Work Text:
Sometimes, he really hated his job. Driving a bus all week was one usually monotonous thing, but the rest of the country didn't have to work around the edges of NYC's traffic patterns day in and day out.
The weather this season was worse than usual. Harsh storms were spurring all kinds of chaos lately, and like him, many public transport workers were working overtime to meet the heightened demand. One would have thought this meant less congestion on the roadways, but there were still plenty of pedestrians and low visibility days to make up for it.
He was pretty sure his speedometer hadn't hit higher than 45 since the day his previous bus had broken down smack in the middle of a four lane highway (now that one made for a weird maintenance call).
He remembered that day like it was yesterday. Thank God it was one of those rare off-times, or he might've crashed before he could finish inching his way onto the shoulder of the lane.
They asked him all the usual questions, such as:
Did your check engine light come on?,
Have you noticed anything unusual before this?,
We're sending someone out to you soon, where is your current location?,
and by the end of it; Did I hear you correctly, sir-the problem 'just repaired itself?'
He was let go from the company, of course. After that, it was tough finding another employer with allegations of lying and being a liability to the company on his record, but he finally caught a break with one of the small towns on the outskirts of The City.
Things went well, if the largest source of drama being the constant stop 'n go and picking up the occasional angry passenger counted. Unfortunately (or fortunately, he hadn't really decided yet), he hadn't known at the time how numbered his days of driving for a living were about to be.
The second incident was really bizarre. He still wasn't convinced it happened at all, so maybe they were right to say he wasn't always with it the way most people his age still were.
He had been following his twice weekly route in and out of Manhattan, and was finally heading out toward New Jersey. It was a dreary day out. Sheets of rain just kept coming down throughout the evening and there were no signs it would let up before the end of his shift.
Briefly, the bus got a little reprieve once they came upon the Lincoln Tunnel.
He was preparing to navigate through the rain again when the first scream rang out. More followed, and he couldn't turn around to see what was going on. A flash of orange glowed in the periphery of his back-facing mirror. Did something catch on fire?
Before he had the chance to do something about it, the wheel in his hands turned forcefully to the left, seemingly of its own accord. Maybe there was something on the road and it got caught in the tires, or maybe there really was something wrong with the bus this time, but his fingers almost slipped off.
The wheel turned stubborn, not yielding from its position like it had a mind of its own. He used all his strength to keep the bus from completely running headlong into the sidewall until there was no more left to grind against.
Now stuck in the rain, with a possible fire going and a stuck wheel, he didn't see how they were going to make it safely off of the road.
The next exit was coming up fast, and he let the bus veer to the left like it wanted to and prayed there was nobody immediately in the way. Miles went by in a flash. He tried to straighten the bus' path again, but this time it went too far to the right. The Hudson was almost straight ahead now. It would be a horrible irony to drown in a burning bus, but by some miracle he guessed he accidentally hit the emergency break.
It was all a blur from that point on, probably from all the adrenaline. They spun and skidded and crashed into a treeline. As soon as he figured out he could stand and walk, he ran as fast as he could down the steps. Almost every single passenger followed his example, many of which demanded a reasonable explanation for their troubles. He wished he had one, but this was a bit too beyond his sense of comprehension.
Voices could still be heard from inside, along with banging like a fight was going on and those random flashes of light that might have been, no, must have been fire, that lit up against the windows. He didn't know how long it was before three random kids burst through the open doorway like they were being chased. Dimly, he registered a click and a flash, but that was nothing compared to what happened next.
The bus first seemed to implode, and then the shock wave turned outward and heat traveled across the ground. He later wondered if the fire got to the engine, but the report had been inconclusive.
He heard a loud exclamation of the word, “Run!” before the children started to flee the scene just as quickly as they escaped the bus.
For an entire week, people would accuse him of being an arsonist. For an entire week, he would spend his days in police captivity, trying to explain that it wasn't his fault. It was those kids who were playing with fire! He would never drive again, and one name would turn his life around.
The story of Percy Jackson, a delinquent fugitive who turned out to be one of three kidnapping victims. A couple photographs of him broke the news, and the paper. He was shocked to find that one of the pictures had a very familiar looking background...the bus he used to drive. It was dated the day of the explosion. It was one of the children he'd watched as they ran, ran into the woods, as if they were being chased. According to the authorities, they had been trying to break free from their captor at a time when nobody knew of their innocence.
Now that he had the chance to process more of the events, he thought there was a very suspicious looking person there with them. How could he have forgotten?
More importantly, why hadn’t he done anything? He guessed the same reason anyone else hadn’t either. Things like this were easy to miss, and misinterpret, when you didn’t know what to look for.
It was possible that those kids had more in common with him than he thought.
It gave him hope that someone would connect the two instances together. Maybe one day soon, he would get his name cleared too.
Little by little, pieces of the big picture were brought to light. A timeline was formed.
He found his place in that timeline, a blip in the beginning of the harrowing trip these kids had gone through. A lawyer was contacted, and his time in the judge’s room was coming. His confidence waned. He felt intimidated, but they now had a solid case. They were ready for it.
He endured the comments from both sides, some who believed him and others who called for his arrest. The doors to the Courthouse closed behind him, and he continued down the hall to another set of doors. Behind them sat the person who would determine the trajectory for the rest of his life.
He imagined leaving this room with no more doubts about him, no more criminal accusations. He hoped his biggest worries were going to be finding another job and reconciling with his family and friends. He supposed in a way, he would have to thank Percy Jackson and his companions. Maybe they didn’t start the fire. Perhaps it was the one they were running from; he thought the news said his name was Aran Markus? And if it was, there might have even been a witness who could attest to it behind that door.
The only way to find out, the only thing he could do, was walk through it. He vowed then and there that if he won his case and ever worked up enough money, he was never going to drive another day in his life.