lieu of a tourniquet. The others rushed into action to help.

EMTs arrived minutes later and wheeled Nathan out of the police station barely alive.

(I do not own Life is Strange or any of its characters. This was made for entertainment purposes only and I make no money off of this story. No copyright is intended.)