Chapter Text
Victoria Chase @vchase · 9h
Totes gonna go AWOL looking for an outfit for tonight. #Ugh
Victoria Chase @vchase · 5h
Whoever’s in charge of the music here sucks big time.
Victoria Chase @vchase · 5h
NVM. Deffo loving the tunes now #Endoftheworldparty
Max Caulfield @maximaster· 5h
@vchase of course you’d complain about the music.
Victoria Chase @vchase · 5h
@maximaster ugh piss off Max #whoaskedyou?
Victoria Chase @vchase · 3h
Where the fuck is @prescottnathan??
Justin Williams @willsj · 3h
@vchase Probs gettin high or is drunk off his ass lol
Nathan's thumb kept scrolling—kept moving down the screen even though every tweet felt like a knife sliding between his ribs. Victoria's words glowed up at him in the darkness of his car, each one a reminder that she had no idea, no fucking clue what had happened to her tonight or where she was right now or that he was sitting here in the Blackwell parking lot with his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his phone.
She'd been worried about her dress.
She'd been complaining about the music.
She'd been looking for him.
And now she was unconscious on the floor of the Dark Room with Max Caulfield beside her and Nathan was—Nathan was—
He couldn't finish the thought because his brain kept short-circuiting every time he tried to process what he'd done, what he'd actually fucking done, and the bass from the party was still thumping through the walls of Blackwell like a heartbeat that wouldn't stop, wouldn't let him forget that the world was still turning even though his had just imploded. His fingers tapped against the side of his phone—tap tap tap tap—some desperate attempt to ground himself, to keep the panic from crawling up his throat and choking him, but it wasn't working because nothing was working and he needed to breathe, needed to think, needed to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to do now.
His phone buzzed in his hand. He hadn't registered it at first, but he eventually looked down to see that he had a message.
[Unknown] · 12:47 AM
It's Max. I was awake.
Fuck.
His phone buzzes again.
[Unknown] · 12:47 AM
I saw what happened.
Double fuck.
Nathan's stomach dropped—just fucking plummeted straight through the floor of the car—and he read the message again, then again, then a third time because maybe he'd misread it, maybe his panic-addled brain was playing tricks on him, but no—no, the words stayed the same and Max had been awake and Max had seen and oh God oh God oh God—
His fingers moved before his brain could catch up.
[You] · 12:48 AM
fuck are you talking about
[Unknown] · 12:48 AM
You know what I'm talking about Nathan.
He wanted to throw the phone—wanted to hurl it against the windshield and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces, because maybe then he wouldn't have to deal with this, wouldn't have to face the fact that someone had witnessed the worst moment of his life, the moment when he'd raised that gun with shaking hands and pulled the trigger and watched Marks expression shift from smug superiority to shock to nothing at all.
"Fucking—fuck—"
The word came out strangled and desperate and Nathan's hand slammed into the steering wheel before he could stop himself, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain up his arm that he barely registered because pain was nothing compared to the weight crushing his chest, the guilt and terror and rage all tangled together until he couldn't tell where one ended and another began. He hit the wheel again—harder this time—and again and again until his palm was throbbing and his breathing was coming in ragged gasps.
You're pathetic, his father's voice whispered in the back of his mind, cold and cutting and so familiar it made Nathan want to claw his own skin off. Look at you. Crying like a child. You're weak. You've always been weak.
"Shut up," Nathan choked out to the empty car, to the ghost of his father that lived in his head. "Shut up shut up shut up!"
But the voice didn't stop because it never stopped, and now there was a new one joining it—Marks voice, smooth and manipulative even in death, telling him he was useless, telling him he was too nosy, telling him he should have just taken the drugs and gone quietly like a good little boy. Nathan's hands were shaking so badly now that he had to grip the steering wheel just to keep them still, his knuckles going white with the effort. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break free, like it knew this body was a sinking ship and it wanted out before everything went under.
The familiar tune of his phone receiving a call startled Nathan just enough to make him jump in his seat, and it wasn't until then that he realized he had dropped his phone somewhere amidst his breakdown. He angrily wiped his tears of frustration and self-pity away as if they hadn't existed in the first place and went for the phone, reaching below the gas pedal until he could feel the vibration underneath his fingertips. Max's name flashed across the screen, and for a moment he just stared at it—watched it ring and ring and ring—before his thumb moved almost against his will and accepted the call.
"What?" The word came out harsh and defensive, dripping with venom he didn't entirely feel but couldn't stop himself from using anyway because that was what he did, that was his armor, his shield against anyone who tried to get too close.
"I got your voicemail." Max's voice was quiet but steady, and there was something in her tone that Nathan couldn't quite place—not pity, not anger, something else entirely. "The one you left earlier. Before—before everything."
Nathan barely remembered leaving that voicemail—it was all a blur of panic and desperation and his voice cracking as he tried to warn her, tried to apologize for everything he'd done, tried to make her understand that Mark was dangerous and she needed to run—that Mark was coming for him and they would be next.
But Nathan waited — Oh, he waited — knees pressed to his chest and eyes pinned on the door to his dorm room for Mark to come and tear him away from his bed, screaming whatever he wanted towards Nathan as he tossed him into the back of his car and took him somewhere to put a bullet in his skull.
Needless to say, Mark didn't show up, and then Victoria was suddenly the focus of his worries and he was so damn thankful that it was strong enough to get him out of bed, grab his gun, and go back for her.
That's when he found Max and Victoria. That's when he found Mark taking pictures of the two and Nathan's heart dropped. It's when the fight broke out, Nathan's voice so loud he was sure it ruptured cities, Mark's voice suddenly no match for his for once. It's when Mark muttered something underneath his breath about Nathan being too nosy and useless before coming at him with a syringe full of drugs. It's when Nathan grew scared and acted on impulse and brought the gun out and...
Oh fuck I'm gonna be sick.
"So what," he spat, because he didn't know what else to say. "You want a fucking medal for checking your messages?"
"Jefferson told me things," Max continued, ignoring his hostility like she'd expected it. "Before you showed up. He told me about—about what he did to you. How long it's been going on."
Nathan's breath caught in his chest and for a moment he couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except sit there with his hand pressed against his mouth because no no no she wasn't supposed to know that, nobody was supposed to know that, it was his secret and his shame and his burden to carry alone—
"I don't need your pity, Caulfield," he finally managed, his voice cracking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "Whatever sob story Mark fed you, I don't—I don't fucking need you feeling sorry for me."
"I'm not." Max's tone didn't soften—if anything it got harder, more direct. "I'm not saying any of that excuses what you've done to me. Or to Kate. Or to anyone else you've hurt, Nathan, because you have hurt people. A lot of people. And I haven't forgotten that."
The words hit him like a slap and Nathan felt his jaw clench, felt that familiar defensive rage starting to build in his chest, but before he could spit something venomous back at her, Max kept talking.
"But you came back tonight," she said, and there was something in her voice now—not warmth exactly, not forgiveness, but maybe acknowledgment. "You didn't have to. You could've just—I don't know, run. But you didn't."
Nathan laughed at that—a bitter, broken sound that had no humor in it whatsoever. "Yeah, and look how that turned out. I killed someone, Max. I fucking—I fucking shot Mark—" He couldn't finish his sentence because his voice gave out entirely, dissolving into something that sounded dangerously close to a sob. He pressed his palm harder against his mouth to keep the sound from escaping because he would not break down, not now, not when Max was listening.
Max grew quiet all of sudden, and Nathan didn't know why he stayed on the line instead of hanging up. Maybe it was because he couldn't afford to be alone right now — that he didn't trust himself with himself. Or maybe it was because he wanted to say a million things but couldn't will himself to. Either way, he regretted not ending the call when she spoke again.
“What are you gonna do now?”
Because that was something Nathan wish he knew himself. He didn't have an answer—didn't have a plan or an escape route or anything resembling a coherent thought. He’d gone over it repeatedly, and he'd deduced that there had to be at least some intent on what he did tonight or else he wouldn’t of brought the gun with him.
How the hell is he suppose to get out of this?
Maybe I am a bad person. Nathan thinks, eyebrows pulled together and lips pressed into a firm line as his eyes dart around the car.
Shit — fuck. Maybe I’m what my father says I am.
Nononononono—
“Nathan, you still there?”
Max. Max is talking to you.
It’s just Max.
“I—I uh—“
For fucks sake, say something coherent.
But Nathan couldn’t. He wanted to tell Max that when Mark enthusiastically talked to him about how Victoria was his next target that he could feel his stomach drop and hands shake and lungs compress against his rib cage because Victoria was his best friend and she was the only one who would comfort him when the world felt like it was tearing him apart.
He couldn’t let that happen to her, and it sucked that it took Mark going after Victoria for him to realize that what he was doing was wrong and needed to be stopped.
"I'm coming back to get you," he suddenly said, and his voice sounded strange even to his own ears—flat and determined and nothing like the panic that was still churning in his gut. "Both of you. I'm coming back."
"Nathan—"
"Don't," he cut her off, fumbling for his keys with shaking hands. "Victoria's down there and I'm not—I can't just leave her. I can't leave either of you."
There was a pause on the other end of the line—long enough that Nathan thought maybe Max had hung up—but then she spoke again, her voice still guarded but maybe fractionally less hostile than before. "Okay. Just—be careful. And Nathan? Victoria's still unconscious. Whatever he gave her, it's strong."
Nathan's jaw clenched at that, fresh rage flooding through him hot and sharp, and he jammed the key into the ignition with more force than necessary. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Keep her safe."
He ended the call before Max could respond and threw the car into drive, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal as he pulled out of the parking lot.
That's when he heard it.
The sound of Marks body shifting in the trunk.
The dull, heavy thud of dead weight sliding to one side as Nathan took the turn too fast, and the noise hit him like a fist to his gut, made his vision swim and his hands tighten on the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. He could feel bile rising in his throat, could feel his entire body trying to reject the reality of what he'd done, but he swallowed it down and kept driving because Victoria needed him and he'd already fucked up so many things in his life that he refused—refused—to fuck this up too.
The road stretched out before him in the darkness, and Nathan drove toward the barn with his heart in his throat, Marks corpse in his trunk, and absolutely no idea what came next.