Chapter Text
“C’mon, kid, get through,” he heard from the headset. Lightning’s hands gripped the wheel that wanted to slip from his grasp, his foot pressed into the throttle that fought him.
“‘M tryin’ here, Doc,” he huffed out. His vision was a whirl of yellow #78 and blue #42.
Lightning’s year hadn’t been bad, nowhere near it. Well. For other racer’s standards. To his own, it was less-so.
This race dictated whether he was going into the play-offs or not.
He had to win.
“Cal’s faltering, press him, press him… You got it,” Doc urged. Lightning knew he was on the edge of his seat, eyes flitting from the track to the screen and back.
Lightning jerked the wheel to his right just a touch, and like clockwork, Dinoco #42 reacted. It was a hair of movement, but it was just enough for Lightning to get his nose between him and #78 in front.
“Yes. Finish it.”
This was going to be brutal. If anybody except for the eleven who’d already won got this race, he’d be finished. This would be his last of the season. But if they didn’t, he’d get to move on. Points alone.
Lightning didn’t do points.
He did wins.
Lightning floored the throttle and sent the #95 flying between the gap Cal had left him. He nearly sent his car straight into the wall, pulling it back to the left to be on the outside of #78.
“Screw off, Stella,” he muttered, the #95 vibrating with power beneath him. Straight away, done. Turns three and four ahead. He was going to pass her.
Lightning stayed as close as he could get to the wall without wrecking, leaving a long line of paint.
Turn three.
He coaxed the #95 into a perfect, practiced turn, letting the centripetal force press him into the right side of his car. He kept the car steady, even, just barely letting off the throttle.
“Good, good- Keep it going.”
Lightning pulled ahead of her in a flash.
“Clear!” He pushed off the wall and got the bumper in her face. Yes.
“Atta boy, Swift’s leading with thirty seconds, Meeker’s got twenty yards on you,” Doc said with barely a pause for celebration.
“Shave it to zero,” he replied, flexing his hand on the wheel.
“Keep Rocker out back. Stay outside.” Lightning was having to push this throttle more than he wanted to. Tires were starting to go, but what could he do about it? There were only eight more laps.
Lightning kept pressing onto the outside wall, trying to catch up to Ferra Meeker in bright purple. He loved her off the track, she was great. Always up for a laugh, always messing around. But out here? She was brutal.
“Back right tire’s hurting,” he called out. “Slipping just a bit.”
“Can’t do anything, now. Six yards.”
He was so close to Meeker. Lightning slipped into her draft, just inches from bumping her.
“Rocker’s not off of you,” Doc warned. Shit. Three cars all in a row was never great, too much fighting.
“Out or in?”
“In.”
Lightning tried to swerve to the left and pull next to Meeker’s #36, but she matched him in milliseconds.
“Counter.”
He grimaced and turned towards the outside, only to be matched again. She was trying to sit tight.
“Bear with me,” he yelled out.
“Don’t be stupid.”
Lightning yanked the #95 back to the left, expecting Meeker to match.
Gloriously, she did. He pulled the #95 straight to the right and faked her out, taking the outside from her.
Neck and neck.
Shit, now he was trapped on the left and from behind. He pushed the #95 as much as he could, focusing on getting through this damn turn. The speed still wasn’t kicking up as much as he wanted it to, the wheel kept fighting to turn to the right.
“Doc, this tire!”
“Keep it together.”
Lightning floored it on the straight. He had a faster car. He could do this.
“You got three ahead, Swift leading by 20 seconds. Danger of Yardley taking lead.” Lightning didn’t do points. He did wins. But at this rate, he’d take what he could get. If Bobby won, he’d get to the playoffs. If Brick won, he’d be over.
He compensated for the right lean by pushing to the left. He managed to get a half-length in front of Meeker.
“Tell me when I’m clear.”
“Not yet, not yet- Almost- Woah!”
Lightning’s focus snapped to the cars ahead, where car #47’s wheel blew.
“Back off! Off, Lightning!” He snapped the #95 up and away, a lane of distance from Meeker. This was going to turn into a crash. But it was not going to get him.
Lightning swerved around the rattling, wobbling #47, the downed car clipping his bumper as he cut too close to pull in front.
“Got Rocker. Still have to deal with Meeker. Keep speed.” Lightning kept pushing the #95, two more cars ahead. Four laps to go. Yardley and Swift.
He could do this.
“Yardley’s blocking outside, lane space between them. Twenty five yards.”
Lightning gunned for that gap between them. The #95 was a little testy, not quite as responsive right now, but it was still a damn fast car. There was a reason his qualifiers were spectacular.
“White flag! You got it, kid!”
One damn lap. One lap left. Lightning clawed for ground, his teeth grit with tension. He was pushing the #95 to its limit, he knew it. Old tires, heated engine. Gas wasn’t at its peak, either. Still. He had to have this.
Lightning raced for the win, inching closer and closer. It was going to be a photo finish.
Past turn one, past turn two.
He got in between them right before turn three.
Lightning pressed Yardley into the wall, trying anything to get him to slow down.
“C’mon kid! C’mon, almost!”
The checkered flag was held aloft, drifting with the wind, waiting for a winner.
Lightning surged forwards. Would it be enough?
He darted past the finish line.
Who won?
“Yes! Yes! Playoffs, kid!” he heard Doc whoop. “Perfect!”
He did it.
Lightning slowed the car down enough to spin smokey donuts into the raceway pavement.
“Fuck yes! Oh my god- Doc! We did it! Yes!”
“Race next weekend!”
“Floatin’ like a Caddilac-”
“Stingin’ like a Beemur,” Doc completed, laughing at their stupid phrase. Lightning whooped with joy, his vision filling with putrid yellow smoke from the tires. He raced out of it, taking his damn victory lap.
Fresh air had never felt so good.
Lightning rolled into the pits, unclipping himself from the seat as Luigi undid his netting. He climbed out of the window with a grin and there was Doc, grinning right back at him.
Lightning stumbled onto the ground. His legs were always shaky after a race, but luckily, Doc caught him and pulled him back onto his feet.
“Surprisin’ me every single time,” Doc chuckled, unbuckling Lightning’s helmet. He grinned up at his mentor. He couldn’t do it without Doc.
He’d done incredible his rookie year, but it was so much different with a crew chief. He felt more calm, more in control, more informed. Most of the time, Doc’s advice was better than the option he would’ve taken otherwise. Yes, Lightning was behind the wheel, but there were two minds working together inside of that car.
Lightning tossed his arms around Doc in a tight hug. Doc chuckled and wrapped his own arms around Lightning, his hands grasping onto his racing suit.
He’d planned for a quick hug, but Doc had a different idea. He gave his protégé a firm squeeze that lasted longer than Lightning ever thought it would. A warm, fuzzy feeling filled his head like cotton. His smile felt like it was going to break his face.
“Stickers!” Sally cried out, her black bob bouncing around her chin as she scrambled over the wall. Lightning looked up to see her already halfway over to them.
Doc let go of him and clapped him on the back, urging him in Sally’s direction. “You deserve a damn good celebration after that one, go say hi to your girl.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Always, son.”