Chapter Text
Fireball Beach, 1954
Stillness was something that Hud had never really been a fan of. He was a racer. He needed to be moving. He wanted to be moving. Gliding over dirt tracks and drifting through beaches. Feeling the sweat add adrenaline drip down his back as he put the petal to the metal to secure first place victory. That was his life. That was who he was.
Kicking up dust alongside Junior and River, even Lou when she found the time to mess around with him. The Thomasville speedway was his second home. Smokey’s garage was his home.
When he wasn’t racing, he was nose deep in the engine of another car that Smokey had picked up. warm oil slicking his hands and exhaust floating around his face. Fixing cars and engines had been second nature to him. Snowy used to joke that the boy could probably do it with his eyes closed if he tried hard enough. Hud had never argued with him. He liked the look and sound of pride when Smokey would slap him on the back and brag about him to all of his friends.
Still, when he wasn’t doing any of that, he was running moonshine around the streets of Thomasville. Smokey had always made the best moonshine. He let Hud try it when he was 17, only a sip though. It was pretty damn good, except for the fact that it burned his throat as it went down. When he was 21 and finally of legal drinking age, Smokey had let him have as much as he wanted. It was right after he had won his first piston cup. The whole crew had been shouting and cheering the entire night. Smokey, Junior, and River had been drunk off their minds. Hud had been as well, but he didn’t remember that part as much considering that it was his first time actually being. That had been one of the best nights of his life. Except for the next year when he won the piston cup again, or the year after that when he had won for the third time in a row.
He remembers that night like no other. He had pulled the Hornet back into his pit and kept out of the car and into Smokey’s arms. The man had caught him, jumping and cheering. Hud couldn’t swear that he wasn’t crying, cause that would make him a liar. He had never felt more proud than at that moment. He had finally found his purpose. He had finally become more than the kid that had been whipped by his father with a belt. He had become something. He had found his purpose.
Fireball Beach had taken that all away from him. The memories were still too fresh to think about that hard. The Hornet had lost traction on the sand, something that she had never done before. Hud still didn’t know to this day what caused it to happen. The car flipped. His body had been thrown around. He wasn’t conscious for most of it and he was glad for that much. Yet he almost wished he had never been conscious again after that moment.
Hud winced as he tried to shift up in the bed. They had finally let him out of the hospital a couple of days ago. He had been on bed rest with machines hooked into every part of his body for over two weeks. The doctors had told him he was lucky he was still alive. He didn’t know if he really considered that a lucky thing.
Smokey had been by his side every moment. He was there whenever Hud woke up, sobbing in pain. The list of injuries exceeded what he could remember. Severe concussion, His spine had suffered pretty bad trauma. He was glad it hadn’t paralyzed him. He had broken a couple of ribs on impact as well. He had dislocated a knee. Broken his femur on the other leg. It was a miracle he had lived, but again, he didn't know if it was really a good thing.
The worst of the injuries was probably the pelvic fracture though. That's what had kept him in the hospital for so long. That was part of the reason he still wasn’t able to move at all. He looked sad the first day at the hospital. That's what Lou had told him. He knew he didn’t look all that much better now. Almost three weeks have passed and he is still bedridden.
He still needed Smokey’s help to eat. He still needed the man’s help to get him up to use the bathroom. He needed help with everything.
The man was with him right now. He had woken up in the middle for the night, his right leg cramping to all hell. The pain had made him cry out into the silence. Smokey had rushed into his room, fear written all over the old man’s face. It had been embarrassing to explain to the man that it was just a cramp. It was just his calf cramping and he had no way to dwell the aching pain. Smokey didn’t seem to care though. He didn’t care that Hud had woken him up in the middle of the night with a problem that had seemed so… small.
The old man had only sat down in his bed beside him, ever so careful to not jostle his injuries too much. Hud had laid back, tears streaming down his face as Smokey rubbed his calf out, slowly releasing the tension that had built up while he had been sleeping. He didn’t deserve it. He knew that he true;ly didn’t deserve any of it, but Smokey was there anyway. The man was there for him, rubbing his legs out, helping him eat and drink, helping him do everything.
He woke up the next morning aching and tired, even after almost a full night of sleep. He hadn’t felt rested since the crash had happened. Not really. His nights were plagued with nightmares and pain. With everything that he had lost. Hud shifted upwards, trying to push himself up on his elbows. He winced lightly, the noise instantly jostling Smoky, who was half asleep beside him.
“Hey kiddo,” Smokey yawned, sitting up, “How are ya?” Everything was aching. He needed more medicine.
“Bad,” He grumbled, leaning back against his pillow and shutting his eyes. All he could do now was sleep and sit in bed. It was hardly even living. Smokey sighed, moving closer to him and reaching out to brush his arm gently. Hud had wanted to pull back. To tell the man to fuck off and leave him alone. He knew that would be unfair. Smokey had been nothing but nice to him. Yet every small gesture, every minute of time the old man had put into helping him through this all made him feel more like a burden.
“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that,” Smokey hummed, softly brushing his thumb over Hud’s arm. “You need anything?” He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to cause any more problems than he already had. His whole use here was to run moonshine, race, fix cars, and make money so that Smokey could pay for the garage and pay for both of them to live. Now he was just sitting in bed, wasting Smokey’s food, water, and time. Wasting money on medical bills. Not doing anything at all to help. He was useless. He didn't want anything else from the man, he wanted to curl up in a ball and never see any of them again. He wanted to never be a burden for any of them ever again.
“Hungry,” He settled on. He turned away from Smokey, ignoring how his burn scars pulled against his skin. Smokey grunted in acknowledgement. His hand slowly dropped from Hud’s arms.
“You need anything else before I go? Bathroom? Medicine?” Smokey asked him gently, standing up from the bed, limbs popping. Hud didn’t answer this time. He shoved his face into his bedsheets as his eyes started to burn again. He hated crying. He didn’t like how much he cried now. Smokey told him it was normal. He had gone through something traumatic. It would be weird if he didn’t cry. He still hated it.
Smokey gave him another moment to answer before sighing and turning towards the door of the room. Guilt weighed heavy. “Medicine,” Hud choked out, trying to hide how upset he sounded. Smokey paused in the door for a moment. It was enough for Hud to know the man had heard him. As Smokey’s footsteps got farther and farther away, he curled in on himself more, ignoring every ounce of pain.
When the man returned with a bowl of lukewarm broth, Hud hadn’t moved. Smokey had urged him upwards, bracing his body against the bedrest. The man had spoonfed him chicken broth as he had been doing for the past couple of weeks. Hud had stared forwards the whole time. 23 years old and being spoonfed broth. 23 years old and he was this. How he had fallen. `
It had taken over a year. A year of physical therapy getting his body to work again. Time spent relearning how to walk. How to jump. How to run. How to smile and laugh. The months it took for him to not be terrified by the sight of the Hornet, let alone get in her. Even longer to drive his car. He put blood, sweat, and tears into getting who he was back. Days spent crying over how much the physical aspect had hurt. Days spent working at being better until his hands had bled from the force of it, until sweat was dripping down his skin and covering him a sickly sweet glow.
Smokey had been so damn proud. He had watched this kid go from a shell of what he hushed to be. Broken. Sad. Depressed. Into something that put so much effort and strength into getting back to where he wanted to be. A man who had faced his trauma head on and had gotten back into the car that had broken his body. A man who learned to race that same car all over again. He was the strongest that Smokey had ever known.
The next season had rolled around so quickly, yet also so slowly at the same time. Hud was 24 now. He was 24 and the only evidence of the crash were the scars that he hid beneath his clothes, the limp in his left leg, and the nightmares that occasionally woke him up. He laughed with his friends like none of it had happened. He trained at the speedway like he would have any other off season.
Smokey had watched his kid work harder than any other man than he had ever seen. He had put everything into getting back. His time, his effort, his life. Everything. Smokey still remembered when he couldn’t find Hud one night. When the boy had snuck off to the garage and was nose deep in car parts, trying to make him money again. Smokey had hugged him tight and made sure he knew that he was way more important than any of this. That they were all here for him if he needed someone to lean on. That he would give up everything if it meant he was okay. He really hoped that Hud believed him.
Hud was pacing. Smokey watched the boy pace back and forth at the front of the garage, slightly limping on that left leg. It was two weeks ago when they had sent out an application to the piston cup. Hud had been so excited. He was so sure that this would be it. That all of his work, all of his time and effort would finally pay off. The Fabulous Hudson Hornet would finally be back. The mail was supposed to come in today and the boy hadn't sat down since earlier this morning.
“Sit down boy, you gonna irritate that leg of yours,” Smokey huffed from where he was reading the newspaper on the reclining chair. Hud had whipped around to look at him.
“You would be pacing if you could, old man,” Hud huffed, sticking his tongue out at the man. Smokey could only roll his eyes fondly, looking back at the newspaper he was reading. Hud continued pacing, his bad leg dragging slightly against the carpet. He didn’t stop moving until the post truck came by and threw the mail into their yard. Hud had rushed outside, warranting a yell from Smokey telling him to be careful. The last thing they needed was for Hud to twist an ankle on the day he got reaccepted into the Piston Cup.
The boy had rushed back inside with a large smile on his face, picking through the mail that had been rubber banded together, throwing anything that wasn’t stamped with the piston cup logo to the side. Smokey grumbled at him as his mail all fell to the floor.
“Making quiet the mess there, Paulie” He huffed, standing up from the recliner. He grunted as his back popped painfully. Hud had only shaken his head at him, finally getting to the letter he wanted. He ripped the thing open and pulled the paper out, unfolding it gently. Smokey moved to stand beside his kid, watching with excited eyes. This boy had worked so hard. He deserved all the excitement that came from opening this letter. He deserved the world. He had suffered through a year of pain and agony. A year of being so tempted to give up on himself only to build everything that he had lost back. Smokey was so damn proud.
Which is why when Hud’s smile broke, he was confused. When the paper had fallen from his boy's hands, Smokey got a look of the word ‘Denied’ in big red letters. Hud’s throat had bobbed, and the kid swallowed thickly. Smokey watched his face scrunch and his eyes glaze in unshed tears. And just like that, the boy’s world had shattered all over again.
Smokey thought he had seen the boy at his worst after the crash. He thought he had seen the worst when Hud’s body was broken. He was wrong. This was worse. It was worse because Smokey knew that the boy could get up. He knew that he could go race and dig through engines and laugh with his friends. He just wouldn’t. Hud hadn’t moved from his bed in days. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He wouldn’t move.
He didn’t sleep either. He just stared at the walls. Smokey didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t a Doctor. He wasn’t one of those psychiatrists thingies. He was an old moonshine brewer. He didn’t know how to deal with this, let alone fix it. Being around Hud was like being around a ghost. He lived with the shell of the boy that he used to know.
Smokey didn’t hear his voice for a week. For a week Hud didn’t move. He didn’t get up. He stayed. Half alive. Barely alive. It was when the boy inevitably made a mess of himself that Smokey couldn’t let it go on anymore. He had told him to get up. To do anything. When Hud didn’t listen, Smokey scooped the boy into his arms and carried him to the bathroom. He had put him in the bathtub and washed him down. Scrubbed the sweat and oil that had built up there from his scalp. He had washed Hud’s limbs and face. He had cried himself when Hud only stared forward, not even seeing him.
This brilliant kid. Wrecked. Shattered. Not even living, just existing. He had tried to feed the boy.Tried to get him to eat anything. He had made some of what used to be the boy’s favorite soup. Soup that he used to devour in the span of one night. Hud hadn’t touched it. He had stared into the bowl, not moving a muscle. A shadow. A ghost. That's all he was.
Smokey had begged him to eat. He had begged him to drink something. To nourish his body that had already been through so much. He could see his kids ribs through his shirt. He could see how sunken his eyes were. How pale his skin was. The boy had just stared.
He had almost given up then. He had almost just let the boy go back to his room and rot in his bed until he died. That would be easier for both of them at this rate.Smokey wouldn’t have to deal with the sight of the kid that had been so bright and lively reduced to something that was barely alive, and Hud wouldn’t have to live like this anymore. He was selfish for thinking it, but alas, he was a selfish man. Then Hud spoke.
“You shoulda just left me on that track.” His voice was scratchy and wrecked. It was full of devastation and depression that Smokey had never heard from anyone before. Smokey could only shake his head.
“You know that's not true,” He whispered, crouching down to eye level with where Hud was sitting.
“It woulda been better for all of us.” He breathed, throat catching. Smokey reached out to touch his shoulder. He ignored how Hud flinched back.
“Dont say that, Paulie.”
“I’m done Smokey. You hear me? I'm done. I’m nothing.” Smokey’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know what to do. He didn't know how to fix this.
“I know it sucks boy, but you can't live like this?” Smokey stated, his eyes narrowing. He wasn’t mad at Hud. He was mad at the situation. He was mad at the world. But he couldn’t take it out on the world.
“I ain't living at all.” Hud hissed back, standing up on shaky legs. “I don't want to live at all.” The boy was trembling. He was leaning too heavily on his good leg. He was shattered. He was broken far beyond what Smokey could imagine fixing.
“Then why are you even here?” The words had slipped out before he could think. Hud narrowed his eyes at the old man. His fists had clenched.
“You know? That’s a great question.”
Smokey hadn’t expected Hud to be gone the next morning. He didn’t expect his room to be torn through. He didn’t expect the Hornet to be gone from the garage. He had found Junior and River in a frenzy.
“Hud’s gone. He's gone.” Smokey choked out.
“Hes gone? The hell ya mean he's gone?” Junior had shot back. And Smokey didn’t know how to explain the things they had said. He didn’t know how to explain the ghost their boy had become. He didn’t know how to explain any of it.
They had spent weeks looking for him. They had searched every town near. They had asked cops and diners if they had seen the boy come through. Nothing. Nobody had seen him. A month passed. They finally stopped looking.
Junior was convinced he had driven himself off the nearest cliff into the beach and killed himself. Smokey didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about how this brilliant life may have been ended by suicide. River didn’t think much differently than Junior did. They were convinced that he had ended it himself after what him and Smokey had said to each other that night. Neither boy had outright said that they blamed him for Hud disappearing, but he could see it on their faces.
Lou said he probably just left and went far away. Smokey sometimes asked how far she thought. She never had a solid answer. Far enough to never deal with any of this ever again. Smokey didn’t like to admit that the young girl had seen him cry plenty. Lou was the only one who thought his boy wasn’t dead, so he couldn't bear going with his emotions to the others. He didn’t want to be reminded by Junior or River once again that he had driven his damn baby to suicide.
Months passed. Then years. Then decades. Smokey never saw Hud’s face again. He never saw those bright blue eyes or mischievous smile again. He never heard his laugh or voice. He never stopped waiting though. He never stopped waiting to see the blue paint of the Hornet to pull back into Thomasville one day. He never stopped waiting for his kid to come home and jump into his arms one last time.
He was old and grizzled now. He was sure Hud was too. Oh how he wanted to see the man his kid had grown into, that is if he made it that long. He was sure he had done brilliant things. With each decade, Smokey never stopped waiting. He would be ready for his kid to come home. Hud’s room had been left untouched for forty years. For forty years Smokey waited for his boy. To hold him one last time. To tell him he was sorry. To see the things he had done. To call him son again. To have him home.
Forty years later he would see his boy on TV. Old and gray. Glasses. But sporting the same racing jacket that he hadn’t seen in longer. He would see him mentoring a young hotshot racer that reminded him so much of when Hud was little. He would see his boy and Hud’s kid change racing. He would watch as the letters came in. The letters that never had a return address. He would see the man that his sweet boy had become, but only through paper and screens. He prayed every night that one day his boy would find it in himself to visit. To come back to Thomasville one last time.
But his boy had never made it home.