Disclamer : Life is Strange is DONTNOD's property, not mine and I thank the Seven Gods everyday for it, you'd hate my version of LIS.
Summary : Chloe's loss was obviously hard on Joyce. It was just as true for her husband David.
Author's note : While I dislike Chloe, there is no bashing of Chloe here, I try my best not to let it show. If you still feel it, know that it isn't to spite you, Chloe fans.
This OS is a bet asked by Assassin Master Ezio 91.
Because he cared too
David hadn't thought. He had acted. He had rushed through the door as soon as he had heard the gunshot and neutralized Nathan. His true self came back only when Nathan had been taken away. The soldier could rest now that the danger had been destroyed. However, the man was horrified when he took his rightful place:
His stepdaughter Chloe, laying on the floor, bleeding heavily from a stomach wound, in the girls' bathroom of his workplace.
He held her in his arms, begging her not to go, to be strong, because he knew she was. She had to live. Her mother loved her. Heck, even him… He loved her, even if he had a hard time showing it or proving it. He yearned to hear her voice, his ears could only hear her…
And the sobs of the newly arrived student, hidden behind the stools.
Maxine Caulfield's sobs.
« I'm so sorry, Mister Madsen… I couldn't save her… I couldn't save Chloe… »
She knew her. How, he didn't know, but she knew Chloe. He managed to stutter his question.
« Chloe and I were friends… I moved after her father died… I'm so sorry… »
The paramedics came and took her away. David tried to be as warm and as adult as he could, putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder. It wasn't her fault, he said. There was nothing she could have done. She would have been shot too.
Joyce's cry of agony when he called her broke his heart even more.
XXXXX
Kate had come to the hospital. She had brought Joyce and him some tea she had brewed, some cookies and sandwiches she had bought from the Two Whales. Knowing Joyce's co-workers, David knew this was certainly a gift from the house, as they said. She had tried to ease them and quickly left, to pray at the church, for Chloe's recovery. Knowing her, even from afar, he knew this was a genuine concern and not some mockery. Max had insisted on remaining with them, even after she had been checked by the doctors. Her friend, or boyfriend, he didn't know, Warren had come to make sure she was okay, bringing her food and new clothes. The people who used to fear him all brought themselves up, seeing now just the worried stepfather. Principal Wells, Mrs Grant… A part of him was warmed by this show of concern. The other just couldn't feel it because of the numbness that had taken over.
It went only greater when Chloe was announced dead.
XXXXX
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Chloe was dead.
The words waltzed in his mind, his brain refusing to accept the information, not recognizing their meaning. Yet, it was still here, Chloe was dead, dead, dead and nothing would bring her back. She was dead, she was to be buried and there was nothing he could do to change that. Joyce had become hysterical and had been forced to be sedated, for her own sake. He went home, to prepare a suitcase for her. In his garage, a wave of anger overtook him and he started to take everything he had under his hand: tools, chairs, even a table. He threw them all over, shouting like a mad man, just destroying everything he could because it made him feel better, powerful, while he was utterly weak and powerless. He had failed. He had failed Chloe and Joyce so hard! He hadn't managed to get Chloe to trust him to let her walls down, to allow him to help and protect her like the daughter he never had. He hadn't managed to give Joyce a new feeling of family she craved. After a while, all of his frustrations dropped down, leaving only sadness and he feels on his knees, exhausted, breathless, crying and screaming like a wounded animal.
Chloe was dead and there was nothing he could do about it.
XXXXX
It was bound to happen, he sadly thought as he walked to Chloe's coffin. With her lifestyle, it was no surprise, hanging out with drug dealers, smoking weed and other things he certainly wasn't aware of. Chloe had been playing with fire. He liked to think that he had been a moth. Or a butterfly. A beautiful butterfly who had lived intensely but who died too soon. Drawn to the flame. And burnt. Yes, Chloe had been a problem child. But she hadn't deserved one bit to die like an old dog, shot in some restrooms for a money story. Chloe had deserved better. Chloe had so much potential. But Chloe had made her own choices. Chloe had chosen a path in which her potential was to be wasted away, nurturing in her new but spoilt abilities. He looked at the wood. How could such a tall girl enter in such a small box? Sometimes, he could still hear her voice, her punk music, smell her cigarettes, hell he even missed her disrespect. Because, despite everything, he had loved her, the best a man like him could, because she was Joyce's daughter and Joyce was his goddess. A crying goddess, leaning on his shoulders. He couldn't crumble, she needed him tall and strong. He'd cry later, alone, when she was asleep. Right now, while he could show his emotions, he couldn't break down. He made one last vow to Chloe:
He had failed to protect her.
But he would do anything in his power to protect the one person they had in common: Joyce.
She could rest easy next to her father.
She deserved it.
The End