Author's Note: Here is something I wrote because I thought it would be funny. Originally, it was nothing but a humorous rant about how much work Sparky does and how little credit he gets for said work, but as I was writing it, the story developed into what will most likely be a fluffy, funny, feel-good, friendship fic written from Sparky's point of view. I sincerely hope you enjoy this!
Also, a disclaimer: I do not own Speed Racer. I merely watch it and love it.
-Chapter 1-
Ya' know, being the mechanic for the most spectacular racing car in the entire world is not all it's cracked up to be. Especially because it barely needs to be repaired. Now I know you're all mumbling something about how spoiled I am for complaining about never having to work and having a car that is just too perfect, but hear me out. See, when something is as fast as a jet, able to drive up almost vertical surfaces, doubles a a submarine, and is more bulletproof than your average tank, not much can phase it. But the few times something (or someone) has the ingenuity to bust the car up, you better believe they do a good job. That's where I come in. They bring me a heap of red and white shrapnel and I am expected to return the Mach 5 in mint condition by the time of the next race. Sometimes, I have to pull all nighters with that stupid car, tinkering away at some insignificant giant hole in the side caused by a minor catastrophe Speed managed to get caught up in the middle.
It's always "Hurry up, Sparky?" "Have you fixed it yet, Sparky?" "Sparky, the race is about to start!" that idiot even drove off into competition with several parts missing, and me underneath attempting to do my job.
They never say anything like "How was your day, Sparky?", no "Nice to see you again, Sparky!" or "Hey, Sparky, wanna hang out and get some ice cream?"
Okay, I admit it; the main reason I hate being the mechanic for a car that never breaks is because I'm lonely. It seems like the only times I really get to talk to my best friend are those rare occasions when he brings that perfect machine of his in for maintenance. I mean, he's always out on a race somewhere these days. It's not that surprising, though; when you have a name like Speed Racer, there's not much else you can do.
But we're all like that really, if you're named Pops Racer, it would be insane to be anyone else but the father of a great racer. And Sparky, my own name, just lends itself to doing something with machinery. And Spritle is just, well, is just Spritle I guess. I'm really not sure where I was going with that one, but my point still stands! We are all woven into this crazy checkered flag of destiny. I am Sparky the mechanic; I have been since birth. And just as Speed Racer is fated to drive the Mach 5 to glory, I am fated to mop up whatever mess is left behind. And you know what, looking back, I don't think I'd change that, even if I could. Cause' even if I never get a trophy, even if I will always be the lonely boy who likes to fix cars, I know I will always be Speed's best mechanic, not to mention his best friend.
And that's good enough for me.
