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Driver accepted that he was likely going to die.
The stab wound he’d been harboring since leaving LA was probably infected, but he didn’t go out of his way to check it. If he died then he died. As long as Irene and Benicio were safe it didn’t matter what happened to him. The only consolation was that he was over two thousand miles from his previous life, from the men that wanted him dead. Driver was free. If he died, well, that was just a different kind of freedom.
Driver watched the gas meter on his dash drop lower and lower. There was no real destination in sight, just trying to get as far from LA as possible. Now, that ragtag plan had left him stranded in the middle of nowhere without any gas. And a stab wound. Perfect.
He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter as he toyed with the toothpick between his lips. Alright, the next stop would be whatever gas station was closest. The price didn’t matter, nor did the location, Driver just needed to fill up his tank and get going.
It was another forty-five minutes before he found civilization again.
By the time he pulled into the gas station, his car was running on fumes. It hurt him to put the thing through such hardship, but he knew it could take the beating. The car had gotten him this far, it wouldn’t give up on him now.
Driver felt woozy as he opened the car door and began the slow maneuver of leaving the vehicle. Every minute movement sent shocks of pain across his stomach, up into his chest. If the wound really was infected, then it was going to be a slow and painful death. Not exactly the way he thought he’d leave the world.
His legs nearly gave out from under him as he stood, trying his best to plant both feet on the asphalt. Driver sucked in a breath as he reached for the gas pump. This wouldn’t take long – all of five minutes – but god five minutes had never felt long. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he reached out, missing the pump completely the first time. And the second.
“Um, are you alright, sir?”
Driver gaze flicked up to see where the voice had come from. A man stood on the other side of the pump, hands twisting together, eyes jumping all over the place. “I’m fine.” He managed to get a hold of the gas pump on his third try, but the victory was short lived. Driver’s knee buckled.
“Oh dear.” The man’s breath hitched. “That’s blood, that’s blood.” Now the man was frantic. Great, that was exactly what Driver needed at the moment. “I should call 911. You’re hurt.”
Driver snapped back to himself. “No hospitals.” Hospitals meant a paper trail, that would give Nino’s men a way to track him; he’d be right back in harm’s way.
The man switched between taking a half-step forward and a full step back. “I, god, um. I can help. I’ll help.”
Driver didn’t have much trust in the man’s first-aid capabilities, but from the way he acted, he doubted the other was going to try to kill him. So much for doing things solo.
***
Lars was positive he was going to throw up. Now, he didn’t want to throw up because he was wearing his nice, but not Nice, blue sweater. Plus he was in his car and cleaning puke off of the seats would be a nightmare. The smell would never go away so then everytime he got in his car in the future all he would think about was the vomit.
And the man bleeding in the passenger’s seat.
Lars gripped the steering wheel with such vigor his knuckles were white. “I’ll call my brother over, Gus, and his wife. Karin’s a school teacher; she knows her way around a mess.” Someone else needed to deal with this. Oh, God, why did he have to be the one to find an injured man when trying to get gas? He went to the gas station the same time he always did, got the same amount he always did, but this wasn’t the same. Lars itched all over. The change was completely unwelcome.
The man – who Lars still didn’t know the name of – groaned in his seat. “Nobody else.”
Lars wanted to scream. “Okay.” Now his palms were clammy. Sure, he knew a little bit of first-aid, but just by looking at the man, he was going to need a lot more than some Neosporin and a bandaid. That was about where Lars’ capabilities began and ended.
He bit the corners of his mouth so he wouldn’t let out the whimper that threatened to break forth. This was fine; everything was fine. Lars did hard things in the past – he could do hard things now. Except this time the hard thing could directly lead to this man’s death. Was he going to kill this man? Would the other die because of him? Then the cops would show up and they’d bring him to prison where he’d rot for the rest of his life because he didn’t know first-aid.
Maybe he should have done Scouts as a child.
Lars pulled into the driveway and immediately unbuckled his seatbelt. “This is my house, or well, it’s a garage, but I do live here.” He walked around the front of the car. The stranger would need help getting out and making his way to the front door. Lars felt sick again. That meant the stranger was going to touch him. It was summer, so Lars didn’t have the same number of layers that he normally would have on – even though it was a rather brisk summar. He could already sense the pain radiating across his shoulders and down his arms.
Lars bit his lip as he opened the passenger side door. “Let’s get you inside.” He braced himself and swallowed down a scream as the man hoisted himself up. This was fine. Things were fine. Lars tried to practice the breathing techniques that Dr. Dagmar taught him – they worked, sometimes, but they definitely weren’t working now. Alright, he just had to get the man on the bed, try not to think about how the outside clothes were touching the bed, and then head to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit. A steady narration filled the room, and if the other man was upset by it, he didn’t say a thing. Besides, the stranger wasn’t really in the position to really argue at the moment.
Lars set him down as gently as he could and made sure not to look at the blood that blossomed across the man’s shirt and jacket. “I’ll be back in a second. Don’t move.” As if the man could actually move. Great one Lars.
He scrambled through the garage to the bathroom and rifled through the cabinets. Whatever he had was going to have to work. Hopefully the stranger was still awake when he returned. Lars tries not to think about what he would do if the man wasn’t – especially since he seemed really stuck on the whole no hospital thing. Lars couldn’t really argue with him there; hospitals weren’t his favorite place in the world either.
“Alright,” he stepped back out to the main room, grateful to find the stranger still awake. “Let’s see what I can do.”
“Give that to me.” The man held one hand out as the other pressed down on his wound.
“What?” Lars stammered.
The man didn’t repeat himself, but he kept his hand out, waiting. A gloved hand Lars was now noticing – maybe that was why the stranger’s touch didn’t burn as much. “Uh, okay.” Lars passed the first-aid kit to the stranger and stepped back. “I can, if you… I’ll just sit here.” He planted himself on the furthest corner of the bed. Part of him wondered if he should avert his attention, after all, he’d always been rather queasy around blood, but the other part of him couldn’t look away.
The stranger flicked open the kit and sorted through it, brow twitching only slightly as he inspected its contents. Lars wanted to talk – say anything that would fill the void between them – but he zipped his mouth shut. The man probably needed to concentrate. Lars couldn’t properly concentrate when there was too much noise, the man could be the same. Then, if he got distracted, he could hurt himself even further.
The man looked up to meet Lars’ gaze. “You got a needle?”
Yeah, Lars was going to be sick. “Yes!” He nearly tumbled off the bed as he went to retrieve it. Lars also mentally slapped himself back to reality. The stranger asked for a needle; he was going to get the needle and not think about what the man was going to do with it.
***
Driver didn’t die, by some miracle. He would have assumed he pissed off the universe enough that it would finally get rid of him, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Here he was, still kicking. All because of Lars.
The man was an anomaly that Driver found himself growing fond of rather quickly, too quickly. He was all soft lines and warmth, nothing like any man Driver had ever seen before. Lars offered him a place to stay, almost demanded it when Driver said that he should probably be on his way.
That was two months ago now.
He’d met Gus, Karin, and their little girl Grace. They were a nice family, very caring, very domestic. That was also how he learned about Bianca – or rather the reality of Bianca since Lars had already told him about her. Driver just smiled as he heard the stories. The thought of anyone, or anything for that matter, making Lars happy was fine by him.
It was strange how simple it was to meld into Lars’ life. The simplicity came from several reasons – the first of which was that Lars had routines. There were patterns to his day that Driver quickly learned he tried his very best not to disrupt. He got up at the same time everyday, the order he got ready was the same, he mostly ate the same things too. The monotony was strangely relaxing. After the hell that Driver had been through being in survival mode for so long, it felt nice to relax into something easy again – or maybe for the first time. He wasn’t in a life or death scenario, he wasn’t doing getaway gigs, he wasn’t even risking his safety doing stunts anymore.
Instead, he did odd jobs around town because he needed something to do with his time. Helping out at the gas station, which doubled as an autoshop, was a good way to do that.
Driver woke up one morning to the heat radiating off of Lars. Technically, Gus and Karin had a spare room that they’d offered – Driver felt safer in the garage.
He blinked a few times, shocked to find that he’d woken up before the other. That wasn’t part of their usual routine. Driver turned towards the clock – no alarm, the sudden noise upset Lars. His brow screwed together.
Lars slept in. Lars never slept in.
“Lars?” Don’t touch. Never touch. Not without Lars’ express permission first, and especially not if he wasn’t awake to see the touch coming. Even if Driver wanted to wrap his arms around the other, collapse into his chest, and dive into the man’s scent. “Lars, you need to wake up.”
The other mumbled in his sleep, but still didn’t join the land of the living.
Driver waited a minute, maybe Lars just needed a second to adjust himself.
The heat under the blankets grew warmer though. Driver sat up and peered over at Lars, though it wasn’t very far to peer since there was only a few inches between them. A sheen of sweat was over Lars’ face, his expression slightly pained. “Oh.” That would explain why he wasn’t following his normal routine. Lars was sick.
Driver swung his legs over the side of the bed. The best thing would be for Lars to rest; so, until he woke up, Driver would get the house ready for the day. He knew the other’s routine well enough to do it after all. Driver made tea for Lars and coffee for himself, sipping on it as he picked out a comfortable set of clothes for Lars. The man’s drawers were organized as well, a pattern that Driver couldn’t help but find endearing. Lars would want to change when he awoke since sweatslicked clothes weren’t nice for anyone.
Driver moved in near silence, the only noise coming from a few creaky floorboards and the toaster. Anything more than toast could upset Lars’ stomach.
A shuffle came from the bed. “Casey?”
A shot rang through Driver’s heart just as it did every other time Lars called him by that name. It had been so long since he’d last worn it, a whole other lifetime ago, but it felt right to take it back on. He was far away from the world where “Driver” was necessary.
Driver stepped back towards the bed. “Good morning.”
Lars pouted, then his eyes widened. “I’m late. Oh, I’m late.” Panic was heavy in his voice.
Driver put up a hand. “I called the office. You’re sick.”
“I’m not…” It seemed to dawn on Lars in real time that he was in fact ill. He pressed his hands to his cheeks. “I’m sick.”
“Drink this, and take that.” Driver handed him the mug of tea, which was now at a tolerable temperature, and gestured towards the medicine sitting on the bedside table.
Lars slumped, but not the kind of slump that showed he was disappointed. No, Driver knew this slump, just like he knew that a smile would appear on Lars’ face and the skin near his eyes would crinkle. “Thank you.”
“I’m just repaying the favor.” Lars made sure he didn’t die, and now Driver would make sure Lars was well taken care of. He’d found something good with Lars, something he thought he’d lost forever.
Driver sat on the opposite corner of the bed, smiling softly to himself as he held his own mug of coffee. For once the open road didn’t call to him, not with Lars beside him.