When Nathan finally parked his truck at the base of the path up the light house, he just sat in the driver's seat with the engine off for a long moment. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly while he tried to talk himself into getting out of the car. The stillness of it, of finally letting himself sit still, left him boiling, expanding inside the car until he thought he must burst the windows.

It burst from his mouth instead, "Fuck you!" He pulled on the steering wheel so hard that he hoped to pull it off, imagined that he could for a second. "Fuck you! Fuck you, you piece of shit." He wasn't strong enough to kill the steering wheel through dismemberment, so he pounded it with his fist, although the pain it sent through his knuckles and palm was far more than he had accounted for.

His yelling and swearing and hitting left him breathless and in pain quickly, and he was left leaning his head up against the steering wheel to recover. He felt dumb as soon as it was over, even though the rage was there. He wasn't even sure who he was talking to.
Nathan thought he was done having fits. Ever since his English class witnessed him try to take out the teacher with a desk, he had been trying to keep them under control, to crush the rage until it was a fine powder. He could use it as a weapon, like his father did, like Jefferson did. He just kept fucking up.

He saw a shadow appear on his dashboard, and, after a second of hesitation, looked up. Perched there on his windshield was the blue butterfly.
Had he known it would be here? How could he have known? Just because it had been here in his dream?

It was waiting for him.

Nathan stepped out of his car, and the butterfly immediately took flight. He knew the path, and just walked briskly after it, hands in his jacket pockets.
He was glad not to feel rain pooled there in his pockets, though the sun was a little too hot for his jacket.

The butterfly guided Nathan along, all the way up the path. The lighthouse greeted Nathan as it always did, looming like nothing else in Arcadia Bay was quite big enough to do. He could never quite keep his eyes on it, no matter how much it demanded his attention.
The light house had never suited Nathan very much. It was, in his mind, very much the territory of the skater punks that Trevor rolled with, too cool to get dragged down by the academics and losers but too dirty and wild for the likes of the Vortex Club. The fire pit of their constant outings sat here with graffiti on the rocks they used for seats.

Nathan realized he couldn't find the butterfly anywhere. He looked to the side of the light house, wondering if he would see a paper clipping wrapped around the fence, but there was nothing and no one.

He sat on one of the rocks surrounding the fire pit and peeled off his jacket. He hated taking it off in front of people, but he couldn't pretend it wasn't a pain under an October sun that refused to acknowledge that it was time to start getting cold. He flipped it over in his hands and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter before dropping it on one of the nearby rocks.

He remembered the night Rachel brought him out here. It had been pretty early last year, he supposed, back when he was still in Jefferson's photography class. Sometime before January, then. Justin had gotten his hands on mescaline and wanted everyone to try it out, though Rachel and Nathan both passed it up for the opportunity to watch everyone trip. Nathan had never touched the shit, never had much liking for hallucinogens, but Rachel . . . she'd had a bad trip on the stuff. Right, that was it, right?
Rachel had tried everything, as far as Nathan knew. Half of it she'd tried in front of him. Mescaline was the only thing she had claimed not to like. And, honestly, that had been plenty to convince Nathan.

Nathan stuck a cigarette in his mouth, tossing the pack on his jacket, though it promptly slipped off into the dirt. He huffed in disappointment, but did nothing about it. Instead, he just flicked open the lighter and ignited the flame. He liked the sound of the paper burning just a second after you put it in the fire, as if it hesitated to shrivel away.

"Over here."

Nathan flinched, shutting off the flame. He knew his mind must be playing tricks on him again, like earlier in the diner, but he couldn't help but look.

And this time, he saw her. She was stepping backwards towards the bench near the edge of the peninsula, a broad smile over her lips. Her hair didn't shimmer despite the bright afternoon light, but looked dark and dull, as if covered by an invisible shadow. She wore a heavy sweater like she so often would when it got cold, so unused to the Oregon autumn.

"Well, that's because you've never seen it at sunset, have you? The golden hour is at its goldest right here over the bay."

She turned now towards the ocean, and her hair blew against some strong wind that Nathan couldn't feel.

Nathan withdrew the cigarette from his mouth deliberately, as if he was scared of letting her hear him. At least, until he called, "Rachel?"

She didn't seem to hear, but instead made a nudge with her elbow against the air to her side. "Because gold is our color, you dweeb. We can use the same scenery, same camera, and it'll be hella gorgeous both times."

The way she put her hands on her hips let him know she was rolling her eyes, even from behind. "Save the flattery for when you're behind the camera, Nate."

It was dark, early December, and the boys were still chattering somewhere behind them on the rocks. Nathan felt fine, though his face was a little numb from the cold and his body a little tingly from the beers. He kept his fingers stuffed in his pockets, just outside of Rachel's elbow range, and he kept trying to peel the smile off his face, but Rachel kept slapping it back in place with her banter.

"Pssh," He dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I've got enough to last us then and now. I'm a flatterer."

She snorted, flipping her hair a little to try and get it all to blow about as one concentrated clump. The wind blew it all towards his face, but it was a little too harsh to get any scent from - he was just glad it wasn't ending up in his mouth at this distance. It reminded him a lot of Victoria's hair before she cut it so short, constantly a personal attack on him if he let it get too close.

She pinched up her face into one of exaggerated annoyance, lowering her voice as she said, "Gah, whatthefuck? You poor or just dress like shit?"

Although she broke out laughing, he stooped his head down a little. "I don't sound like that. That's Vic's schtick. I . . . hang out with poor people." He gestured back at the boys that he most definitely did not usually hang with.

She almost doubled over at that, though he couldn't tell if she was faking it as she clutched her stomach. "Oh my god. 'I . . . hang out with poor people'" she said again in her too-angry imitation.

He sulked.

Apparently having to explain the joke, she raised up her hands as if to stop something (very slowly) oncoming. "Okay, so, I don't know if you know this, but we go to a private school. Trevor's house could fit like, three of my houses in it. Greg only has a job to buy like literally every game on Steam. I had to get in on scholarship and I'm not poor, regardless of what Victoria says."

He knew that, but still felt like his conclusion was valid. "But they're dirty like, all the time."

She shrugged, gesturing back at them in the space between her and Nathan. "Well, that's just because they're hippies and they're outside all the time."

Nathan was pretty sure he preferred Hayden's version of hippie. The fact that almost none of them owned a car, their pants were constantly ripped, and they smelled like arm pits unless they smelled like weed put them pretty close to untouchable status, as far as Nathan was concerned. Why couldn't they just smoke a lot and fuck around as much as possible? At least those hippies were reliable for something.
Nathan wondered what Rachel possibly got out of her relationship with these guys. Sure, skating might be fun, but it couldn't be fun enough to justify these four, right?

She finally turned so that she was looking at Nathan instead of the ocean, and he turned to face her as well.
She quirked up her eyebrows. "So? When do you wanna take the shot?"

They hovered there for a few seconds, though Nathan wasn't thinking about the answer at all. He could take pictures of Rachel whenever she wanted. She was shimmering gold in the sun and dark and warm at night. Even though it was cold, and dark, and windy, he knew how warm she would be. The wind left his skin and lips chapped, but her lips were still glossed in shiny pink. She was warm, but he couldn't quite bring himself to kiss her in that moment, the side of her face just flickering with the shadow of the flame. He couldn't take that shot, not even with the beers that tried to fool him into thinking he was warm, too.

With the crack of thunder, Nathan found himself standing there alone. The rain poured down, turning the dark sky into a wet gray-blue of the early morning. Though the rain should have been deafening, Nathan could hear nothing. In its place was this void, a gaping hole in sound where only a slow, heavy inhale existed.
Every flickering light of the distant storm brought it into a second of focus - the massive typhoon off the shore of Arcadia Bay.

Nathan didn't even turn when he heard her voice, though it was filled with some blend of terror and rage. That was the only way he knew it.

"Fuck all of that, okay? You were given a power. You didn't ask for it . . . and you saved me - which had to happen! All of this did . . . except for what happened to Rachel."

She knew? She knew.

There was some distortion in the voice before he could understand it clearly again. Except? That wasn't her voice anymore. No, although it was raspy and angry, it was someone else's.

"No! No way! You are my number one priority now. You are all that matters to me."

The distortion left Nathan feeling like he was missing something, and as it hummed through his mind again, he felt like the scene before him, the storm, ticked forward suddenly.

" . . . not like my mom. Look what she had to give up and live though. And she did. She deserves so much more than to be killed by a storm in a fucking diner!"

When it happened again, Nathan could feel the warmth of his fresh nose bleed. He reached up and dabbed it away from his lip, letting the rain clear it from his fingers.

"I won't trade you!"

"You're not trading me. Maybe you've just been delaying my real destiny. Look at how many times I've almost died or actually died around you . . . look at what's happened in Arcadia Bay ever since you first saved me."

The edges of Nathan's vision were darkening in little pulses, and the voices behind him dulled every time it pulsed. He barely realized that he was about to faint before his knees gave out from under him, and he slapped against the mud with a loud slap.

It was the heavy slap against Nathan's windshield that startled him upright. He didn't recognize the hand or the thick bracelet on it at first, but as he shook himself into consciousness and looked out the driver side window, he recognized that he should roll down his window.

After the window dropped almost all of the way, Frank asked wearily, "What are you doing here, Nathan?"

Nathan exhaled slowly, quickly aware that he didn't have a great answer for that, and Frank really didn't like him driving out here and sticking around. Frank and Nathan were both far too recognizable for the local police, and it was best that they were seen together as little as possible, especially when Nathan was supposed to be distributing for a party. Especially when everything Nathan was supposed to sell was still in his truck.

Nathan gestured out towards the ocean. "It's the beach, dude, and I'm suspended. There's not exactly a lot to do in this deadass town."

Frank huffed, but he seemed to buy it. "You're telling me."

It was only then that Nathan realized Frank was holding a leash, and the leash bobbed around slightly as whatever was on the other end paced about. Nathan was glad he had decided not to get out of his car - that goddamn dog would never stop barking if Nathan got too close.

There was an awkward pause where they both realized they had no business to conduct, having run into each other in such unrelated circumstances. Even if Frank's dog was a guard dog that may or may not have ripped a few people's throats out, it still needed to walk and pee, Nathan reasoned.

"Uhh," Frank started, scratching the side of his jaw. "You all set for that party?"

Nathan nodded. They both knew he was loaded up and then some, but it was a much easier topic than why he was sleeping in his car at the beach.
"Yeah, all set. Should be a rager."

"Good, good," Frank said, his growl gone for a few seconds somewhere in the awkwardness. Then, he cleared his throat, replacing it with an especially sandpaper sound, "Let me know if we're going to have any new regulars. We don't need two steps for everyone."

Frank slapped the hood of the truck, then backed away with his dog a little, apparently planning to skirt by Nathan towards the light house trail.

"Yeah, I, ah . . . got to go plan for that party anyway. See ya."

"See ya."

Nathan turned the car on, waited for Frank and his dog to pass him by, and pulled out of the parking lot.

For the briefest second, Nathan thought he could see another person walking on the other side of the dog from Frank, but when he turned to look, no one was there.