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Date & Time: Noon of 3/28
Location: Abandoned school parking lot out in the city!!
Characters: Bariyan (

stonefaith), Martin Darkov (

theguideless)
Summary: More driving shenanigans! More driving shenanigans gone WRONG.
Warnings: watch out there's a darkov behind the wheel

Bariyan was beginning to feel just a little bit hopeful about Martin's driving lessons. The kid was doing all right now. He could sort of navigate his way around the parking lot, at least. Bariyan still wouldn't trust him to, say, try and maneuver his way up a mountain road while being chased by overpowered masked freaks. But Bariyan didn't exactly trust himself to do that sort of thing either.

After their last lesson, he'd told Martin to meet him at the parking lot again, today, at noon. Bariyan had arrived much earlier than that, mostly on account of having little else to do. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes or so lounging against the hood of the sedan watching the clouds make their slow roll across the sky and thinking idle thoughts.

He liked having the lessons. He was just trying to decide what it was that he liked about them: the teaching, the car, the way that time suddenly passed much faster, or maybe even Martin's company. Or all of them? In any case, it was a rather odd feeling. In all the time since his resurrection, this was the first time he'd ever felt anything but hollow misery.

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He took notice of Martin's trouble staying within the boundaries of the road. Which, to be fair, Bariyan was hardly any good at either. He'd never worried much about sharing the road here or back home and so he had a tendency to simply drive where he liked, which was often smack in the middle of the street. But he understood that this was generally frowned upon.

"Here." Bariyan leaned over and down to get to Martin's eye level, trying to get a feel for the other's point of view. Gods, it was a low point of view.

Then he pointed out a point between the window and the dashboard. "Focus on that. Try to get the lines on the road to line up with that spot."

"Uh--"

The closer Bariyan got, the further Martin sank, half out of habit and half out of need to breathe without the smell and creeping feeling at the back of his neck. As he slid, his foot gradually sank down on the pedal, speeding the scene ahead up as he peered through the gap in the wheel where Bariyan was pointing.

"Uh, Bariyan--"

Bariyan drew back, only to look at Martin and return his personal space to him.

"Yes?" He glanced out the window, then down at Martin again and added, "Might want to ease up on that pedal there."

He breathed, like someone who'd just surfaced from a dive, sinking back in the seat, digging his heels into the mat of the floor to push himself up to see. The pull of the car speeding up made the uneasy feeling in his stomach worse; he lifted his foot away only to realize he'd...already done that.

"I...I did..."

It possibly took Bariyan just a little too long to figure out the implications of that. And definitely too long to figure out what to do about it.

What? How? No, Martin's foot was far away from the pedal and the vehicle was still accelerating... Fuck.

First thing he did was look out the windows again, though his gaze flicked fast from place to place. Buildings all alongside, of course, they were still within the city. They wouldn't want to steer off the road and risk a crash-- and oh, gods, Martin's steering was hardly the best--

Bariyan immediately went for the wheel, making a gentle but firm attempt to get Martin to let go in the process.

"Shift us into neutral. The 'N'. Be quick about it," he said, eyes on the road, voice almost deadpan in order to hide panic.

"I, I-I--"

Martin's mind went blank. All the lessons in the world weren't worth a grain of salt if they couldn't take hold for the times they were meant. A trouble he'd had well before Exsilium.

The feeling didn't register right away, like water gradually turning very, very hot. Martin winced, recoiling sharply and shrinking into the seat. Not again, not again!

"I--What?!" he cried, a little shrill. Listen, stupid!

Too slow. Somewhere in the back of Bariyan's mind -- the part of him that realized he wasn't in danger -- thought that a lesson could be taught here. Or a good example made. But the slightly more practical part of Bariyan realized that Martin was still very much alive and that death would not look good on him.

Bariyan let go of the wheel with one hand to switch into neutral himself. But there was one thing that he had to get Martin to do.

"Martin. Step down on the brakes. Now." Deadpan, and loud to boot. It was the voice he used to talk to his partners back home. The ones who sometimes wouldn't start listening until you smashed them in the face with a brick.

Martin could feel his limbs going numb very quickly, giving the dreadful feeling in his stomach all the more power. No more breathing, only panic; his fingers curled into the fabric of the seat as hard as they could, heels pressed up against the base and knees tight together, shoulders drawn up and as tense as the rest of him.

He stared straight ahead without blinking. If anything admirable came out of frozen horror, it was at least being able to watch his own doom transpire.

Seeing no response from the boy, Bariyan quietly swore to himself and went back to concentrating on the road. If it remained clear and straight then the damn thing would coast to a halt eventually -- maybe. But it was already rocky going with their speed and the state of these roads. And he was almost certain that they'd run into some sort of barricade soon.

One more try, then. Bariyan's voice was loud before: but this was an actual shout. He used to have a battlefield voice. His ruined throat had taken that away from him, but for a brief moment the tone of unquestionable command comes back to him.

"Darkov! Get the brakes!"

The roar in his ear went unheeded for precious seconds, his reaction delayed. But when it registered, it was a lightning strike jolting him to react thoughtlessly. He hunched over, clamping his hands over his ears. Once it clicked – Brakes? – his foot moved, stomping and searching for the brake.

The seat belts locked as he slammed the brake at last, yelping and recoiling at the heavy force of the stop. His foot hit the brake three more times as he caught himself not doing as told.

Halfway through Martin's first stomp on the brakes, Bariyan had started to steer the car slightly off to the side to avoid something in the road -- he hadn't even registered what it was, only that it was present. Distracted as he was, the stop took him by surprise when it did come and for one second he swore they were still going to crash, or flip the car, or....

Bariyan snapped back to attention. "Hold them." He wasn't yelling anymore, at least.

Holding was a bit beyond him; Martin's leg was shaking, causing a jittery stop, giving the brake pads a real workout. The shoulder strap dug into his collar sharply, but it hardly stopped him from trying to curl forward against it. His fingernails dug into the scalp.

Dead, he was thinking, despairing. I'm dead. Something's dead again.

Trying to control the wheel from this angle, while still strapped in, was growing awkward and difficult. So Bariyan unthinkingly freed himself from his seatbelt.

Since he now had a hand free, and since Darkov apparently wasn't listening again, Bariyan also went ahead and made an attempt to hold the boy's foot against the pedal by pressing his hand down on Martin's knee.

"I said hold." Eyes still on the road. Watching the world start to slow and still waiting for something even worse to happen.

The firm pressure on his leg, unexpected and unwanted, caused Martin to flinch, letting out a startled cry that staggered with a lack of fresh breath. It died off with a whine as he rocked back, then forward again, which unlocked the belt and sent his head down on the wheel. His hands dragged down from his ears and neck to the belt, curling his fingers tight around it.

"I ca--I can't--"

Bariyan forced himself to ignore Martin's misery as he steered the car around a nasty crack in the road. With only one hand his control was not as precise as it could have been so hit it anyway, and braced himself against the jolt.

But that appeared to be the worst of it. No more. Brakes down and cut from the engine, the car finally came to a halt. Bariyan killed the ignition immediately.

And paused. And let the horror catch up to him.

He let go of the wheel to pull away from Martin.

"Come on, Darkov. Out of the car." Bariyan threw his own door open. He wasn't sure why his first instinct was to get Martin out of there, other than the fact that it gave him a couple more seconds to try and come to terms with what had just happened. But that seemed unlikely to happen at all.

Martin's fingers curled until some of his nails found the heels of his palms, tightened and oblivious to the material in his grip. Can't.

He held his breath for as long as he could, lips curling into a toothy grimace, fighting sound and sadness to keep still. I can't. With one loud gasp (he couldn't hold his breath forever), he drew his leg back to him, curling up as much as he could against the shaking that overtook and made him feel ready to hurl.

The worst word: can't. I cannot. It was always true, even when he fought tooth and nail against it. No matter how hard he tried, nothing would change. Nothing. Couldn't go home, couldn't find Regina, couldn't seal a contract, couldn't fight for Father, couldn't...couldn't drive a car, which was probably not something to get very worked up about at all, but it was just one more little drop in a pool of negatives he was drowning in. Doing things was supposed to keep the truth at bay, maybe even change it.

You're supposed to get better if you try...

Bariyan stepped out first and, not entirely sure of what he was doing, checked the car. He couldn't see anything out of place. Obviously. He'd probably have to break it down to find the problem, but Bariyan wasn't sure he was good enough a mechanic to do that.

But when he was done looking the vehicle over and Martin still hadn't moved, Bariyan walked over to the other side of the car. He looked at Martin for the first time since the car had spun out of control and felt -- whatever he felt, Bariyan swallowed it down.

"Martin," he said, surprising himself with how level his voice was. "It's all right. It's over."

The words went unacknowledged from where Martin sat, wide-eyed and staring at the floor without focus. His forehead wrinkled with the effort taken to try and settle down, but he found himself shaking nonetheless. It never seemed to get better with demand to stop, he'd found, but rather to just lie down and endure it until either the shaking had worn down or he himself simply wore out of it and slept. Maybe throw up somewhere in there, but he hadn't eaten much at all yet.

Those were almost practical things for him, but they weren't on his mind, either. Bariyan's smell...it wasn't a happy scent, and it certainly didn't pin his frame of mind to the present. The car's rumbling had ceased, but Martin heard beasts in his ears and his name – not the reasonable tone of the now, but the alarm from the worst moment ever.

Tick-tock. Less than three months. Then she's dead, and it'll be my fault. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull his knees up from under the wheel.

I hate this I hate this I hate this so much. I'm so tired. I can't do anything. I'm trying but I hate everything.

Bariyan was starting to grow just as confused as he was worried. Yes, Bariyan did expect Martin to act nervous at times of high stress, as he always had previously -- and gods know they've went through more high stress in the last couple months than they should have -- but he hadn't expected a complete freeze-up like this.

He didn't know what to do. What would he have done? Before he died. Before any of that happened.

He couldn't recall.

Bariyan reached in through the open window to make sure Martin's door was unlocked, then went ahead and opened it for him. But he could not think beyond those few motions, let alone think of anything to say. Even if he did say anything, it didn't seem as if Martin was listening.

In the end, all he said was, "Take your time."

He walked away, off the road, onto the curb. Wondering at himself.

What would he have done?
He would have done better than that.

Minutes were ages to him then and there, fidgeting to hug his legs under the knees and squeeze them tightly against the shaking. It was miserable, no doubt pathetic...disgraceful. Nobody he ever knew was ever such a twitchy mess. Regina was scared a lot, too, but she could still accomplish things when she had to...

But she's going to get killed thanks to me. He gulped, burying his head against his knees, stifling his breath.

The sun was in a different place in the sky when he uncurled himself and grimaced into the light. It was too warm, even with the door open, with the sun glaring through the windshield. Definitely nowhere near Olvoski; the sun was much too big.

He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and under his stuffed-up nose, rediscovering where he was. It made him nervous; he ought to get out. Sluggishly, he fumbled to unbuckle and slide out, legs quavering unreliably enough to cause him to sit back down and let them dangle. He made an unhappy, nasally sound as he sat and stared at the shadows on the concrete for minutes before lifting his eyes, now as adjusted as they were going to get, upward.

He'd wanted to move. He wasn't used to staying in one place for so long. He'd always been on the move. But Bariyan forced himself to stay, because how could he even think about leaving Martin alone? He had a duty. But whether or not the bulk of that duty was to Martin was certainly debatable, even to himself.

He forced himself to think, instead. Not about what could have caused the malfunction but about what he could have done about it. Too many should-haves and what-ifs, too many and too late. They chewed away at him for a while and when he heard Martin finally make some sort of movement, Bariyan gladly took the opportunity to get away from his own thoughts.

"Hey." Bariyan moved over, stopping a couple feet away. "Talk to me." Say something, please.

Martin stared at – through – Bariyan for a good minute before blinking, reacting. He licked his lips and swallowed against the dry, tight pain in his throat. The corner of his mouth tugged a little as he considered the command.

"M'sorry," he croaked at last. That was all he ever seemed to say, but it was really the truest thing, wasn't it? Saying much more seemed too much of a hazard right then and there.

Bariyan saw it coming. He very nearly mouthed the apology along with Martin but had the good sense to stop himself. But now what? Everything he could say at this point seemed hollow and trivial.

He said it anyway. "I am too." Which was hollow, trivial, and wrong -- in the sense that Martin shouldn't have had anything to apologize for. But Bariyan let that slip.

Bariyan scratched his head and his gaze shifted away again. "I don't... know what happened back there. That's not normal. I should have moved faster--" --I'm sorry, he nearly said, which would have been redundant. So instead he simply cut himself off and stared off to the right, awkwardly.

"I shouldn't be here," Martin uttered, nearly talking over the last of Bariyan's words. It was a blanket statement, for sure; of course he shouldn't have been there – the meddlers of the Initiative were the reason he was there at all. But here meant more than the general. It's against the rules to talk to humans.

Let alone dead ones.

"I'm sorry."

Bariyan's gaze shifted back. "I know."

He didn't understand the implications, obviously, or even guess at them, only taking Martin's words at surface value. He felt guilty enough for that. He'd promised to help Martin find a way out of here and -- what had he done so far? A little. Not much. He wasn't even close to anything resembling a solution.

No, he could beat himself up over that later. That was a different matter.

Bariyan found it awkward to remain standing as Martin was sitting, so he stepped forwards and crouched down in front of Martin, resting his arms over his knees, looking away from the car and down the street again.

"That is really nothing you should apologize for, though," he said. And still struggling for words, he tacked on a vague, unrelated statement: "I haven't been... very good at this."

Gods, listening to himself was painful.

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