#carcrash

[yournameonacar]

you guessed it. more carcrash

[gottabegreyhound]

Driver exploring his new city post-Drive and coming across a little art exhibit. Maybe he sees something in Henry's paintings that reminds him of what he's lost.

Perhaps he even gets to talk to the artist about his work.

Driver is extra sad in this. Dissociation king.

Driver was… lost. Not in the sense of direction. In the sense of what to do with himself. He had no one and no purpose anymore.

Shannon, Benicio, Irene, Standard. Fuck. He was on his own again.

He drove around the city for awhile, just learning the roads and pretending not to stare at his passenger seat like it harbored a ghost. Someone was supposed to be sitting there right now, smiling softly at him as he drove.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a small building. Driver pulled alongside the curb and sat there for atleast 10 minutes, lost in thought and contemplating whether or not to go in.

It was an art exhibit. Small. Free entry. It was a fundraiser… for orphaned children. The artists were selling their paintings and then donating the money to whatever organization was in charge of the event.

Driver killed the engine to the Malibu, looked at the passenger seat longingly one last time before getting out of his car. He kept a hand on his keys and locked the door behind him.

Driver walked into the small building silently, pulling the door open with his eyes down on the ground. He scanned the signs saying where the art gallery was and moved in that direction.

Driver walked into the gallery room and began slowly navigating around the people talking quietly amongst themselves about the paintings. Some of them were artists and others were just viewing the work.

Driver went from painting to painting distractedly, too busy thinking how much better this would be if he wasn't alone.

If he were here with the people he loved.

Driver sighed softly and went over to another painting, further into the room and in a quieter corner.

He tilted his head at the painting in front of him. It felt… nostalgic. In a way. Maybe that wasn't the right word, but Driver couldn't stop staring at it. He didn't move or blink. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing.

The canvas was covered in harsh brush strokes. The main piece— what caught Driver's attention— was a side mirror of a car with the glass shattered. It was in a spider-webbed shape with each shard showing something different.

One of them was a what seemed to be a bridge. The background was a dark blue and the bridge was black in the darkness of night.

Another shard was a woman. Her eyes were glassy and dull, pupils wide and her curly hair matted against her forehead with bloody.

Driver stared at that part of the painting for a long time. This woman was clearly loved. Every mole and freckle the artist could remember was in the art piece. Even in death, even bloody, she looked beautiful.

She looked young. Driver couldn't help comparing this woman to Irene. Irene had never said how old she was, but she and Driver seemed close in age. He was grateful he never had to witness her hair bloody and her pupils wide.

Driver thought this woman was loved by the artist the same way he loved Irene.

He looked at the other shard. It was a car engulfed in flames. There were shards of glass on the street in front of the bent metal, but Driver stared at the flames. There was a lot of detail in it. Each brush stroke seemed violent and purposeful. The reds and yellows a perfect gradient the higher the flames rose.

"You've been staring at that for awhile," A voice said to the right of him.

Driver's ears perked up and he blinked a couple times. He turned his head to the side and saw a man standing with his hands in his pockets.

"It's good," Driver mumbled with a shrug. He couldn't exactly explain why he was so drawn to this painting without raising a few brows.

It wasn't the fact it was a car, or a car accident at that. It was the emotions he could see clearly drawn into it… and the woman.

The pain and nostalgia the artist felt making this painting was how Driver felt now.

The man next to him chuckled and shook his head. "You've might be the first to say that."

Driver was confused. It was clearly a good painting. He might not understand the intricacies of artistry, but he understood that the artist of this painting had skill.

"Why's that?" Driver found himself asking. He didn't look at the painting anymore, he was intrigued by this man, by his demeanor.

"People don't understand it." The man said, pulling a hand out. "Henry."

Driver looked down at his own hands for a moment, hesitating, before he softly shook the man's hand. "It's not difficult to understand," He said to Henry when their hands pulled apart.

Henry looked Driver up and down before facing the painting. "What do you see?"

Driver glanced at the painting, eyes finding the woman's dead ones. "Pain," He said quietly. Somehow even in this quiet corner of the room, his voice was hard to hear.

Henry looked over at him, eyes wide. "So you do understand it," He nodded approvingly at Driver.

Driver hummed. "Thought it was obvious."

Henry laughed bitterly and waved his hand around the room. "Guess we see things differently than them." He looked back at the painting, his brows furrowing together and a sad gleam in his eyes.

Driver glanced down at the name tag attached to the painting when the light caught the metal.

'Henry Letham'.

Driver looked over at the man again, eyes filled with emotion. Driver stared at Henry like he'd just found someone who might understand him. "You made this?"

Henry hummed with a small nod. "Yeah… shoulda seen how much paint I went through."

Driver couldn't even fake-laugh at Henry's joke. He kept staring at Henry, eyes growing wetter by the second. "You lost her." He wasn't asking Henry, he was just stating an observation. A fact.

Henry sighed deeply, sadly, to himself and looked at the floor. "I did."

Driver shuffled a bit closer to the man but didn't speak. They stood side by side silently, listening to the people in the gallery make conversation and ask the artists questions about their work.

Driver took a deep breath, took one last look at the woman in the painting with the sad, dead eyes, and turned towards Henry. "You like coffee?"

Henry turned his head up with a brow raised. "I do…"

Driver nodded. He stared down at his shoes and then twirled his keys around his pointer finger. "I don't have the money to buy the painting, but I can get you a coffee as thanks."

Henry's eyes widen. "Thanks for what?"

Driver shrugged and felt the rabbit's foot attached to his keys with his thumb. "For understanding."

Henry seemed to realize what he was referring to and nodded sadly.

Driver waited for a response. He already had a plan ready to leave this gallery and not think about this sad, lonely artist so much like himself ever again if he said no.

"Shop not far from here makes good coffee… not too expensive either." Henry finally answered, voice small and hesitant.

Driver's shoulders relaxed and he motioned to the door. "Okay."

He and Henry walked to the door slowly, quietly, and Driver opened the door for Henry.

Even if the coffee wasn't good, even if it wasn't cheap, they could atleast enjoy the silence shared with someone who understood their pain.

Maybe something good can come out of this tragedy. Both of their tragedies.

[noxexistant]

got any headcanons for carcrash and/or sundaydriver you'd like to share (can be platonic or romantic or both, whichever you'd prefer)? they won't leave my head

also, I hope that things get better for you soon and that tomorrow will be a better day <3

i do!!!! i love them both so dearly!!!!!!

carcrash (henry/driver)

i think carcrash is one of those relationships where they’re kind of terrible for each other in the sense that they’re both so unstable and traumatised and guilty, have so much weight on their shoulders that it’s next to impossible to be the stability the other needs (though they always try) — but it also means that they understand each other on such a deep level.

henry’s used to pitying concern when he’s having a crying shaking breakdown, muttering about how it’s all his fault, but driver is quiet and practical. he’s logic in the face of henry’s distress, quietly telling him what he could or couldn’t have done differently, if it would’ve changed anything, and telling him that it’s okay anyway. what happened happened, whatever it was — whether henry’s talking about the crash or a painting or an assignment he failed — and they’re both here now.

henry is obsessed with driver’s scars. it’s rooted in concern, really, the cloying guilt that driver was hurt so badly so many times before henry knew him, but it manifests in artistic fascination. henry paints abstract landscapes in the shapes of the scars up driver’s back, of the knot of scar tissue over driver’s gut — the stab wound that driver emotionlessly admitted was the closest he’s ever been to death. henry is terrified of driver dying. he wakes up hysterical from nightmares about it and has to hold driver to his chest for hours afterwards, listening to him breathe. it’s one of the few places driver will fall asleep.

driver, in sharp contrast, is utterly disinterested in henry’s scars. all the awful scars from the crash, the ones people stare at, and the self-harm scars up his wrists and thighs, the thick awful burns and cuts from henry learning which pain he liked more. driver doesn’t care. henry knows doesn’t care isn’t the right way to put it, but it’s the most soothing thought. driver cares about the hurts, not the scars, doesn’t pay any special attention to the scars that henry hates, aside from a thoughtless brush of his fingers over them sometimes. driver once quietly confessed he likes the texture of henry’s scarred wrist, and henry had fallen backwards on the mattress laughing. “y’know any normal person might find that insensitive.” “good thing you’re not normal.”

henry doesn’t drive anymore. driver is the only person he’ll let drive him. driver teaches him all about cars, lets henry watch him work on them, and it…helps, to have cars made into something tangible in henry’s mind, not just the monster that betrayed him. he starts painting and sketching a lot of car parts. he starts painting and sketching a lot of driver, sketchbook pages filled with figure studies of driver leaned over the hood of a car, lay on his back on the garage floor, hunched studiously over his work table.

henry doesn’t mind at all when driver’s dissociating or nonverbal, even when it’s for days. he’s patient. and he has absolutely no qualms with speaking up for him. one time a waiter scoffed at driver for not speaking and henry loudly told him to fuck off. they got banned from that diner, but driver was smiling to himself all the rest of the day.

sundaydriver (lars/driver)

driver isn’t exactly touch-averse, but he’s so incredibly touch-starved that it manifests in similar ways. touch is very overwhelming to him, particularly non-violent touch — he locks up, gets scared, it often triggers dissociation — so it’s something he and lars explore together. driver will sit there with his hands in his lap, not touching at all, and let lars touch him as much as he wants, drawing tentative fingers over driver’s clothes and skin and working out what’s scary and what hurts and what’s okay if he keeps practicing. it’s easier when he’s not being touched back — it’s something he appreciates about driver, even though it comes with the churning sickness that comes with knowing that driver won’t touch him because he won’t do anything he thinks he’s not allowed. he won’t take anything he wants unless it’s given, and he’s used to being hurt for it.

it completely overwhelms lars, sometimes, how sad driver makes him. which he feels guilty for, because driver makes him happy and excited and peaceful too, but sometimes driver will flinch when lars moves too fast or he’ll have awful nightmares that make him whine and cry in his sleep or he’ll tell lars a story about something somebody did to him once, and lars will get so upset he has to go and do something. he’ll often chop wood. and driver will sit silent on the porch and watch him, curled up small in one of lars’ big jackets.

lars likes it a lot when driver wears his clothes. it started out of necessity, because driver had nothing and especially no warm proper clothes — even though he’s thin and always cold in a way that makes lars worry so much — but lars keeps lending driver jumpers and cardigans and coats even after they take driver to the mall and get him proper clothes. driver has lars’ blanket almost as often as lars does, and lars trusts him completely with it because driver is so so gentle with it, and appreciates it like lars does. he always calms down with it, running his fingers over the nice texture.

they go bowling together. it’s one of the only things to do in town, sure, but driver mentioned once early on that he’d never been bowling before — “some of my foster parents took me to a bowling alley once, but i wasn’t allowed to play ‘cause it was their real kid’s birthday.” — so lars took him and taught him. margo helped. and now driver will come bowling with all of them, the group of their friends, and sometimes he won’t play but he’ll watch them and he’ll smile when lars looks at him, the real soft smile that makes lars feel like fireworks are going off in his stomach.

driver loves the lake. he gets very cold so lars has to wrap him up and bring lots of blankets and bring hot chocolate in a flask, but driver loves it. they’ll sit quiet and content for hours, and driver won’t get bored or impatient. sometimes lars will sing.

lars also doesn’t mind at all when driver is dissociating or nonverbal. it makes him braver when it’s driver he has to advocate for rather than himself, and he finds himself getting loud and sharp when people don’t listen or are cruel to driver. he’s very protective of driver.

hopefully these are okay!!! thank you so so much for the ask, i love both of these ships so dearly :’) and thank u for your kindness too!!! talking about these guys always helps with the horrors 🙂‍↕️

[rockinchairr]

Posting this here i got nothing better to do. Rygos tumblr see my vision

[gayhenryletham]

i love being a multishipper. yes i love jody/colt, but i also love stuntdriver, but i ALSO love carcrash. fosterletham is nice too. starstruck is nice too, but i also like bloodymary.. andddd post

[eggythefool]

Have you heard about the story of scorpion and artist

[kiittygeorgeharrison]

[addled-egg]

thinking about carcrash today

maybe driver at some point mentions that he sometimes got a slice of pie at this diner and rather liked it and henry tells him that he used to do the same back in new york.

they decide to try baking one together—apple pecan—and though it comes out a little wonky and slightly burnt, it's still really tasty when they eat it together .

henry might get a little emotional because he's reminded of athena. he remembers the first time he met her at the diner she used to work at, remembers her recommending their pie to him and them then talking about random little things for hours on end.

and driver thinks of his old life too, of irene and benicio who he never got to share his favourite pie with. he thinks of all the things they did get to do together. he hopes they're well, wherever they are.

the two eat their pie in silence, missing the people from their past but content with where they are now. happy that they have each other, that they get to share this pie with someone they love.