Chapter Text
Driver heard most of their conversation as they moved about in the outer part of the apartment. He needed more sleep before he could withstand more conversation with Colt, especially if he was going to be interrogating him about things—again. So, he remained quiet and let the sandwich he’d eaten digest while he grew more sleepy.
“Want to join me in the basement for a load of laundry?” Ryland sounded so exhausted, and because he’d been looking out for him… An uncomfortable sensation made his insides squirm. Ryland was so thoughtful, and had done a lot to take care of him…
“I needed to wash clothes anyway, and now I’ve got bloodstains to remove from some of them. So… Better to do that now that it's getting into the evening. Oh.. and I have school in the morning. This weekend has gone by incredibly fast.”
“Yeah, Ry, I can. Not worried he’ll get jumped now, or something?” Driver snorted silently, it hadn’t been likely, but not impossible.
“No.. I think. If anyone was going to show up, they would have already. So.” He hoped that was true. He tried to cover his tracks on returning to the apartment. This area wasn’t nearly as watched as the places he frequented in LA. He was pretty sure he’d gotten away with it. All of it.
“And.. he’s made it almost two days without signs of something happening to his health. I think it’ll be okay. And… maybe he’d like some peace from people for a while. I mean.. He lives alone, he’s probably not used to people being in his space..”
Not when it’s you, he thought with a pang, because he liked Ryland in his space. In a different situation, he liked Colt, too, and wouldn’t mind him in his space.
“Makes sense. I’ll help you carry stuff. You still look exhausted.”
”I am.. I haven’t slept in my bed since…. Thursday?” Driver flinched a little at that. God. Ryland deserved better than all this. He needed his rest, and to sacrifice it for him…
”Ry… You’re a dummy, sometimes, you know that? But.. It’s just how you are. And, I dunno. If it were me, I know you’d be a mess. So I can’t even say it's out of the norm for you.”
He heard Ryland scoff, exasperated. “You’re my brother, it makes sense I would do this kind of thing for you. But I’d also have taken you to a hospital, because they could care for you better than I could.”
The rest of their words were lost to Driver then, because his ears started ringing loudly, as he replayed that last bit Ryland said.
It makes sense that I would do this kind of thing for you.
As if it didn’t make sense what he did for Driver. He wondered if Ryland was regretting his decisions. Or was it just that… Ryland didn’t understand it himself, why he chose to help. It was plain enough to Driver why he did… Because Ryland was a good man, and wouldn’t leave an injured person like that. Especially with the possibility of bleeding to death.
But I’d also have taken you to a hospital, because they could care for you better than I could.
Maybe that was the difference. Ryland could have insisted on calling 911, forced him to go to the hospital, kept himself mostly out of it while ensuring that Driver didn’t just lay there and die.
Would he have respected a total stranger’s refusal to be taken to an ER? Probably not… So why..
Driver’s thoughts lingered on that cyclical round of thoughts for a while. Uselessly wondering about the motivations of a man like Ryland. And what it meant that he chose to step outside his comfort zone to help Driver against his normal instincts. He had done just fine tending his wounds, but he would much rather leave it in the hands of professionals. The trauma kit he thought he would never have to use was put together for peace of mind; meant to be a ‘just in case’. The hope was it wouldn’t have to be used. Not for real, anyway. That must be why it was missing some essentials, wasn’t it? Numbing gels or some emergency painkillers for more serious accidents.
Something about that night hit Driver in ways he didn’t understand. It was funny and serious at the same time. A silent bubbling of laughter shook his body, producing fresh flares of pain, but he couldn't hold it in. He laughed silently until more tears fell. Then he just slowly sank back down into the bed to rest.
He dozed off, but not for long. Something buzzed under his skin. A need to get away. To run and hide, the same instinct he had his whole life. Hide from his mother’s hysteria, hide when too much of his father’s whiskey was gone. Run—away from home, away from Phoenix. Don’t live in the same place for more than a few months. Always move to a different apartment every few months. Run away from LA, and Irene. He would have run away from the situation with Nino and Bernie Rose, too, but—Irene, and little Benicio. And they’d killed Shannon.
Dread filled him, grief ached like his wounds. He had never killed before; let alone with intent. All he did was drive. Play a part: ferry the people doing the crimes. Of course it was still a crime to drive them. But, for his own distorted morality, it was fine. It’s why he carried no weapons, didn’t help with the crimes themselves. All he did was drive. Until Nino, and the double-cross on Standard. Then Bernie Rose killed Shannon. He knew it must be him; the barely disguised threat when he talked about how unlucky Shannon was. The last, and worst of it, was when he threatened Irene and Benicio. Driver had killed Nino and Bernie with intent.
Driver shot up out of bed as if he’d been shocked. He couldn’t stay here. If anything happened to Ryland and his brother now, there was no way it wasn’t connected to him, and his actions. He felt cold and sick as he struggled into clothing. He didn’t have long, they would be back too soon, he had to try to be away before then. It was easier that way. The only way this ended well for Ryland, right?
He sat to breathe for a moment, winded and hurting again. He heard the approaching footsteps with a thrill of panic..but it was only one set..Heavy steps. Colt. Driver rolled over on the bed and covered himself with the blanket. His breath was too loud, too fast, but he concentrated to calm it as the door opened.
Colt moved around the apartment with casual speed. First the kitchen, next he paused at the bedroom door, then to the bathroom. Driver heard him take a piss, and he left again. That was easier than anticipated. He sat up too quickly, the world bucking and yawing unpleasantly. The static in his ears was the sound of his heart beating too loudly, and the pain ramping up. He took a handful of painkillers from the bottles Ryland left on the bedside table, and got back to it.
The bag in the back of the closet was coming with him, he shoved a change of clothes into it, as well as the painkiller bottles, and moved into the kitchen. This was a ludicrous decision, leaving while barely being able to walk straight. He was flinching at his own aches with every few steps. If he’d slept more, and wasn’t relying on the survival mode he’d lived in all his life, he may have realized it was a mistake.
Being stuck in survival mode, his brain does not wait. He isn’t making rational decisions. The brain acts on what it thinks you need to survive, and that has always worked for him before. His jacket was gone, Ryland must have it, down in the laundry. A loss he would have to live with. It was fine if Ryland kept it. He took half of the sandwich ingredients with him, too. He would need more food soon.
At the door, he looked back at the sparse space he’d occupied the last two months. All of his living situations looked like this, minus the remains of the blood stains. Which, it seemed, Ryland had dutifully been scrubbing away at some point. His chest ached, a fiery emotional pain, that someone tried so hard for him. The door opened under his hand, slowly, still lingering on it. The yellow sticky note from days ago was still there on the outside, its corners tattered and bent.
Driver unfolded it to read the name ‘Kenneth’ in blue ink. Him, a Kenneth? No, definitely not. But… There was a name, it lingered in his mind. The one Ryland, in his need to give him a name to work with, settled on. Casey. It was simple, and not as common. He liked the way Ryland said it, too.
Only minutes later, the door closed. He’d left the spare key on the table.
On the inside of the door, he left a pink sticky note.
The Skylark would remain where it was, for now. He needed to deal with the Mustang first, and made a mental note to never drive Mustangs again. They were decent cars, but this was not the first time things had gone wrong in a Mustang, for him. He didn’t need to find out again, if there was more than coincidence to go on.
The inside of the Mustang smelled of old blood, the dark brown of it staining various places in the driver seat and floorboards. No one had noticed, that he knew of, so. It was time to make it disappear. The night was cool and damp, he rolled the windows down to air out the smell.
He didn’t know what he planned to do. Get away for a while. Sleep. Think. Maybe nothing would change, maybe this would be the turning point he needed. Until then, his mind cast back to Ryland and Colt. They were trying to figure things out on his behalf. No ulterior motives, no lies, no manipulation or exploitation. What did they get out of it? What had he done to deserve that kind of kindness or care? Could he learn to be worthy of them?
Casey. Someone to become that was beyond his heist driving past, perhaps. If he would ever be worthy of finding real peace, he would have to set aside that aspect of his life for good. Striving to become a value added to the world around him, instead of a value lost. Not just another statistic of crime rates. Not like his brother had, against all logic.
Cory saved him from their father’s wrath. And they put him away for it. They took his only sense of peace and protection away from him, and he never saw or heard from Cory again.
He’d been running ever since.
Maybe he could try to stop running. Maybe. Maybe. But how. He had a lot of thinking to do.
—
“Gone? What do you mean he’s gone?” Ryland’s pulse was in his throat and ears, and he couldn’t breathe. They hadn’t been gone for that long. How could something have happened in that time?
”I mean, he’s not in his bed, he’s not in his apartment, he took off!” Colt explained, albeit he tried to keep the panicked tone just down from an actual shout. Ryland rushed to the window, the Skylark and Colt’s truck were both still out there.
“But how? I mean, he’s still fairly injured, and there’s no way he’s recovered enough blood to really function? Right?” Colt gestured with a wild shrug in response, as if he’d know anything about how actual blood loss worked.
“I don’t know, Ry. I really don’t—But like, he did this at that hospital, he disappeared from there, too, so—“
The laundry basket, which had been set on the kitchen table for the moment, clattered loudly across the kitchen, the freshly clean clothes scattering haphazardly. Ryland shouted—just once—his upset, his hands were in his hair, gripping tight. He’d held it together all weekend, barely, and thought maybe it was the downhill slide. He’d get some sleep, Casey would spend time healing, and Colt would help while he was here, and everything would be fine. Instead, the slide turned to avalanche; the boiling pot of almost overwhelming emotional distress finally bubbled over.
Ryland doubled over with a sob, let himself drop to his ass on the floor, and just let it the hell go. Colt watched for just a few seconds before he closed the space between them and sat beside his brother. He may have robbed himself of comfort during his bullshit—but he wouldn’t let Ry deal with this alone.
“Stop—just-leave me alone..!” Ryland shoved at his brother while Colt tried to pull him into a hug. He caught him with a flailing elbow a few times, but Colt persisted.
“I’m sorry, Ry. I’m sorry.. it’ll be alright,” he repeated the words as calmly as he could as Ryland finally stopped fighting, and let Colt hug him. He rocked them back and forth and let Ryland get the hurt out of his system. It was all just too much in too short a time, and he knew his brother would put his thinking brain back on after the storm passed. Sometimes, you just gotta get the stress out. Better than how Colt had gone about it, at least. And he tended to pick fights, rather than cry. Or. Cry while getting the shit kicked out of him. That was more accurate. Now Ryland had to deal with the emotional fall out of another failed attempt at making a meaningful connection with someone. It was something Colt was only now coming to understand about his brother, Ryland had always been a bright spark of a person, outspoken, empathic in a way he wasn’t. He felt so deeply about so much, he drew people into his orbit with a magnetism they both shared–but Ryland’s type of intensity was too much for people. He never knew it was to this extent, and he wished he’d paid better attention to his brother. Ryland had always been better at hiding his hurt, until it built up to a breakdown like this.
What bewildered Colt the most though, he had been in Driver’s apartment only a short time before. He hadn’t told Ryland he went up to look in on him, but he must have left right after that. How could they have known it would happen? They couldn’t, of course.
Later, after Ryland calmed down, they both went to Driver’s apartment, and looked around. Colt found the key left on the table, they both noted what else was missing besides Driver himself. Ryland was quiet, and it hurt to see how down he was. There didn’t seem to be a point in speculating, not with how tired Ryland was, and no other evidence to use to determine new information.
“I just… I’ll deal with this tomorrow. I have to sleep, I can’t miss work.” Ryland was walking despondently toward Colt at the door. The kids would already ask questions he didn’t have good answers to, because he knew how exhausted he looked, and one night of sleep wouldn’t erase that easily. If he didn’t show up tomorrow, at such short notice? A lot more questions would be asked that he didn’t have good answers for. It was better to just–shove the hurt and desire for answers down, save it for later.
He looked up at his brother, and saw the bright pink in the otherwise dim lighting at the door. He reached past Colt, who hadn’t noticed the note, and pulled it off the door as his breath caught in his throat.
“Oh, hey.. What’s it say?” Colt asked. Fresh tears slipped silent down Ryland’s cheeks when he opened it. He knocked his glasses off his face as he wiped hard at his tears and held the note out to Colt.
In small, neat handwriting was one word, underlined once. A name, actually. Driver’s name.
Casey.