Work Text:
He’s surprised Jann stayed awake as long as he did after the traveling they’d done to get home for the season break- but after the day they’d had, Jack is about as drained as his driver. There’s a shuffle as he attempts to maneuver both himself and the man with a good six inches on him into at least a semi-comfortable position that won’t destroy their backs, though it’s probably only making things worse. They didn’t make it under the covers, but he pulls a quilt from the foot of the bed over them and calls it close enough.
With any luck, the melatonin Jann had swallowed just to make the day end would hold onto him long enough to sleep through the night, but it’s been getting harder and harder as the season goes on. He’d never admit it, but Jack knows Jann is fucking exhausted all the time these days. It’s written on his face in the morning when the alarm goes off and the confusion crumples into a grimace before righting itself, or in how his usual mid-day lunch breaks were previously spent exploring the paddock and finding some new food truck to draw Jack to, but instead are now replaced with a strict request for privacy while he recuperates in his motorhome.
They both know what brought the change on, but until tonight it had been a complexly choreographed dance around the topic.
Jann doesn’t like to talk about it. Jack remembers the first few nights back home after his dismissal from the hospital- he’d offered to stay with the kid; the new apartment was still filled with the smell of the latest slapped-on coat of the classic landlord egg-shell-white paint and he hadn’t moved much more than the basic Ikea essentials in before he had to jet set off to another race. It wasn’t a place meant for rest and recovery and healing, much less in isolation. Nevertheless, the offer sat unanswered in their text chain. He couldn’t blame him- Jack was the same way after the incident that took him out of racing entirely. It didn’t lessen the sting of knowing that his driver was locking himself away in a new place with just enough living space for himself and too many self-critical thoughts.
The first night after his release, Jack watched for an hour as the text bubble popped up, lingered on the bouncing ellipses of an attempt to reach out, and then just as quickly dropped back down- only to arise again a few moments later. He’d waited ramrod straight on the hotel room couch, shoes on and only partially hearing the HGTV reruns from the TV in the background in case there was a call- in case Jann needed him after all. His phone remained silent.
The second night is spent playing delivery driver. The kid hadn’t asked, but Jack had been over before they left for Nurburgring and knew for a fact that he hadn’t gotten groceries since he moved in- it had been a point of contention when they’d shared take-out on his unfurnished hardwood floors and Jann had admitted to not having yet thought to buy soy sauce. Or forks. He picks up a few extra sets of plastic silverware on his way out of the Thai restaurant just in case. There isn’t an answer when he knocks on the door, but he sets the paper bags of dinner and enough household staples to get him through a week or two on his doormat anyway before retreating.
The third night, he had given up reaching out- just for now. As hard as it was for him to sit idly by, Jann was an adult; If he needed something, he’d ask. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. The knock at his door at 3 in the morning was unexpected, but Jack blinked the sleep from his eyes and held the boy in his arms when he came crashing through the door. They were both exhausted, and he’s almost certain Jann was too out of it to remember how long they sat on the bathroom floor- a steady hand on his back as he retched into the toilet after making himself sick over the sobs he’d heaved into Jack’s sweatshirt. He hopes he doesn’t.
The next day had been spent taking Jann back out to the track. There was a look of pain in his eyes, one that makes him want to turn the car around and bring them back to the safety of his apartment and shitty take-out and unanswered text messages- but it’s what Jack wishes someone had done for him before he spent a decade and a half wallowing in his own self-hatred on a rolling creeper under the garishly ugly car of some entitled brat.
Jann has what he now lacks- time. He shouldn’t waste it blaming himself for something that was never his fault. It hurts to revisit his own experiences- he supposes that some would name the scarring over his shoulders and the ache in his chest “trauma”, but he’s nothing if not a hypocrite, so it remains just something that happened to him, labels not needed. He’s glad Jann drives them back to the pits- most of the relief comes from the reassurance that he’s going to get through this alright; but if it also helps to hide his shaking hands from view, then that’s just for him to know.
That was the turning point for Jann- he returned to the track better than ever, he podiumed at the race his mentor never could, and he did it all without ever looking back. That’s the story every article these days leads with- and Jack understands why. Nothing sells magazines and ad space quite like a comeback tale, and the crash drew the attention of people who may not otherwise have been following Jann’s journey through GT Academy, so it’s obviously something that makes it’s way into every subheader following a podium for the next few seasons. It’s a great story- one that he’d love to believe if he wasn’t there to see the truth himself.
The three-sentence blurbs in the press about a freak accident don’t do justice to just how close they were to losing a driver in that crash too. It doesn’t cover how pale he looked when they pulled him from the wreck, or how solemn the doctors seemed in their debrief, or how Danny had to leave the waiting room to take his mother’s call because the wailing upset the other hospital visitors. The cheerful phrases touting his return to the top don’t mention the nights spent curled into Jack’s lap as sobs wrack his frame until he’s so starved for air that he chokes, or the panic attacks he dives into the motorhome broom closets to hide, or the way his family supports him primarily through well-meaning but ultimately accusatory “be safe” pre-race texts.
The outside world sees a phoenix rising from the ashes, but Jack alone knows that the driver that emerged wasn’t beautifully forged from destruction, but instead clawed out from a pit of self-loathing that threatens to swallow it’s creation with his each and every breath. Jann is the strongest person he knows, but Jack isn’t under any publicity-fed delusions that this accident did him any good.
They’re working on it. From his place in bed, he can spot the business card they’d dug out tonight on top of a stack of contracts and official-looking forms he’s sure they’ll forget to go over. Danny had recommended her- a therapist who’s contracted by the company to help with day-to-day mental health issues of office workers and leadership and apparently the occasional traumatized motorsports driver. Jann had argued- he always does about this kind of thing.
He doesn’t talk about the crash with anyone, not even Jack.
He wouldn’t ever dare to discredit the work Jann has done to get to where he is in regards to even getting back behind the wheel again- but they both know that being set off by a slight shiver in his rival’s car isn’t just unhealthy. At 250 miles per hour, it’s deadly. The business card had the privilege of traveling half the globe within Jack’s worn-out wallet over the past few months, but the last race before they headed home for break had been the tipping point.
Jack can’t handle the silence that falls over the comms after a close call as Jann retreats into his own memories while hurdling towards the wall, and Nissan isn’t too happy with the hundreds of thousands in repairs to their precious car because their driver panicked. It wouldn’t be a great look to not sign Jann’s contract for another few years, but they both know that their sponsor isn’t keen on keeping someone who they see as a liability on the team forever- no matter what terrible things fans on Twitter will have to say about it. When the Belgian GP ended in a wall collision resulting from witnessing another driver spin out, they’d decided changes needed to be made and the tattered card had finally seen some use months after it had probably been intended to be read.
His hand sifts through curls that easily part to make way for his wandering fingers, and it’s no different from any other night they’ve spent together, but the man in his arms seems infinitely more precious than anything else in Jack’s life at this moment. Jann’s soft breath tickles his collar bone and he responds in kind with lips pressed to his forehead. A thumb swipes gently at the tear tracks winding down his cheeks from their earlier phone call to a woman who will hopefully be able to calm the constantly raging storm inside the kid’s head.
Even though Jann is by far the strongest person he knows, from this angle he seems more fragile than glass. Jack isn’t going to be the one to shatter him- but when the time inevitably comes, he will happily be the person to put him back together again.
