Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Doc knew, when he made the drive from Radiator Springs to California, that his anonymity would be over. He understood that there was no stepping out of the spotlight after willingly facing the world he left so suddenly. If given the choice, he also knew he would do it again every time. 

He blames the kid. If not for Lightning and his infectious energy, he’d be perfectly content to live out his days in a sleepy little town no one’s ever heard of. He’d miss it; sure, once the racing bug bit you it was hard to ignore. He’d still allow himself the highlights of the three biggest races of the season - watched alone in the corner of his garage while the Hornet sat untouched under its dusty gray cover. He’d still know of the kid - there was no way Lightning wouldn’t have won the Piston Cup - no way Doc wouldn’t see the King’s crash and immediately go back to ignoring the racing world as best he could. He’d keep the sight of the crash close to his chest, knowing out there someone else would feel the same bitter ache he did for not being able to just finish the damn race .

He’d be miserable without even knowing it. 

Doc supposed that’s what’s so special about Lightning McQueen. The rookie had a way of shining a light so brightly against you that all the dark, embarrassed parts you never want to show would have to face the mirror. The kid’s shine brought as much attention to himself as everyone around him. 

For his part, Lightning took it all in stride.

They’d known each other long enough that Doc had been clued into the fact Lightning’s audaciously vain attitude served as much of a defense mechanism as it was habit. He knew when the kid complained about Doc serving the bitterest cup of coffee in the west he really meant it was better than all the coffee he’d had on the road. When the rookie said Doc’s rules about helmets in the 95 were going to make him go bald by thirty, he knew the kid liked having someone worry about him. Or when Lightning inevitably whined about early training times impacting his beauty sleep, he appreciated Doc making him stick to a schedule.

Doc may have known they’d crossed the point of no return - but that didn’t mean he knew what publicity storm was coming.

Lightning laughed when Doc’s eyes bugged at the sight of Harv’s proposed off-season schedule. The man gave the kid ten days off post-race followed by two weeks of back-to-back interviews and TV appearances. The color coded times smashed together to create an ugly collage more than a schedule. 

“Careful, Doc. That ain’t even what training schedule he wants us to follow!” the rookie teased from where he was sitting opposite the older man at their Doc’s kitchen island. He had his right leg dangling off the stool while his left was bent at the knee, propped on the edge of Mack’s seat. His whole aura gave off a relaxed feel, sandy blond hair held loosely out of his eyes with one of Sally’s hair ties.

“He thinks you can train with a schedule like that?” Doc asks, sliding the paper over to Mack. 

Lightning flashes him a bright smile, “Ka-chow!” The kid slaps a new piece of paper on the island from his back pocket. The same interviews are now joined by an amalgamation of drive times and training slots. Some days have Lightning running around for twenty hours straight only to wake up and go right back at it. “Harv said he also wants to host sponsors at the end-a next month. Somethin’, somethin’, show off my new lap times” The kid waves his hand back and forth nonchalantly like he’d just told Doc he expects rain soon but didn’t bother to check the forecast.

For his part, Mack seems rightfully upset. The big man’s been frowning through the hand his chin’s resting on since they started the schedule talk. He taps the new training schedule, “This is a whole lotta drivin’ just for some interviews.”

The rookie shrugs, “Guess I’m popular. It’s not that big a deal, I’m the one that moved my racing headquarters out of California. I’ll just sleep on the drives! Like old times!” He shakes Mack’s arm with excitement.

“Kid…he wants better practice lap times than last season in two weeks . You ain’t even here four days outta those!” Doc stares at the paper in front of him, frowning at the section labeled Off-Season Expectations like asking someone to beat their personal record can be an expectation rather than a goal . 

“Rusty and Dusty still got space in California. I can train there some days and here most days. It really isn’t that bad. Plus, you’ll finally get to meet ‘em!” The kid places both hands on the counter and pushes himself up, “I’m gonna go grab my suit. We’re still going tonight?”

Doc waves him off, a soft smile on his face while the kid whoops at the chance to train in the cooler evening weather. 

Once he’s gone, the judge looks over at Mack. “This is crazy, right?”

The trucker shrugs, “I just drive the car. Y’all win the races.”

–

The kid’s huge. Turns out, even Lightning McQueen couldn’t pull off one of the most successful rookie seasons in racing history only to stop five feet short of winning and stay only some-what famous. 

Seemingly overnight, the kid blows up. He goes from being well known in the Piston Cup circuit to well known in racing to famous in sports in five days. 

From there, people find out he sacrificed the win to let Strip Weathers, the King, finish one last race and bring back one of racing’s biggest presumed-dead legends as his crew chief. The kid becomes a household name. 

From there, journalists report on his seven-day disappearance, how he completely vanished off the face of the earth only to show up at the last second and still race well enough to win. Speculation about his absence only fuels the media frenzy like blood in shark infested waters. Radiator Springs is bursting with life, overnight. 

Everyone wants a glimpse of the rookie sensation.

Lightning beams like it’s his first time being recognized every time. He signs endless autographs, takes hundreds of selfies and even lets a few kids wear his helmet. The attention doesn’t seem to faze him, even as Mack starts spending more and more time just off the kid’s shoulder.

As the brutal training and media schedules collide, Doc envies the ease the kid seems to rally. He’s pushing hard on the track, working every room Harv has him in, and still making time for the fans outside of both. It’s not until their third to last day that Doc starts to notice the kid’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Mack’s standing next to the older man, watching as Lightning takes Harv’s phone call before they get back on the road to Radiator Springs after two days in California. They’re facing the rookie’s back but judging from the way Mack grips his keys in his crossed arms, the conversation with his agent isn’t going well. 

“I’ll be glad when this is all done.” Mack bites, usually friendly voice replaced with a disgusted tone like he just stepped in dog poop.

Doc hums, “Two days of trainin’ and the sponsor showcase and then we’re back to normal.” Or as normal as their new lives could get, he supposed. It wasn’t like Lightning being done with interviews would mean people would forget about him. To the kid’s delight, SNL did a sketch on his disappearing act on the last broadcast. Lightning McQueen was officially a pop culture mainstay. 

Mack huffs and uncrosses his arms to open the cab’s door as the kid wraps up his conversation and turns back towards them. Doc can just make out the way Lightning seems to force air through his teeth before stealing his shoulders and bouncing over to them with a smile.

–

Doc frowns at his stopwatch. The 95 zooms past, pushing hard in the straights and whipping around the Butte’s turns expertly. They’ve got twenty-four hours before Rust-Eze and a few new minor sponsors arrive in Radiator Springs. Forty-eight hours until the week from scheduled hell is over. 

Doc can’t wait.

“Bring her in, kid. I think that’s enough for today. We’re losing sunlight out here.” He holds his hand over his eyes to shade from the setting sun as the 95 starts to slow down.

Lightning’s laughter can be heard over the headset, “Scared of the dark, old man?”

“Why you little-” Doc can’t help his own smile carrying through his voice standing up off of the hood of the Hornet as the 95 pulls to a stop next to him.

Lightning’s already pulling himself out of the window to sit on the ledge with his arms on the roof. He pulls off his helmet, “How was that? Did we make it?” the kid looks relaxed, same thrilled expression on his face he always carries after getting to drive. Doc can hear the slight edge to his voice, the way the questions spike up just a little too much, betraying his anxiety.

Doc smirks, “You averaged out around 195. Peeked at 200, dipped to 190.” Lightning whoops, throwing both hands into the air and leaning back, giving the older man a heart attack before he lets his hands hit the ground and back walkovers his way out of the 95. 

The kid’s cheeky grin shows Doc he knew exactly what he was doing.

–

They’re sitting in the Hornet, neither one ready to call it a night before Harv and the kid’s sponsors show up. Lightning’s in the passenger seat, leaning against the door with his left leg hugged to his chest. The pose is one Doc’s seen him do a hundred times in interviews, the one that made people joke the kid can’t sit right in chairs. 

The older man also knows it’s how Lightning hides discomfort. If he projects control, ease, arrogance - who’s to say things aren’t going his way?

They’re joking about which poor sponsor will end up in a never ending conversation with Mater when the kid goes quiet.

“It’s not Lightning, by the way” the kid nearly whispers, picking at the frayed hem on the ankle of his sweatpants.

Doc turns to look at him fully, “What’s not?” he asks, knowing by now Lightning hates feeling pressured to talk about anything deeper than racing.

“My name.” He doesn’t make eye contact, refuses to even let Doc try to catch his blue eyes, “Harv had me change it when I started racin’ with him.”

Doc chuckles, “Kid, everyone uses a stage name. Ain’t no shame in it. Least you didn’t name your car.” That gets the desired effect. Lightning laughs, momentarily releasing the now dangling string from between his fingers. 

“I like the Fabulous Hudson Hornet ! Feels like a movie title”

“That makes one of us, I suppose.” Doc smirks, resting his arm on the side of the passenger seat, letting them fall into comfortable silence.

In reality, Doc knew Lightning probably wasn’t the kid’s god given name. He’d been around racing long enough to know the different monikers often helped give the racer a break from being the racer when they wanted a second away from it all. 

He hadn’t known Lightning to share that desire. Lightning McQueen was written in all the court documents from their first meeting, on every check the kid signed to revitalize the town, even the kid’s credit card held the moniker. 

He’d assumed somewhere along the line, the kid had changed whatever his birth name was to his chosen name. Never really felt the need to question it.

“It’s Montgomery.” Lightning whispered, “My name. McQueen’s my real last name though, no matter how many people say it’s too cheesy to be real.” There’s a bite there that has Doc rolling his eyes. Only the rookie would be offended by people thinking he made up both names.

“Why change it?” He hums.

Lightning shrugs, fingers finding the loose string again. “Harv said it was too long. If the announcers had to call ‘Montgomery McQueen’ every time I passed somebody, they’d never stop sayin’ my name before I won the race.”

Doc swats the kid lightly, “You’re tellin’ me you’d mind if people never said anything but your name?”

The rookie turns the shade of his car, “If it was Lightning they were saying, sure. Montgomery …’s too much”

“So why tell me now? If you ain’t fond of it?” Doc asks, gently pushing the limits to what Lightning’s feeling like sharing.

“Rusty and Dusty…they like to use it every once n’ a while. Usually they just call me McQueen , but sometimes…I think it’s from all the paperwork. Harv n’ me never got it actually changed.”

Doc decides to risk his luck, “Why not? If you don’t like it, that is.”

Lightning’s quiet for a minute. He finally snaps the string off his pants and lets it float to the passenger seat. 

“My mama chose it. ‘fore she died.” the kid makes himself impossibly smaller. Wrapping his arms around his waist, “Seemed disrespectful to change it…especially after I left.”

Doc lets his hand fall to Lightning’s knee and he squeezes reassuringly. 

“I’m sure she woulda loved Lightning McQueen too”

Chapter Text

Doc didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

The kid left early, choosing to run the final checks on the 95 himself rather than let Mack and Ramone do it for him. Doc smiled as the kid tried to argue that while he trusted both of them, he just had to see it for himself. The older man understood. Nerves and racing went together like butter on toast. No matter how many times the rookie drove the 95, he’d always feel that twist in his gut.

Doc finished earlier than he expected, wrapping up the last few contracts that required his signature and packing all of his own gear. He decided to go help the rookie finish his checklist. Maybe there was time to get the kid to eat something too.

So that’s how he ended up on the wrong side of the 95’s trailer out by the track on the Butte. The back was open, making Doc think Lightning had finished and was taking a break from the heat somewhere the sun couldn’t reach him. 

Instead, as he approached the trailer’s back, he heard Lightning’s voice. “Harv, I’m getting close! I swear! Doc says I’m averaging higher and more consistent. I’ll be ready!” 

Doc smirked at the whine in the kid’s voice, it made him sound younger, like a spoiled child explaining why they should get what they want.

“You better be. No fuck ups today , got it? We don’t need a repeat of Texas in front of your biggest sponsors.” the other person said, their voice all bite - practically dripping poison. “You’re so fucking lucky I was able to spin your little stunt in California into a sweet little moment. You blew the win , kid. It was pathetic ” 

Doc frowned, feet moving faster to get to the opening of the trailer.

“It wasn’t about that!” Lightning’s voice shook, “I just-Mr. Weathers deserved to finish the race”

“Don’t talk to me about what other people deserve!” there was a loud bang from inside the trailer, as if someone had fallen against its wall. “I made you and now you think you know about what’s deserved ?” 

Doc was so close - just a few more steps -

“ No mistakes today, got it? You’re the one that decided to move your whole racing operation to the middle of fucking nowhere making this whole thing so much harder to organize. You’re welcome for that, by the way.” 

Doc reached the back of the trailer, bumping into a skinny man in a pinstripe suit. The greased back hair and narrow sunglasses threatened to fall out of place with the force he collided into Doc with. 

Harv scoffed and adjusted his glasses and little ‘95’ lapel pin, “Oh Dr. Hudson. What a surprise. We all can’t wait to see what you two have been working on, can’t we, Montgomery?”

Lightning sat on the ground at the seam of the trailer’s wall and floor. His eyes were downcast but he still nodded his head immediately - obediently - in a way that didn’t suit the kid’s rebellious nature one bit, “No sir. We’re ready!” he said in a forced joyful tone. Harv hummed and continued his walk away from the trailer, disappearing around the corner.

Doc scrambled to the kid’s side, reaching out to pull him up. Lightning took the offered hand, waving off the questions forming on the older man’s lips, “I don’t wanna talk about it. I dunno what you heard but it doesn’t matter .” he hissed, startling Doc with his forcefulness, “I gotta go meet the sponsors. You comin?”

Doc could only grit his teeth and nod, following the kid back to town to meet the sponsors before his demonstration. 

–

Lightning’s avoiding him. 

Doc can tell the moment they enter Flo’s. The kid takes off, letting Rusty and Dusty pull him into a conversation about their latest ad campaign Doc knows the rookie doesn’t care about. He lets himself be paraded around like a showpony, greeting everyone and flashing that damn smile. 

Doc hates that smile. 

He allows himself to get caught up in conversations with the kid’s sponsors. He answers their questions about training, about the kid, about his days in the circuit - all without taking his eyes off the rookie. Lightning’s doing a damn fine job avoiding him but Doc isn’t one to be ignored.

They finally get up to the Butte but before he can snag the kid, Lightning’s hopping into the driver’s seat, completely skipping the routine radio checks. 

The 95 peels off the starting line, cruising like it’s the kid’s true nature and being human is just a hobby. Doc sighs, turning on the headset and coaching the kid into a steady pace. 

They’re halfway through, a solid pace that beats his last year’s average, making the crowd on the ridge quite happy when Doc notices the miniscule waiver. The 95 doesn’t wobble. Not when Lightning drives. The kid can hold a line better than anyone Doc’s ever seen so when it happens again, he frowns. 

“Not fucking now!” Lightning’s voice cuts through the quiet static on the headset. 

Doc reaches for the talk button, “Kid, what’s wrong? Do you need to pit?” he knows he sounds worried - more worried than he should be for something that could just be loose dirt. 

But then the 95 wiggles again.

Mack’s standing now, abandoning his seat next to Doc to get a better view at the kid on the course. The next turn is sloppy - unnoticable by his sponsors but clear as day to someone who’s been watching every second of Lightning’s training.

“Rookie, what’s going on?” Doc tries again. The kid swears in his ear and Doc hears him choke . “Lightning this isn’t funny. What’s going on ?”

There’s no answer - just short choppy noises that sound almost like hiccups. The farthest turn is coming up fast and Lightning isn’t reacting. Doc counts the seconds, “Lightning, son, you gotta turn!” the 95 stays straight until the last possible second. The turn is rushed, throwing the kid way off his line. A glance back at the sponsors and their amused voices have quieted, everyone’s watching with mild concern.

Doc prays the kid’ll forgive him,

“Montgomery, focus !” he commands, spitting the name like it’s a slur. 

The kid reacts immediately. The 95 straightens - laser focused onto its original path. He can hear Lightning swallowing air by the mouthful. Doc releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Mack deflates next to him. The crowd behind them cheers as Lightning’s speedometer rises.

Doc has the rookie hold his speed for a few more laps before he hits the talk button again, “C’mon in, Lightning. I think they’ve seen enough”

Chapter Text

Lightning was drowning.

He’d avoided Doc as best he could throughout the entire meeting with Rusty and Dusty and the other minor sponsors. He’d put on his best smile and schmoozed like he knew he could. He flirted, joked and made a few joke bets. Anything to keep Harv happy and himself away from the way Doc looked at him now . 

Everytime the older man thought he was the only one looking at Lightning, his gaze would morph into pity . It made Lightning’s stomach flip. He barely managed to keep his lip from curling at the sight - throwing up or sneering would not be easy to flirt his way back from - he just couldn’t afford it. 

Finally it was time to head to the Butte and show them all what he could do. Show Harv he wasn’t a mistake, show his sponsors he wasn’t a fluke, show Doc he didn’t need his concern . He’s a good racer, he knows that - now he just has to prove he's worthy of the attention.

The 95 takes off beautifully. Lightning falls into an easy rhythm, car maneuvering like it’s a meer extension of his arm rather than a thousand pound machine. He glides into his new average pace, easily beating last year’s. 

He’s halfway through the demonstration when his breath catches. 

“Not fucking now!” he grits through his teeth, squeezing the wheel too tight and wobbling on his line slightly.

“Kid, what’s going on? Do you need to pit?” Doc’s voice buzzes through the headset. Lightning forces himself not to switch the damn thing off - he doesn’t need Doc’s help. He just needs to be Lightning McQueen .

The 95 wiggles through another turn, Lightning swears as he evens out. The effort makes him choke on his breath - there’s so much riding on this. If he can’t secure the sponsorships, he can’t fix the town and if he can’t fix the town, his friends will have to move and if his friends have to move, they’ll hate him and if they hate him he’ll be all alone and if he’s all alone again -

All of the oxygen in the car is gone. Lightning’s choking, unable to get any air into his lungs. The 95’s slow to start its turn, forcing him to whip through and fully abandon his line. 

It’s so hot in the car - he’s burning alive in the suit without any AC in the Arizona heat. There’s no oxygen left in the world, the sun burnt it all up and left only ash in his lungs. 

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t do this !

“Montgomery, focus !” the headset snarls in his ear - Lightning blinks rapidly at the sound of his name, instantaneously straightening in his seat as he gasps - forcing mouthfuls of air down this throat. 

The 95 finds its line again, building speed until he’s cruising at 202. He completes three more laps before he lets Doc call him in. He takes an extra cooling lap, switching the headset off and taking the time to catch his breath before he pulls the 95 up to the crowd. 

–

A few hours later, Harv sweet talked nearly all of the sponsors into upping their contracts. Everyone’s buzzing with excitement over what the kid can do this early in the year. Lightning personally thanked each and every one of them for coming out before they left. 

Now it’s just him and the 95. 

He lays on the hood,  back against the windshield. The metal’s long cooled off from his demonstration but he almost wishes it didn’t. As unbearable as the heat would be against his already hot race suit, it’d have to be better than the cold slicing through his clothes and into his bones, adding to the dense weight in his chest.

The moon’s starting to rise over the Butte. It lights the sky up with stunning purples and reds and it’s nothing like Florida. When he closes his eyes, the air isn’t humid and sticky. It’s dry and cutting and there’s never any rain to keep him trapped inside. 

There’s a knock on the driver’s side hood near his hips. He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head. Doc’s not facing him, instead leaning against the driver’s side, eyes up at the stars.

“Ya know, someone once told me you can’t stay where you are and get where you’re goin’.” Doc says, still not looking at Lightning.

“I mean this from the bottom of my heart, Doc. That’s really, really stupid.” the rookie lets his head fall back, soft thunk on the top of the car.

Doc chuckles, “I dunno, kid. Seems to me you’re holding onto a lot. Hard to go as fast as you and be weighed down.”

Lightning closes his eyes, letting the quiet night wash over them.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” That gets the kid to open his eyes and look over at the other man.

“Why?”

“I know you don’t like being called… that . For whatever reason,” he holds up a hand, quieting Lightning’s protests, “You ain’t gotta tell me - yet. It didn’t give me the right to use it.” Doc says, finally facing the boy.

Lightning looks him up and down, it might be the first time someone’s apologized to him and meant it. Normally I’m Sorry is followed by a but you just make me so mad . 

“It’s ok…it’s my name. Wouldn’ta told you if you weren’t allowed to know it.” Lightning smiles. He lets his face fall as he sucks in a breath. The dense heavy feeling in his bones is still there - it never really leaves - but he guesses Doc might be right. 

Maybe to get faster, to get wherever he’s going…he’s going to have to let go. “I hate the way people look at me sometimes. Like I’m never gonna be more than Montgomery McQueen . Like I’m fragile. I…I was scared you’d think I was fragile too” he’s quiet, staring at his hands like they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

“Kid, you’re sure as hell not fragile. You just spent two weeks training and doing appearances like it was no sweat. You’re a real tough kid. No matter what name you go by.”

Lightning smiles, a genuine smile this time, not one of his media smiles he’d been using all day. “Thanks, Doc.” he whispers, turning back to the sky, “You know…you can call me that sometimes. I wouldn’t mind…I wouldn’t mind it if it were you.”

Doc turns and ruffles the blond curls before resting his head on his forearm on the roof of the car, watching the kid watch the stars.

“Fine by me, Monty.”