Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Nice job in this race, rookie. At this rate, if you win first at the next one, you’ll have enough points to surpass Firebird,” Doc says with a hum, leaning back on the trailer’s battered stool. They ought to get a new one—this one looks like it’s been through hell. He dabbed antibiotic ointments onto the raw scrapes on Lightning's forearm. Said man winces ever so slightly, but perks up at the older’s words.

“Sweet!” He says, but huffs as Doc swats him back into the chair. He was more than used to the scrapes by now—he was also used to the way Doc’s hands were steady and efficient. The man didn’t waste time asking if it hurt. He already knew it did.

“Don’t move too much.” Lightning let out a more dramatic huff at Doc’s words, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a crooked smile despite the ache in his ribs and the sting in his arm. “You really think I’ve got a shot?”

Doc’s voice was gruff, but there was warmth buried in it. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You’ve come a long way, kid.”

Lightning lit up again. Not in the loud, cocky way he used to be—and still is, just less—but in the more quiet pride one. “Thanks, Doc. That…means a lot.”

Doc swatted his knee. “Don’t get sentimental on me. Go rest. You’ve got another one in three days.”

“Yeah, yeah. No rest for the fast,” Lightning rolls his eyes, hopping off the chair with a groan.

Doc snorted. “And no peace for the old, it seems.”

☆☆

The season had started off pretty well.

Ever since Doc became Lightning’s new crew chief (and mentor), his racing had started to improve dramatically—his techniques, his skills, and even his attitude—and he couldn’t be anymore happy. Even the press was interested, each and every one of them trying to dig up the whole story. After all, THE Hudson Hornet was back after years straying away from racing! And Lightning McQueen's crew! Who WOULDN'T want to be the first to write a complete story on this?

The sky over the track was wide and sharp blue, the stands packed to the best of their ability. Right now, every racer was preparing for the fifth race of the season, with just five more to go. Despite it being only the middle of it all, they were determined. These next two races would practically determine who would be in the finale. And Lightning was determined to win this. And hey, if he came second, it'll only motivate him more to win the next one. But even so, point wise, he's second. He's just 10 points below Firebird, a newer racer but still very fast. But Lightning knew he could beat him. He just needed to win at this race, and…

Before he could continue daydreaming more on his plans for this race, Lightning felt a light slap on the back of his neck, and he let out a small yelp as he turned around to see who it was. It was Bobby, standing with Cal.

“Hey dude, you ready for today's race?” Bobby asks, crossing his arms and leaning against a trailer. Lightning scoffed playfully and rested his hands on his hips.

“You know I am.”

“Well, you better be! Don't forget the deal we made the other day.” That's right! Lightning almost forgot. Him, Cal, and Bobby made a deal at a diner the other night—the person who crosses last between the three of them has to buy dinner the same night of the race. And, well, that’s today. I am SO getting free dinner, Lightning thinks with a grin on his face.

“Oh, don’t worry. I know I won’t be buying it,” he laughs as Cal shoves him lightly. “Hey!”

“Hah, maybe don’t have such an ego!”

“Why you—”

Bobby interjects with an eyeroll: “Hey now…calm down you two. We still have a race to do!” 

As soon as he spoke, the intercoms around the track came to life: “All racers, please head to your trailers and get ready! Again, all racers, please head to your trailers and get ready. Thank you!” With that, it turned off. The three looked at each other, before doing their signature handshakes and sending each other off. 

Lightning walked to his own trailer, just one over, and headed inside to see Doc doing last minute notes. Upon hearing the door open, he looked over to see the racer. He huffed a small smile, and turned back to finish up what he was writing.

“Hey Doc!” Lightning says as he stepped into the trailer, pulling slightly on his racing jacket. Doc glanced up from his clipboard once more, having finished the notes, and gave a slight nod. “There he is. You ready for this one?”

Lightning grins. “You bet! I was born ready,” he nods, but leans over to peek at Doc’s notes. “You’re really going all in on the strategy stuff today, huh?”

Doc shrugged, but there was a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just making sure we’re prepared. These other rookies might be fast, but we have strategy. If you run clean, keep your line tight, and hold the inside when the time comes, you should be able to place well,” he explains as he pats the younger boy’s back, the two walking over to where the 95 was sitting.

“The radio should be clean,” Doc says while Lightning climbs into his vehicle, “And the others filled the fuel and checked the wheels.”

“Anything else?” Lightning asks, looking over trustfully to Doc. The latter tapped his chin thoughtfully, before looking down at the boy. 

“Firebird has been over-aggressive. So, let him overdo it.”

Lightning nodded, strapping in. “Got it.” Turning his engine on and putting the visor down, the world seemed to narrow ever so slightly, the focus on this race. And he was determined to win.

When the five minute call rang, Doc waved Lightning off as the latter drove to his position. 

Climbing the steps of the crew chief box, he leaned against the railing to keep an eye out. Deep down, his gut was telling him something bad would happen. But he ignored it in favor of staying in the present. It would be no good focusing on the what ifs.

Soon, the green flag waved.

And they were all off.

☆☆

For the first fifty or so laps, everything was going according to plan. Lightning allowed himself to settle nickel behind Firebird and another racer, letting them burn their tires early. He conserved, watched. Bided his time. Looking in his rearview mirror, he saw Cal and Bobby not so far behind. He smirked, before turning his attention back to the front. After all, it wasn’t smart to look behind for so long—it takes a single glance to get you off your momentum. But at this point Lightning knew what he was doing. At least, he thought so.

He decided to be the one to speak first—pressing on the mic button, he spoke to his two friends: “You guys holding up nicely back there?” He grinned. For a few seconds, it was quiet, before Bobby’s voice appeared.

“Hey, don’t hold yourself too high, hotshot,” he huffed. He could hear Cal giggling in his own car, but then Doc’s voice crackled through the headset. He straightened his posture immediately, eyes focused once more.

“Good pace,” his crew chief began. “Keep your eyes on the inside—they’re drifting wide, make sure to watch them.” 

By lap seventy, Lightning saw an opening. He dipped low, letting the draft pull him just enough to slingshot past another racer. Firebird tried to close the gap, but Lightning anticipated it. He surged forward, tires barely touching the white line, while carving up the inside line with surgical precision.

He was now first.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Rather than the usual smug expression he’d send them (and a few winks), he simply smiled and picked up the pace, tongue slightly out to the side of his mouth as he focused. Looking back at who he was before he discovered Radiator Springs, he wasn’t all proud of himself, to say the least. But hey, everyone starts somewhere.

Doc’s voice came through again, quiet and steady: “Good move. Hold your line.”

Lightning grinned. Heart racing. This is it. This is mine. 

Okay, sure he toned down the ego. But that didn’t stop the confidence he had for this race.

The momentum continued for a short while. His placing fluctuated, but not once did he fall behind 5th. As they approach lap one fifty, it's pretty clear what the winnings will be—but no one says anything. Especially not Lightning. 

But then, something happened.

Lightning planned on pitting soon. He knew he'd need it, especially his tires. But before they could even get close to said pits, the racer from earlier—number 12?—his rear end wobbled in the curve wrong. Lightning could see briefly in his mirror what happened, but he tried to stay focused. It was only him and another racer that were up ahead, and he wasn't planning on getting caught in that mess. Not now. 

Before he could turn, a panicked shout echoed through the radio: “Lightning, behind you! Watch it—!”

Too late.

As fast as it happened, Firebird clipped the number 12, and a few racers had to veer to avoid it. Lightning, in his attempt to escape the chaos, tried pulling high. But then something slammed into his rear axle. The force of the slam lifted his car—briefly—and twisted it.

“KID!”

Lightning could feel his world flipping. He could hear the sounds of metal scraping, and in his attempt to reposition, tried turning the wheel. But despite his attempts, everything became noise and fire and weightlessness. He wasn't sure when he had opened his mouth, but he knew a sound came from it. And it wasn't a very pleasant sound.

He hit the wall with a sickening crunch.

Then nothing.

☆☆

A red flag was drawn, and emergency vehicles rushed to the scene. It was too much of a mess to continue the race, and all the other racers who had managed to avoid the wreck—Bobby, Cal, and a few others—pulled to the side and told to stay in their cars. But even so, Bobby and Cal immediately jumped out of their cars to race towards each other to ask what happened. But even they saw the wreck.

Before anyone could also tell the crew chiefs to stand still, Doc hurriedly passed his headset to Luigi, and sprinted onto the field. A few other chiefs followed in suit after seeing him run for his fallen racer. And despite the knee cramps, Doc made it over in a flash. Officials tried stopping him, but one glare stopped them in their tracks. He pushed past people to make it over to where Lightning’s car was. Or, well, what’s left of it. 

It was dented where it hit the wall in all its fury. That was going to cost a fortune to repair. But Doc didn’t care about the costs. He was worried about his kid. Kneeling, he managed to remove the black net, before yelling Lightning’s name.

He didn’t reply. 

Doc could see Lightning passed out inside the 95, head limp down as if it were the heaviest thing in the world. His arms lay across the car, one laid flat on his legs and the other hanging loosely next to him. Without having to look closer, he could tell one of his legs were fractured—it looked…wrong.

Before he could try and attempt to yank his kid out, the medics arrived and sought to get Lightning out immediately. Doc could only watch as he was pulled away by two other crew chiefs as his rookie was slowly extracted out of the car. Turning around, he could see three other drivers receiving the same treatment. A few other drivers managed to escape their cars on their own, but even they weren't spared the pain.

“Doc, hey, you there?” Strip Weathers questioned, waving his hand at Doc's face as the other man next to him held him closely. It was Bobby's own crew chief.

He didn't even realize he had spaced out until he was grabbed gently by both his shoulders and was now facing Strip entirely.

“Hey, you need to breathe. Can you do that for me?” Was he having a panic attack? Doc couldn’t tell. Nor could he speak. His breathing came in short, sharp bursts, his chest tightening like a vice was clamped around it. His hands were shaking—shaking, dammit—and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air no matter how hard he tried. His kid, he needed to check on Lightning—

Strip’s face was lined with worry. “Doc, look at me. Eyes right here, okay?” He tapped his own chest, trying to center him.

Doc’s gaze flicked up, unfocused, pupils blown wide. Bobby’s crew chief, a solid presence now at his back, kept a hand steady between his shoulder blades, grounding him. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” the man said firmly. “Slow it down.”

Doc’s whole body trembled like a wire pulled too tight. “I—I need to check on him,” he rasped, the words scraping out like gravel. “He’s never wrecked this badly. Ever. He—Lightning—...”

Strip nodded, eyes serious but gentle. “I know. I saw it too. We all did. But he’s alive, Doc. They’ve got him. He’s breathing. They're putting him in the ambulance as we speak. You hear me?”

Doc’s breath hitched, eyes burning now. He hadn’t cried in years—decades, maybe—but something about seeing Lightning’s wrecked car spinning across the track had split him open. 

“I can’t lose him,” Doc whispered, voice cracking. Memories of what happened to him long ago began to reply in his head. He knew now wasn't the time—especially when the other person comforting him also went through something similar. But he couldn't help it. Not now.

“You’re not going to,” Strip said, his grip on Doc’s arm tightening. “You didn’t. He’s going to be okay.”

Doc pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, trying to make the static stop. “I just—I should have alerted him sooner—”

“Hey now,” Bobby’s crew chief said quietly. “There was no predicting what could have happened. You don't have eight eyes. You warned him when you could, and that's something.”

Doc’s breathing started to even out, little by little. Not normal yet, not by a long shot, but enough that the ringing in his ears began to fade. His hands were still trembling, but he was slowly coming back to himself.

Strip gave him a half-smile, tired and honest. “C’mon, Doc. Let’s get you to that ambulance, yeah? When Lightning wakes up, he'll want you with him.”

Doc nodded slowly, like he was still convincing himself it was real. That Lightning was alive. He’d be okay. And as they helped him to his feet, steady hands on either side, he whispered, barely loud enough to hear: “Thank you.”

The other two gave him a nod, and slowly, he made it over to the ambulance McQueen was at. Despite no blood relation, Doc was to be considered one of Lightning’s guardians—and he was also a doctor—so they let him in.

Looking down at the blond, Doc let out a pitiful sigh and held his hand. It'll be okay, he told himself. He had to be.

☆☆

Darkness seemed to go on for hours as it blurred around his eyelids. Slowly, sound seemed to make its approach—like a wave, pulling in and out of shore. He could hear soft murmurs. No one seemed frantic, at least in that moment. Then, his eyes seemed to betray him. It was too damn bright.

Voices. Machinery. Beeping.

His mouth was dry. His skull pulsed with every heartbeat.

It felt like his 5 senses were out to get him. He could feel all of it attacking him at once, but he just didn't want to move. Lightning couldn't open his eyes—he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to, or because he was just. Too tired. But as if a spell was cast upon him, he could hear someone utter a phrase to him.

“Lightning? Can you hear me?”

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

But then he regretted it, for the lights appeared way too bright for him. It felt like someone grabbed the sun from the sky and shoved it right in his face. His head throbbed and his ribs ached. Actually, everything seemed to ache. The beeps he was hearing earlier seemed to be quieter, but very consistent. There was a small tug on his arm, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Instead, it looked like a weak attempt to push his body up.

“Easy, easy. Hey—hey, you're alright.” The voice felt…familiar. It was low and reaffirming, toughened by age and all that has happened to the person over the years.

Lightning blinked again, slower this time, and the blur above him sharpened just enough to make out the figure slouched beside his hospital bed. Doc. Shoulders hunched forward, brow tight with worry that disappeared the second he realized Lightning was looking back at him.

“You’re okay,” Doc repeated, softer. Like he was saying it for himself more than anyone. 

Lightning opened his mouth. Tried to talk. All that came out was a croak, followed by a sharp cough that pulled at his ribs. He winced, breath catching in his chest.

He swallowed. His mouth felt dry—too dry, but he managed to reply. “Yeah,” he croaked.

Doc let out a long, quiet breath and sat back in the chair next to the bed like his knees had finally given out. He pressed a hand to his face and dragged it down, slow and weary. “Jesus, kid. You scared the hell outta me.”

Lightning didn't know what to say to that. He looked down at himself instead—IV in one arm, bruises blooming purple across the other. Bandages. Tubes. Wires. His left foot was elevated. His chest felt heavy. Not just from the cracked ribs, but from the weight of realization slowly settling in.

The wreck. He remembered the flash of headlights. The spin. The wall. Everything after that was blank. But it felt blurry yet so….visible. All at once.

“I'm so—”

“No, kid, don't apologize. You—it's not your fault,” Doc sighed, before offering a small grim smile. Lightning could tell the older man was exhausted, and when he looked toward the window, it was dark. It must be late at night. Maybe that's why the lights were a bit darker, rather than the plastering brightness he originally saw.

“Hm…how…bad was it?” Lightning asks, his voice quieter than before.

“Well, a huge pileup happened and your car slammed into the wall going over 200. They had to pull you out. And you suffered a concussion, a few bruised ribs, but your leg suffered the most harm. You'll have to stay off it for a few weeks.” Doc trailed off, as if he were reciting an ancient scroll. Like if he stuck only to the facts, then he wouldn't have to think about why it affected him as much as it did.

“Yikes.” Yeah. Yikes. “How…long has it been?”

Doc didn't even consider the time. All he knows is that he's been there since the ambulance arrived in the hospital. Since he had to watch the rookie—his kid— get rolled away into surgery and scanning. And he could do nothing but sit and wait. 

The others came and went. Cal and Bobby showed up right after they were told the race wouldn't continue—that it would be rescheduled for a different day. They fretted, talked, and at some point, Cal cried, but they left in hopes of returning the next day with treats for Lightning when he woke up. Even though the race didn't finish, Bobby and Cal—to make it up to their friend—decided that when he's released from the hospital and can actually go places, that they'd be the ones to buy dinner. It only seemed fair enough.

Mater came barging in with the others who were pit crew—Luigi, Guido, Fillmore, Sarge, and even Sheriff. Sarge was the one who had to calm the bickering down from the others, who were surrounding Doc all in worry. He told them Lightning’s condition, and all that he knew and heard from the Nurses who were in charge of the boy. It wasn't until later that Sheriff talked to him privately, and held him closely as Doc, for the first time in a long time, let his emotions take over and let out a few tears. He's never reacted so…intensely before. But Sheriff didn't say a word. Only comfort.

“It's been a couple hours,” Doc said truthfully. “The press has been trying to get in since they found out what hospital you're in, but luckily Sheriff and Sarge got it under control.”

“That's good,” Lightning huffed.

The room went quiet. Without the kid's constant energy, it felt dim. Like life was taken out of him. And you could say it was—he seemed to still be half asleep. Doc wasn't sure if Lightning would remember this conversation in a few hours from now, let alone remember waking up.

“We thought—I thought I lost you,” Doc said quietly, so quiet that Lightning barely heard him.

Sheriff was right. Doc was growing soft for the kid.

That got him to look over. Doc wasn’t even pretending to play tough anymore—his shoulders were slumped forward, jaw tight, eyes shining with something he wouldn’t let fall. Lightning blinked. He hadn’t seen Doc like this. Not ever. Even when the Hudson Hornet broke down on the side of the road last winter coming home from Flagstaff and they’d both stood in silence for twenty minutes.

“…I’m sorry,” Lightning said, because it was the only thing that felt right. Normally, he'd come up with some banter to shoot at the older man, but now didn't seem like the right time. Especially when he looked visibly distraught.

It pained Lightning to see it.

Doc huffed again, half a laugh, half a sigh. “What did I say about apologizing, rookie? You're okay. It wasn't your fault the crash happened.”

“Yet I still got caught up in it.”

“It happens to the best of us.” Doc's hand twitched like he wanted to reach out, but wasn't sure if he should. But Lightning beat him to it. Offering his hand slowly, Doc took it. “You were trying to avoid the wreck, we all saw it. You did everything right. It was just…bad luck.”

Lightning looked away once more. It seems to have become a habit now. When he didn’t have anything to say, he'd look away. His throat ached with something heavier than bruising. “Did I… finish the race?”

Doc snorted softly. “You’re in a hospital bed, and that’s what you care about?”

Lightning gave a half-hearted shrug. “It matters.”

Doc leaned forward, elbows on knees, but still holding onto Lightning's hand. If his rookie wouldn't let go, then neither will he. “No, no you didn't.” He paused at Lightning’s solemn face. “But the others didn’t finish either. They called the race shortly after the huge pile up.”

Lightning closed his eyes. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Does this mean I can't race for a while?” Doc hummed quietly. Then, he nodded, and watched as Lightning’s already tired face drooped just a bit more. It broke his heart—but his kid's safety was his utmost priority. 

“Yeah. But, if you wanted to, you can watch Bobby and Cal race. In fact, they'll be here to visit again tomorrow, along with the others.”

Lightning cracked a small smile. “Is that why it's only you here?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I'm glad you're here, Doc.” Lightning mumbled, turning his head again to face the wall, hand still holding onto the other. It was quiet again for a moment, but it was different now—less heavy. Warmer. It made both of them feel more relieved.

Doc didn't reply. Instead, he softly smiled and squeezed the kid's hand in acknowledgement. Even with the small gesture, Lightning knew what Doc really meant; I’ll always be here for you, hotshot.

He yawned, suddenly feeling very tired. His grip on the other's hand loosened, and Doc took that as a sign to pull away. Despite his back arguing with him, he leaned over and tugged the blanket higher over Lightning’s chest, careful not to jostle the IV.

“Go to sleep, McQueen. I'll still be here when you wake up.”

Smiling, Lightning closed his eyes and drifted asleep.

And Doc kept his word.