Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inhale.

The phone clicked off as the stranger on the other end hung up.

Exhale.

His phone screen went dark.

Inhale.

He took a step towards the door.

Exhale.

He reached for the door handle.

Inhale.

His hand grasped the door handle of his motorhome bedroom.

Exhale.

His ears rang with echoes of the phone call.

Inhale.

Jacksonville Sheriff's Office flashed on his screen as the caller ID.

Exhale.

This wasn't the first time he'd received a call from them over the years.

Inhale.

He didn't know it would be the last.

Exhale.

"Is this Montgomery McQueen?"

Inhale.

The use of his real name always jarred him.

Exhale.

When was the last time someone addressed him by his full name?

Inhale.

Him.

Exhale.

"Yes?" He asked hesitantly.

"My name is Deputy West, and I'm calling on behalf of the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office...I regret to inform you that your father, Michael McQueen, died while driving under the influence of alcohol tonight at 10:48pm in Jacksonville, Florida."

Inhale.

There were more words said. Questions asked. He answered, but he didn't even know what he had said. It was like his mouth was moving on its own accord. He was on autopilot.

Exhale.

His hand gripped the doorknob harder.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The room was getting hotter.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Inhale.

Inhale.

Now he couldn't freakin' breathe.

He kept his death grip on the doorknob as he dropped to an unstable knee. He leaned his forehead forward against the door, and his other hand came up and grabbed his throat.

Maybe to make sure that it was still there because it definitely wasn't working right if it was.

Inhale.

Inhale.

Inhale.

If he exhaled and completed the motion of a full breath, then he wasn't sure what would happen. If time would move on from that moment. If his dad would still be dead. If he'd start to feel. What he'd feel.

He didn't know. He didn't know what he should feel.

Instead, he was caught in an in-between moment of not feeling and not breathing, and the whole world was standing still.

His grip on the doorknob faltered, and he crumpled to the floor.

"Did he kill anyone?" His own voice repeated in his head.

"The family's 8-year-old daughter is in critical condition at this time. The mother and son are being treated for minor injuries."

"Send-" His voice caught as the autopilot switched off for half a second.

"Have them send me the medical bills. All of them. I'll-"

Inhale.

Exhale.

"I'll pay for them all."

It wasn't enough. If that girl died, Monty wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself.

When was the last time he had thought of himself as Monty?

Monty was the kid who grew up in the system.

Monty was the kid who had blurred memories of blood-stained carpets that never seemed to fully dry in the Jacksonville humidity.

Monty was the kid who couldn't stand the smell of beer to this day.

Monty was the kid whose mother was buried 6 feet under in the Florida dirt.

Monty was the kid who finally had a teacher notice one too many black eyes.

Monty was the kid whose dad just died.

Inhale.

Inhale.

Inhale.

The least I can do is make sure he's not buried anywhere near her. He thought fleetingly. It was the last sort of peace he could offer his mom. He wouldn't let her lie next to that monster.

Breathing in hard pulls, curled up on the carpet floor, took him back to that house. That house where he grew up. That house where she died. That house where he would have died.

Before cars.

Before racing.

Before he became Lightning McQueen.

He was still connected to the man in last name. The man who showed him true pain at 8 years old.

The man who died and tried to take someone else's kid with him.

And Monty McQueen couldn't freaking breathe.

"Hey, Rookie," Doc called through the closed door with a knock. "You almost ready? We'll be late meeting the others for dinner."

Inhale.

Inhale.

Inhale.

"Don't tell me you're pouting about coming in second to Cal," Doc said gruffly, albeit teasingly.

Inhale.

Inhale.

In- He choked on air as a sob ripped its way out of his throat. Twin trails of tears ran sideways down his face into the carpet.

Tears that the man didn't deserve. Monty shouldn't cry for a man who didn't deserve his tears. He wasn't even sure why he was crying. Was it because there was no chance for the man to turn into who he should have been? Because of the relief that he didn't have to deal with him anymore? Because this would be the last call that caused his stomach to sink to his feet and his heart rate to increase, because what had his dad done this time?

Whatever the reason, his father was dead. And he was sobbing on the floor, unable to breathe. Just like when he was a kid-

Light blinded him as the door opened into his dark bedroom.

He heard Doc's sharp intake of breath in surprise as he quickly kneeled next to Lightning.

"Talk to me, kid. What's wrong?" He said smoothly, his "doctor voice" coming out.

Doc was answered with nothing but another sob and gasping breath from Lightning as he turned his face further into the carpet.

"Hey, kiddo. It's alright. Here, let's get you up on the bed. I need you to breathe with me."

Doc helped him struggle to his feet and sit on the edge of the bed while he tried to diagnose the problem. He had seen the kid upset. Scared. Frustrated. Anxious. Angry. Hurt. But he had only seen him look this...distraught, once. A year ago.

"C'mon, kid. Head between your knees. It'll help your body sort itself out," Doc said, helping Lightning to guide his head down.

The kid's chest was still heaving, and tears still soaked into the carpet between his feet.

"C'mon, Rookie," Doc said, rubbing circles on the kid's back in an attempt to ground him. "I need you to breathe with me, alright?"

Another visceral sob ripped its way out of Lightning's throat. With a despair running so deep that Doc was starting to worry that someone had died.

"Alright, Lightning. You're alright. Just breathe," Doc said. "Breathe with me." Doc continued to rub circles on his back and took a deep, exaggerated breath. "In."

He let the breath out slowly, "And out. C'mon, Rookie. You can do it."

He felt Lightning's back spasm under his hand. He tried. His next breath came out in a shudder, but not a sob.

"In...and out."

A few times, Lightning's breath would hitch, or a sob would escape him, and Doc would guide his breathing back. They stayed like that until Lightning's sobs had softened into hiccuped breaths and occasional shivers.

Doc's mind was racing. He was really starting to think someone had died. Or something equally horrible and devastating had happened. If it had been one of the RS crew, Doc would have heard himself. He wondered if something had happened to Mack, but he was supposed to be at dinner with the others. He'd just seen both Bobby and Cal at the race and the interviews. They were probably still in their own trailers, safe.

Somewhere in Doc's gut, he thought he knew, though. Something had happened, and he almost knew what it was. The only other time he'd seen Lightning like this was last year, when a man who never should have been able to set foot near him again was screaming in his face and shoving him to the ground. Doc remembered holding him as he sobbed behind the stacks of tires.

That was the only man Doc had met who could so thoroughly rattle the ever-confident Lightning McQueen.

But Doc prayed that he was jumping to conclusions. That this wasn't related to that horrible, horrible man. But somehow, as Lightning's back stuttered with each breath beneath his palm, he knew.

The tears hadn't stopped, but Lightning's breaths sounded more like actual breathing and less like someone choking on glass now. Doc's hand didn't stop its slow circles over Lightning's back.

"Lightning," Doc said quietly. The kid didn't move, though. His head was still between his knees, one hand gripping the mattress, and the other gripping his knee. He didn't acknowledge Doc.

This time, Doc's hand did stop, but his voice softened. "Monty."

Lightning flinched, sucking in ragged breath. "What happened?" Doc asked.

The words tumbled out of Lightning's mouth like a sob. "He's dead." Even though Doc had braced for those words, they still hit him like a ton of bricks. They still stole his breath. He still mentally went through the tabs on where everyone should be. Everyone should be safe and fine. He would have heard if it were otherwise. Mater, Bobby, Cal, Mack. They were all safe. They were fine. He probably meant...

Doc still asked. Even though deep down, he knew. "Who, Rookie?"

Lightning's next words did come out as a sob. "My dad."

Relief, shame, and heartbreak hit Doc in the stomach all at once. He was thankful it wasn't one of their own. The guilt at that thought slammed into him like a freight train, but he still meant it. And his heart broke for the kid beside him.

Lightning's next breath shook, and he choked on his words, burying his face in his hands. "I never thought I'd outlive him. I always thought he'd kill me long before he was in the ground." The words were like a knife to Doc's heart. "He was driving drunk. Hit a family's car. They're all in the hospital, and the little girl might die." Another sob clawed its way out of his throat.

Doc pulled him sideways into a hug, as Lightning shuddered and cried. "I don't even know why I'm crying," he said in a laugh that sounded wrong. "He was awful. I used to wish he'd die sometimes. I just didn't think it'd ever actually happen. I..." His breath hitched, and Doc's grip on him tightened. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he whispered.

Doc's heart ached hearing the words. He wished he could protect him from all the pain. His thoughts went back half a century, thinking back on his own parents' deaths. They'd been sick for awhile. Hud had been a young teenager back then and was already working full-time. He'd known it was coming. He wasn't particularly close to his parents. Smokey had been more of a parent to him than they ever were. It hadn't hurt as much as whatever Lightning was feeling now. Especially considering who his dad was, Doc didn't know what the kid was feeling. He didn't even think Lightning knew what he was thinking.

Doc's hand cupped the back of Lightning's head. "Nothing's wrong with you, kid," Doc said fiercely, tightening his grip. "There's no right or wrong way to feel about it."

"I told them I'd pay," Lightning whispered hoarsely, "For the medical bills. He shouldn't...he can't keep taking from people," Lightning choked. Doc didn't respond. He just held him until his breaths were deep, and his tears had dried up.

"Ok, Rookie. Get changed. I'll let them know we won't be at dinner." Lightning nodded silently, reluctantly pulling away as he wiped his face on his sleeve. Doc gave his shoulder one last squeeze before standing and slipping out of the room.

Doc sighed as he shut the door behind him. He walked a few steps further to the motor home's small kitchen before dialing Sally. It rang twice before she picked up.

"Hey, Doc-"

"Shoot, is that Doc? Ask him if he and Lightnin' are on the way. I'm starving!" Mater's voice cut through in the background, with a light and joking tone.

"Hear that, Doc?" Sally teased. "Tell Stickers to finish doing his hair and hurry up!" She laughed.

Doc's throat tightened. He cleared it before he spoke, "We're not going to be coming to dinner, Sally."

There was a pause. "What? What happened? Is everything ok?"

"Shoot! What happened?" Mater's voice echoed.

"Everyone is fine," Doc started with. "But Lightning got a phone call about his dad." There was silence on the other end of the phone. "His dad died today." He heard Sally inhale sharply and Mater's soft "Oh no."

"He was drinkin' and drivin' and he hit a family's car. They're all in the hospital for injuries right now. His dad didn't make it."

"We can be there in 20 minutes," Sally said firmly, even as her voice shook. "How is he taking it?"

"Not...not well," Doc said, running a hand down his face.

"We'll be there soon, ok?"

"Thanks, Sally." Doc sighed, flipping his phone shut.

He went back to Lightning's bedroom, opening the door. Lightning was curled up on the bed, on top of the covers, face half buried in his pillow. His clothes from earlier were discarded on the floor.

"Hey, kid," Doc said, easing down to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. He could tell he was awake, but Lightning kept his eyes shut. Doc put a hand on his shoulder. "Mater and Sally will be here soon, alright?"

The silence stretched for a few seconds before Lightning finally whispered, "ok."

They didn't say anything after that. Doc just stayed, sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth over Lightning's shoulder. Eventually, Lightning's breaths became deep and slow. He was asleep. But Doc didn't move until he heard knocking at the door of the motor home.

He quietly got up, leaving the bedroom door open a crack as he made his way to the trailer door.

He opened the door and saw Sally, her brow creased as she stepped in, followed by Mater.

"How is he?" Sally asked, immediately setting her purse down and turning to Doc.

"He's sleepin'," Doc answered, gesturing towards the bedroom.

Sally wasted no time making her way over to the bedroom and slipping in the door. She paused in the doorway, just looking at him. He was in an old Rustez t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He was curled up on his side, one hand loosely gripping the pillow, and his brow furrowed. He looked tense even in his sleep.

She kicked her shoes off and gently eased herself onto the bed beside him. She waited, making sure he didn't wake before fully laying down, curled up beside him. She brushed a stray curl out of his eyes before wrapping her arm around him to loosely drape over his chest. She just looked at him for a moment as his chest steadily rose and fell. She leaned in close, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I love you, Monty. We'll figure this out."

He didn't wake, but his grip on the pillow loosened a fraction. She stayed there, curled beside him, holding him close until morning.

Chapter Text

The world moved by out the motorhome window.

Lightning appeared to be watching it. And maybe he was. Watching, but not really seeing.

The blurs of trees and sky didn't register as he stared out the window. His cheek was propped against his fist and his eyes stared, unblinking through the glass.

"Dad, slow down!"

The world dragged by outside.

Lightning felt like he was watching himself. Just outside his body. Floating somewhere above it.

He was vaguely aware of his shallow breaths, but all other sounds had muted, and there was just a vague ringing in their place. He couldn't really...feel anything.

He could remember feeling though.

The ringing slowly faded, and he could hear his dad's muffled voice from where he was curled up on the floor, protecting his head. His ear was ringing from where his dad had just kicked him in the head. His foster mom, checking her watch at urgent care because he got into a fight at school, and she had to leave work early because of him.

"Dad, slow down!"

The screech of tires and the crunch of metal pierced the night. He was too scared even to remember what his dad was yelling about when the car came to a stop.

Doc was the first presence he recognized as he was pulled from the wreck. His fire suit felt suffocating, and the medics quickly removed his helmet. Doc had a hand on his arm as the stretcher moved to the infield care center.

The smell of alcohol and antiseptics hit him as they went through the doors.

The smell of alcohol hit him when he opened his front door. He ducked as his dad threw a beer bottle at him.

Bobby's arm slung around his shoulders, shoving a beer in his hands. "C'mon, man, you never loosen up!"

Cal elbowed him, teasingly joining in. His dad's elbow caught that rib that still hurt from last time, and it hurt to breathe.

Sally kissed the scar on his ribs, and he shuddered. Doc showed him the X-rays after the crash, showing him where those old injuries never healed quite right.

If someone had asked him where he was, he probably could have answered. He knew distantly that he was in the motorhome. Or his body was anyway. He didn't feel particularly connected to his body, though. He felt like he was staring at a stranger.

Doc put an icepack on the back of his neck, trying to bring his fever down. Monty pressed the ice to his bruised ribs.

"I'll be back for you, Montgomery! You hear me? You can't run from me forever!" His dad screamed like a madman as security dragged him away.

He never did come back. That was the last time he ever saw him.

"One of these days I'm going to end you, Montgomery."

"And Daddy will ALWAYS protect us, right? You can always come to us if things are scary," His mom said, pulling him closer in her lap as the storm raged on outside the house. His dad put a hand on his little shoulder, agreeing. "That's right. That's my job to keep you and Mommy safe!"

"I love you, Monty!" His mom hugged him, kissing his cheek.

"I love you, Monty," Sally whispered as he pulled her in for a kiss.

"I used to go by Hud."

"Y'know! Like To-Mater! But without the Ta!"

"Montgomery!"

Somewhere between the disjointed reality around him, he became aware of a distant pressure.

Through the ringing, a low, muffled rumble carried to his ears

Everything felt...far away.

His breath hitched as the pressure on his face increased.

"C'mon back, rookie. You're safe." The low voice said something else, but Lightning couldn't make it out.

He began to recognize the pressure on his face. Weathered, rough. Warm, safe. A thumb moved back and forth over his cheekbone.

He turned his face into the pressure, pressing against it. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of everything.

"C'mon, kiddo. You're alright."

Safe.

The pressure on his face. It...it was a hand. He grimaced. Not...not his dad's hand. His dad's hand was big and rough like this one but different. He couldn't really...place the difference, but it was there. This hand was... uncharacteristically gentle. Why the gentleness was uncharacteristic was beyond Lightning. He had a sense he knew who it belonged to.

Gruff. Safe. Grumpy.

The man who welcomed him into his home. His crew chief. Racing legend.

He knew who this was. But everything was so distant. So disconnected. It didn't make sense.

A hand that felt half his own and half someone else's came up and grabbed the one at his face.

His breathing grew harsh as the world attempted to reorient itself around him.

"There you go, kid. Come on back. It's just me. Just Doc."

Doc.

Doc was safe.

The pressure on his face grew stronger. He could feel the wrinkles and lines on the hand against his face now. His eyelids seemed to weigh a ton, but he forced them open.

And the world spiked.

Everything came crashing back all at once. The sound of the motorhome engine. The car rocking faintly beneath him. The bright colors and lights blurring past the window.

His T-shirt felt too rough. The collar was too tight. His sweatpants rubbed against his skin wrong. The smell of coffee still lingered in the air from that morning. His ears still rang. It was too bright. It was too much.

He gasped a shaky breath, his eyes squeezing shut again. It was too much. Too much.

Too much.

He just wanted to disappear again.

"Easy, kid. It's ok. I know it feels like a lot."

Another hand came up and cradled the other side of his head, a thumb pressing lightly into his jaw there. The pressure gave him something to focus on.

He didn't even realize until he noticed that his jaw was moving against the pressure there that words were tumbling out of his mouth and his chest was heaving.

"Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop." The words came out more as a sob.

"Just focus right here. We're in the motorhome right now. It's just you and me. You're safe. Just Doc. You're safe, Lightning. You can come back."

The shaky, harsh breaths in his ear eventually reoriented and sounded like they belonged to him and not to someone else.

His hand squeezed Doc's again, that was still holding his face. "That's it, son."

Finally, his eyes met Doc's. They looked calm but worried. He had a vague sense that Doc was worried about him. Doc's eyes seemed to search his own.

"You with me, kid?" Lightning's throat seized. Almost like he forgot how to speak.

Lightning just nodded, his head bowing forward. And somehow Doc took that as a cue to lean forward and pull him into a hug.

Lightning thought distantly that Doc didn't hug much, but it felt more like keeping Lightning from collapsing than a hug. Lightning didn't care either way.

His forehead was pressed to Doc's shoulder, and he felt a strong hand on the back of his neck. The pressure helped. Helped him remember where he was and stay there.

His hand clung to Doc's shirt, his thumb unconsciously running over the fabric. The texture being proof that something was real. If he was touching something real, then he must be real.

"I've got you, son. You're alright."

Lightning closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

For now, he just believed Doc's words. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

Lightning's breath caught as the caller ID flashed across the screen.

St. Vincent's Hospital - Jacksonville FL

"Hello?" His voice cracked on the single word.

"Is this Montgomery McQueen?"

"Is this Montgomery McQueen?"

"Yes?" It came out more as a question than an answer.

"My name is Deputy West, and I'm calling on behalf of the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office...I regret to inform you that your father, Michael McQueen, died while driving under the influence of alcohol tonight at 10:48pm in Jacksonville, Florida."

"Did he kill anyone?" The words sounded strangled.

"The family's 8-year-old daughter is in critical condition at this time. The mother and son are being treated for minor injuries."

"Send-" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Have them send me the medical bills. All of them. I'll-I'll pay for them all."

"Monty, what happened?" Doc's hand on his back.

"He's dead." Lightning didn't even recognize his own voice.

"Who, Rookie?"

"My dad."

"This is Nya. I'm a social worker from St. Vincent's Hospital in Jacksonville, Florida. I'm calling regarding the 8-year-old girl involved in the motor vehicle accident with your father on Sunday night. I'm sorry-"

No. Nonononononono.

"-passed away this morning from her injuries despite medical efforts."

A choked "What?" was all that Lightning was able to manage. His hand grabbed the motorhome wall for support.

"I know that this is difficult to hear. Our medical team did everything that they could, but unfortunately, her injuries were too severe. Her parents authorized you to receive updates since you were financially involved in her medical care."

This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Please, please don't be happening.

"Ok," The word came out soft. So soft that he wasn't sure if it was even loud enough for the caller to hear him.

They must have heard him, though, because they said: "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. McQueen. I won't keep you any longer. Please reach out to our social department if you need to talk to anyone. We're available to coordinate any support that you need. Take care of yourself, Mr. McQueen."

All Lightning could do was murmur another barely audible "ok" before the call ended.

He wasn't sure of the exact moment that his knees hit the ground. But they ached from the impact. Air seemed...hard to breathe.

But he wasn't hyperventilating, not like after the call about his dad. Everything had that strange, distant feeling again. His breaths were shallow. He had the brief thought that he might throw up. His arms wrapped around his stomach, and he hunched in on himself.

The girl had died.

His dad had killed someone.

His dad had killed a kid.

His...his dad killed a kid.

His dad had killed a kid...and it wasn't him.

His forehead pressed into the cool wood tiles of the motorhome kitchen floor.

His first feeling was panic. But strangely, he didn't feel capable of feeling at that moment.

It was like the grief and panic and pain were banging on the door, screaming to be let in. But he couldn't make himself open the door. Somehow, it was easier to leave everything shut out. Distant. Quiet. He looked at himself hunched over on the floor, his own harsh breaths rang in his ears.

This...was better. It wasn't panic. It wasn't really pain. Even though he felt a vague sense of fear at not being in his body, it wasn't safe. So this...this was better.

A hand on the back of his neck forced him to stop watching himself. It gave him a jarring sensation. The cool floor. The rough hand. His own shallow, gasping breaths. The door started to crack open. It began to let the panic in. He desperately tried to keep it shut.

"Stop," Lightning pleaded. It sounded more like a whimper than a real word.

"Easy, son. Talk to me."

Lightning just shook his head and gasped out another choked breath. His arms tightened around his middle.

I don't want to feel anything. I don't want to think about it. Everything is too much. It's too much. It's too much.

"Alright, rookie. We've just gotta bring you back. You're still in the motorhome. It's afternoon. Mack is driving up front. We're almost home, kid. Just a few more hours."

Lightning gasped again, but it came out in a sob. "Stop. Stop. I don't want to come back. I don't want to feel anything. Don't make me feel, Doc. I don't want to feel."

The words were like a knife to Doc's heart. His throat clenched, and he swallowed past the feeling. He ran his hand up and down Lightning's back. "I know, kid. I know." Doc had glanced at the flip phone nearby when he'd first found Lightning on the floor. He'd seen where the last call was from and put two and two together.

Doc just sat there with him, rubbing his hand on the kid's back. He didn't have any words to fix this. He couldn't tell him it wasn't painful. He couldn't bring people back from the dead. All he could do was sit there and try to help the kid breathe again.

"C'mon, son. I need you to breathe with me." Lightning just shook his head vigorously against the floor. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was quickly losing the battle to "not feeling anything" as his gasping breaths turned into quiet sobs.

"C'mon. Just breathe. Don't focus on anything else right now. Just breathe."

When Lightning didn't respond much, Doc slowly eased him into a sitting position so that his back was resting against the wall. The kid didn't fight him.

Doc moved beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Lightning turned his face into Doc's chest. Doc just held him tight.

Lightning's hand fisted Doc's shirt. "It's not fair," he cried. "She was only eight."

"I know, kid. I know."

Lightning dissolved into sobs. It wasn't quite the force of the ones that night behind the haulers after that last time he saw his dad. Or that of a couple of nights ago, when his sobs clashed with panic after that first phone call.

This was quieter. It had an exhausted edge to it, and a layer of grief clung to it more than that for his father. Grief at the loss of an innocent life caught in the crossfire.

"It's not fair." The words were muffled against Doc's shirt. He sighed and just tightened his hold. "I know, son. I know." He didn't have anything else to say.

Doc didn't know how long they sat there on the floor. But Lightning's gasping breaths had long since turned to quiet sobs. Now, Doc still had an arm wrapped tight around him, and Lightning's face was still pressed to his chest. Doc's shirt was soaked with tears.

Doc remembered back to his ER days. Bad shifts. Patients lost. He'd spent more than a few times after rough shifts up in the NICU. Some of the babies had lost their mothers. Or were slow to stabilize. Sometimes they just needed to be held. He'd walk around the nursery, holding one of them to his chest, quietly humming. It helped to soothe them and, admittedly, it helped him too.

His mother used to hum a lot. Back on the farm. Whenever she was working, sewing, cooking, or scrubbing the floors. When she'd be walking home with him from town when he was a young boy.

Doc wasn't even sure when he started, and he was startled to realize that he was humming now. That old song was one of his Ma's favorites.

Slowly, Lightning's crying lost its edge. It petered out into shaky breaths and eventually deeper breaths that matched the rise and fall of Doc's own chest.

The humming filled the quiet of the motorhome and slowly brought Lightning back.

The sound was a low, comforting rumble beneath his cheek. There was a steady heartbeat keeping time to the tune.

Lightning felt his own breathing eventually steady to match the pace. Tears still leaked from his eyes. They'd start to dry until he'd remember the life that his dad had taken. She was dead, and he was still here. Still alive. Still breathing. It wasn't fair. Not to the girl. Not to her family. He never thought his dad would kill anyone but him. Then the tears would pick up again, his breath would hitch, and his grip on Doc's shirt would tighten.

Doc would tighten his grip in return, and the humming would grow louder for a few seconds, dragging his attention back to it.

Finally, the shakiness had mostly left him. He knew that the floor had to be bad for Doc's back and knees, but he also couldn't find the energy to pull himself away from where he was curled against Doc's chest like a freakin child.

The humming came to a stop, but Doc's voice still rumbled where Lightning's face was pressed to his chest as he asked, "You with me, son?"

Lightning shut his eyes. "I didn't want to come back," He whispered hoarsely. "I meant it."

"I know, kid. I know," was all that Doc said.

"It should have been me," Lightning whispered. "I was the only one my dad was ever supposed to kill."

Lightning felt Doc's chest hitch beneath his cheek, but his voice was calm and steady when he spoke.

"Your dad wasn't supposed to kill anyone, son. Especially not you."

Lightning's breath hitched in another sob as more warm tears streamed down his face.

The humming resumed, and Doc rubbed his hand up and down Lightning's back.

Doc couldn't take the pain away. But he would sit there with him as long as he needed. Until he at least started to believe the lies of his father a little bit less.

Chapter Text

Doc's mind felt heavy.

He had barely coaxed Lightning to bed a few hours ago after the kid had received the news of the young girls' death.

Doc was sitting on the bench in the motorhome's kitchen, watching the street lamps go by. He took another sip of his black coffee that had long since gone cold.

Doc could see the neon lights in the distance, glowing at the base of the red rocks. Almost home.

He was sure that everyone knew by now what had happened. The others had landed the day before and were already home. As far as Doc knew, Lightning had only fully told him, Sally, and Mater about his past. Everyone knew his dad had died now, but they didn't all know what it was doing to the kid. Doc wasn't even sure he completely knew.

Sally may have talked about it with Flo. Ramone might know a bit. Doc and Sheriff had talked around it enough that Doc was sure Mike at least had an inkling about it. No one else knew. Doc wasn't even sure what Mack knew.

They didn't know what the kid had been through. They didn't see his old man shaking him by the collar after that race in Bristol last year. They only saw the quiet things. How Lightning never drank. How he'd have days where he became quiet and withdrawn before going back to his old self the next day. How he never talked about his folks or his past or growing up.

Doc didn't think this would all hit the kid so hard, especially with him having hardly any contact with his old man for years. But Doc knew that trauma had a way of sinking its teeth in and not letting go.

Hopefully, the kid would feel a little more human when he woke up. Yesterday, he'd woken up looking like he hadn't slept at all and just walked around in a stupor all day. Last night, the kid had slept for almost twelve hours and seemed to be marginally more himself this morning. Then the second phone call had taken him out again.

Doc knew these next few weeks would be rough. He was already mentally typing up emails, reworking schedules, and wondering if the kid would be up to racing this weekend. Doc figured he could convince him to take one weekend off. But he didn't think anything could keep the kid out of that car for long.

"He's dead."

"Who, Rookie?"

"My dad."

Doc yelled at the man who had Lightning by the collar. He was shaking him and sneering as he spoke, all up in the kid's face. The man pushed Lightning to the ground, and Doc had an uncanny feeling as the man made eye contact with him. An unfamiliar face, with Lightning's eyes.

You'd never know just by looking at the kid what he'd been through. Though Doc supposed most people were like that. Doc held a resentment for a man he barely knew every time he saw the scars of what that man had done.

Doc couldn't change the past. He'd spent decades resenting that fact. Until Lightning had given him a reason to go back to living. A reason to hope that the future could be better than what was supposed to have been. Now the kid needed that from Doc. And Doc would try his darndest to give him that.

The lights continued to blur past the motorhome window as Doc's eyes grew heavier. He didn't think he had fallen asleep, maybe just dozed for a few minutes, but the next thing he knew, Mack was shaking his shoulder, saying they had arrived.

The neon lights were no longer in the distance, but right outside, lining Main Street.

Doc sighed, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. His knees protested, and his back twinged as a result of the hour he had spent on the floor with Lightning when he broke down. Doc would do it again, though. And there was nothing to be done for his aching joints now.

Doc rubbed his back absentmindedly for a few seconds as he made his way over to Lightning's bedroom. He opened the door, pausing in the doorway.

Doc sighed. The kid looked exhausted even in sleep.

Doc crossed the room and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed where Lightning was sprawled out.

"Hey, kid. We're home."

Nothing. Doc shook his shoulder a bit. He got nothing more than Lightning's face pinching into a grimace, and his face turning further into the pillow.

"Rookie, it's time to get up," Doc said a little more firmly this time. But Lightning was dead to the world. He'd exhausted himself so thoroughly that Doc figured the kid could sleep through a tornado right now.

"I can get him, Doc," Mack said, quieter than he usually spoke. Doc grunted in acknowledgement as he pushed himself to his feet again and let Mack pick up the kid.

Despite his brawn and big personality, Mack was as gentle as if he were picking up a baby bird when he lifted Lightning. The kid still had a grimace on his face, and his head lolled against Mack's shoulder, but he didn't stir.

Mack followed Doc down the steps of the motorhome, glancing down the quiet street before climbing the front porch stairs. Sally or Mike must have come over earlier and turned the porch light on for them. The small gesture sparked a flicker of appreciation in him as he unlocked the door.

Doc felt his shoulders sag a bit as he stepped inside, weary and glad to be home. No matter how at home Doc felt in the buzz of race day and traveling cross-country roads, he could never quite shake the homebody his spirit had settled into over the decades.

Mack followed him in and up the stairs to Lightning's bedroom. Doc pulled the covers back, and Mack laid him gently on the bed. The kid was dead weight and didn't so much as stir. Doc pulled the cover over him as Mack stepped back with a murmured, "Sleep well, kid."

He and Doc made their way back downstairs and found themselves in the kitchen. Doc sighed, taking his glasses off and scrubbing a hand over his face.

Mack was leaning against the counter with a somber look on his face.

"You uh, think he'll be okay, Doc?" He asked, his gaze tentatively meeting Doc's.

"He will be. Kid's tough stuff. It's gonna take him a little while, though," Doc muttered.

Mack nodded, before clearing his throat, "Well, guess I'd better get the rig parked at HQ. Sally's got a room waiting for me at the cone."

Doc nodded, walking him to the door. "Thanks, Mack."

"Anytime, Doc. You take care of him."

Doc nodded again and locked up the front door behind him.

Doc looked around the quiet, dark house. He knew it was going to be a long week. Hopefully, the kid would feel more himself after sleeping in his own bed and having a proper meal tomorrow.

But for now, Doc climbed the stairs and headed to his bed to sleep off the weariness that clung to him.