Chapter Text
For almost four days now, Driver has not once stopped driving.
Well, that's not completely accurate. He's stopped for gas a few times now and has had to pull over a few times to stitch his stab wound back up. Each of these stops has not been any longer than fifteen minutes. Except the first day where he accidentally fell asleep on the side of the road for nearly thirteen hours.
He has yet to sleep at all other than that one time. He can sleep and worry about everything else when he gets farther away from Los Angeles.
After Bernie stabbed him, and of course Driver stabbed him back, and then he actually processed the shock of what just happened, he hopped in his car and drove out of LA. He didn't have time to go back to his apartment to grab his belongings, worried someone would be waiting for him. Driver didn't even have his wallet when he left.
It's about noon and Driver is completely exhausted. He doesn't exactly have a plan for where he’s going, just wanting to try and see how far he can get. A few miles back he had crossed the state line into Minnesota.
He’s going to need to stop for gas soon.
— ⛐ —
Driver stumbles into the gas station, the bright fluorescent lights and stench of gas station pizza immediately sending a dull throbbing pain into his head. The place was surprisingly empty for being noon on a weekday, the only person other than himself was an older slightly balding gentleman who seems to be the cashier. The cashier has yet to notice Driver, seemingly preoccupied in restocking slices of overly greasy pizza into the heated display cabinet near the front register. As he approaches the cashier, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out whatever cash was left.
“Pump four.” Driver's voice comes out slightly hoarse as he throws the wad of cash onto the counter. The man behind the counter turns away from the display cabinet and looks him up and down.
“Woah! Are you on your way to a costume party? Your costume is sick as hell! Very much gives off slasher vibes.” The cashier chortles loudly, giving an approving look. He takes the wad of cash and sorts through it at a slow pace, humming along to the rock music that plays quietly.
Seeing the excruciatingly slow rate the man is counting the money, Driver lets out a huff and leans against the counter for support as he starts to apply pressure to his abdomen. The wound on his abdomen has somehow been even more painful today than in the past few days. It had been stitched up about an hour after he had fled using some dental floss and some cheap sewing needles he had purchased in a hurry at a gas station in California. Every few hours like clockwork the wound would reopen and he would have to dig into his flesh again and again with that dull sewing needle in an attempt to keep it closed. It always reopens no matter how much he tries to sew himself shut. Maybe pain meds would have been smart to buy.
Too bad he just spent the last of his money on gas to get to god knows where.
“Yknow kid, sleep is also something that's important for someone your age.” The cashier advised out of nowhere. Driver turns back to look at the man behind the counter. He clenches his jaw to not spit out a remark. Then again, he's so exhausted right now that he doesn't have the energy to start a fight right now.
“Life gets better when you let others help you. How about this?” The casher goes over and grabs a slice of pepperoni pizza and slips it into a plastic to-go bag. He also grabs a keychain from the keychain rack on the counter.
“A free, fresh slice of pizza and your very own Casey's gas station keychain!” The cashier chirps out like this is a truly life changing opportunity. He shoves the pizza and keychain into Driver's hand with a customer service smile plastered on his face.
“Have a good time at your costume party!” The man then turned back to the cigarette wall behind him and started reorganizing brands.
Driver exits the gas station and walks back to his car, now holding his new goodies. He looks at the gas pump and then down at the overly greasy pizza slice and keychain.
Minnesota people are fucking weird.
— ⛐ —
Rain lightly patters the overly dirty windshield. Thinking about it, Driver can't remember the last time he let his car get this grimy. Not only was the outside of his car disgusting, littered in dead bugs and dust, his seat was likely completely ruined from the amount of blood that's soaked into it over the past three days. He always took great pride in his car, trying to keep it always extra tidy when he first met Irene. On days he knew he would be going on drives with her, he made sure to put extra time in cleaning the interior and even eventually started buying air fresheners with cute designs for his rearview mirror that he thought Irene would like.
He wonders how Irene and Benicio are doing.
About 50 miles back, his vision had started to unbearably blurry. It's hard to tell if it's from the aching wound in his abdomen or possibly the fact he hasn't slept in a few days. Maybe a mix of both.
Driver is good at what he does: driving. He's driven with blurry vision before. Some nights during getaways if he was working a stunt job while working his normal mechanic job for Shannon he would sometimes get blurry vision due to lack of sleep or not eating enough. He could probably drive the streets of LA blindfolded with how good he is at what he does.
The issue at hand is that his stab wound had opened again.
He sits parked on the side of the road, staring forward blankly at the empty road, hand pressing into his abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. Occasionally, every few minutes a car or two would pass by. It was early nighttime and the road was only slightly illuminated by two old looking streetlamps. He has no idea where he is, only knowing he’s somewhere deep in Wisconsin.
Driver lets out an agonizing groan as he's hit by a sudden sharp shooting pain, his vision going out for a few seconds. His breathing labors as an alarming amount of blood warms his gloved hand, bleeding through the fabric of his ruined jacket. His head feels like it's filled with cotton, making it difficult to keep his thoughts steady. He needs to act fast.
He grabs the gas station keychain from his cupholder. The keychain was the gas station logo, a red house with fairly sharp pointed edges and the name of the gas station chain on it, Caseys. He takes a deep breath, placing the keychain gently on his thigh. He then takes his hand to his mouth, taking the leather glove in his teeth to rip it off, discarding it onto the floor of his car. He then takes the keychain and digs one of the corners of it straight into the center of his right palm.
He lets out a pitiful sound that can only be described as a whimper as the metallic keychain digs deeper into his flesh, drawing a good amount of blood. He feels absolutely pathetic. His head clears for a few seconds, before the wave of fog covers his brain again. He keeps a tight grip on the keychain, the pain helping keep his mind a bit more alert.
Watching another car speed by, Driver clenches his jaw. What does he even do from here? If he goes to a hospital, he wouldn't be able to pay the hospital bills. He could flee from the hospital but then what? Where is he even going? Is there even any place he could go where he would be safe?
These thoughts play on loop in his head as he stares at the road, his face blank. His thoughts start to come slower as his breathing grows more ragged. He could try and go for the sewing needle in his glove box however he feels so weak he doesn't want to risk leaning forward to make the wound bleed more.
The loud slam of a car door sounds from in the distance. Driver knows for a fact that he's dying. His brain is starting to play tricks on him. The amount of blood loss he has experienced in the past few days is impacting the amount of oxygen that is going to his brain and-
There's a knock on his car window.
Turning his head takes greater effort than it should. Outside the car stood a tall man with a good amount of meat on his bones. It's hard to fully make out his face but Driver can see one thing clearly. He has the most beautiful eyes Driver has ever seen. His eyes are large and this lovely dark brown color with overly long eyelashes. It reminds him a lot of Irene’s eyes, yet much softer in a way. (He didn't even know that was possible.)
The man suddenly turns away from Drivers car, facing the road. Driver watches him for a few seconds. He should be throwing open his door, jumping on the man and throwing him in a headlock. This stranger could be someone after him for all he knows. However, Driver is in no state where he could pull that off. He doubts he could even stand on his own currently.
After about ten seconds, the man suddenly turns back and to Driver’s surprise, throws open his car door.
“Okay, uh, don't worry. I'm going to get you to a hospital, okay? Can you walk?” The man’s voice is soft as he stumbles over his words, looking at Driver's wound in horror. The way the streetlights hit the man, it hides more of his face now. The lights reflect from behind his head in an angelic way that looks almost like a halo through Driver's already blurry vision.
Now, Driver was never fully religious. He had gone to church a handful of times in his early childhood, however, he never call himself fully religious by any means. Some nights though, it did linger in the back of his head as a small comfort. But in this moment there was only one conclusion his oxygen deprived brain could come to.
This man with large, beautiful, brown eyes was an angel here to save him.
While Driver focuses on coming to insane conclusions in his head, the ‘angel’ has started to reach over to unbuckle Driver's seatbelt. He then stands up straight and takes a sharp breath, as if preparing himself.
“I’m gonna have to touch you to help walk you to my car. I’ll try and be gentle” He apologizes, while putting on thick snowgloves.
Driver groans as he's pulled out of his car, stumbling and almost body slamming into the figure helping him. Is it a sin to body slam an angel? Anyways, the two stumble, and hands grab onto Driver's arms, keeping him standing. The pain from being pulled out of the car hits him like a truck, his vision going black for what feels like a few seconds.
His vision comes back with the world spinning so fast he can't see anything clearly. He's leaning against something, or someone.
“Watch your head. You can lay in the backseat, just don't fall asleep. I think that's the saying in movies.” Someone explains. Driver squints and realizes he's being put in someone's backseat.
He has no clue what's happening anymore.
Driver is able to crawl into the backseat completely on his own. His body feels stiff, sort of similar to how he felt after falling asleep on Irene’s couch a few months back. He leans his back against the door on the other side of the backseat as the other door is slammed shut.
A sharp pain shoots through his right hand suddenly. He inspects his hand in a haze, realizing he's holding something that's partially inside his flesh. His vision is spotted and blurry so he struggles to read what the object says, mumbling it out loud to himself. Oh, it's that stupid gas station keychain.
Someone asks him a question, however he can't quite understand the words that were spoken. Driver looks up with great difficulty, his head heavy.
The person in the driver seat is looking back at him, his face hidden from the lack of light. His silhouette is illuminated by the soft streetlamps outside. It looks like a painting in a museum. Driver stares, his brain struggling to keep up as his vision starts to fade out. He then looks down at himself, laying bleeding out in some random backseat. Pathetic.
Do angels drive cars?