Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’d survived worse days growing up in Florida. Days when the temperature had been suffocating and the best place for anyone to be was inside next to an air conditioner. Even in Radiator Springs, he had been taught how to battle the extreme heat.

This heat was beyond extreme, however, it was unnatural.

The temperature in Atlanta that Sunday was pushing ninety, and that had been before everyone had strapped into their traveling ovens. Before the race had even begun.

Before hell made its fiery home on earth that dreadful day.

Looking back, it wasn’t a very difficult puzzle to piece together, the question of how did this happen? It had been a recipe for disaster, some might call it.

A series of unfortunate events.

It wasn't as if he hadn't driven in unusually hot weather before, but at ninety degrees and climbing—and with the interior of his car reaching a typical thirty to forty degrees hotter than the actual outside temperature—racing was going to be a struggle, and staying cool a mere fantasy.

All the racers would be battling the heat that day, but Lightning had a feeling no one else had run out of water and fluids like he had.

Maybe that would’ve been a good thing to tell someone… Instead, he’d kept his head in the game and focused on the track ahead.

Every lap felt like an eternity and Lightning found himself counting down each corner.

Ten laps left, forty turns.

Five laps, twenty turns.

Three laps, twelve—

His vision swam and he fought to keep his wheel straight.

Steady. Steady…

Twelve turns.

Eleven.

Ten.

Nine—

If he passed out right then and there, he honestly wouldn't be mad. He had enough experience with losing consciousness—that's definitely not a good thing, McQueen—to know that you didn't feel hot or cold when that blessed darkness overtook you. You just felt nothing.

Eight.

Seven.

And feeling nothing seemed heavenly compared to roasting alive.

Six—

"Almost to the last lap, kid." Doc's voice filled his ears, reminding Lightning that yes, he was still alive and hadn't made the descent to hell. Not yet, anyway, though he could feel the flames licking at his lungs, turning breathing into a chore. "Bobby's on your tail, but just hold the inside and you'll take first."

Lightning tightened his grip on the wheel.

Hold the inside. Got it.

Five—

And then there was that stupid new rule. A caution before the last lap meant overtime and a chance for three more restarts.

As the yellow flag reared its ugly head—something about a minor crash near the back of the line, Doc said—Lightning swallowed down a curse.

Normally, he liked to take the long caution stretches as a chance to clear his head, regroup, and double down on his current strategy.

This time, he found himself praying for escape. They all just needed a win. Any win, it didn't have to be him.

"A few months ago, you'd be in Victory Lane by now." It shouldn't have been that hard to focus on Doc's voice, but the heat had been tormenting his body for the last three hours and his mind wouldn't stop screaming at him.

"Lightning?" He hadn't zoned out, had he? With a jolt, he did a quick mental check. Eyes still on the road, hands still clasped around the wheel, car still moving in a straight line.

You're fine. You're fine...

No, he was dying.

This had to be what dying felt like... right?

"Yep," he forced out through parched lips.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. Just trying to win this thing and get it over with. What's the temperature?"

"We're still at ninety-six, same as the last time you asked."

Right.

"Are you sure you're—?"

"Fine. Green flag, Doc. Let's win this."

Somebody please just win this.

They had already had the talk about racing sick, but Lightning had come too far to back out now. It was almost the freaking last lap.

Can't be that much longer...

Besides, he wasn't sick. He just needed water. Buckets and buckets and buckets of—

The second caution almost killed him. And a third one just might.

"Doc, what the hell's happening back there?" One small victory came in the satisfaction Lightning got from hearing none of his current strain bleeding into his voice. He sounded matter-of-fact and mildly frustrated.

At least, he hoped he did.

A slight flex of his arms told him they were starting to cramp.

Great.

The first inklings of a headache banged at the back of his skull, demanding to be let in. One way or another, Lightning knew it would get its own way, no matter how much water he drank later.

Water. He needed ice cold water. Even something lukewarm would suffice. Maybe...

Water, then sleep.

Looking back, he should've predicted the cautions and planned further ahead. Lightning would bet a hundred dollars that this race broke some sort of record for the sheer number of times that yellow flag had been pulled out.

Planned ahead? Your water supply was gone long before you even thought about a potential overtime.

It had just been so hot. He'd needed it. He couldn't stop drinking it.

And now look at you. You have nothing.

Somewhere along the line, Bobby shot past him. That was fine.

Let him win. Then we can end this and all die in peace.

Doc was saying something about second place being good or whatever, but Lightning could only focus on one thing at a time now. That finish line was the light at the end of a long, suffocating tunnel, and he was going to—

Zooming ahead of Bobby hadn't been the plan—the plan was pure survival—but it was an unexpected bonus.

The black and white checkered flag cut through the air and Lightning could've cried. Instead of taking the traditional and very well-earned victory lap, he booked it for Pit Road, slamming on the breaks before he could even think about whether or not he had properly pulled into his pit space.

The race was over anyway, so the risk of a penalty wasn't relevant anymore.

Doc said something else through the headset, but Lightning was already fighting to get the helmet off his head. Free of it at last, he climbed out. Or, tried to…

Getting out of his car wasn't supposed to be this much of a struggle.

Doc's hands clamped around his arms just as he was about to slip and fall back through the window. In a sea of team members trying to congratulate him on his win, Doc's face was a bright beckon of concern.

Someone handed him an ice cold water bottle, probably Sarge, and Lightning immediately began downing the drink. It didn't provide the immense relief he'd hoped, the relief he’d longed for, so he squeezed the rest out over his head.

"It was so hot in there," he panted. "I thought it'd be better out here, but—"

Only when Doc caught him again did Lightning realize he'd swayed.

The heat wasn't going away. In fact, it was getting worse. Like a one hundred degree flush rising up his cheeks and neck and—

He woke up seconds later, blinking up at the sky.

"Doc, what...?" Lightning's weak attempt to sit up was aborted by Doc's gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Just take it easy for a second, son. The medics are on their way."

Slumping back onto the ground, Lightning heaved a sigh, savoring the feeling of fresh air filling his lungs. A few seconds later, his brain finally registered the icy bottle of water Guido was holding against his neck.

That felt good…

"Doc," Lightning croaked, "what's the temperature now?"

"Same as last time. Ninety-six."

The blessed patch of shade was provided by Luigi hovering over his head. Someone was elevating his legs, maybe Fillmore because he was pretty sure he could hear Sarge exchanging hushed tones with Doc.

His hand trailing up to unbutton the collar of his suit, Lightning glanced at Guido. "Ran out of water the last quarter of the race. Didn’t expect that overtime."

The Italian curses that followed were oddly satisfying. Lightning didn't have the energy to do it himself, so it felt nice to know someone was cussing out overtime for him.

By the time the medics carried him off to the infield care center, all he wanted to do was close his eyes, though he doubted he would be able to fall asleep while he was still so freaking hot.

Hydration, cooler clothes, and rest was the best fix for heat exhaustion, which, Light was told, is what he had. In less time than he would've thought, he found himself in a t-shirt and jeans relaxing on the couch. The air-conditioning of the motorhome had never felt so amazing.

He had potentially come close to dying—well, that's what it had felt like—but he'd finished the race and somehow snagged first place along the way.

His collapse had been caught on camera because of course, it had, and the press had been having a field day until Doc put a swift stop to all their questions.

If he didn’t think about all that, maybe his head would quit throbbing.

The cool washcloth on his forehead had stopped doing its job awhile ago, soaking up the heat that still radiated off his skin. Flipping it over did nothing and just when he was about to heave a sigh over it, Doc appeared out of nowhere and changed it out with a fresh, blessedly cold one.

"Thanks."

Now, if the headache would only go away, that would be great. Oh, and the nausea he could also do without. He was so dang hungry after such a tedious race, but the mere thought of food sent his stomach into a rebellion that rivaled the French Revolution.

If the symptoms didn’t improve after an hour, the care center medics had said, then he was instructed to seek further medical care.

Which meant doctors—but not Doc for some stupid reason—and hospitals.

Lightning suppressed a shiver even as the flush continued to burn his cheeks.

Something about that thought terrified him and he couldn’t figure out why.

With the way he kept glancing at his watch, Lightning wouldn’t be surprised to find out Doc had a timer set. His one hour had no doubt started the second they set foot out of the infield care center, so he knew he had to make the most of it.

Come on, dumb body, cool off already.

“How’s the headache?”

Lightning gave a weak—but what he hoped was a halfway passable—smile of reassurance. “Better.”

Better in a way that meant he couldn’t wait to fall down on his bed and go to sleep because then he would finally be free of the pain assaulting his skull.

So, yeah, definitely better, Doc. Definitely better…

"I still can't figure how you ran out of water so fast," Sarge mused behind a hand of cards. The poker game between him and Mack had started, Lightning guessed, as an excuse to stay in the trailer and see how the situation played out while the rest of the team finished packing up.

Biting back a groan, Lightning slid the cold compress over his eyes, blocking out the offensive, irritating lightbulb that shone overhead. "Uh, I was thirsty."

Sarge just grunted, his concern well-hidden beneath his gruff tone. But Lightning had learned how to detect it, as he had with Doc. "Usually, you pace yourself better."

"Usually," Lightning shot back, his voice devoid of any venom, the lingering fatigue having sucked it all out, "it's not so hot. Gosh, it's so hot!"

The corner of the cloth lifted to reveal Doc's raised eyebrow.

"I mean, it was so hot." Lightning shifted the cloth back to his forehead. "But I think this thing is really helping."

Doc didn't look convinced, but that was his problem.

An hour has to be almost up by now, right?

As soon as the timer ran out, Lightning could retreat to his bed and disappear into the dark world of sleep.

Maybe it wouldn't be so hot back there...

"All right, kid," Doc began, Lightning's only indication that maybe, just maybe, that stupid hour of observation was over, "how're you feeling?"

"Much better." Liar.

I'm sure I'll cool down later.

After all, the body was supposed to be a pro at regulating temperature and he typically cooled down pretty quickly following the hotter races.

"Headache?"

"Just a small one. I think the ibuprophen's finally working." Even as he said it, the war drums banged a particularly hard beat against his skull.

"Dizziness?"

"I mean, I can't tell until I stand up, but..."

When Doc held out a hand, Lightning forced down a wince. Standing sounded just about as appealing as food did. His stomach flipped, but he accepted the hand anyway.

"See?" If he ignored the way the world swam, maybe it would stop. Here's hoping. "Good as new."

His feet were out from under him before he could even register the feeling of the earth tilting sharply on its axis. For the umpteenth time that day—seriously, he'd lost count a while ago—he felt Doc's hands latch onto his arms, lowering him gently back onto the couch.

Lightning blew out a sigh as he slumped sideways against the armrest.

"I think it's time for you to take a trip to the hospital." He had to hand it to Doc, the man was hiding his worry well. Only the slight crinkling on the edges of his eyes gave him away.

Shaking his head proved to be a mistake the second he did it and Lightning squeezed his eyes shut against the rising nausea. "Pass."

"Lightning." Ah... And there was that classic warning tone. "You need a doctor."

"You're a doctor."

Doc was now clearly trying to keep his worry and growing exasperation totally balanced and completely hidden under a firm mask. Key word: trying.

"Don't you think that if I could do anything about this, I would? You heard the medics, if the symptoms don't improve within the hour—"

"Has it really been an hour yet, though? I mean, really?"

“—Or, if the symptoms get worse... You need equipment that only a hospital can provide, and the best I can do for you is to get you to one before you pass out again."

The casual shrug he'd tried for didn't come off very well if Doc's expression was any indication. "Passing out wasn't so bad."

"Lightning…"

"What about the care center?" Because maybe a different tactic would work. All the while, he focused on keeping his voice steady and not giving into the rising anxiety. "Can't we just go back there?"

It's fine. You're fine. You're gonna be—

"The care center isn't a hospital," Doc reasoned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, what if I pass out on the way to the car?"

"Then we'll call an ambulance."

"But what if I wake up again before you can do that?"

"Then we'll still call an ambulance."

Pursing his lips, Lightning was silent for a long moment. It was all he could do to control his breathing.

What's wrong with you?

Trying to answer that question only made him more anxious simply because he didn't know.

Avoiding hospitals had been a relatively easy feat, especially with the care center right inside every racetrack and speedway.

Exactly why he had avoided them for so many years, he couldn't say. He'd never been faced with the question before… It had been a long time since anyone had forced the issue out into the open.

It's been a long time since anybody cared, a little voice reminded him.

Sure.

"You can ride there in the Hornet," Doc said at last, "or in an ambulance. I'll let you pick, but one way or another, I'm taking you to the hospital before this turns into heat stroke. That's life-threatening, in case you weren't aware."

"I don't want to go," came Lightning's simple reply. At the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care if it sounded a bit childish. "Mack, tell him I don't want to go."

"Uh," the trucker said, voice hesitant and a touch sympathetic, "I don't think he wants to go."

"See?" Lightning crossed his arms and flashed Doc a smug grin.

"See what, exactly? He only told me what I already know. No one wants to go to the hospital, son—I've yet to meet one person who walks into that building with a smile on their face and a skip in their step—but you have to."

"Can't we just let it pass? I’m sure I’ll cool down eventually."

Another pinch to the bridge of his nose told Lightning that his mentor was quickly losing his patience. "Typically, yes, but for some reason, your body isn't cooling itself down like it's supposed to."

"Hey," Mack interjected and Lightning gave him a hopeful glance, "maybe the care center's still open...?"

Sarge was the next to speak, fixing the trucker with dipped, menacing brows. "Who's side are you on, anyway?"

"Mine," Lightning said as he raised a hand.

"Clearly not the logical side," Doc murmured, to which Mack just shrugged.

"I've known the kid longer than I've known you guys, that's all."

"Which is why," Doc pressed, "you should be more concerned about this. Heat exhaustion, if left untreated, can lead to heatstroke. Let me take a minute to tell you all about that." Even though he addressed the three of them, Lightning felt Doc's gaze burn down on him the hardest. "Left untreated, heatstroke will quickly damage your brain, heart, and more often than not, it can lead to organ failure. You can also go into shock, experience seizures, and even slip into an indefinite coma. Nerve damage is also a very real possibility, along with a severe swelling of the brain. That’s where the headache comes into play. In case all that sounds fine and dandy to you, I might as well mention that heatstroke can also be fatal."

Lightning blinked, trying to take in Doc's words.

Fatal.

It can be—

That's not likely. He said it's only a possibility.

Did he?

Besides, you don't even have heatstroke yet.

Yet…

"Fine!" As he said it, he cursed his heart for skipping several beats. "Fine, let's go, I guess."

Sarge was already grabbing the keys and Mack was hovering nearby, waiting to help Lightning stand without falling, no doubt.

But hospitals are where—

"I don't need you to carry me," he snapped, hating the small bite in his tone, but Mack didn't seem phased. Instead, the trucker slung his arm under Lightning's shoulders and helped him up.

Under Doc's intense, searching gaze, Lightning somehow kept the nausea at bay. The dizziness was a bit of a different story, though, and the headache was making it hard to think. The way his vision swam wasn't helping matters, either.

Something told him Mack helped him a little more than he would've liked during the final few steps to the Hornet—he can distinctly remember his feet leaving the ground at some point, but whatever.

Maybe the hospital would be a good thing. Maybe they could fix his stupid body. Maybe they could—

But hospitals are where—

Lightning sucked in a breath when the car bounced over a rut. A calm hand steadied him. Mack was there and Doc was driving. At least, that was his best guess. Maybe Sarge stayed behind to tell the others or something...? It was all getting fuzzier the more he jostled around. The more his head hammered out its incessant battle cry.

His rapid heartbeat wasn't doing anything for his breathing, so when his eyes slipped shut, Lightning didn't do much about it. In fact, he welcomed the darkness. He welcomed the—

"Hey, keep him awake, all right?"

Someone shook his shoulder.

Rude.

"I'm awake," he muttered as he slumped to the side.

Mack's arm was steady and comfortable. A nice pillow for—

"Come on, kid," Mack said, his worry so thick and palpable, it was adding to Lightning's worry. "You gotta stay awake."

"Why? It's not like I have a concussion or anything."

Doc didn't reply, but Lightning caught a glimpse of his expression in the rearview mirror.

If his own heart was competing in the Daytona 500, he could only imagine what Doc's was doing.

And that's when it hit him. Lying against Mack's shoulder, the truth hit him with enough force to knock all the air out of his lungs—and they hadn't been holding that much to begin with.

The hospital…

"He's still burning up, Doc."

The hospital is where people die.

Lightning wondered if he gave this morbid thought a voice… they might turn around and go back.

Because the hospital was where people died.

The hospital was…

He swallowed despite his tightening throat.

… It was where people went to die.

Chapter Text

For the entire duration of their drive to the hospital, confusion went head to head with worry. It was a fierce battle to the death, but the fact that Doc couldn't tell which one was winning only added to the dreadful mixture that had his stomach tied up in knots.

He should've known something wasn't right from the start.

No one should've raced today.

It was just too hot. From what little he'd heard after the race, some of the other drivers had suffered from the heat as well.

No one else, it seemed, had run out of water, though.

Doc couldn't stop replaying the entire day over and over again in his head. What could they all have done differently? What could he have said to remind the kid to conserve his limited source of hydration? What clues did he ignore that could have changed the course of that afternoon's events?

Despite Lightning's protests, Mack carried the kid in and they got him checked into the emergency room. Apparently, it was worse than Doc had thought.

There was a whirl of doctors and nurses, and then the kid was gone.

Watching them take Lightning somewhere behind those stark white doors was harder than Doc would ever care to admit—and standing there in the waiting room on pins and needles was ten times harder than anything he had anticipated.

It's going to be fine.

He took a deep breath.

Nine times out of ten, everything turned out all right.

Don't let this be the odd one out. Please, don't let this time be—

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and for a second, Doc was tempted to ignore it. How was he supposed to concentrate on anything other than this hell of waiting, waiting, waiting?

One hundred and four degrees. Instead of cooling itself down, Lightning's body temperature had wandered into dangerous territory. If the doctors could just get it down to one hundred and two or lower…

Then we can go home.

And it'll all be over.

Taking another breath, Doc caved and fished out his phone, not wanting to worry anyone if it happened to be one of the pit crew calling.

Instead of Sarge or Luigi, however, a somewhat unexpected name lit up his screen.

Strip Weathers' voice filtered through the tiny speakers before Doc could even open his mouth.

"How's Lightning? I tried to tell Cal y'all were busy, but he won't leave me alone until he finds out if the kid's okay."

Part of Doc wanted to laugh, to chuckle at Cal's antics, but the other part of him was too touched—too worried—to indulge in any sort of levity.

"Tell Cal I appreciate his concern."

"Did you hear that?" Strip asked and Doc could practically see the young Dinoco racer hovering as close as he could to the phone.

"Yeah, but is he okay?" A familiar, slightly distant voice pressed.

Doc swallowed down the latest twinge of anxiety. "Lightning's in the emergency room right now, so we're just waiting to hear back from the doctors."

"That bad, huh?" The empathy in Strip's tone nearly broke Doc and he was reminded of one of the reasons why he became a doctor in the first place: so he wouldn't have to be the one waiting helplessly on the wrong side of those damn doors.

"I should've gotten him to the hospital sooner," Doc sighed. "I'll keep you updated and let you know the second they say anything. Did you hear that, Cal?"

Strip chuckled, and this time, Doc couldn't help but join in.

"We appreciate it. Take care."

"You too."

As he ended the call, Doc caught Mack's gaze from where the trucker sat in a chair against the wall.

"Cal," he explained, forcing a small smile. "He wanted to know if Lightning's okay."

Mack blew out a sigh, adjusting the brim of his cap. "Me and him both. I mean, the kid's been sick before, but I can't remember it ever being this bad."

Doc gave a nod, sinking into a nearby chair. "I should've gotten him here sooner."

"Don't beat yourself up about it." Mack's words, while kindly meant, were easier said than done. Still, Doc gave a reluctant nod, lips tightly pursed as his mind continued to replay the day's events. Again. "It wasn't your fault he gave you such a hard time about it."

"I shouldn't have waited that full hour, though."

"Hey, I thought he'd be fine, too. Besides," Mack added after a moment, "he wouldn't have gone anywhere until he got that full hour's chance to get better. He's probably the most stubborn human being I've ever met when it comes to this stuff."

Doc felt a grim smile stretch his lips. "I know a thing or two about being stubborn… Wait, you mean he's done this before?"

Mack’s shrug gave Doc time to clear his swirling mind. His train of thought had switched tracks so fast, he could barely keep up.

"Once or twice," Mack replied. "He prefers the infield care centers to hospitals, and while that's definitely the more convenient option, the couple times they advised him to make a trip to the hospital…" Here, the trucker paused, shaking his head. "Getting him to go was like pulling a tree straight out of the ground. I couldn't do it. Somewhere along the line, I stopped trying. Thankfully, it never got bad enough that… Well, short of knocking him out cold, I don't think I could've done what you did."

Doc huffed a ghost of a chuckle. "What, make him go to the hospital?"

Mack only nodded, giving another shrug.

Something cold began to settle in Doc's veins, and this time, it wasn't the worry.

It was the confusion.

Doc tried for a reassuring smile, but it fell short. How was he supposed to reassure someone else when his own heart was racing a mile a minute?

"I think you underestimate yourself." But Mack was already shaking his head, causing Doc to heave a sigh. "All right, so the kid doesn't like hospitals. Any idea why?"

Because Lightning didn't seem to have a problem with the clinic in Radiator Springs or, like Mack said, the infield care center.

"I have a couple theories," Mack said, taking off his cap and carding a hand through his chocolate hair. "You, uh… I'm guessing you know about his mom, right?" Doc could only nod. "Yeah, well, I was there when he got the call that she... that she'd passed away. He used to talk about her all the time. I couldn't have gotten him to shut up about her if I tried, not that I'd ever want to. According to Lightning, she spent a lot of time in the hospital those final years."

Doc swallowed. "I recall him mentioning something about that." The cold was morphing into sharp icicles of dread now, spreading throughout his body faster than he knew what to do with it.

If only he could share some of that ice with the kid…

They're going to get him cooled down. He's going to be fine…

Mack shook his head. "After that call, the kid's aversion to hospitals made sense. At least, I think that's why he hates them. He's never told me otherwise. I went with him to Florida. For the funeral, you know. He didn't want to go back to the house or even look at any of her stuff. I tried to encourage him to, but he didn't want any reminders of…" Another shake of Mack's head sent a spike careening straight through Doc's heart. "He just wanted to move on, I guess. He was very adamant about it."

"That's why he stopped talking about her."

The nervous chuckle wasn't very reassuring. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? He couldn't have stopped talking about her if he'd tried, despite his new resolution to move on. No, that… that would be Harv. I guess he was tired of hearing about her, so he told the kid to knock it off."

Kicking a chair would be very counterproductive, and slamming his fist into the wall wouldn't help anything, but damned if Doc didn't so desperately want to.

Restraining himself only by a single thread of self-control, Doc realized it was a very good thing Harv wasn't the kid's agent anymore. Otherwise, his fist might be tempted to slam into something—or someone—else.

They drifted in and out of small talk after that, with Doc taking a couple calls from Sarge and Luigi—the ones he had been expecting—and Mack getting up a couple times to pace.

Doc contemplated giving Sally a call, but figured it would be better to give her good news when the kid was discharged rather than burden her with a chunk of his own worry. She would have no qualms making her irritation known once she found out what had happened, compounded by the fact that she hadn't been told about it while it was happening, but Doc could live with that.

What he couldn't live with, however, was anything happening to the kid on his watch.

Doc fought to unclench his tightening fist.

He would never be able to live with himself ever again if Lightning didn't walk out of those doors good as new.

At some point, the small talk tapered out into a tense, yet weary silence. It was in the midst of that silence that the doctor finally showed up.

Where once time had crawled by at a snail's pace, now it flew past faster than Doc could comprehend it.

Lightning would be fine, that was the short of it.

Thank God. Doc blew out a relieved sigh. Thank God.

And he was eager to get discharged and go home, the doctor explained with a smile. As soon as Lightning had finished his final cooling treatment, they would be free to leave.

Less than ten minutes later, the kid came bursting out through those big white doors.

"Let's get out of here, Doc," he said, looking a little worse for wear. "I'm done with this place."

Where the ride to the hospital was almost unnervingly quiet, the ride back to the motorhome was filled with nothing but Lightning's chatter. Doc lost count of how many topics they covered, and though he tried his best to keep up, he found himself shooting Mack a grateful glance or two when the trucker stepped up to take the brunt of the conversation.

Chatting about anything and everything seemed natural for those two, and Doc had yet to meet someone who could match Lightning in the art of incessant conversation like Mack could. It brought him back to that first real drive cross-country with the kid—back when Harv was still an issue and Doc was still getting to know this hotshot rookie who had, quite literally, crashed into his life.

"So, first they put me in this weird ice bath thing that was freezing cold," the kid explained, "and when that didn't work as well as they thought it would, they took a needle and injected coolant straight into my veins."

"They injected cooling fluids," Doc corrected, glancing at him through the rearview mirror, "not coolant. You're not a car, kid."

"Well, whatever they put in me, it obviously worked. Even though it was gross and weird—and I'm never doing it again."

Doc felt his grip on the wheel tighten slightly. "I would hope not."

The kid was fine.

They were headed back and it was fine.

And yet, the pit in his stomach kept growing…

"You need to give Cal a call," Doc said, pushing past his racing thoughts. "He's worried about you."

"Sure, I'll do that in just a second. Did you call Sally?"

"No, I thought the news would be better coming from you."

Lightning leaned back against his headrest. "I guess so. You know, she’s probably going to be mad we didn’t tell her right away.”

“Oh, no doubt. That’s why I’m leaving that task to you.”

“Gee, thanks.” A distant look overtook his eyes for a moment, but before Doc could question it, the kid pulled another topic out of his hat. "So, I've been thinking a lot about Sally's birthday recently…"

Even when he looked as though he could drop into a deep sleep any second, Lightning kept up the conversation. Almost as if he had to or…

Or risk having to think about why he hates hospitals.

Doc pursed his lips, hoping his expression didn't appear as grim as it felt.

The fanfare that welcomed the kid back was to be expected. The whole team wanted to know what happened and how Lightning was feeling. To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming, but the kid took it all in stride like he always did.

"We were thinking about you the whole time, man," Fillmore said as he gave the kid a hearty pat on the back.

Guido and Luigi had a lot to say, which would have been fine if they hadn't tried to express their feelings at the exact same time, talking over each other as Lightning just chuckled.

"I'm fine, guys. I really appreciate the concern."

Guido opened the door to the motorhome and Luigi helped the kid inside without actually helping him, which basically meant hovering near Lightning in case he took another nosedive.

"Seriously, I'm actually fine. You don't have to—Oh, okay, well, thanks. Guys, I'm not going to fall over. I'm just tired now more than anything..."

As the group disappeared inside, Doc hung back, locking up the Hornet for the night.

"So." Sarge's voice nearly startled the crew chief. "He's really fine? Because we both know his definition of the word doesn't always match the one in the dictionary."

Doc forced a smile. "I wouldn't have let him come back if he wasn't."

"Good. Next time, he needs to pace himself better. I've seen heatstroke take lives. I don't think he truly realized the severity of his situation."

"Oh, I think he realized." Doc crossed his arms, studying the dark silhouettes in the windows. "Apparently he has a… thing about hospitals, according to Mack."

Sarge hummed as he followed Doc's gaze. "Does he know why?"

He shrugged. “Mack has a few ideas.”

“I meant Lightning.”

Caught a bit off-guard, Doc turned to the veteran. "What?"

"Does he know why he hates them?" When Doc didn't reply—because what on earth was he supposed to say?—Sarge gave a slight eye roll. "I think if the kid knew the reason, he would've, well, not necessarily told us outright, but he would've hinted at it, or given false reasons as to why he didn't want to go. Made excuses and all that. Instead, he just stalled and said he didn't want to go, but he never gave us a reason why."

Doc furrowed his brows, not particularly liking where this was going. "What are you trying to get at?"

"Look, I've seen it happen in soldiers. You experience a traumatic event and, sometimes, the brain blocks it from your memory until something similar triggers it. A sort of dissociative amnesia." Sarge blew out a sigh. "Either he knows why and is just good at hiding it or he doesn't. That's all I'm saying."

"All right." Nodding, Doc glanced back at the windows. "And if for some reason he doesn't know?"

"Then someone better help him find out, unless you want something like this to happen again."

"And I'm guessing you think that someone should be me, right?"

"Well, you are the best at whatever you call those little heart talks you guys always have."

Doc shot him a look, though sitting down with the kid at some point had always been the plan. Now, he’d simply been equipped with a better strategy.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he caught Sarge's gaze out of the corner of his eye. "You know, I think you might be some sort of secret psychologist."

The soldier shook his head. "I've just been around, that's all."

By the time the two joined the others inside, Lightning had already retreated to his bed.

The "little heart talk," as Sarge had called it, would have to wait until tomorrow.

He’ll be fine for now, Doc told himself as he slipped into his own bed, reaching for a book. Just let him rest. It’ll be fine…

But what if the kid didn’t feel open to talking?

Since when has that ever stopped you?

An hour or two dragged by, during which he tried to convince his body that it could use a good night’s sleep. It was just about as good at listening as the kid was sometimes.

He had just put his book away when a sudden scuffle sounded outside his door, telling Doc that maybe the talk would happen sooner than he'd thought…

He couldn't breathe.

The longer he stayed tangled up in those suffocating sheets, the harder his lungs fought for air.

Air!

His legs whipped over the side of the bed, dragging him out the door before his mind could even find the proper footing. Pain erupted through his toes and he hissed out a curse at the wall he'd jammed them against.

You're gonna wake someone up, idiot!

Though Fillmore always preferred to camp out in his van, the rest of the team were—hopefully—sleeping soundly all about the motorhome.

Gone were the lonely nights of his once solitary living space, not that he wasn't beyond thankful for the presence of so many people he could call family. However, it did make it rather challenging to have a panic attack in peace.

Air. He needed air.

Fumbling with the lock, Lightning was able to stumble his way outside at last. Maybe slamming the door behind him wasn't the brightest of ideas, but he didn't really have the energy or the headspace to think about that now.

His only focus was gulping in the cool, fresh night air.

Leaning against the side of the motorhome, Lightning let his eyes slip closed. What time is it even?

Probably only, like, twelve o'clock, loser.

Shut up.

Air.

He would just get a little bit of air and then he'd go back and fight for the right to sleep a little more…

At the sound of the door closing, he jerked his head to the side fast enough to give himself whiplash.

Doc didn't say anything at first, joining Lightning and lifting his gaze to the stars.

"Couldn't sleep," Lightning blurted after a few moments—because someone had to say something.

"Really?" Doc turned to him for the first time since showing up out of nowhere. "You look more like you've just seen a ghost, but maybe that's just me."

A ghost.

Lightning cursed himself for shivering.

"Nightmare, I guess," he heard his lips admit. Traitors.

Doc nodded as if he'd been waiting for that answer. "Did it have anything to do with why you hate hospitals?"

A quick shake of the head was all Lightning could manage, his throat suddenly as tight as it had been back in the bedroom.

"Why do you hate them?" The question was gentle, but the mere thought of answering it turned Lightning's stomach on its side.

"The care center's more convenient."

"I didn't ask about the care center."

"Well, what do you want me to say? That I'm afraid of needles or something? And that's why I don't like hospitals? Hate to break it to you, Doc, but a large percentage of the population has some sort of phobia for needles."

"True, but I don't think that's the reason."

"Oh, let me guess: you already know why and you're just waiting for me to say it, is that it?"

"I have an idea or two. Do you?"

"What do you mean, do I?" Lightning shook his head with a scoff. "I think it's a little too late to be playing these kinds of games."

"Lightning, why do you hate hospitals?"

"Look, I came out here to get some air, all right? Not to play To Tell the Truth."

"There has to be a reason." Doc's voice was so calm, it was driving Lightning up the wall. "Why do you hate hospitals?"

"Will you stop that? There's no point to this. It's over, okay? So just move on!"

"Lightning, why—?"

"Because that's where people die!"

His breath hitched. Those words were never meant to be uttered aloud. Giving them a voice launched his stomach into somersaults and sent the world spinning for the umpteenth time that day.

Swallowing, Lightning slammed his eyes shut. There was no going back now.

"The hospital," he whispered, "is where people die."

"I know, son." He felt Doc's arm slide around his shoulders. Biting down on his lip did nothing to dam the oncoming flood of emotion. "I know."

He didn't dare open his eyes, which served as the only barrier against the rapidly gathering tears. If he could just get himself back under control... Breathe. Breathe, McQueen.

But his mouth wasn't done with its rebellion yet.

"Why couldn't they help her?" came his choked whisper. "They promised they'd help her. They're doctors. They were supposed to fix her. Doc, why couldn't they—?"

The arm tightened around his shoulders as he strangled a wayward sob.

"Doctors aren't magic. There are some things that, no matter how hard they try, they just can't fix."

"Then why even try?" Lightning bit out. "If they knew they couldn't heal her, why did they even try? Why did they get everyone's hopes up?"

Silent for a brief moment, Doc sucked in a breath. "Let me ask you this, how do you think your mother would've felt if she was told her doctors were giving up on her? Sometimes, we have to fight losing battles so that the ones we’re fighting for can feel the same hope that burns in us. I have no doubt that her last days were filled with hope because she knew there were people out there fighting for her."

The tears burned thick trails down his cheeks, but he couldn't get them to stop. Instead of trying, he gave a small nod.

"And I think," Doc continued softly, "that was the best gift they could've given her: the gift of hope. Not every patient can be cured, but they can embrace the hope shown to them by others."

"But…" A strangled sob escaped his lips. "I wasn't even there. I was halfway across the country. I wasn't even there when she… I got the call and I couldn't… I didn't… Doc, everyone else fought for her in those last days but me. And I can't… How am I ever supposed to forgive myself for that?"

"From what you've told me about her, I think the last thing she would've wanted is for you to beat yourself half to death over something that was out of your control."

"But—"

"Lightning, let me tell you something. This world is full of people who let their regret rule their entire life. It's one of the quickest ways to kill your soul. Now, if that's what you want to do, I won't stop you, but I have a feeling your mother would've wanted you to fill your heart with that hope she felt in her last moments, not go through life as a hollow shell of the son she loved."

Swiping at his eyes, Lightning gave another nod. "I still hate hospitals, though, and I never want to go there again."

"You might have to," came Doc's gentle, yet realistic answer. "But now that you've identified the problem, you can take the first steps in moving past it."

"What kind of steps?"

Doc paused, lifting his gaze back up to the stars. "I had a good conversation with Mack in the waiting room. He mentioned something about your house in Jacksonville."

Lightning sniffled, thankful the tears seemed to be subsiding at last. "I've never gone back. Not since she…"

"I won't rush you, but right now, Jacksonville's only a few hours away."

“But…” Lightning held his breath, working overtime to wrap his mind around what Doc was implying. "What if… What if I can't do it?"

"But what if you can?"

Nodding once more, Lightning savored the security and comfort of Doc's arm around him.

And he simply breathed.

Maybe he would take the leap. Maybe he wouldn't.

But whatever choice he made, he knew he wouldn't be alone.