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“Why am I always the one dressing up like a cow while you get to be the one not dressing up like a cow?” Ken mutters as he drops the pieces of the bulky costume into the box for the team to put away.
It’s hot, because it’s July and they’re in Talladega, and there hasn’t been a single cloud in the sky or breeze all day. Ken is at least glad that he and Wato aren’t sponsored by any alcohol companies, because he actually might have died for real if he had to be posing for photos with a beer in his hand instead of being given bottles of ice-cold water whenever it was time to take a break.
“Cause I’m the one who’s willing to smoke?” Wato says. “So I do the tobacco stuff, you do the beef stuff.”
Ken makes a disgusted face. “You don’t smoke.”
“Normally I don’t,” Wato says. “But I do when there’s money involved. You know how much they paid me for that commercial I did a few months ago?”
Ken rolls his eyes and heads back to the truck that’ll take them back to the speedway. “I know,” he says drily. “You told me a hundred times.”
“Tobacco money is buy a house money,” Wato says matter of factly, climbing in after him. “Eventually.”
Ken shakes his head. He really doesn’t care for all the marketing and advertising. If he wasn’t so addicted to the thrill of superspeedway racing, he’d probably still be on dirt tracks racing for a crowd of less than a hundred. Unfortunately, he really likes NASCAR, and he really likes winning races. He loves the challenge, the fight, the roar of the crowd as he pushes himself to the limit of what he can physically do. He wouldn’t give this up for anything.
He just wishes he could have it all without having to dance around like a trained monkey for the sponsors paying for his and Wato’s team to exist.
༘⋆༄.°⋆
The drive back to Talladega isn’t nearly long enough, and the air conditioner has only just begun to cool Ken down by the time they’re back. He shuffles off towards his RV, looking forward to a shower and the opportunity to lie down and try to sleep before practice and qualifying tomorrow.
“See ya tomorrow!” Wato shouts after him.
“Yeah,” Ken says, waving but not turning around.
Despite how tired he is from walking around outside a local supermarket with the PR representatives from the beef company for two hours, he does start to get back in the headspace of the race weekend as he stands under the water and indulges in some of his nicer shower products a little while later. He breathes in the scent of sandalwood and eucalyptus as his body relaxes and he starts to build up the anticipation in his mind.
Talladega is one of the biggest challenges on the whole calendar, and Ken always looks forward to it. He’s never won here, he’s DNF-ed twice, but he always feels like this track brings the best out of him. It’s long and it’s brutal. Ken was honestly terrified of it before he ever raced here, but he’s since learned that it’s a challenge that he wants to properly conquer one day. Like Daytona. Like Charlotte.
He also always feels like he’s been thoroughly beaten up by the time he gets out of the car here. It’s so good.
Tomorrow— and Sunday— will be so much fun.
༘⋆༄.°⋆
Nevermind.
Sunday is going to suck.
Ken is sitting at a picnic table in the middle of the Talladega infield with his dinner loaded up onto a plate in front of him and his appetite gradually vanishing as Wifies— perfect, amazing, cool, talented, friendly yet completely unattainable Wifies— shyly puts away the engagement ring he’s apparently just got for his fucking girlfriend.
“Do you think it’s cliche if I give it to her after the race? I just want it to be special for her.” Wifies says, sounding so adorably nervous that Ken wants to lean across the table and smush his face in his hands. And kiss him, except, no, he cannot do that.
God, it’s so fucking unfair that Parrot is the one who Wifies is absolutely lovestruck for. Why can’t Wifies be like Ken and Wato and have a perfectly happy “close friendship that defies the odds of their years-long rivalry” that will likely remain a “close friendship that defies the odds of their continued rivalry” forever? Why does he have to have a long and committed relationship with a gorgeous and fashionable rhythm and blues singer who’s debatably more famous than Wifies himself?
“I mean, unless you win, it’s probably not going to be enough of a show for her,” Wato mutters, stabbing forcefully at his steak.
“Hm, I don’t know,” Wifies says. “I’m pretty sure she knows I wanna propose, but she might want something more private. I should probably talk to her… but I don’t want to completely spoil the surprise.”
At least Wato can commiserate with Ken. They’ve both sort of been in love with Wifies since the two of them made it to the Winston Cup Series and Wifies— only in his second full time season at the time— had gone out of his way to make them feel welcome. He also fucking destroyed them every Sunday on the track, but Wifies is just like that. He’s like a machine in the car— ruthless and fearless and good and somehow he’s avoided ever getting seriously hurt in the numerous crashes he’s had. Ken can admit he was a dedicated fan of Wifies before he made it, and he’s still a big fan of him now.
“Congrats on qualifying second row, by the way,” Ken says, looking at his food and mentally convincing himself to start eating again.
“Thanks,” Wifies says brightly. “I guess I’m gonna have to watch out for you starting right behind me, huh? Both of you, hahaha. Don’t hold back just because you like me.”
Ken shrugs, but he can’t hold back the smile that spreads across his face at the praise.
“I’m gonna shove you out of my way,” Wato announces.
“Huh?” Ken looks up at Wato. “Me or Wifies?”
“You,” Wato says, narrowing his eyes, but he’s smiling, and some more of the sour mood eases away.
Wifies laughs. “You guys are crazy. Just remember you’re technically on the same team, even if you’re pretty close on points right now. You can catch up to my team as long as you finish high enough. I better see you both in the top ten tomorrow.”
Ken hums quietly.
It’s a nice thing for Wifies to say, but all three of them know better. Yes, he and Wato are on the same team, and the management would prefer if they both finish in the points, but the reality is: once they’re on the trask, Ken will absolutely fight anyone to win, even Wato. Even Wifies.
And both Wato and Wifies will do the same.
And Ken wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sure, NASCAR has teams, but the drivers race for themselves.
༘⋆༄.°⋆
Unfortunately, the weather chooses Sunday morning to drop just enough rain to completely change the track conditions. Rain wasn’t even in the forecast, but Ken supposes this is just the Talladega curse deciding to rear its ugly head and screw over absolutely everyone.
Now the air temperature is cold, the wind is blowing, and the race is starting two hours after the original scheduled time.
Ken feels a little anxious as he makes his way around the track in the formation laps, following the pace car and testing out the grip of the surface. It’s not bad, but it’s nothing like what it felt like on Saturday. He’s not sure about how this is going to go. His spotter picks up on his mood right away and starts talking to calm him down. It almost works.
Almost.
But then the pace car is going in, the cars are picking up speed, and Ken can feel the rumbling of forty stock racing cars all all around him as he forces himself to focus on the race. His heart picks up its pace as well and he tries to settle back into his regular rhythm— to connect with the car and respond more quickly to anything that might go wrong.
Well. It goes wrong pretty damn fast.
Lap one, right out of turn one, a crash. The car that had started right next to Wifies spins— possibly hitting a leftover wet patch— and collects Ken. Ken swerves to avoid the collision, but he gets clipped on his side panel. He can feel the damage as he struggles to keep the car driving straight, falling back further and further as the luckier cars pass him under the caution.
Ken grits his teeth. He wants to scream and swear, but he doesn’t want to lose his head just yet. It might not be as bad as he’s thinking. He limps his car back to pit row so the team can assess the damage.
It’s… not bad, but it’s not good either. The team tries to bend the panel back in place, and slap some large pieces of tape on other spots where Ken didn’t even notice he had damage.
Fuck.
They do get him out in decent time, and his spotter tries to remind him that he can still make up the lost time. And Ken tries, he really does. He pushes the car to get back to a decent racing speed, but the aero is ruined. It’s like wrestling a bull trying to get in a half decent lap to try and catch up with the rest of the cars at the back of the pack.
He has to return to the pit row for another quick repair six laps later, and struggles to keep up for the rest of the race.
It’s long, it’s exhausting, and it’s frustrating, and he feels like his hands might be bleeding under his gloves when he finally crosses the checkered flag in nineteenth place after a grueling three and a half hours.
Nineteenth place. Sure, he made up some time, but this was almost as bad as a DNF. He feels like he’s had the shit kicked out of him, and not even from a good fight in the race. This is definitely going to be one to forget.
“Who won?” Ken asks after he passes the checkered flag, finally allowing his battered car to slow down. The thing is probably going to be barely salvageable. Maybe some collector will want a piece of it someday, when Ken finally starts winning more than one race every other year.
Maybe Ken just wants to go to sleep and try to move on from this.
“Wifies,” his spotter tells him. “So at least it’s one of your friends.”
Ken’s heart sinks. “Great,” he mutters. “Happy for him.”
He can be happy for Wifies. That’s not even a hard thing— Ken loves Wifies and he’s always happy to see him celebrating a win.
But he can also keep his helmet on so nobody can see him grimace as Wifies walks up onto the podium on victory lane with Parrot— and she’s wearing high heels and she’s dressed in one of those fancy trendy mini dresses that shows off her perfect curves and long legs and she’s almost half a foot taller than him like this, what the hell— and he leans up to kiss her. And he sets his trophy on the ground and gets on his knees and the whole crowd loses their minds as he brings out the stupid ring.
Ken sighs and goes to find Wato.
༘⋆༄.°⋆
“Maybe they’ll get divorced,” Wato says.
“Wifies isn’t gonna divorce her,” Ken mutters. He’s facedown on his bed in his RV, unwilling to move until he’s done being miserable. Realistically, he will have to move before then, because he’s probably going to be miserable about this forever. Or at least for a few years, until maybe he can get over his feelings for Wifies.
Unlikely. Especially because Wifies is always seeking them out to spend quality time together, since he can’t realize that Ken and Wato want more than platonic quality time.
“Maybe they won’t actually get married,” Wato says.
Ken groans loudly. “I’m worried he’s gonna ask us to be, like, groomsmen at the stupid wedding. Fuck, Wato, I can’t do that.”
“If I’m going to his wedding, I’m kidnapping him,” Wato says, sounding serious. “And the priest. I’ll get married to him instead. You can come along, I guess.”
Ken sits up and rubs at his head. “I mean… I can’t blame him for wanting someone who doesn’t spend half the race at least two laps behind him,” he says morosely.
“Hey. Stop that. I mean, yeah, that fucking sucked, but there’s always next race,” Wato says. “And it’s not like he’s going to forget about us. He’s not gonna stop racing just because he’s maybe going to get married. And with how long the season keeps getting, we might end up spending more time with him than she will.”
“I just want him to love us,” Ken says.
Wato sighs. “Yeah. Me too.”