Drive (Real World AU) - Part 1
Devin breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the front door closed behind him. Dinner with his boss had gone well enough, even if Devin had spent most of the evening trying to remember which fork to use and wondering if he had food in his teeth. The boss’s wife seemed to have taken a liking to him, hugging him goodbye when he left, but the endless stream of polite conversation had been draining. Between that and his regular eight hours at the office today, Devin had had enough human interaction to last him a week. He was looking forward to going home, changing out of his work clothes, and plopping himself in front of the TV.
As he walked briskly through the well-kept, tree lined streets of his boss’s neighborhood, he began to relax. The soothing sound of branches rustling in the winter wind and the rush of cool night air in his lungs slowed his racing thoughts and eased his tense muscles. He had nearly reached the exit of the subdivision when pulsing blue lights illuminated the world around him.
“Oh, fuck no,” Devin muttered.
He stiffened from head to toe in an instant, resisting the urge to pull his hood up over his head. It would only make him look “suspicious,” as if the color of his skin wouldn’t already mark him as an outsider in a neighborhood like this. Squaring his shoulders, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and kept walking. He needed to stay calm, he told himself even as his pulse sped up and his head leapt into his throat. If only he could act as though he belonged here, maybe the cop would move on. Maybe he’d find someone else to harass.
No such luck.
Devin’s stomach sank into his boots as the police cruiser pulled up beside him and rolled to a stop, its driver-side window opening with a smug electronic whir. He stopped and turned to face the man inside, wishing he could keep walking instead and wondering what would happen if he did. Shaking his head to clear it, he composed his face into what he hoped was an agreeable expression.
“Any trouble, Officer?” Devin asked, his mouth dry.
“We’ve received reports of unusual activity in the area.” The officer was standard issue for this part of town--white, male, and old enough to be counting the days to retirement with a pension check fatter than his ass. He gave Devin a hard look. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything out of the ordinary, have you?”
Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Devin shook his head.
The policeman narrowed his eyes. “Mind telling me what you’re doing here, son?”
“Not your fucking son.” Devin muttered before he could stop himself.
“An attitude like that isn’t going to help your case, you know,” the cop said evenly.
“The fuck?” Devin demanded, the heavy dinner he’d eaten rolling unpleasantly in his stomach. His voice sounded too loud, so shrill it hurt his ears, but he couldn’t seem to control it. “What fucking case? Haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Of course you haven’t.” The policeman smiled, perfect teeth gleaming. “Now let’s see some identification.”
Devin bristled. “Don’t fucking think so,”
Springing from his seat with astonishing speed, the officer stood with one hand resting on his sidearm. “Excuse me?”
Taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to back away, Devin tried desperately to collect himself. He knew his rights, but he’d also read the news stories. It happened all the time in affluent neighborhoods like this, guys like him being beaten or shot for daring to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. At best, a wrong word could land him in jail for the night, and he’d already said several of them. He needed to quit while he was ahead, clean up his language and afford the policeman the respect he clearly believed he deserved.
“Don’t have to show you shit,” Devin heard himself replying, despite his best intentions. “You charging me with something or you just gonna chat me up all night? Far as I know, walking while brown’s not a fucking crime.”
“As a matter of fact, s--” The policeman stopped and cleared his throat, his eyes hard. It was difficult to be certain under the flashing blue lights, but Devin thought the older man’s pasty complexion had become ruddier as well. “--young man, this is a private residential area.” Unless you’ve got a good reason to be here, you’re trespassing, and trespassing is a crime.”
Wilting under the cop’s steady gaze, Devin wanted more than anything to look away. He forced himself to maintain eye contact, knowing that staring at the ground would only make him appear guilty. If he could just keep his stupid mouth shut--
“Don’t think that’s how trespassing fucking works,” he said, cursing himself inwardly even as the words left his lips.
Despite the chill of the evening, his palms began to sweat.
“You saying I don’t know the law, boy?” The officer’s face was definitely tinged with crimson now, a vein ticking away in his forehead. “Why don’t you come down to the station--”
“Fine,” Devin broke in, wondering if he sounded as scared as he felt. He could barely hear himself over the blood pounding in his ears. And yet, he was on a roll and couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Don’t have to get all hot and bothered. Wanna know why I’m here? Boss lives two streets down, was eating dinner at his house.”
“Your ‘boss,’ huh?” The policeman gave him a knowing look. “You holding, son?”
“Told you not to call me--” Devin swallowed hard, willing himself to slow down and think clearly. He’d antagonized the other man more than enough already. “Look, dude--I mean, Officer. I’m not a fu--”
He had a feeling that his usual repertoire of curses wasn’t going to improve his situation.
Drawing a shaky breath, he started over. “I’m not drug dealer, okay? Work in an office.” His fingers closed around the phone in his right coat pocket. “Want me to fucking prove it? I’ll call my boss right--”
“Don’t move!” the officer shouted, pulling his gun from its holster.
“It’s just a phone,” Devin choked out, hand still half in his pocket and knees weak. “Don’t shoot me, okay?”
Headlights flashed from behind the cruiser; a convertible sped into the subdivision, top down and well-tuned engine humming. The car was going well over the speed limit; Officer Pastyface turned to look but made no move to stop it. As it drove past the police car, the convertible slowed down, its driver most likely hoping to avoid a ticket.
Before Devin knew what he was doing, he found himself running toward the convertible, zipping behind it and vaulting over its passenger side door as if he were one of the idiots in that ridiculous Dukes of Hazzard movie his roommate had made him sit through a few years back. Or at least he attempted to vault over the door. He fell more than jumped into the bucket seat, sprawling against the car’s owner.
“Drive,” Devin said, meeting a pair of widening blue eyes. “Please.”
For whatever reason, the blue-eyed man did.
[A/N: Part 2 will be written by theun4givables in the comments.]
As he walked briskly through the well-kept, tree lined streets of his boss’s neighborhood, he began to relax. The soothing sound of branches rustling in the winter wind and the rush of cool night air in his lungs slowed his racing thoughts and eased his tense muscles. He had nearly reached the exit of the subdivision when pulsing blue lights illuminated the world around him.
“Oh, fuck no,” Devin muttered.
He stiffened from head to toe in an instant, resisting the urge to pull his hood up over his head. It would only make him look “suspicious,” as if the color of his skin wouldn’t already mark him as an outsider in a neighborhood like this. Squaring his shoulders, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and kept walking. He needed to stay calm, he told himself even as his pulse sped up and his head leapt into his throat. If only he could act as though he belonged here, maybe the cop would move on. Maybe he’d find someone else to harass.
No such luck.
Devin’s stomach sank into his boots as the police cruiser pulled up beside him and rolled to a stop, its driver-side window opening with a smug electronic whir. He stopped and turned to face the man inside, wishing he could keep walking instead and wondering what would happen if he did. Shaking his head to clear it, he composed his face into what he hoped was an agreeable expression.
“Any trouble, Officer?” Devin asked, his mouth dry.
“We’ve received reports of unusual activity in the area.” The officer was standard issue for this part of town--white, male, and old enough to be counting the days to retirement with a pension check fatter than his ass. He gave Devin a hard look. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything out of the ordinary, have you?”
Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Devin shook his head.
The policeman narrowed his eyes. “Mind telling me what you’re doing here, son?”
“Not your fucking son.” Devin muttered before he could stop himself.
“An attitude like that isn’t going to help your case, you know,” the cop said evenly.
“The fuck?” Devin demanded, the heavy dinner he’d eaten rolling unpleasantly in his stomach. His voice sounded too loud, so shrill it hurt his ears, but he couldn’t seem to control it. “What fucking case? Haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Of course you haven’t.” The policeman smiled, perfect teeth gleaming. “Now let’s see some identification.”
Devin bristled. “Don’t fucking think so,”
Springing from his seat with astonishing speed, the officer stood with one hand resting on his sidearm. “Excuse me?”
Taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to back away, Devin tried desperately to collect himself. He knew his rights, but he’d also read the news stories. It happened all the time in affluent neighborhoods like this, guys like him being beaten or shot for daring to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. At best, a wrong word could land him in jail for the night, and he’d already said several of them. He needed to quit while he was ahead, clean up his language and afford the policeman the respect he clearly believed he deserved.
“Don’t have to show you shit,” Devin heard himself replying, despite his best intentions. “You charging me with something or you just gonna chat me up all night? Far as I know, walking while brown’s not a fucking crime.”
“As a matter of fact, s--” The policeman stopped and cleared his throat, his eyes hard. It was difficult to be certain under the flashing blue lights, but Devin thought the older man’s pasty complexion had become ruddier as well. “--young man, this is a private residential area.” Unless you’ve got a good reason to be here, you’re trespassing, and trespassing is a crime.”
Wilting under the cop’s steady gaze, Devin wanted more than anything to look away. He forced himself to maintain eye contact, knowing that staring at the ground would only make him appear guilty. If he could just keep his stupid mouth shut--
“Don’t think that’s how trespassing fucking works,” he said, cursing himself inwardly even as the words left his lips.
Despite the chill of the evening, his palms began to sweat.
“You saying I don’t know the law, boy?” The officer’s face was definitely tinged with crimson now, a vein ticking away in his forehead. “Why don’t you come down to the station--”
“Fine,” Devin broke in, wondering if he sounded as scared as he felt. He could barely hear himself over the blood pounding in his ears. And yet, he was on a roll and couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Don’t have to get all hot and bothered. Wanna know why I’m here? Boss lives two streets down, was eating dinner at his house.”
“Your ‘boss,’ huh?” The policeman gave him a knowing look. “You holding, son?”
“Told you not to call me--” Devin swallowed hard, willing himself to slow down and think clearly. He’d antagonized the other man more than enough already. “Look, dude--I mean, Officer. I’m not a fu--”
He had a feeling that his usual repertoire of curses wasn’t going to improve his situation.
Drawing a shaky breath, he started over. “I’m not drug dealer, okay? Work in an office.” His fingers closed around the phone in his right coat pocket. “Want me to fucking prove it? I’ll call my boss right--”
“Don’t move!” the officer shouted, pulling his gun from its holster.
“It’s just a phone,” Devin choked out, hand still half in his pocket and knees weak. “Don’t shoot me, okay?”
Headlights flashed from behind the cruiser; a convertible sped into the subdivision, top down and well-tuned engine humming. The car was going well over the speed limit; Officer Pastyface turned to look but made no move to stop it. As it drove past the police car, the convertible slowed down, its driver most likely hoping to avoid a ticket.
Before Devin knew what he was doing, he found himself running toward the convertible, zipping behind it and vaulting over its passenger side door as if he were one of the idiots in that ridiculous Dukes of Hazzard movie his roommate had made him sit through a few years back. Or at least he attempted to vault over the door. He fell more than jumped into the bucket seat, sprawling against the car’s owner.
“Drive,” Devin said, meeting a pair of widening blue eyes. “Please.”
For whatever reason, the blue-eyed man did.
[A/N: Part 2 will be written by theun4givables in the comments.]