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.”