Disclaimer: I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.

Disclaimer: couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

Feed me Faith

Chapter Two

The next week or so carried on like that. With the two of them - three if you counted the baby - stuck in an awkward rut that only she seemed to be dwelling on. She got up, avoided him, slammed down breakfast and watched him fuss with the collar of one of Webster's old shirts in the reflection of the stainless-steel toaster. Getting a satisfied sort of pride in seeing him clean his plate as Amber-May cooed at him through the screen of her pack and play. All before escaping off to work with barely a handful of words exchanged.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

They didn't talk about it.

None of it.

Not the hows or the whys.

When he was going to leave.

If he even had a name.

Or why the charred circle of burned grass on her front lawn still smelled like-

Near as she could tell, he spent most of the time sleeping. Like he'd gone his whole damn life without it, gotten his ass handed to him, then decided to hole up here and catch up. Why here, she had no idea. Why her, well, she had even less of one considering she'd thanked him for saving her by pulling the God Killer on him.

They didn't speak much, but that didn't stop her from thinking about it. Every day the entire thing ran over and over in the back of her mind as she waited tables. Trying to figure it out. Because the thing was, it wasn't like he was completely out of it. He might have gone and lost his memory, forgotten who he was, but there were still things that reminded her of The Accountant. His fastidiousness. The two showers a day that was wrecking havoc on her hot water bill. The careful way he did things. Every footstep and action so god damned precise. The way he favored the grey-pleated dress shirt one of her weekend flings had left lost under her bed. And the way he originally tried to button it all the way to the collar – stiff and half-suffocating – before relenting and undoing the top button.

Sometimes she could even trick herself into thinking it'd all come back to him when he did something that reminded her of how he had been. But it never stuck. Who he'd been back when she and Milton had been on the run? It wasn't him anymore. Whether it was his memories, powers or all of that combined, he wasn't the same. For better or worse, he was starting to become his own person. Now, instead of supernatural powers he used his body cautiously, like he wasn't sure of his limits. But at the same time, he seemed to have a good working knowledge of most things. Case in point, she'd gotten home on the third day to find the dishes washed and the television on. Playing CNN on repeat while he snored softly into the couch cushions. A space that was gradually turning into capital letters: HIS.

She probably should've been more bothered by that, but she wasn't.

The baby wasn't much company, if she was being honest.

So, the days passed and he got better, stronger - slowly.

And in spite of her best efforts, she started adding more little quirks to the pile of broken parts that was his personality. For example, he didn't like to get dirty, but would for the reward of neatness and order. Something she discovered after dragging ass from a triple shift to find dinner made, the trash out, and the entire kitchen cleaned and reordered with an efficiency that tempered the righteous anger she'd spent all day waiting to take out on someone. How he managed to act like one of Webster's old shirts was one of them expensive suits he used to wear. Often reaching up to tug at a nonexistent lapel or sleeve like it was the only muscle memory he had left. Or the way he look a liking to the fresh veggies that came in the charity hamper from the church down the road, rather the ones from the can.

All in all it was very- well, human.

She sighed, staring into her mostly empty bottle of Jim Bean as he watched her from his perch on sofa. Expression still softly predator-like, but now mostly just curious. Like if he watched her for long enough she'd crack and spill the secrets of the universe.

She shook her head, feeling a liquor-headache coming on.

Shit, she needed to eat somethin'.

He just fucking stared. Blink'in all slow like. Like she was the-

She shook her head, lips twisting as she hauled back another swallow.

"Devils and demons…once you open those doors you just can't close them."

Her thoughts rebounded in her skull as the shadows threatened to stretch in the moonlight. Remembering when she'd said it. Remembering how Milton had looked at her – part disbelieving, part resigned. She liked to think he would have asked her about it if they'd had time. Her momma had believed in all that shit, it was what she'd grown up on. If hell came knocking, you got out of its way. You didn't stand up. You didn't stick your fucking hands in, just like she'd done.

But Milton had sucked her in and now here she was.

Babysitting a god damned demon from hell.

She'd had fuckin' enough.

"Alright, we have to talk," she finally rasped. Voice liquor-rough as he startled back a good half-inch into the couch at being called out. Looking small in the oversized wife-beater he'd taken to wearing at night after he showered. "I think it's time you got a bit more verbal, huh? I don't know what happened, maybe you don't even know, but we won't know till we hash it out. It's time for answers, man. Whether you have them or we go find them. Things can't keep dragging on like this. You're almost recovered from- well, whatever happened. Don't think I haven't noticed. I mean, maybe I can help, you know?"

She wanted to help.

The realization only got more damning the longer it festered.

Still, she didn't say it.

At least not out loud.

His nod was surprisingly frank when he finally chewed through the tangle of words. But not followed by much else until she gave him the fish eye. Rousing him from whatever place he went to mentally most of the time.

"My apologies," he started slowly. "You've been more than kind. More than anyone could ever hope, given the circumstances. I owe you a debt, Miss Piper."

"Just Piper," she corrected, snorting. "Do I look like a miss to you?

She ignored him when he went quiet again. Letting him process on his own time. Knowing from experience this kind of shit could be just as dangerous brought back up as it'd been the moment it'd happened. The mind was a can of worms just waitin' to explode. That much she knew for sure.

"I don't remember," he finally offered, head cocking as Amber-May cried herself awake in the other room. Making them hush on reflex until she burbled a bit and slowly slipped back to sleep.

"I get that," she answered after a good thirty second chunk of quiet. Tossing her hair impatiently as he teetered on the edge of the couch. Leaning forward in a vain attempt to stop getting sucked into the empty space between the cushions. "But there has to be something. I'll make a deal with you. You tell me everything you know, and I'll tell you what I know. That alright?"

He hadn't even finished nodding before he turned a good start into a pipe dream.

"Who is 'The Accountant?'" he asked, bare feet curling in the ugly shag carpet. Just another reminder that she hadn't gotten around to getting him shoes yet. Shit.

"A pain in my ass," she muttered, the corner of her lip tugging upwards in a smirk when he had the gall to look mildly offended. If you could call that tiny little twitch an expression. Believe it or not, she was starting to consider that progress.

Still, it didn't escape her notice that it was the first real question he'd asked her.

"You are- you were- that's what you were, I guess," she answered slowly. Speaking around the awkwardness and booze buzz. "Believe me, it's hard to explain. Honestly, I don't even know the half of it. You were never exactly chatty."

His head tilted to the side, a small frown marring the flat of his forehead before-

"I don't understand."

She blew out a sigh.

"Join the fucking club."

It was only afterwards, when she'd finished the bottle and a pretty shitty attempt at an explanation, that he finally broke the silence.

"You feel familiar," he told her quietly. Throwing her so unbelievably off-kilter she didn't know what to say. "Safe."

"What?"

"You asked me what I knew- what I know? That's it. Everything I was before? It's…erased. But when I saw you, when I looked up and you were there, standing above me, I wasn't afraid."

In another life her heart might have broke.

But in this one it just left her feeling heavy.

Responsible.

"Shit," she snarled, slamming the phone down hard. Making both him and Amber-May look up from the table with varying degrees of concern. "The sitter has the flu. Fucking god damn shit!"

He blinked, serenely ignoring both her and Amber-May as the baby waved her plastic Cinderella spoon at him hopefully. Crunching his way through the last mouthful of brad buds she'd gotten half off at the store like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

She paced the length of the kitchen, hands on her hips. If she called in sick she'd be fired for sure. Derek the dick, also known as the manager, had the patience of a hemorrhoid and half the personality. When he wasn't perving on the new waitress, he was riding her ass for her life choices. If she didn't need the job so bad she would've lit the bastard on fire months ago.

"Shit," she said again, catching sight of the time. Fact was she couldn't afford to lose her job. She'd barely been making ends meet before Mr. new mouth to feed had shown up. And she didn't even want to know what the baby's next appointment was going to cost her, even at the reduced clinic on the other side of-

"I can watch her," he offered, looking up from his empty bowl as Amber-May squealed indignantly, bouncing in her high chair as she made grabby hands at the floor. Clearly wanting down. Speaking like he was working through a mouthful of rocks. Like he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

Huh.

"Look," she started bluntly, realizing it was probably her only option even as she tried to distance herself from it. "I know we had that heart to heart yesterday- but I don't know if I'm comfortable leaving her alone with you. No offense."

"I won't hurt her," he replied with a frown. The tint of something like anger coloring his tone for the first time as he pushed back his bowl.

"Jesus Christ, of course not! It ain't that," she protested. Huffing and coloring at the suggestion. "I mean more like… do you even know how to change a diaper for god sake?"

He blinked again, all slow like.

"I'm sure I can figure it out," he answered slowly. Eying Amber-May carefully as she blew a spit bubble at him. "I've watched you do it enough times to have a general idea. It doesn't seem complicated."

She raised a brow.

This was going to be good.

"I think I've done this before," he remarked softly from the couch. Looking up at her through sleepy slits as she stared down at them, stunned stupid and still wearing her apron from the diner. Amber-May passed out cold and curled up like a pill-bug into the crook where his shoulder met his chest.

"What does that mean?" he asked, tilting his head up like he was addressing the dust motes. Tone more introspective than anything, the way people got when they weren't really expecting an answer. "I spent all day feeling it and I don't know what it means."

She didn't know either.

But it made her think about the practiced - almost reverent way he'd held Amber-May in the courtyard after Milton had blasted Jonah King to kingdom come. Realizing that yeah- somehow, somewhere, sometime he probably had.

The words she didn't know how to say were razor sharp trip ups. But she sat down beside him on the couch all the same. Inhaling the mingling scents of soap, baby and the fading highlights of her shampoo in his hair. Figuring at the end of the day, silence was the better option. She wasn't sure if there were words for that kind of a backstory.

When he drifted off sometime later, gravity encouraged a gradual lean. Dipping the cushions towards her until their shoulders brushed and Amber-May's fist had the front of his shirt tight in her palm. Drooling contently into the line of his neck.

The warm weight of him made her aware of herself somehow.

Turning every movement, every inhale, into something significant.

Sensitive.

His chest rose and fell like every other predictable thing in the world. And yet- there was something about him, this, that she couldn't put her finger on. And it was only getting worse.

She winced as she toed off her shoes and propped her aching feet up on the coffee table. Wondering if Milton was down there somewhere, laughing his ass off. She wouldn't put it past him. Not him. Not ever. Hell hadn't been able to tame him the first time. So she figured that would stay the same, no matter who was in charge down there.

Somewhere outside a car engine revved, loud and oil-healthy in a way that made her smile. Catching sight of her reflection in the dead screen of the television as the two of them breathed softly beside her.

And if she ended up falling asleep like that, well- he was smart enough not to say anything.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. - Stay tuned for the next chapter.