David had to steal himself against the fatherly instinct threatening to bubble up within him, as he carefully checked over the boy; he had to force himself to feel cold, to school his face into an uncaring facade as he checked over the boy to see if there was any obvious injury that was causing the boy's apparent dizzy spells. Or maybe his slurred, stuttering speech. Or that awful limp.
Instead, David pulled back, looking to Joyce, who had been staring at the two of them with a strange expression on her face. When their eyes met, they stared at each other for a moment in pained silence, and David immediately felt a small sense of relief that Joyce was apparently having similar feelings to those David was feeling.
After all, David was a protective man - he always had been. When he was a teenager himself, he would always be the one to stick up for his friends against bullies, even when the bullies were much bigger and more numerous than himself. Later on, when he joined the military, he always put his life on the line for the sake of others, never leaving a person behind (even when that person ceased to breath). Even now, as a security guard at a high school, he was incredibly protective of the students, always going out of his way to make sure each and every one of them was safe. He was almost protective to an obsessive degree, one could say.
That's why, even to this day, it disturbed him that a man like Mark Jefferson had been conducting a nasty business right under his nose. It disturbed him that he had kidnapped countless girls, taken them to that room of horrors, and abused them in unimaginable ways. It disturbed him that Rachel Amber had been murdered months before they found her body.
It especially disturbed him that Nathan Prescott, a participant in this nasty business (willingness or unwillingness aside), the one to do the kidnappings, the murderer of Rachel Amber, had been walking around the campus as though nothing were wrong with the world.
But...he hadn't, had he? David had noticed the boy mumbling to himself. He noticed the way Nathan would occasionally fall into an almost psychotic state where he would fall against walls, rocking back and forth as he clawed at his arms and face. David noticed the way Nathan acted twitchy, his eyes darting around in a suspicious, or maybe scared manner.
David noticed all these signs, these signs of trauma and an unstable mental state, and yet he had done nothing.
It hadn't really been his decision. Early on, within the first few days of Nathan having arrived at the school, David had tried to voice his concerns to the principal. However, Wells had motioned for him to close the door, before he informed him that they were not in the position to do anything about Nathan. That it was better to ignore what was going on right in front of their eyes, rather to try and confront and perhaps solve the issue.
And now Chloe was dead.
To say David blamed himself would be an understatement. In spite of the countless reassurances from everyone around him, he still felt awful, unending guilt bubble up within him from time to time. Sleeping was hard, functioning at his job was even harder. Some days it was hard for him to leave the garage, as he threw himself into his hobby, trying to forget.
And worst of all, David was completely sure that Joyce somewhat blamed him. Oh, she never said anything - Joyce was too kind a person for that. However, sometimes he felt her looking at him when she thought he didn't notice, a strange expression on her face.
After Chloe died, Joyce and him hit a rough patch. David was trying to be strong for the both of them, but that's not what Joyce wanted nor needed. She needed someone to cry with, to grieve with. She needed someone to scream with and who needed holding just as much as she did. But David didn't function like that.
Alone, David would cry and scream and punch inanimate objects until his knuckles were bloody. But as soon as another person was around, experiencing just as grievous emotions, David would shut down, and instead focus on comforting that person, rather than focusing on his own emotions.
Joyce didn't want that.
For a year, they hardly slept in the same bed. But after that year, that year of those horrible "first times withouts", the healing finally began. They began talking, talking more than they ever had. They expressed their emotions to each other, explaining how the felt. Joyce would tell funny stories about the insane people that wandered into the diner, and David would rant his frustrations about Blackwell. Somehow, over the last few years, their relationship that had always been on the brink of falling apart had became stronger than it had ever been.
That's why, when David's eyes met Joyce's, he could immediately tell what she was thinking. However, he was unwilling to move forward, to speak the words that both he and Joyce were willing, though hesitant, to speak.
Joyce indeed looked as hesitant as David felt. She continued to look between Nathan, his feverish face and glazed eyes, and David, who looked at her with understanding and pain.
Joyce, like David, was a very caring and protective person. Though she could be blunt, that was just who she was - everyone around Arcadia Bay thought of Joyce as a mother of sorts, always willing to help someone in need, always willing to lend an ear. She was a good woman, a nice person with maternal instincts to rival anyone's.
However, with Nathan Prescott, she felt conflicted. One one hand, this boy was sick. Very sick, in fact. He was pale and sweating, and he had been wandering around in the snowstorm with only a thin sweater to shield him from the cold. He had probably caught a bad cold, at the very least. On top of that, the boy appeared to be having trouble with doing simple tasks, such as talking and walking - his voice was weak and stuttering, the boy seemingly being unable to form a proper thought and voice that thought. Looking closely at Nathan, she could also see the awkward, almost painful way he held his leg, how stiffly he laid back against the booth, his back ramrod straight.
He was a child. A child that was sick and hurting, and that brought out Joyce's maternal instincts. He needed help, he needed protection...
But at the same time, he was a murderer. Not just any murderer, but the boy that killed her daughter. He killed her daughter, and was the very reason she felt that need to protect and nourish everyone around her. He was a criminal, a drug dealer, kidnapper, and a murderer. For those facts alone, not even looking at the details of the situation, Joyce hated this boy. She hated him and she wanted him to suffer for all the crimes he had committed. She wanted him to be tortured until he could hardly walk, until he could just lay there, whimpering weakly as he gazed upwards with glassy eyes, craving death.
Granted...that's where he was, wasn't he? Was he not laying there, suffering, at their proverbial feet? Was he not at the edge of death, with them being the only hope to jerk him back to the land of the living?
Joyce wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about much anymore. However, she knew one thing: If she let this boy stumble out into that snowstorm tonight, she would be no better than him. After all, wouldn't letting the boy die when she could have saved him been a murder in its own right?
Without further hesitation, she spoke. "Prescott." His head lulled slightly, his eyes gazing at her with an unreadable emotion swimming in their depths. She had to take a deep breath, before she spoke once more. "We will...provide shelter for you tonight, as we do not want to be responsible for your death. That's it, though. Tomorrow, you're out of our house, and we never wish to see you again. Do you understand?"
In spite of how harsh and cold those words came out, a small bit of relief filled Nathan's eyes, his body becoming slightly less tense. His jaw opened slightly, quivering, as he stuttered out "Th...th-th...ah..."
However, David interrupted him by giving him a firm look, growling, "Don't thank us, boy. We're decent people, and any decent person wouldn't let someone die if they had the ability to help them. Even if it is someone who doesn't deserved to be saved." The unspoken "like you" hung on the end of that phrase.
Nathan gave a small, weak nod, but that small movement seemed to sap the last remaining energy out of him, as he laid his head back against the booth, his eyes falling shut.
And in spite of both David and Joyce's harsh words, they both shared a look of thinly veiled worry as they stood over him.
And now that we have the inner-thought exposition, now we can move into the fun part. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!