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Pain.
Red hot blinding pain.
Nerves twisting and turning with each miniscule movement. Every rise and fall of his chest made him feel like a match had been lit within his stomach. Driver had taken his fair share of hits before, but something about this was different. This wound was given by a professional, albeit a little less calculated than the attacker would have liked, but the man knew what he was doing. Unfortunately, the man underestimated Driver's resilience and stubbornness.
Despite the universes' best efforts, Driver was a difficult man to take down. He should have died right there, at the hands of his attacker. Leaving an awfully bloody sight for the poor restaurant workers to find later. Instead, the universe gave him one last favor and allowed him to move slowly to the front seat of his beloved car. If he was going to die anywhere, he was glad it was here. The one place he felt at peace.
Driver leaned back in the seat, getting as comfortable as he could as he felt the blood oozing beneath the hand holding his stomach. As he laid there in silence, he felt each muscle going numb. He wasn’t angry or even upset at how much he had failed. He was just…numb. The man was exhausted, he had nothing left. He could count the number of people that he trusted with one hand, but now they were all gone. Because of him. Even if they were still around, he knew that they would leave him in that parking lot to bleed out. And he wouldn’t even blame them. He deserved every excruciatingly painful second of this fate.
Seconds turned into minutes. He was still breathing. The blood wasn’t flowing as rapidly as before. If he had the energy he would almost laugh, the universe loved to play its sick jokes on him- and this was just the next in a long line. He blinked, eyes refocusing on his surroundings. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but thankfully no one had found them yet. He could just barely see the legs of his previous attacker in his rearview mirror.
As feeling in his arms returned to him he figured he had two options. Continue to lay down and die as he deserves to, or fight through the pain and drive away. He wasn’t sure where he would drive to, maybe a place with a better view to bleed out at. Just not this godforsaken parking lot.
The choice needed to be made soon, his thoughts were starting to catch up to him. His mind became more worried about his own blood staining the seats of his car than the overall lack of blood in his body. The more he worried about the car being ruined, the more reality started to set in. Numbness returned to blinding pain with each twitch of movement
In his free hand, he held the keys to the vehicle. An object that has never been out of arms reach for the man. They were kept safe and sound in the pocket of his (currently blood soaked) jacket. At times he would find himself with his hand in his pocket, tracing the edges of the keys or light fingers messing with the fur of the rabbit's foot as a way to ground himself.
Just like he was doing now. The pads on his fingers traced ever so slowly over the ridges of the keys, eyes still focused forward. Every cell in his body was telling him to move, to get help, to live. It was his mind that had trouble with this request.
Who would he live for? Certainly not himself. What would he do next? Bleeding out sounded more appealing than a hospital. And if he were to survive until tomorrow, it’s not like he could just show up to work. Considering that the repair shop is never going to open again, being a driver for crime is what got him into this mess in the first place, and Shannon is the only reason he still has his stunt job-
His stunt job.
A strange memory washes over him.
He knew that the mechanics didn’t listen to him. They never do. He could hear something screeching the moment it drove out of the shop. The sound only got worse when the one driving it to its designated spot, stopped. Part of him was proud of being correct, the other was furious at the mechanics for not fixing such an obvious issue. From the sounds of it, the brake-pads were nothing but a memory on the drivers side of the car, letting out a sound that was like nails on a chalkboard to Drivers brain. As he moved to run up to the other mechanics in the area to notify them, he was pulled away to get ready for the stunt.
He told Shannon the issue, and was dismissed. He even walked up to the stunt coordinator, who didn’t believe him- claiming that the car was just checked out by professionals and needed to crash anyway. He knew he wasn’t the favorite on set- not by a long shot. But he still couldn’t believe that the bastards still forced him to drive it.
“No.” He spoke simply. There was something wrong with the car, and he didn’t want anyone in it till he checked it out himself.
“Kid what do you mean no, just get in the damn car.” He heard Shannon call out. “I told you to not worry about the breaks. I looked at them myself!”
Driver could hear through his forced smile that the man was lying, and they both knew it.
He was all but shoved into the seat and strapped in as securely as possible. Whatever, he thought. He just needed to be extra careful on the turn so he didn’t crash prematurely.
Bits of the memory flash by too quick for his current thoughts to process. He remembers the word “Action”, the car moving along the planned route, a brick wall, the ground, and then pain. A lot of pain. More than his normal post stunt pain.
His back is on the ground as he looks up at the small swarm of people surrounding him. There’s voices ringing in his ears but nothing clear enough to make out.
He feels ridiculous, like he’s being observed. There's too many eyes on him, he needs to get up. The muscles in his back strain as he attempts to sit up- he gets a quarter of the way up before a large jolt of pain courses through him. Most of the searing pain collected near his right shoulder.
Despite the eyes around him, no one has dared to come close enough to help. Nor did anyone notice his attempts at sitting up. He’d just have to bite his cheek and force his movements. He’s had worse, he’d be fine once he figured out what he injured. Something was up with his shoulder, but he couldn’t think clear enough to pinpoint what.
“-OU WHAT”.
As he steeled himself in preparation of another attempt at moving, one of the voices in the crowd became clear. Even in his current state, there was no mistaking who that voice belonged to.
“Seavers listen-” a second voice Driver didn’t care enough about to commit to memory, they seemed cautious.
“The man who doubles as a mechanic FOR stunts- tells you that something is wrong with the brakes and you make him drive it anyway?” He could hear Colt's migraine forming, even from this distance. The man didn’t get annoyed very often, normally the type to crack a joke or two that made Driver want to punch him in the nose, just to lighten any tense moods. But the safety of others was never something to joke about, he’d often complain to Driver and the other stuntmen about how stupid it was that it wasn’t standard to do things as safely as possible. Certain companies just wanted results, they didn’t care how.
Driver zoned out of their conversation, and refocused on getting back up. Only to be stopped once more by Colts booming voice.
“You’ve got to be shitting me-” It was much closer this time.
The memory fractures into small snippets that Driver couldn’t even remember as they were happening. He looked into Colts eyes, they seemed to say “I’m sorry”- for what Driver wasn’t sure. He got hurt, no big deal.
Next comes the memory of Colts arms replacing the concrete floor against his back. Hands cradling Drivers body like he was the most fragile thing on the planet.
And finally a faded memory of a hospital room, with one Colt Seavers passed out in a chair next to the bed.
The brakes on the car snapped as he slowed the vehicle to get around a curve, causing the car to crash into a nearby building instead of on the planned (somewhat) safe location, where all of their medical team were waiting on standby. The force caused something in the harness to slip and he flung through the windshield at top speed. By some miracle he managed to only walk away with a broken arm, a few cracked ribs, and a concussion. He later learned that the argument he overheard was Colt learning what caused the crash, and that it would still be another fifteen minutes until the ambulance or the medical team got to their location.
The other stuntman decided to take matters into his own hands, picking Driver up, and taking him to the hospital himself. Driver hated hospitals, but there was no way Colt knew that, or any chance to explain. Shannon only visited him twice, once to apologise and check on him, another to see when he was getting out- more side jobs already lined up for Driver to take the moment he could get behind the wheel again.
Colt however, stayed every day until visiting hours were over. And would appear the minute that they started the next day.
Driver inhaled a short breath through his nose, his version of a chuckle.
It was a reminder of the last bridge he had yet to burn, no matter how much he deserved it- or how hard he tried. Colt fucking Seavers of all people.
The two weren’t best friends by any means, as much as Colt acted like they were. It was pure circumstance how often the two worked together. At first Driver wanted nothing to do with him, he was loud, talkative, and way too bright. But Colt seemed to take his adverseness as a challenge. He knew Driver had no friends on any set they worked on, not unless you count Shannon. He would do his job, give a thumbs up, and then walk away to who knows where- barely speaking a word to anyone. And Colt wasn’t about to let that slide. So he started talking to him like they had been friends for years, inviting him out to drinks with the other stunt team members, or bringing him coffee early in the morning before a rehearsal.
It was annoying and endearing all in one.
As Driver’s body remained limp, a thought crossed his mind. Would Colt help him? Or would he take one look at his bloodied form and turn him away. The Colt that he knew would never turn away anyone that needed help, but did Driver deserve that kindness after all he’d done? Half the blood on his jacket isn’t even his.
His stubborn bones began to act before he could think up a decision. A weak hand moved up to place the keys in the ignition, turning it and bringing the car to life. The familiar rumble of the engine brought new found life into Drivers eyes. He wanted to live. For a reason he couldn’t place, he wanted to live.
His hand dropped from its hold on the keys, slowly returning to his side. He used the new found free hand to prop himself up more in the seat, ignoring the swirling sensation in his head as he moved. Everything ached, but he needed to push through it. Just one more time.
Once properly in position, he reached over to close the door.
Just one more drive.
He could do that.
Being back on the road again helped him keep focused. Of course if he were any normal person, this would be no state to be on the road. But this was Driver, his car acted as an extension of himself. He knew it better than he knew anyone else- including himself. The low hum of static from the radio paired with the sounds of the engine kept him grounded and awake the entire journey.
There were a few passing thoughts and questions on what he would do on the chance that Colt wasn’t even home. They haven’t spoken in a few weeks, so Driver had no way of knowing his schedule. Driver’s answer to his own question was simple: give up and drive away.
He ignored any further questions from himself and focused on the road. Taking in the flashes of the city as he passed by restaurants, offices, retail stores he had never heard of. No real spectacular sights or views, just the simplicity of the public. The noises coming from every direction drowning each other out as they meld into a satisfying hum. If this really was his last drive, he’d be okay with that. Getting to see the city one last time.
Turning the corner onto Colts street, the sight of Colt’s truck made his heart flutter with one last glimmer of hope. A feeling Driver had not felt in a very long time. He pulled the car up to the curb next to Colts residence. Once parked, his arm moved up to turn the ignition off. As the sound of the engine subsided, dread rose in Drivers chest. His body had struggled enough to just get into the driving position, now came the tall task of getting up to Colts door.
Through gritted teeth he reached over to open the door of the car, doing his best to ignore how his skin felt like it was on fire. Limbs falling out of the car with all the grace of a newborn deer. If he were any less out of it, he would have beaten himself up over the amount of blood staining the front seat- that was going to be a bitch to clean later. Using every ounce of strength left in his legs, he hobbled up to the front door.
Driver leaned all of his weight on the wall next to Colts front door, his legs barely keeping him up right. He looked as pathetic as he felt, slumped next to someone’s front door like a drunk ex begging to be let back in. Despite the negative thoughts ruminating in his skull, he rang the door bell.
Nothing.
He rang it again.
Still no answer, or even a sound from within the home.
He pressed the bell one final time, holding it longer this time.
He could hear some commotion from within the house, but nothing indicating someone coming closer to the door.
This was ridiculous, he wasted all that energy just to die on Colts doorstep when he wasn’t even home. He could at least have the decency to die alone in his car near the woods so it didn’t bother anyone. But now-
“Oh my GOD WHA-” The front door swung open with incredible force, creating a small gust of wind. The person on the other side ceased their shouting the moment they locked eyes with the one outside. “Driver?”
Driver huffed out a small sound of affirmation.
“Holy shit- Dude! What- What happened?” Colts eyes were as wide as saucers as he scanned over his friend's body. Driver’s face was pale, his cheek pressed into the rough exterior of the home. One hand still clutching his stomach, the other clutching the keys and the doorbell. His whole body was nearly covered in blood, from the varying colors of dried blood spattered around his jacket all the way down to his shoes.
“D...Didn’t know where else to go.” His voice was quieter than he meant it to be. He saw something in Colts eyes darken just for a moment. Much to Driver's surprise, he didn’t kick him out, or even ask any more questions. Instead he closed the distance between the two. He carefully took Driver's hand off the still ringing doorbell and swung the man's arm around his shoulders. Colts hand holding onto his wrist to keep it in place. Colts other arm snaked around Driver's middle, his hand resting on the other’s hip. In any other circumstance Driver would have felt a burn from the sudden touch, but at this moment is what the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Lean on me, I’ve got you.” Colt said softly. His hold on Driver was solid, but delicate- much like when he carried him after the crash. Driver couldn’t understand it, Colt knew he wasn’t fragile- so why was he leading him into the house like even the smallest of movements would break him.
The next few moments blurred together as Driver dipped in and out of consciousness in Colt’s hold. He had brought them inside, and carefully guided them into the bathroom.
“Gonna put you down now.” Colt spoke as he readjusted his hold on the other. Without letting go of the other wrist, Colt moved Drivers arm off of his shoulder. Using the other hand to balance the other’s waist as he gingerly set the man down on the toilet lid. Driver couldn’t help but wince as his legs gave out underneath him, no longer needing to stay up right.
Once he was situated on the seat, Colt fully let go of him and took a few steps back. His eyes scanned over Drivers body again, searching for the source of any injury. The only obvious wound seemed to be around his stomach since Driver had not moved that hand the entire journey to the bathroom.
Colt stepped over to the bathroom sink and knelt down, grabbing his rather heavy duty first aid kit from the cabinet. Hopefully he had remembered to restock whatever was in there from his last scuffle. He set the box down next to Drivers leg, and looked up at him from his spot on the floor. Without saying anything, he started by untyping and removing Drivers shoes. He slipped them off of the others feet carefully before placing them on the other side of the toilet.
“I’m going to take your jacket off so I can patch you up okay?” It was less of a question and more of an announcement. Driver nodded slightly, as he watched Colts hands come closer. Colts fingers took the zipper of the jacket and began to pull down as delicately as a surgeon with a scalpel. The lack of speed added a strange feeling of intimacy to the moment. Driver’s eyes caught a glimpse of Colt’s focused expression, before promptly looking away- choosing to focus on literally anything else in the room.
As the zipper reached the bottom, Colts hands moved up to the collar of the jacket. Doing his best to slowly remove the fabric one area at a time, starting with the shoulder.
“I’m not…gonna break.” Much to Colts surprise, Driver was the one to break the silence between the two. His voice was breathy, words slurring together. Colt froze at the sudden voice, one hand on the collar of the jacket, the other on Driver's shoulder to keep them both steady.
“I know that pal, just didn’t want to make the pain worse. You look like you’ve lost a lot of blood…”
“Not all of it is mine.” Driver states, earning an even more concerned squint from the other. With a small grunt he leaned forward ever so slightly, trying to make himself useful by shaking off the sleeve Colt was holding. As he shook his shoulder, Colt got the message and worked with him silent to carefully remove the rest of the sleeve.
Before moving on to the other side, Colt glanced over Drivers arm to check for any clear injuries. He could see a few scrapes and a handful of bruises, but nothing that needed immediate attention. Once satisfied with his once over, he moved his attention to Drivers other still sleeved arm. Drivers hand still with a firm hold on his stomach
“Can you move your hand for me?” Colt had already moved one of his hands to hover over Drivers, waiting on permission to continue.
Driver let out a small sound of affirmation. He felt ridiculous. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually needed help after an injury. At least he wasn’t getting pools of blood all over Colts bathroom floor like he did with his poor car. That would have been incredibly inconvenient.
A warm hand over his own knocked him out of his exhausted spiral before it could even start. Colt’s hand was rougher than his, even in his semi conscious state he could feel it. The sensation grounded him as Colt slowly pulled their hands back from his injury. He placed Drivers hand gently at his side, blood dripping from his fingertips onto the titled floor. He tried to not mourn the loss of Colts hand on top of his as the other moved to pull the jacket back. Much to their collective surprise, the bleeding had officially stopped at some point. However, Driver’s white shirt had turned a very dark and concerning shade of red.
Without saying anything, Colt continued to pull the jacket off of the other man. His motions were still gentle, but not as slow as when this endeavor began. He hadn’t asked Driver to move forward, but he still did when the time was right. The pair worked in tandem like they had done this for each other a thousand times.
With the jacket finally off of Drivers body, Colt cradled the fabric as if it were as fragile as a vase. Driver watched as the other man folded it with the utmost care, before he placed it down on the sink counter. He wasn’t sure why Colt was making a show of being kind to the jacket. Of course Driver appreciated it immensely, the sight causing a weird feeling in his stomach that sat right next to the pain he was feeling. He had always taken great care of that jacket, and had spent many nights trying to get dirt and blood out of it on various occasions. But to Colt it was just a jacket. So why-
“-ou still with me?” Driver felt a small tap on his cheek before Colt’s words processed in his head. Once their eyes met, he was blinded by the smile that spread across Colts face. “There you are! Don’t pass out on me just yet.”
Driver watched as Colt moved even closer, both hands hovering around his waist. “Ready?” is all the other man had asked, but Driver knew what he meant so he gave Colt a nod. Within seconds he could feel Colts calloused hands touching his bare stomach as he began to lift the bloodied shirt. His movements were calculated while still around the main wound, not wanting to irritate it farther. Cautiously tugging the fabric away from Drivers body before moving it up. Once the shirt had been cleared of the area around his stomach, Colt lightly lifted up one of Drivers arms to get the sleeve through. The shirt dropped unceremoniously to the floor once Colt had slipped it off of the other arm.
Colt looked over Drivers newly barren torso, he had seen it before in various dressing rooms and he always did his best to not stare. However, early on he did pick up on the fact that Driver was almost always riddled with bruises. At first Colt didn’t think too much about it, his body wasn’t much better- occupational hazard one might say. But seeing him now, battered and broken like he had just returned from a losing boxing match, a new wave of concern entered Colts mind. His eyes wandered around the others' skin as he moved to open the first aid kit.
He pulled out the necessary supplies out of the box and got to work cleaning the large wound on Drivers stomach. Thankfully for them both, the cut wasn’t as deep as it could have been, and it didn’t hit any major spots. Drivers' exhaustion was mainly due to lack of sleep and overall blood loss. As Colt worked in silence, a million questions ran through his head. But every time he was about to give in to his poor impulse control and ask Driver how this happened, or who did this- he would meet Driver’s exhausted gaze, causing the question to die in his throat. He hoped that Driver would eventually tell him how this happened, he’d love to have a chat with the person stupid enough to stab Driver of all people.
Colt did his best to focus on what his hands were doing, he couldn’t get angry right now. Taking care of Driver was far more important than anything else.
Driver watched through half lidded eyes as Colt switched to preparing the few stitches he would need. He could see Colts eyebrows knitted together in concentration, with the slightest bit of annoyance. Driver figured the annoyance was towards him, but didn’t have the energy to worry about it. He’d just thank Colt and stumble out the door once he was patched up.
He hardly noticed the pain from the stitching needle, his mind mercifully choosing to focus on the warmth from Colts hands against his skin. The sensation of another person so close to him was both grounding and comforting. A feeling he was not used to, nor did he deserve. He wasn’t sure what got to him first, the last of sleep within the last few days or the blood loss. That paired with the comfortable safety that Colt Seavers tended to exude out of his pores, Driver felt his head lean back- hitting the wall with a small thud, as his eyes closed.
Colt was too focused on the last few stitches, and only realized that the other had fallen asleep when he swapped to the bandages. Fear sunk in his stomach, dropping the bandages onto the floor.
“Driver..? Buddy? C’mon man wake up for me.” He tapped Drivers legs a few times, when there was no response, the dread in his stomach sunk even further. Colt raised a hand up to Driver's cheek, ready to lightly tap him awake again. As his hand touched his skin the first time, he felt Driver let out a light snore. Colt let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in pure relief. Not passed out, just sleeping. He let his hand rest against the other's cheek for a few more seconds, feeling the other subconsciously lean into the touch
“Don’t worry, you’re safe here. I’ve got you.” Colt whispered, removing his hand and getting back to his task. Picking the bandage off the floor and wrapping it around Driver’s middle as carefully as he could to not wake the man. After he had triple checked that everything was secure, he got to work on washing any blood off of Drivers skin that he could. Driver would probably want a shower, but that would have to wait until the morning. For now, Colt did as best as he could with a wet cloth. Gingerly wiping down any spot on his torso that he missed while cleaning the wound, down his arms and taking extra care when cleaning his hands.
Colt stood, moving to the sink to rinse out the now bloodied cloth for a few moments before he walked out of the bathroom for a moment, remembering to grab the scorpion jacket on his way out the door.
First he moved to the kitchen, placing the jacket on the counter next to the sink for now. It was only then that he noticed the amount of blood on his own hands. It wasn’t as much of a surprise as it was a realization. He took a few moments to wash his hands, they would still be stained red until he properly scrubbed them- but he could at least get the fresh blood off of his hands. Then he moved to his own bedroom, heading straight for his dresser. Colt pulled out his drawer that contained his various t-shirts, most of them freebies from films he’s worked on, or bands he enjoyed, only three had no pattern or image on them. He was a sucker for a good graphic tee, what can he say. He reached in and grabbed one of the darker freebie shirts in his collection. A simple black tee that just had the words “SPACE-WALK: STUNTS” in big bold pastel pink letters on the back. Next he pulled out another drawer, this one containing various sweatpants and pajama bottoms. This time he opted for a generic pair of black sweats. Clothes selection in hand, he returned to the bathroom.
Driver was still snoring softly, head resting against the back wall. Colt padded over to him as quietly as he could. He could theoretically get Driver changed without waking him up, but the thought of doing that left a sour taste in his mouth. So Colt would have to wake him up for a few moments. With a small sigh, Colt leaned over and tapped Drivers cheek for a third time that night- this time with a bit more force.
The other man let out a noise as he fought to stay asleep, flinching away from Colts touch this time.
“Dude we gotta get you out of those clothes, and I’m not gonna be the guy that strips someone while they’re unconscious.” Colt spoke with a lighter tone, but loud enough to help Driver wake up more. “You can go right back to sleep once it’s over, promise.”
When no other response came from him, Colt sighed and moved his hand down to shake Drivers shoulder. The movement was light, but it sent a jolt of pain through Drivers body- causing him to spring away. His body leaned forward as if he were about to empty what few contents were in his stomach. Colt muttered a handful of apologies, reaching down for the small trashcan in preparation of Driver actually throwing up.
It took a few moments, but eventually Driver caught his breath enough to send a glare towards Colt. Driver was not a morning person, Colt knew that one all too well- but those few moments of rest seemed to help him regain a bit of strength, causing the feeling of pain coursing throughout his body to return.
He held the glare for a few extra moments before his gaze shifted to the room around them. The trashcan filled with bloodied tissues and wipes, his ruined shirt on the floor, the opened first aid kit, Colt Seavers standing in front of him- fingers slightly stained with blood as he held a wad of clothing in one hand.
Colt carefully put the trash can down, raising the newly freed hand in defense. “I brought you some clean clothes, since-”
“No.”
Colt opened his mouth to retaliate, but he knew this song and dance by now. The good news was that Driver was awake enough to be stubborn, the bad news was Driver could be incredibly stubborn when he wanted to be. His free hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath, before letting it hang freely by his side as he exhaled. “Driver.
“Thank you for the help. I’ll leave now.” Driver stated. He then did his best attempts at standing, pushing through the pain and trying to use pure force of will to pull him to his feet. Colt instinctively reached out with his open hand just in case Driver were to fall. Driver somehow made it to his feet, using a hand to push off any nearby surfaces. His legs felt like jello, but he was standing on his own. Full of false confidence, he took a step forward. Only to lose his balance nearly immediately. Thankfully, Colt was only inches away. He closed the distance between the two before Driver could fall into anything, his hand resting on the small of Drivers back to steady him. Drivers forehead instinctively rested on Colts shoulder. He was only an inch or so taller than Driver, but at this moment, Driver had never felt so small. And he still wasn’t sure if that was a positive thing or not.
“Driver. You need rest, and you’ll feel better in clothes that aren’t soaked. C’mon, let me help you man.” Driver could feel Colts breath on his ear as he spoke.
“You’ve done enough.” You’ve done too much already. “I’m fine.”
“Oh so you collapsed into my arms because you wanted to? How sweet.” Colts poor attempt at a joke earned an annoyed grunt from the man in his arms, but the other still did not move. Colt began to absentmindedly rub his back with his thumb. “Let me help you, please…”
The pair stood in silence for what felt like hours as Colt waited for a response.
“Okay.” Driver eventually said, leaning away from the other’s shoulder. One hand still on Colts bicep for stability. The other stuntman flashed him a wide smile of relief, one so bright it felt like staring into the sun.
“Great! Shirt or pants first?”
Driver decided that the pants would be the easiest to get out and into, especially if he held onto Colt to keep him stable. With the hand not focused on stability, he began to undo his belt with one hand. Colt’s eyes decided to find a very interesting spot on the wall to stare at, as the intimacy of the situation set in. Driver didn’t seem to notice, or care about their proximity as he undid the button of his jeans next. It took a bit of wiggling and too much shuffling that he didn’t have the balance for, but eventually the pants dropped to the floor. He leaned more of his weight onto Colt as he stepped out the fabric pooled around his ankles.
“Pants.” His voice startled Colt, bringing him back into the moment.
“Shit right, here you go!” Colt held out the wad of fabric in his other hand, the pants laying on ‘top’ of the small pile. “Wait- I got an idea. You trust me?”
Driver nodded. Of course he trusted Colt. With the nod, Colt put his silent plan into motion. Starting by throwing just the clean shirt over his shoulder. Then he moved one of Driver’s hands to his other shoulder to keep him stable. Once he was sure that Driver had a secure hold on him, Colt slowly knelt down. Using both hands to open the waist band of the sweats in front of Drivers feet.
“One small step” Colt guided. After a few seconds of mental preparation, Driver did as he was told and slowly raised his right leg off the ground- putting pressure on Colts shoulder as his weight shifted. Colt took the opportunity to slide the right pant leg around the raised leg, allowing a collection of fabric to sit around the ankle.
“Good job! One more time.” Colt prompted, and again Driver did what he was told. He leaned his weight onto Colt's broad shoulders, and lifted his left leg up slightly so that Colt could repeat the same process.
With both legs in, Colt grabbed the waistband, fabric sliding up Drivers legs at the same speed as he stood. Driver grabbed the side of the fabric with his free hand once it was within reach, Colt only let go once it rested on his waist. The pants themselves were a touch too big, since Driver was slimmer than he was. To make sure their hard work didn’t go to waste the moment either let go. Colt brought his other hand to Drivers waist, pulling at the sting sewn into the pants and tying it together. Not too tight to hurt him, but tight enough that they wouldn’t fall down.
“There we go! Do you want help with the shirt too?” Colt reached for the shirt that rested on his shoulder, handing it over to him in one swift motion.
“No. I can do it.” Driver said simply. He let go of Colts shoulder, using that hand to grab the shirt. The other instinctively moved his hands to hover over Drivers waist, just in case he lost his balance again. He watched as Driver put his arms in the sleeves first, before slowly raising his arms to let the fabric fall over his head. It was slower than a person would normally put on a shirt, but eventually his head popped through the center. The bottom of the shirt quickly fell the rest of the way down his body. If the shirt had been any smaller, it may have come into contact with the bandage.
“Feel better?” Colt smiled at him once more.
“Yes.” He was a man of very few words, but Colt knew he meant thank you.
“You can take a shower in the morning, but for now- lets get you to bed.” At some point Colts hands had stopped hovering, opting instead to actually rest on Drivers hips. Neither of them minded.
“Where? My car is-”
Without much warning, Colt moved his hold on Driver- one hand on his back, the other by his knees as he lifted him gently off the ground, holding him in his arms. Driver was so stuck in his own confusion that he barely had time to register what was going on.
Colt carried him to his own bedroom, placing him as carefully as he could onto the mattress. The soft material of the sheets felt like a cloud compared to what Driver was used to sleeping on every night. Maybe he did die in his car, maybe this was heaven. Who knows. The moment his head hit the pillow, the exhaustion from earlier made itself known once more, but it was only when Colt brought the blanket up to his neck- taking great care in tucking him in did he actually fall asleep. The pain in his body had gone down, the clothes were soft, and the blankets smelled of safety. He was not one to fall asleep around others, or give in to his own exhaustion this easily, but his eyes closed before he could even think of a stubborn excuse to stay awake.
“And he’s out like a light.” Colt smirked as he looked at Drivers sleeping face. He couldn’t help but give into one small impulse. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on the other's forehead. “Get some rest, Driver, I’ll keep an eye on you.”
He still had a million questions, and probably a million more after the initial answers were given. But all that could wait. Driver was safe and alive, that's what mattered to him.
When Driver woke up the next day, he would find a passed out Colt Seavers on top of the comforter next to him- limbs sprawled out as he let out a few snores. He would also find a note on the night stand that read:
“Hey Driver! Just in case you wake up and head out before I do-
Had to throw away the shirt, sorry : (
But your jacket is hanging in the bathroom- I did my best!
Your jeans and shoes are in there too
Did what I could with your car, it’s still not perfect
but we can take it to a shop in town that I trust if you want! -CS
P.S. if you wake me up I’ll get you some coffee and wont even ask any questions, just happy you’re okay man : )”
Colt had stayed up for hours, cleaning every last drop of blood out of Driver's prized scorpion jacket, as well as making the stain in his car look like nothing more than someone had simply spilled a drink by accident.
Driver would feel his heart swell as he ignored his original plan of leaving before Colt woke up. Instead he would lay back down, facing the others sleeping form, watching him for a few moments before giving in to the lull of sleep once more.
He would be at peace.