Chapter Text
He could smell it before he even stepped outside.
If he really thought about it, he knew just by the way his wrist ached a little as he lay in bed earlier in the morning. Initially, he had brushed it off as residual stiffness from Luke lying on it all night, but when it continued as he made breakfast, a boiled egg and a piece of toast, it still felt off, like pressure in the joint. He had his suspicions confirmed when Luke cracked open the door to have a smoke, and he could smell it almost immediately.
Ozone and petrichor, heavy and dense in the air. A quick peek outside saw the way the trees swayed in the wind, the banners and string lights hung up all over the fairgrounds, threatening to break from their bindings and blow away, and most evidently, the mean, dark, heavy-looking clouds approaching from the north. Dark shades of greys and blues colored the morning sky, chasing away the pink of dawn like dogs hunting a rabbit.
He hums in acknowledgment and turns back to finish breakfast, knowing the day will probably consist of battening down the hatches, both literal and metaphorical. The wind will cause the fair to close for the day, and the potential for a lightning storm will mean the power will be cut when it finally reaches them, leaving the employees to resort to backup generators or candles for the night.
Drivers not too worried about it, having seen his fair share of storms from his time in California. The dry, heat-stricken air of the summer would cause massive windstorms, lightning following shortly behind. As a child, he’d stare out his bedroom window, as silent as possible, and watch the light outside. It always calmed him immensely. If he were a shrink, he’d say it was probably the juxtaposition of the chaos outside, matching the chaos of his home. A terrible balance that soothed his ever-stressed-out mind. But he’s not a shrink, so he just says it's real pretty.
Though lost in his mental to-do list for the day, he still feels exactly when the change of energy in the trailer happens. Luke steps to the open door to light a cigarette and very promptly freezes in place. His shoulders go tense, his hand stills where it's raised to his lips, cigarette between his fingers, ready for the lighter. His breathing picks up slightly, too. Driver pauses, looking over at the stuntman and sees him staring out at the roiling clouds incoming.
Brows furrow in concern, and he lets out a quiet “Luke?” no response. Again, a little louder, “Luke?” This time, he steps over to the door and sets a hand on the small of his bare back, only dressed in loose pajama pants, sitting low on his hips. Another call of the blonde's name and his head finally snaps over to where driver is, eyes frantic before very clearly schooling into something calm and too nonchalant to be natural.
He lets out a “yeah?” that's a little too shaky and flicks his lighter on; the scent of burning tobacco fills the air around them, and Luke breathes it in, smoke curling around his handsome face, giving an edge to his deep, bright blue eyes.
Drivers never particularly cared for the smell of cigarettes, the taste thoroughly disgusting him, but he’s grown to find it slightly attractive on Luke specifically. Funny how feelings can do that, draw you into things you find repulsive otherwise. Breaking out of his reverie with a hard blink, he gently asks, “What's wrong?”
“nothing”.
Too quick. He squints at the stuntman, ever watching eyes searching his face for anything at all. A crack, a slip, a gap in the walls that have slammed down in front of him. Nothing. He lets out a noncommittal hum before gesturing with his head outside.
“It’s gonna storm later.” It's a very obvious statement, something he wouldn't feel the need to point out if it wasn't also a trap.
Luke, not seeing the snare in the road, says, “Yeah, maybe,” sounding like he’s been sentenced to the chair, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. Driver sees the way his eyes quickly glance back to the clouds, then at nothing in particular, and the way his hand shakes lightly.
Hm.
They stand there for a little longer, watching the sun rise and be promptly swallowed by marching clouds. At some point, Luke presses his ankle against drivers, a comforting, steady presence. The warm line of skin against socked feet. The blonde drops his cigarette butt, stubs it out, and takes a deep breath. “Work time,” he murmurs and moves to go get dressed. The leaner man watches him go before taking one last look at the sky, before turning to do the same.
Today is gonna be rough, he can feel it.
Turns out that “rough” is a massive fucking understatement. Like, he could not have been both more on the money and also further from the truth.
To start, the second he reaches the garage and is about to open the tent flaps for the day, he’s flagged down by a carnie to help push a maintenance truck out of a massive mud pile and into the bay of his shop. The vehicle had broken down late last night, an issue with the headgasket, and had been left there overnight, where the rain caused mud to flood around the tires, rendering it stuck. He, along with 4 other people, takes a whopping hour to get it unstuck, covered in mud up to the knees, and boots already soaked.
He’s able to work on the truck for all of 30 minutes before he watches the wind rip a sheet metal sign out of a food stand and go hurtling across the grounds, slamming into tables and ripping holes through tents. He runs to get it and drags it all the way back, assisting in bolting down the rest of the stand.
Finally able to fix the truck, he gets it out of the bay before it's replaced with two bikes from none other than the heartthrobs. Tony and Frank had gotten in a bit of a scuffle, claims that one cheated the other out of $20 last Tuesday (it was Tony, and he definitely did) being yelled, throwing punches, and finally slamming into their bikes, knocking both over. The brake chain had come undone on Frank's bike, and Tony’s wouldn't start. Thank Christ Luke keeps his behind the trailer. He fixes Frank’s pretty quickly, but the motor in Tony’s is fucked, needing a replacement part that he just can't find in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, Wisconsin. He says something along those lines to the man himself, and he gets a scoff, and Tony stalks off muttering that he’ll figure it out. Of course, he doesn't take the bike with him, meaning driver has to move the damn thing himself and store it in the corner.
When he finally gets to take lunch, he goes to check on Luke and finds the man shaky and short-tempered.
He’s been helping set up generators, and according to the other guys there, he's been zoning out a lot. The wheelman's overall worry for his boy just grows when the man declines to have lunch with him, insisting that he “has a bunch of shit to do before tonight” and all but runs off. Which, fine, whatever. It’s not the first time drivers had to take lunch by himself, it won't be the last.
Except 12 minutes into his break, when he’s finally found a nice, secluded spot to eat his apple, an entire route of lights goes down, their haphazardly placed poles tumbling in the wind. Many bulbs break, a couple of cords spark, and overall, it's such a shitshow that it takes 10 people running around, trying to stop banners from flying away and electrical fires from starting. He’s sweaty and tired, only made worse by the wind that's making said sweat feel like ice cubes running down his skin.
Everything has been so much. Everyone has been stressed out, snappy, and overall asshole-ish. He can feel his usually diamond-solid patience wearing thin.
By the time work is done for the day, and all that can be prepared has been, driver is ready to faceplant directly into his bed. The rain has officially started flooding the fairgrounds, thoroughly soaking everything, and everyone is seeking shelter in trailers, buildings, or the sturdiest of the tents. He still has yet to find Luke.
He hopes more than anything that he’ll walk into the kitchen of his trailer and the blonde will be right there, perfectly fine, ready to wait out the weather. What he actually finds is a cold, empty kitchen and water on the table and bench where he forgot to close the windows earlier.
Cool cool cool, very cool, and okay.
If he looks at the puddles for a second longer, he’s gonna crash out.
So instead, he changes out of his muddy jumpsuit and into dry, soft jeans that fit around his legs like his gloves. He throws on a long sleeved henley and his scorpion jacket on top of that.
It had been a solid 3-day struggle to get most of the blood from 2 months ago out of it, the stubborn white silk clinging onto every enzyme like it was buddies with the molecules. A ridiculous amount of hydrogen peroxide and 3 whole rolls of paper towels later, and he got it down to some vaguely rusty spots. Good enough, he’s a simple man.
He ventures back out into the rain, sprinting the majority of the way to the cage stunt tent in search of his favorite blonde stuntman, only to find a bunch of guys playing cards around a makeshift table. The second he walks in, Frank raises his head and promptly tells him that Luke isn't here. Another guy, whose name he thinks is Matt, maybe, chimes in that he thinks he saw him over by the animal stalls.
A quick nod of thank you, and he’s back out in the rain. He darts across the separating field, mindful of the small lakes that are forming on the ground, and when he reaches the stables, he’s out of breath, huffing lightly. Looking around, he's completely alone, minus the horses and goats.
He takes a moment to reach for some semblance of inner strength before going back outside.
There's really not too many places he could be. The tent? Negative. The food court? He ran past there and nothing. He couldn't be in the garage; he would've left the second he saw that driver had packed up for the night. The last place is his own trailer, which he’s been spending less and less time inhabiting since finally understanding that he is allowed in drivers space whenever he wants. A quick shortcut through the gates of a couple of rides and he’s standing in the cluster of trailers at the far end of the grounds.
The lights inside aren't on, though that might just be from the power being shut off. He knocks on the door, 3 steady raps against the cold metal. The rain pours a little harder, the wind picking up again, and though he’s not 100% sure, he thinks he hears a noise through the door. A whimper or something along those lines. No response. He knocks again, this time a little louder. Radio silence. Maybe he’s not here after all.
It's just as he’s about to turn and run back to his own trailer, the door unlocks, and there stands Luke, red-eyed and shaking. Bags weigh heavy and dark against pale skin. His bleached blonde hair is messy, looking like he’s been gripping at it for the last hour. His hands have a distinct tremble, and driver is overcome with a bone-deep guilt for not properly recognizing the problem this morning.
“What do you want, driver?” comes out gruffly and hoarse, like he’s been crying but is trying to push it down.
The collective image of the man in front of him is not one he’s familiar with, but it breaks his heart all the same. He shoulders his way into the trailer, Luke's hands instinctively go to his arms, the motion to push away, but no real force is applied. Driver swings the door shut behind him and immediately wraps long, muscled arms around the shorter blonde. He tenses, not prepared for the affection, but relaxes more every second until he’s practically draped over drivers shoulder. He doesn't reciprocate the gesture, but the way he burrows his head into the crook of the wheelman's neck says enough.
Somewhere outside, thunder rumbles, and the way Luke tenses again tells Driver all that he needs to know. He pulls back just far enough to look into watery blue eyes, tears threatening to spill over the line of those long, dark lashes.
“Why didn't you tell me?” It comes out a bit harsher than intended, but he’s at the end of his rope and just wants to curl up in bed with his boy in his arms. Deep blue pools look away from him, unable to keep eye contact. He can feel Luke's fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he musters up a response.
“It’s fuckin stupid. I know it is, it's childish, and I just didn't want you to worry about me.” His jaw works when he’s done, teeth grinding.
“No its not. I don't think it’s stupid.” It's instant. But Luke just rolls his eyes and scoffs, disbelief evident, turning away from Driver as he walks back towards his bed in the far end.
It's now that driver sees all the curtains pulled shut, the blinds keeping out most of the light. Luke hasn't even lit candles, darkness filling the trailer. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, and Luke jumps hard, swearing under his breath. Even through the dark and the thick, worn hoodie he has on, Driver can see the way his muscles jump and twitch, nerves frayed.
He shrugs off his jacket, draping it on a chair nearby, and follows Luke. He gets past the threshold of the bedroom and leans against the doorframe, gazing down at where Luke has lain back down over his bed, legs dangling off the edge. An arm is tucked under his head, the other wrapped around his midsection in a display that would be casual any other time but just looks a little pathetic here.
“Why?” the driver asks, as if that's any way to start a conversation. Luke reacts as such, brows furrowing and eyes squinting up at where driver is posted against the door. “Why what? What do you mean ‘why’??” Confusion colors his tone.
Driver just shrugs and says, “Why are you scared of it? Why storms?” The stuntman's eyes search the ceiling, as if it could give him the willpower for this discussion or the answers he wishes he had.
He takes a long moment before answering, “I don't know. They’ve always freaked me out, I guess.” he glances towards the man in his doorway, “Get over here.” It's gentler than Driver expected, but progress is progress. He steps out of his boots and climbs onto the bed, sitting against the wall so Luke can lay his head against his stomach.
Adjusting himself and wrapping a hand around the strong thigh under him, he continues, “When I was a kid, I’d hate it when it stormed. Didn't happen too often, but Vegas, yknow? When it got bad, it was really bad.
I remember one time, I was at school. Normal day until the weather turned. The news said it might be a tornado, so we all did the thing, right? Got under our desks and stuff. Not sure why, but I was so sure we were gonna die. I don't remember if it was actually that big of a deal, but I was scared shitless. I kept working myself up in my head, you know? The roof was gonna rip off, and we were all gonna go flying out like goddamn Dorothy and Toto.
I had heard of others in the past, all the bad shit that happened during those. I got so worked up that when it was over, and we were all fine, I was frozen with fear. Couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything. Teacher got so worried, she called 911, for all the good it did them. It took them an hour to get me to move, and the second I felt that vice grip release, I couldn't stop crying for hours. My mom had to come get me in the middle of the day. Got made fun of the rest of the year for it, too. Every time a storm happens, I just get so worked up, like I can't stop my brain from spiraling.”
Here, he pauses and takes a shuddering breath.
“I didn't want you to think I was a pussy or something. Figured, if I didn't think about it, I wouldn't freak out. And if I didn't see you today, you’d never know. Guess that didn't really work, huh?” he lets out a humorless chuckle.
Driver remains silent through all of this, quietly carding his fingers through the soft blonde locks. When Luke turns to bury his head in drivers shirt, he softly says, “I don't think you’re a pussy. Not at all. I think you have a normal fear that you don't know how to deal with, that's all.”
Silence descends over them, nothing but their soft breathing and the distant rumbles. It's peaceful, this tentative quiet. Luke seems like he’s relaxing properly for the first time all day, rubbing the soft fabric of drivers shirt between his pointer and thumb. He hasn’t cried since the mechanic got here, either. Maybe all he needed was someone to listen to him, to hear him out for once.
An idea builds in drivers head. He’s not sure if it'll actually work, but maybe it'd be worth a shot. Though quiet as he may be, he contains so much information. He reads 5 books a month, endlessly interested in nonfiction, especially about natural processes. Specifically, he’s a practically endless well of storm facts, the clouds, the rain, the wind, the lightning. Perhaps it would help if Luke could logic out his anxiety. Works for the driver, maybe it'll help.
“I like watching when it storms,” breaks the silence. Luke turns his head to look up at driver, who's already staring back.
“Yeah? And why is that?” A slight smirk graces his face.
“It’s real pretty.” A smile grows on his own face.
He motions for Luke to sit up, tugging him back against his chest and pushing one curtain open to offer a view of the field outside. The wind blows, the rain pours, and now and then, lightning strikes somewhere, the crack thundering above a couple of seconds after.
Luke tenses, but the driver just wraps his arms further around him, holding him tight against his body, legs caging him in. A solid, unmoving pillar in the middle of a raging sea. He tucks his head beside the blondes and speaks again,
“That type of cloud is a cumulonimbus,” he points to the cloud mass in the distance, “they’re vertical clouds, which means they stretch far above the normal height in the air. The air at the very top moves in a way that makes it look like an anvil.”
An inquisitive hum sounds from the man between his legs, and despite the way he’s still clinging onto his arms, only one eye peeking out to look outside, driver knows it's working. He continues,
“The chances of being personally struck by lightning are 1 in 600,000. Most lightning forms about 10 miles away from the radius of the rest of the storm.”
Luke rexalxes a little more, settling into the hold and properly looking outside. He continues like this for about 30 minutes, and by that time, neither of them is really looking outside, bundled up together in Luke's blankets.
The next time thunder cracks right above the trailer, Luke just asks about the weather somewhere in Africa.
They’re both dry and safe, in each other's arms, and Luke has never felt better during a storm.