#alt!chloe

In which I experiment with an idea that has been marinating in my brain for a while: what if Alt!Max was the passenger in the SUV that totaled Chloe’s beloved hybrid? Takes place in 2011–I see alt!Max at this point as still being a little more like the Max we know from the main timeline, and I’d say something like this would really hit hard for any iteration of Max, be she alt!Max or main!Max. Chloe’s POV.

Chloe hates waking up these days to her immobile, numb body and the neck brace restricting any movement of her head. All she can do when she opens her eyes to the miasma of fatigue and a constant aching in her skull, is just stare at whatever happens to be in front of her or in her peripheral view. She doesn’t want to be alive, doesn’t want to live like this; she wishes–but does not say it aloud–to have died immediately in the crash. So she didn’t have to wake up in hospital, literally unable to move a muscle. So she didn’t wake up to her parents trying and failing to hide their tears of relief when she opened her eyes for the first time since the accident. At least the painkillers meant she hardly ever dreamed, and if she did, she never remembered them on waking up to the same white walls, the same machines attached to or stuck inside her, the same neck brace, the same everything. 

She can’t feel any modicum of relief or happiness that her friends had come in to visit her in the hospital, or at the very least had sent her flowers and cards to the ward. It was nice, but what could she even do with them? And all the flowers and cards and well-wishers in the world would never help her move or feel anything below her neck ever again. What was the point? They were just sorry for her, sending cards with nonsense stuff like “Get well soon!” and “Hope you get better!” and “Thinking of you”. No one offered to help her with anything–any of her favourite music they could bring, along with an ipod and headphones? There was a tv in this room–what about her favourite movies? What she wouldn’t give for a rewatch of Blade Runner. Back to the Future would be nice, or even Groundhog Day. Just anything, anything to keep her mind off her now useless physical state of being. 

If only Max was here–but Chloe hasn’t heard anything of her, not even a letter or card, let alone visit. She wanted to be angry at Max for never rushing to her side, just to be with her But she doesn’t have the energy to even summon any stronger feelings beyond disappointment. She’d forgive Max for not being here in a heartbeat if she ever visited her at all in the hospital. None of her friends mattered nowhere near as much as Max, who wasn’t even here, not yet anyway. She’d help Chloe with anything, surely, doing it in a heartbeat. 

Please don’t abandon me, Max…

Chloe has long lost count of how many days she has been in the hospital, for each today that passes seems exactly like yesterday, and tomorrow would be the same. The only thing that really changed was the sky outside her window–rainy, overcast, sunny, or all three in one hour. The stars moved past her window as they always did, every night. 

The mornings are the same, the afternoons, the evenings, the nights. Always. 

Until she wakes up one late afternoon from yet another dreamless sleep, to see she is not alone on her bed–someone is sitting in a chair brought flush next to the bed, their arms and head resting up against Chloe’s side, carefully avoiding the IV line. She only needs to see the short brown hair to know it’s Max–her Max. Max Caulfield. Chloe’s mouth twitches into a very brief, faint smile, but it’s the first smile in days. 

Chloe strains to say Max’s name, but for the trach newly inserted in her throat, connected by a tube to a ventilator. The neck brace wasn’t helping matters much either.  

“Max?” 

Max doesn’t move, doesn’t react. She may as well have fallen asleep right there in her chair, resting her head and arms on the bed. 

“Hey…Maxine.” 

A little groan. “It’s Max. You know that.” 

Max falls silent, but a second later, her head jolts up, straightening her posture up enough to make eye contact with Chloe, whose smile faded before it even appeared on her lips at all. 

Max looks terrible. Her hair, usually so tidy and cute in its bob style, is limp and looks like it hasn’t been showered for several days. Dark rings shadow the skin under her bloodshot eyes, and her face is so pale that her freckles look even darker than usual. Her clothes, usually tidy and ironed, look like they were fetched from the laundry pile, all rumpled and tired-looking. 

“You look awful,” Chloe remarks. 

Max slumps back on the chair, hands clasped together, shoulders hunched up and tense. She chews her bottom lip, looking like she’s barely holding back her tears. 

“I can’t sleep,” Max mumbles, voice weak and so quiet Chloe had almost missed what she’d said. 

It’s hard to talk, and it wears Chloe out to force her voice box to work, but she doesn’t care. Max is here, and that’s all that matters right now. 

“Why?” 

Max is quiet–too quiet–as she bends forward to rest her head in her hands, hair falling forward to cover her face. 

What I’d fucking give to hug you right now. What the hell happened? 

After what feels like a long minute, Max raises her head again, hands falling limp in her lap. Her eyes lock onto Chloe’s, gaze never wavering away. 

“It’s…it’s my fault,” Max says in a monotonic voice, “But everyone keeps telling me it’s not.” 

Chloe doesn’t have a good feeling about this. Nevertheless, she stays quiet, silently urging Max to continue. She can hear Max’s shuddering inhalation before speaking again. 

“Chloe, I was there.” 

What? She saw–

“I saw everything. I was–” Max’s arms wrap tight around herself, hands gripping at her shoulders. “I was the passenger.” 

“The SUV?” Chloe rasps, a flash of memory passing through her thoughts–the SUV out of control, ramming into the passenger side of the car, the shattering windscreen–

“Yes. I was–am–on a road trip with some friends, and our driver was an older cousin of one of them. Full license and everything.” Max’s fingers grip so tight on her shoulders, Chloe can see the girl’s knuckles turning white. “We ran out of snacks and…and I volunteered to go with my friend’s cousin for more from the grocery store.” 

Chloe can already see where this is going, but she stays quiet, letting Max tell it at her pace, taking the time she needs. 

“It was late, and there was barely any traffic–and she had to go and speed down the roads just because there wasn’t any cars. I’d–I should’ve done something, Chloe. I should’ve. If I’d have known–” Max’s words catch in her throat, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a few seconds before slowly opening them again. “Chloe…I swear, I never want to hurt you. Everything…it’s so fucking unfair. You didn’t deserve this–if I could–I’d do anything if it meant you…you could move again. But I didn’t stop her, and I–I’m…god.” Max’s hands convulse in her lap. “I saw you. It–I hate thinking about it.” A straggling inhalation, followed by an exhalation. “Chloe…I thought you were dead. I saw–I saw you. You were…” Max’s words fail her and she shakes her head, looking away, cheeks wet. 

Fuck. No wonder she can’t sleep. 

“There was…I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Then don’t.” 

“I can’t! I close my eyes, and I don’t want to sleep. Because I know–I know I’ll see everything again. I don’t want to sleep. Ever again.” Max’s fingers rake through her limp hair, stilling on her scalp. “There was so much glass. So much blood. You were…I thought…your parents should hate me right now–but they don’t. They say–they say it’s not my fault. But Chloe, I can’t help thinking it. If I’d done something–”

“Max.” 

Chloe’s forceful use of Max’s name shuts the other girl up, blue eyes locking back on hers. 

“Not. Your. Fault.”

Silence. Max’s eyes do not waver from Chloe’s face, but nor does she speak again. 

“You weren’t driving…right?” 

Max shakes her head. 

“You didn’t know what would happen.” 

Another shake of her head. Chloe tries her best to smile, aching so much to get up and pull Max into her arms, let her cry into her shoulder, it’s bordering on torture. 

“See?” Chloe wishes it wasn’t so hard to talk. “Not your fault. Mom and dad were right.” 

“I hope so.” 

“I know so.” 

“I wish I could believe that, Chloe.” 

Max just stares down at her hands, looking, if possible, even more despondent than before. Chloe wishes she could move her arms, just so she can grab Max’s shoulders, shake some sense into her, make her see that no one held her to blame, believed her to be at fault. She wants to be able to walk, so she can grab Max and take a walk with her to the only actually decent cafe in the hospital, because she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days either. 

Chloe might not be able to hold Max ever again, but still, she could think of the next closest thing. It wouldn’t be remotely the same, but still. If it gave Max comfort…

“Max?” 

“Yeah?” Max’s voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Come here.” 

She hesitates at first, a long moment passing before Max stands up, shaky on her feet, her hand reaching out to the side-table to stabilise herself as she shuffles up next to the bedside, looking down at Chloe with swollen eyes. 

Chloe offered a small grin, gazing up at her friend. “Damn. You’re so much taller. That growth spurt finally came.”

Max looks down at her own feet, then back up at Chloe’s face. “Really?” 

“Max…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I can’t hug you, but…” Chloe has to pause to rest her voice for a few moments. “Would it help if you…held me?” 

Max’s eyes widen as Chloe’s words sink into her. “You sure?” 

“Sure.” 

Several seconds of hesitance pass before Max carefully sits on the edge of the bed, facing Chloe, leaning to carefully tuck one arm under her shoulders, the other around her chest before resting her head on Chloe’s. Chloe closes her eyes, grateful she can at least feel Max’s warm, but still damp with tears, cheek on her forehead. She hears shoes tumble to the floor–one, two–before Max pulls up her socked feet onto the bed, so she is resting against Chloe. It’s not an easy feat by any means for them both to fit on the same bed, but not impossible. Chloe opens her eyes again, glances down at her feet under the blankets, at Max’s resting next to hers. 

“Oh…still a midget,” Chloe teases in a whisper, “Thought you’d grown taller for a moment there.” 

A muffled sniffle, a little noise that might’ve been the weakest of giggles. 

“Thanks, Chloe.” 

Another moment, quiet and filled with the gravity of Max’s remorse and the grim state of her own body. 

More alt!Pricefield doodles!! Brainstorming ideas with @rainboq is so much fun ;w;

In which alt!Max gets a voicemail from Chloe at 3am, that is the kick she needs to actually call her friend for once. 

Max wouldn’t call herself a heavy sleeper, but she wasn’t the world’s lightest sleeper either. Nevertheless, her cellphone ringing at whatever time this was in the morning jolted her out of a weird dream to the darkness of her dorm bedroom. She rubbed sleep out of her eyes, taking a few seconds to fully register her phone really was ringing. 

Who calls at this hour? 

She could grab her cellphone off her night table within arm’s reach, but it was whateverthefuck in the morning and Max rolled over on her other side, curling up under the blankets. 

I’ll check later-

Her voicemail cut off the ringing and an automated voice, monotonous and robotic, told Max that she got a call from a number that sounded vaguely familiar at 3:41am. 

Probably some stupid scammer. 

The strained, feminine voice, sounding almost close to tears, told Max that it was definitely not a scammer. 

“Hey Max…” 

The speaker was no scammer. It was Chloe Price.

Shit. I’d meant to see her “soon”. 

Max would never admit it aloud, that her deep fear of being unpopular, ostracised, always on the outside looking in, wasn’t the only reason she threw herself into becoming part of the Vortex Club. As long as she was partying, smoking pot, going clubbing, and hanging out with the popular crowd, she could forget any guilt over never having visited Chloe despite the latter’s severe disability. Letters, photos, and cards at least took the edge off that guilt, but not by that much. 

“It’s…me, Chloe.” A pause, filled with what sounded like an exhalation then a strained, shaky inhalation. “I can’t sleep.” 

Now that you’ve woken me up, neither can I. 

“The pain’s getting worse…so fucking worse every day…morphine won’t cut it sometimes.” Another sharp inhalation, followed by a deep cough. “My head hurts so much–I want to…Max, I can’t do this anymore. I never have anyone visit me. All my friends bailed on me.” A bitter laugh. “See? I’m just a burden. On my friends, my family, my parents…they can’t even pay the fucking bills. I can’t even go anywhere. I’m fucking sick of it, Max. Fucking sick of being a burden, of having to rely on everyone for everything, even basic shit like…shitting. A fucking baby can do more than me, I might as well be a vegetable.” 

In the long silence that followed, broken only by Chloe’s coughing and another strained breath or two, Max curled up into herself under the blankets, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“Max–I understand.” 

Understand what? 

“…I understand why you won’t visit me. I’m useless, boring–can’t even go to a rave or check out concerts. We’d so sneak into a concert together, right?” 

Max couldn’t help a little smile–she’d snuck into numerous concerts that were for 21 and over so many times she needed both hands to count. 

“Even getting ready in the morning takes a fucking hour at best. Such bullshit. I want to be a teenager, and that prick who totalled my baby took that from me. At least…at least I have one thing to look forward to.” 

My imminent visit in the distant near future, right?

“I’ll be out of this hell before Christmas. My respiratory system is failing, and I–I’m not going to see Christmas. At least then I won’t be a burden on anyone anymore. Even you. I can die, and–and then people can–” A shuddering breath, followed by a soft sound like she was wincing in pain. “Forget me.” 

The voicemail beeped, cutting off the message, leaving Max curled up in dark, ringing silence. She just lay there in the dark, pillow cradling her head, sheets tangled around her, the voicemail still echoing in her head. Chloe’s strained breathing, the awful coughing that interrupted her every other sentence, the realisation that she was not okay, like Max had believed for all the years since Chloe’s accident. She’d had the impression all this time that Chloe was being strong, was doing well, no idea all this time that she was, in truth, dying. 

She was not okay.

Shit. Shit. I didn’t know. Didn’t know she was–fuck, I thought you were–god, Chloe, I never forgot you. I just thought you were okay.

Max considered going back to sleep and responding in the morning, or just calling Chloe now. She’d called her at weirder hours of night back when Max had lived in Arcadia Bay. Hell, they’d gabbed forever at stupidly early hours of night, talking in nervous whispers and muffled giggles, trying to see how long they could stay up chatting until their parents woke up and told them off for being awake on the phone at 2am. 

She could wait until a saner hour, and it was tempting to do so, until Max imagined Chloe lying in the dark, unable to move, with only her thoughts for company–and from what Max heard, not the happiest of thoughts either.

She’s probably still awake now. Chloe, you never told me you were…

Max uncurled herself and rolled over to face her night table again, reaching to grab her phone, unlocking it and going straight to her contacts. It was already four in the morning, still really fucking early to call anyone–unless they were your best friend whom you had no idea was dying from her injuries all this time. 

Scrolling through her contacts, Max found Chloe’s number, her finger hovering over the screen, a pang of bittersweet nostalgia in her heart, wishing she had a happier excuse to call her childhood best friend at four in the morning. 

Now or never, Max. 

She hit the call button, pressing the phone to her ear, waiting for the call to be picked up or go to voicemail. Max counted five rings before they stopped, replaced by Chloe’s sleepy voice, still strained, still so hoarse and quiet. Yet, Max heard that little hopeful note creeping in to her words. 

“Max? You’re calling me at this hour?” 

“Your call woke me up,” Max whispered, heart beating a little faster–from nervousness or nostalgia, she wasn’t sure which, perhaps both. “I had to call you back. Why’d you never tell me?” 

“Tell you what?” 

“That you’re…” Max couldn’t bring herself to say the word dying. “That you won’t see Christmas. That your respiratory system is failing. I had no idea, Chloe. I’d thought you were doing okay. That you were hanging in there, like the strong, stubborn Chloe I know.” 

A long silence. 

“Chloe?” 

“I guess I just–didn’t want to rain on your parade, you know?” 

“I really wish you’d just been honest with me, that–” Max’s voice caught in her throat, and she took a deep breath. “You’re not a burden, okay?” 

“I am–”

“Not to me. Chloe, there’s no way I want to forget you. Really.” 

“Everyone else did. I only ever get letters from you now. Not that you cared enough to visit me yet.” 

The bitterness in Chloe’s words was almost too much to bear–if Max had her own car, she’d sneak out right now and drive straight over Chloe’s place. 

“Chloe…” Max sat up, wondering if it was worth it to call a taxi, never mind that it was so fucking early. “I actually do care. You matter. Hell, you matter enough that I’m calling you at four in the morning because I hated to let you suffer alone after hearing your voicemail. I had no idea–like no fucking idea–that you’re not as okay as I’d hoped. That you’re in so much pain every day.” 

“I’m used to it.” 

“Doesn’t mean you should suffer alone, okay?” 

“I don’t have much choice do I?” 

“Chloe, you don’t have to pretend to be anything, okay? I’m still your best friend, right?” 

“…right.” 

“Remember when we’d call each other at stupid hours of morning all the time?” 

“Happier times.” 

Happier times…

“Chloe, promise me, okay? Promise me that you’ll call me anytime. And I do mean anytime. Like one in the fucking morning anytime. Like we used to.” 

“A hell of a lot harder now, even with this app.”

“Chloe. Promise me.” 

Another silence, before Chloe spoke again. 

“Promise.” 

“Swear on it.”

A series of coughs interrupted the line from Chloe’s end, followed by a couple more struggling breaths. The line fell quiet for a few moments before Chloe spoke again. 

“I swear I’ll call you if I need to talk. Even if it’s one in the morning.” 

“You best honour that now, Chloe Price. I know you’d make me do the same too, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Hell, I’ll call a taxi at three in the morning if I have to, just to come keep you company. Pretty sure your parents won’t mind.” 

“They’d love it,” Chloe said, her voice much lighter now, to Max’s relief. “Thanks, Max. I’m…glad you called.” 

“So am I. Don’t be a stranger. Even if I’m busy with socialising and homework, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you. Understood?” 

“Thanks, Max.” 

Well, hot monkey sex would be nice. 

I had to take a few of the images off the LiS wikia because my computer was sulking and didn’t want to take the screenshots when I wanted it to, so those without the yellow border things are from the wikia site. 

Without further ado:

I love that Chloe has mismatched shoelaces <3 Also, you can tell she’s already started smoking, and she’s probably only fifteen at the most here (this is before the sixteenth birthday images.)

This next one is from the Wikia site, because it shows clearly a detail I didn’t notice before: Chloe has apparently smashed her plate in anger (oh and is brandishing a butter knife, apparently?)

Close up:

I love how Bohemian-style Chloe’s top is in this one. Also, it looks like she already has her iconic beanie:

Close up:

I also noticed for the first time that in the image with alt!Chloe’s smashed-up car, you can actually see her lying unconscious on the hood. Dontnod wasn’t fucking around here. I think my brain in previous playthroughs just saw the car and assumed it was just the hood itself all buckled up. But no. It’s fucking Chloe. 

And no, I’m not putting an image up of that. No one needs to see that.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Life Is Strange (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Victoria Chase, Maxine "Max" Caulfield & Chloe Price, Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price Characters: Maxine "Max" Caulfield, Victoria Chase (Life is Strange), Chloe Price (Life Is Strange) Additional Tags: Alternate Timeline, AU of the alternate timeline, Alt!max, Alt!Chloe, alt!Max is also deeply self-deprecating Summary:

(AU of the Alternate Timeline in LiS)

Maxine Caulfield wakes up after a night of partying it up and clubbing for her eighteenth birthday to discover a text on her cellphone:

"Max, it’s with a saddened heart I have to tell you Chloe passed away last night, 21st September, at 11:30pm."

I’ve been thinking a bit about in the future writing another fic (or two or whatever) that’s kind of a “sequel” to this, especially in the future. I can see alt!Chloe definitely looking up all the scholarships she can to get into a university in Washington (preferably IN Seattle), just so she can be close to Max. Chloe, being the straight-A student she is in this universe, wouldn’t find it too hard to get a scholarship, and thus get into a uni in Seattle or thereabouts. Hell, if the Caulfields offered her a place to stay at their house for however long, Chloe would absolutely take it. 

I can also see alt!Max’s friends at first being all supportive and everything, but eventually sort of drift off and forget about her--except for Chloe, of course, who, true to her words in the fic, would never abandon Max, even despite being in a whole other state. I wouldn’t be surprised if she makes her parents drive her up to Seattle to visit Max whenever she can, especially over the winter and summer holidays when she doesn’t have school to worry about. 

As for Max’s photography passion? She’d definitely try not to think about it, perhaps to the point of not wanting any reminders of her love of photography, even asking her parents to get rid of all her photography books and even her own camera - unlike the Prices, who’d just put all that stuff in the attic or a spare room, I can see the Caulfields possibly selling it all, including the camera (hey, they can get back all that money Max “borrowed” off their credit card for more film!)