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Driver has gotten himself into many situations in his life, and when he was given a second chance he tried to stay out of them. Going from a getaway driver with strict time limits, to facing off against a wannabe mob to just a mere mechanic had been a bit of a life change. It was a much needed one, the scar on his abdomen agreed with that, but San Francisco life was colder and unfamiliar. He circled streets, almost like a way to calm his nerves.
Life was better when he was familiar with the streets around him after all. Knowledge could calm his nerves, stop him from gritting his teeth or playing with the near constant toothpick in his mouth to stop his smoking urges. It had gotten worse with time, maybe from the after effects of all the trouble he got himself into, but it felt like he'd never be able to go without something in his mouth now.
But now, it seemed, fate decided his life had gotten too calm.
He'd just been doing his usual rounds, early in the morning down empty streets and alleys. Drive's hand gripped the wheel of his Malibu, the only thing kept from a life left far behind, and focused on his turns. They were quick but precise, he was the best driver around for a reason after all. No time wasted as he adjusted the gear shift, just enough to adjust the body properly around the corner.
That's when he saw yellow fill his entire vision and multiple crashes, a sharp noise of metal against pavement.
Shit.
Driver lifted his foot off the gas and slammed the brakes, cringing at the screech of metal. He's never hit someone before- at least not intentionally, and of course it had to be after the fact he was on the run from practically every organization.
He bit down on the toothpick with his canine, wriggling it with his tongue. It was sharp there, and he let the pain keep him focused. Driver rolled his shoulders as he turned off the car and put his hand on the car door, pushing it open. He calmly rounded the body of his Malibu, looking at the chipped paint on his roof.
Fuck.
Behind his car was the person he hit, a cyclist. The man had a bright yellow rain coat on as he was sprawled face first on the pavement. The helmet he had on was thoroughly cracked, almost split open if it wasn't for the very back and the chin strap. An accordion folder of papers was knocked over in a mess, the elastic broken to let them fan out on the ground.
There was a little bit of blood in the road, dripping from the man's face and Driver gritted his teeth, coming closer. He couldn't leave the guy here, especially when he was driving his personal car.
He rolled over poor Mr. Raincoat onto his back, cringing at the road rash. It was on the man's face from his jaw to his temple on the right side of his face, evidence of him sliding on the asphalt. Driver tilted the man's face up, trying to examine him.
The man was a little scruffy, dirty blond hair all in a mess. The helmet came off easily as Driver discarded it to the side, heaving a heavy sigh. He brought a gloved hand to the man's left cheek, patting at it. Mr. Raincoat didn't have any sort of reaction to this, muscles stiff as if still braced in impact. Driver gave a small look around the empty street, nodding to himself.
He pulled his hand back and smacked the man properly, a snap sounding through the air around them.
It was at least effective!
Mr. Raincoat blinked awake, pupils blown wide. He swung himself up into a sitting position, shaking his head back and forth as he tried to readjust to the world of the living. He was very much out of it as he patted at his body and face, hissing as he felt the open wound on the right side of his face.
"Are you alright?" Driver shifted onto his feet, crouching beside the man. Mr. Raincoat's breath hitched in surprise as he turned to look at Driver. It seemed like he couldn't quite remember the right way to use his body, using his whole head and neck to look at Driver.
"Buh?" Was the nonsensical noise that came out the man's mouth. Driver raised a brow at him and Mr. Raincoat seemed to understand that he needed to try again, nodding his head. He brought a shaky hand up, curling in his fingers and putting up his thumb.
"I'm… Gud." Mr. Raincoat slurred, like his tongue was made of lead. Driver took in a breath through his teeth, tongue pressing on the toothpick again.
It was going to be a long morning.
"You might want to get to a medic." Driver suggested as he stood up. The bike was slightly under the trunk of his car, like it had entirely flipped over and under it. He left Mr. Raincoat alone to pull it out, observing around the crash. He pulled it out to the side, standing out of the way to watch what would happen.
"I-I have a nurse." Mr. Raincoat said, like a sudden realization. He slapped his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, stumbling forward. Driver really didn't think that the man was ready to go more than a few steps and furrowed his brow as he pulled away to assist.
"You don't seem old enough for a personal nurse." Driver mumbled, like a joke would lighten up this kind of situation at all. Miraculously, it seemed like the right move thought, Mr. Raincoat sputtering out a laugh and smiling before feeling the tightness of pain in his face and stopping.
"That… that was good." Mr. Raincoat praised, turning to pat Driver on the shoulder. His hand was unsteady but it seemed like the longer he was up the more he readjusted. The man took in a heavy breath that made Driver tense. "You're very nice to stop and help me."
Huh?
Driver blinked for a moment, looking into those clear blue eyes. He slowly nodded his head, fiddling with his toothpick. This was a… easy way out it seemed, taking advantage of the poor man's concussion and confusion to just make himself into a good samaritan.
"Anybody worth their shit would." Driver muttered, looking away from Mr. Raincoat. His throat felt tight with the lie, knowing that he'd have been a useless bystander if it wasn't him who hit the cyclist with his car. Maybe this second chance at life in a new city also meant he could make bigger changes, especially faced with this naive man.
Was he taking advantage of the man's kindness? Maybe. But Driver was never going to be a saint.
Mr. Raincoat wobbled around momentarily, looking at the scene. He continuously nodded to himself as if he was taking in the area fully through his concussion. He looked at his bike and went to it, kicking at the wheel. It was fully bent and didn't roll smoothly, gravity pulling the bent side back down. The frame of the bike was also dinged up some, a little uneven but not snapped at least.
"That's not good." The man mumbled, mostly to himself. His brows were knit in concentration, seemingly regaining a bit of focus. Driver rounded around the man to go behind him, idly scooping up the papers off the ground. They had a label of 'Study Guide' on them, each set of stapled pages having different names and handwriting.
He'd hit a teacher with his car. Who was presumably on the way to work.
Fuck.
Driver came back up behind Mr. Raincoat, putting a hand on his back. He jolted a little bit but leaned into it, like even he knew he was too unstable.
"OH!" The man gasped as he grabbed the papers, dusting them off. He looked at them carefully, cringing at ripped pages and bent corners. The blood from his cheek was slowly sliding down his face and Driver sighed, tilting the man's head back. "I needed to give these back for the exam today- WAIT I'm proctoring!"
That sent the man into a stumbling tizzy, slamming shut the accordion folder and wrapping the broken elastic along the two dots. He was nervously mumbling under his breath as he looked around, hooking his foot in the helmet strap to fling it up into his arms.
"You know I'm always telling my kids to wear these things." Mr. Raincoat talked quickly, like words couldn't be separated in his train of thought. "And they always shrug me off! I will now be living proof for them that they need to be wearing their helmets."
Driver watched the man scramble around, seemingly still confused. His eyes were squinted and he leaned over to look around, searching. Driver bit down on the toothpick a little harder, feeling the wood creak. He gave a brief glance around until he spotted the shine of glass.
A pair of glasses was bent in the road, a few feet away. Driver shook out his shoulders as he was the first to move, picking them up. He twisted the arm of the glasses in his hands, watching the pair swivel in his hands.
One of the lenses was a little scratched up at the top, slightly out of its frame. Driver carefully pushed it back into its spot until he heard the click of it slotting into its spot. The other arm was badly bent but when he fiddled with it in his gloves the metal was surprisingly bendable, able to shift back into place just enough.
He sighed in relief and stepped forward to the man, getting in the range of sight. Driver lifted up the frames into view before looking at Mr. Raincoat's full hands. He leaned in closer to the older man, carefully sliding the glasses on without rubbing against the road rash too much.
"O-h! There we go." Mr. Raincoat blinked his eyes a few times, smiling before remembering his cheek. "Thank you…."
"Driver." The name came out easily to him at this point, even if it didn't quite make sense. He pressed his lips together as he watched the teacher nod, fumbling with the things in his arms to free up his hand.
"Ryland Grace." He waited for Driver to shake his hand and squeezed it, the warmth of the contact traveling through the glove. "Thank you for the assistance again, that was nice of you."
Driver shrugged his shoulders, hoping the man wouldn't take much offense. In his few experiences teachers were grouchy and strict, drilling into the students like all that would matter in life was school. He thought that kind of thought was bullshit, especially since he got onto his feet without much of it.
Mr. Grace didn't seemed bothered by his silence at all though, instead beaming at him. Driver shifted on his feet, just enough to back up some, and let a small huff pass through his lips. It wasn't the cold or cruel reaction he anticipated, like the man could see past something as small as silence.
It was unnerving.
"Let me take you to school." Driver tilted back his head as he made the offer, tensing out his shoulders. He watched the man before him go through several emotions plainly on his face, like his first reaction was to be polite and deny it just because, before realizing his situation.
"That… would be lovely." Is the words Mr. Grace finally chose after deliberating it momentarily. An open book, a warm open book, completely unlike the life Driver was used to.
Driver jerked his chin over to the car, wordlessly telling the man to sit. Mr. Grace seemed to fumble for a moment before he started to move, steps stiff. Driver sighed out a breath before pressing his tongue against the toothpick. He picked up the crumpled bike from the ground with a single hand and opened the trunk, putting it inside.
Another step of a new life would be fixing his wrongs.
He knew that was just the right thing to do, but Driver knew he was doing it for all the wrong reasons.
The red paint scratched against his car was the same as the crumpled bike down before him. If he fixed it up, repainted it, and fixed the body of his car, then it would be like nothing happened. He couldn't get blamed for this if Mr. Grace never realized anything after all.
Driver slammed the trunk shut.
He took in a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons was okay, actions mattered more than pleasantries. He nodded to himself as he kept his mind on moving forward, just like it was always nowadays.
Just another step forward.
Driver rounded his car to the driver's side, opening it to slide inside. Mr. Grace was sat stiffly in the passenger side, like he couldn't bare to touch something lest he ruined it. This car was tainted enough, not that the teacher could know, but it was a farcry attitude to his usual passengers.
"Here." Driver reached around behind the passenger seat, pulling out a container of tissues. He passed them off to Mr. Grace before pawing around the back a little more, pulling out an unopened plastic bottle of water. The man was dryly patting his wound, observing himself in the side view mirror.
Driver pulled out a few of the tissues before cracking open the bottle. He pressed the tissues to the spout and tipped over the bottle, wetting them. A soft grunt left his throat to grab Mr. Grace's attention. The man turned with raised brows, his features soft and open.
Driver couldn't help but wonder if that's why he became a teacher. He was understanding and attentive, ready to face anything. Driver leaned over the center console as he gently dragged the wet tissues over the man's right cheek. Mr. Grace let out a sharp breath but closed his eyes, letting it happen. Most of the tension seemed to be from the dried blood that dripped into the scruff of the man's beard.
Driver scrubbed there a little harder, teeth clenched as he concentrated. He was careful not to touch the actual open wound part that hard, just dotting the spot gently. It wasn't an awful amount of blood at least, and the man's concussion would be minor at best.
"I could've handled it." Mr. Grace sighed as he pulled away when Driver had stopped, opening his eyes again. He looked at himself in the side mirror, tilting his head here and there. It wasn't pretty, but it could surely heal without hospital intervention.
"You could have." Driver agreed, shifting away. "But you shouldn't get blood on your hands." He added, rolling his shoulders.
"Ah, yea, wouldn't be a good look for a teacher." Mr. Grace nodded his head, as if understanding entirely. Driver let out a low hum at that, biting down on his toothpick. He shifted in his seat and brought his seat belt over his chest, letting Mr. Grace draw his own conclusions.
"Where do you work?" Driver turned the key in his ignition, hearing the engine purr to life. Mr. Grace opened his mouth for a moment, sitting agawk for a moment. Driver raised a brow in concern, watching the man pat around his person. Hands slid over pant pockets and through his jacket, before pulling at his collar. Mr. Grace tugged the identification card out from behind his sweater via his lanyard, eyes scanning it.
"Grover Cleveland Junior High." Is finally what the teacher managed to get out, nodding his head. Driver let out a low hum, wondering if this man truly was fit to go to work, but that wasn't his decision. "Thank you, again, really. I doubt people would be as nice as to offer a ride."
The compliment made Driver's throat go tight again, and he flexed his hands over the steering wheel. The man beside him seemed like he just easily saw the best without barely knowing any of the facts. It felt… wrong, watching someone wear their heart on their sleeve and offer kindness so easily.
Most certainly when it was being offered to someone like him.
"Its what I do." Is all Driver managed to bite out. He couldn't outright accept the compliment, not with his hands as tainted as they were, but he also couldn't deny it. If he denied it the conversation would either turn into Mr. Grace pep talking him like he was an actual child, or into awkward needling into why he thought that. It was easiest to just move on entirely.
So Driver stepped on the gas.
Mr. Grace startled a little, bracing himself back against the seat. He sat so straight there might as well been a pole in his back, like that's the only thing he was meant to do. It reminded him a little of how he used to overcorrect his posture during stunts, bracing for impact that never came.
Driver lessened his foot on the gas, just enough. There was no point in driving fast in back streets like these, not when he had a normal, everyday person in the car. It didn't seem to stop Mr. Grace from tensing his shoulders, but his brows were evened out now.
"You- uh… Like driving fast?" Mr. Grace offered a feeble attempt at small talk. Driver was not one for such things but he had to amuse the poor man at least a little bit. He nodded his head as he kept his eyes on the road, squeezing the steering wheel tighter.
"Ah, yea my brother is the same. He does stunts and whenever they get him in a good car like this he always pushes the poor thing to its limits. He's the kind of guy who if you'd let him he'd do dumb stuff like street racing. At least when its early and empty like this you don't really run the risk of much." Mr. Grace suddenly started to ramble, like a cork had been taken out of his spout. It was less sporadic than earlier, more like he was trying to fill a pregnant pause. Driver just nodded his head, tilting it as he looked at the teacher for a second before putting his eyes back on the road.
"Me?" Mr. Grace took the head tilt as a question, deciding to continue. "Ah, no, no way. I don't have a bike just for the fresh air. I mean… I have a license, I kinda can, but I'm really scared of it. My hands shake as soon as I feel the steering wheel in my palms. I'm not calm and cool like guys like you, too much in my head at once." Mr. Grace went on for a bit.
It was a different kind of noise compared to the radio, jumpy, personable. It was far better conversation than he had working as a getaway driver, legal, for one, and just… normal. It was clear that the teacher was nervous by the way he tended to let his words pour out, but the silence between them felt heavier.
Like every moment of Mr. Grace silently thinking was one step closer to everything falling apart.
Unnerving maybe. Mr. Grace seemed to analyze every little thing that passed him by. Big blue eyes taking in minuscule details and committing them to memory. He had the eyes of someone who managed to know too much with very little information given, the warm aura around him masking a chilling cunning nature.
Or maybe Driver was just paranoid.
This was a school teacher after all, someone who hadn't even realized he was in the car of the person who hit him.
The drive wouldn't take forever but Driver felt himself easily responding to Mr. Grace's efforts of conversation. He nodded along, hummed, and grunted when applicable to fill the silence, his brain swimming with the words that rattled inside. In one way none of the topics felt connected, but when the teacher slowed down just enough they easily flowed into one another. Anything and everything, a hyperactive air of knowledge and discussion fueled by one man alone.
It was only a quick few minutes of driving to get to the school, the long stretch of driveway behind it a busy path. Driver sighed in relief as he pulled into it, Mr. Grace quieting as he looked around. Other teachers and staff meandered around, and Driver stiffened in his seat. He pulled up and around to the front, rolling the Malibu to a halt. Mr. Grace turned to him and smiled, soft and warm, highlighted by the early morning sun.
"Let me." Driver grunted as he leaned over the console, the gearshift pressing into his torso. He let out a tense breath as he opened the door for the teacher, letting the man gather his things as he swiveled his legs out of the car and shut the door.
"Thank you." Mr. Grace hummed, standing up on the sidewalk. He shook out his legs and looked around, eyes rather calm as he took in the school and its inhabitants. He put one foot in front of the other and Driver felt himself tense, staring at the man's back.
"Hey." His voice was a little louder as he called out. It was enough to make Mr. Grace jolt, but he still turned around. One arm held onto his folder and broken helmet as the other braced against the car, leaning in through the window. There was a slight tilt to his head, two pairs of eyes meeting that felt… intense. Driver slipped his hand into his jacket, thumbing past other things to pull out a business card.
"Give me a call when you're done." Driver murmured, holding the card between two hands. Mr. Grace tilted his head further, like he was wordlessly showing his confusion. Driver felt a little smile pull at his lips but he kept it down. He reached up and slipped the business card into the collar of the mans sweater, pulling back."I work in a shop. I'll try and get your bike fixed up. If it is I'll drive you home and drop it off, if not I'll get you tomorrow too."
Mr. Grace blinked in surprise as he pulled away. His lips were pursed as he looked like he was going to fight it more for a second. Driver tightened his hands on the steering wheel, wondering if something had finally clicked in the man's head about this being an unnatural amount of good will. He squeezed his stack of papers tightly and nodded his head, lips thin as he pressed them together instead.
"Thank you." Is all the teacher said, eyes going soft. "I'll be owing you some dinner then."
It made Driver flinch a little as he looked away, weakly nodding his head. There was no way the teacher could truly owe him anything other than insurance claim, and the back of his neck felt hot as he thought more about it. Still, all Mr. Grace did chuckle softly before pulling away, walking up the sidewalk to school.
Did that mean Driver was in the clear? Had Mr. Grace connected the dots or not? Driver was left with more questions then he was comfortable having. He leaned forward to watch the teacher enter the school, looking like he had a pep in his step despite all the odd glances he got.
Well… Driver could live with that then.
The teacher swiveled on his heel just slightly, looking over his shoulder. Driver stared back and slowly raised his hand, watching Mr. Grace wave back. Hm… His face felt a little hot...
"Dr. Grace?! Did you get hit by a car?!" A concerned student pointed at the teacher, horror etched on her face. Driver felt himself go cold white, foot hovering over the gas pedal. Mr.- Apparently Doctor, Grace just laughed and patted the girl on the shoulder, walking into the building and out of sight.