It's so quick, it's almost ironic. Jackson only has time to hear a loud screeching sound as metal drags across the asphalt and see a blur of gray before everything goes black.
—
Next Gens aren't supposed to crash, Next Gens aren't supposed to crash. This is all what runs through Cruz's head as she sees Jackson's car spin out, flip over, going headlong into wall and bursting into flames. Next Gens aren't supposed to crash.
The entire race seems to be put on standstill as the medical crew race onto the track. Cruz pulls into the pits and undoes her mesh, climbing out. Next Gens aren't supposed to crash.
She repeats the words like a mantra, as if focusing on them can take her mind off the crash, but whenever she closes her eyes, she can see the IGNTR being ripped off of the car like the hood was made of rice paper. Next Gens aren't supposed to crash. She can see the car skid along the tracks, sparks flying, pieces of it coming off every time it hits the asphalt. Next Gens aren't supposed to crash. She can hear the collective gasp from the crowd as it happens, and she can see it over and over again, like a film she wants to stop watching but can't tear her eyes away. Next Gens aren't supposed to crash. Lightning looks frozen, eyes wide. It only takes a second, however, for reporters to swarm him, wanting an immediate word on the horrific event they just witnessed. Next Gens aren't supposed to crash.
The track gets cleared rather quickly, leaving the remains of the car and scorch marks behind for Cruz to stare at and imagine. What would happen if it was worse? Could it be worse? Could Storm actually die?
The whole world seems to wonder this, and Cruz's phone buzzes, alerting her to the blow up on her social media feed.
Will JacksonStorm be okay? #JStormCrash
Such a tragedy. #JStormCrash
I thought we had this generation of racing crash-free. #JStormCrash
JacksonStorm, wishing you a speedy recovery. #JStormCrash
"Cruz."
She jumps and spins around to find Lightning staring at her with a very exhausted but shaken expression. "Mr. McQueen! Sorry, I didn't see you there."
Her phone is still buzzing; Cruz shoves it into her back pocket, the posts on her screen still imprinted on her vision. Lightning follows her movement with his eyes. "Something wrong?"
She doesn't need to say anything. She retrieves her phone and hands it to Lightning, the damn thing going off like a wasp. He takes it and scrolls through her feed before handing it back. "I didn't know he had so many fans."
"I didn't either. I guess they are united for the cause."
Neither of them brings up the actual topic of the crash even though they both want to. Crashes happen all the time; Cruz understands this. What she doesn't understand is how a Next Gen manages to crash when their entire development - their cars, their technique, everything - was specifically designed to do the exact opposite of what happened to Storm. Next Gens aren't supposed to crash.
And not only that, but Storm might not survive.
This was a big wreck, Cruz realizes that, and she can see that Lightning knows it too. "He'll survive...right?"
"I don't know." Lightning looks away. "We're all waiting for news from the hospital."
A layer of tense silence then falls over them before Sally comes in. "They're broadcasting the crash. I'm not sure if you want to see it, but..." her voice trails off, but both Cruz and Lightning apparently have the same thought and follow Sally out of the room.
Cruz doesn't know what she expects. An overly exaggerated version of it, maybe, people who didn't even understand what had happened lamenting how terrible it was, perhaps, but definitely not this.
The reporter looks familiar, she doesn't know where she's seen him before, but he's speaking in a way that makes her involuntarily relax. "-And we're all on edge here because there is still no word from the hospital on whether Storm will live or die. These big crashes are nothing to ignore, folks."
"What do you think of the New Gens in relation to this incident?" Lightning's jaw tightens at the question, and Cruz looks away.
"Firstly, Auro, this 'incident' was bound to happen." Cruz can see that the reporter doesn't look happy for the crash to be brushed off in such a minor way. She isn't sure, but she thinks she can see the look in his eyes that he's either been in a crash or witnessed a rather large one that had emotionally scarred him. She notes his paint job: yellow with swirls of red flames. The emblem - number 24 and the USA flag - specifically catches her eye. He's a retired race car. "Whether a Next Gen or not, there really isn't a way to prevent these wrecks. But they shouldn't be shrugged off in such a way, even if the racer survives, because honestly we shouldn't ignore the fact that they crashed. They live, yes, and we appreciate that but is it just for the entertainment or actual concern for their life?"
Lightning was watching the screen with a mixture of admiration and understanding and Cruz could've sworn that there was a small light of recognition in his eyes.
"Do you know that reporter?" Cruz asks, as the camera on screen swivels away to aim at another reporter, this one more of the 'oh so tragic' types.
Lightning meets her gaze and his eyes tell her everything.
Sally comes back in to them not even looking at the TV, as both of them had silently agreed to turn it off since no other report really catered to their interests. Not only that, but also because they are tired of it being played off like it was no big deal or like Storm would die any minute.
Which also arose the problem of no one knew if he was going to survive.
Cruz scrolls through her feed, searching desperately for any news, and it seems like the entire world was doing the same because all at the same time, posts start popping up.
JacksonStorm lives! #RoadToRecovery
Can't believe it. JacksonStorm survived and is stable. #RoadToRecovery
She lets out a long sigh and slumps against a wall, Lightning glancing over at her, eyebrows furrowed. "What? What happened?"
"He's alive."
Lightning copies Cruz's movements, releasing a long breath. "Oh, thank God."
Cruz can feel all the tension drain from her body, but there is still a nagging voice in the back of her head: Next Gens aren't supposed to crash. The voice is what convinces her to make a decision that could and would impact the rest of her and Jackson Storm's life.
—
Jackson isn't sure what he expects when he opens his eyes. He knows he crashed, oh yes he knows, but still, waking up in a hospital with at least ten different machines hooked up to him had to be the last thing he expected.
The sterile white walls blind him and he would look away if it weren't for all the machinery keeping him immobile. Not to mention the pain.
A nurse comes by and stops in the doorway when she sees that he is awake. "Oh, hello, Mr. Storm!" He winces internally because she sounds so much like Cruz, it annoys him just to think of that. As if the pain isn't enough. "Glad to see that you are awake! I hope you are doing well so far!"
Of course I'm not okay, Jackson thinks, rolling his eyes. Everything hurts like hell. Why am I in a hospital? Was it really that bad?
The thought of the crash is what gets his brain working properly again. Or as well as he can hope because he clearly recognizes the words that come out of his mouth. And they don't make sense. "Wait, I'm not dead?" The hiss of his breathing mask punctuates his words, and he nearly stops talking because why would he have a mask on? He can breathe on his own, can't he?
The nurse looks surprised and slightly concerned, though the confusion quickly gives way to a wide smile. Jackson can see the tension behind it, though. Clearly, she hasn't missed out on his characteristic attitude, even if the words weren't intended to be interpreted that way. "Well, luckily you aren't. You took quite a hit there, but you are quite alive at the moment."
"Good to know." Jackson doesn't know if he's playing her on purpose, or if he's actually just really confused. He rejects the latter. The crash can't have been that bad, right?
The nurse seems to have anticipated his response and replies, in a rather strained tone, "Oh, I forgot to mention: you have visitors."
She leaves extremely quickly, and Jackson is surprised at the speed of such an old person. He thinks nothing of it, however, because the three figures in the doorway take all of his attention.
They are hesitant to enter, which gives Jackson plenty of time to recognize them. Danny Swervez. Tim Treadless. And, he is a bit confused to see, Cruz Ramirez.
There is a heavy awkward silence that is only broken by the occasional hiss of the mask and beeping of the various monitors placed around his bed, and Jackson finds himself wanting to get out of this place. Anything but this.
"H-how are you?" Ramirez's voice cracks, like she is actually nervous, but Jackson's never seen her nervous before. It scares him ever so slightly before he brushes the feeling off.
"Just peachy," he says, the sarcasm in his voice oozing niceness. He doesn't know why he's being so rude, and feels a twinge of regret when Ramirez flinches.
Treadless' eyes narrow slightly, but when Jackson glances over, his expression goes neutral. Jackson feels a bit uncomfortable now and the need to move away from these three is stronger than ever. But when he tries to, an IV needle, about five tubes and half, and a half-dozen casts prevent him from doing so. He glances down at the white plaster that is covering his arms and legs. When did that get here?
"D-do you know how bad the crash was?" Ramirez seems to read his mind, see the confusion in his eyes. Or maybe it was she saw him react to all the stabilizers, like he's never really realized how badly he had been hurt.
Which was correct, but Jackson wasn't going to say anything about it. He answers the question truthfully, which surprises everyone in the room, including himself. "No?"
Swervez speaks next. "You were hurt really badly, man. Your car blew up. Everyone thought you were dead."
Jackson's eyes flick from Swervez to Treadless to Ramirez. All of them look serious and concerned at the same time, which he is unsure what to feel about it. "Really?"
He means it. He doesn't know anything, which is something he hates. He must be seriously hurt, otherwise he wouldn't be sporting all of this junk. And Swervez, as far as he knows, doesn't lie much.
The other three racers look surprised, however, and Treadless picks up the hospital remote and aims it at the TV screen directly opposite Jackson.
He wants to turn his head to look away but there's a neck brace in the way. When was that there?
The TV screen flickers on, catching a rerun of the race right at the time of the crash. Jackson can see his own car swerve, careen to the side, flip over so many time he can't even count, somehow swing back onto the track just to run into a wall and burst into flames. The screen shuts off, leaving Jackson to stare at his reflection in the smooth black surface in shock. That didn't happen. But judging by the looks on the others' faces, it did. It doesn't sit well with him.
He tries to change the topic: "Why are you here?"
"We came to see you, to check to see if you're okay." Ramirez's voice is small, like she's scared of getting yelled at.
"Well," Jackson would lift his arm to show her if it didn't hurt so much, "obviously I'm not."
Treadless doesn't really look amused by Jackson's attempt for humor. "Seriously, Storm, you could've died."
Yeah. He could've. That was something he needed to wrap his head around but couldn't yet. "Why are you here?" he asks again, trying to get a straight answer out of them. There was no way they came just to see him.
The pain is more prominent now, and Jackson has to focus on Ramirez's number 51 etched into her hoodie to keep from passing out. It was so overwhelming, he nearly misses her answer.
"We came to see you," Ramirez now sounds more confident, but confused. "I-I don't understand. What do you mean?"
Jackson can't express his question properly, which both puzzles and frustrates him. Why were they here as in how the hell did they care so much about him? He was a jerk, an asshole as far as he knew, so why did they come? But Ramirez, and judging by their expressions, Treadless and Swervez, don't understand what he meant.
And Jackson never fumbles in front of people. Never. He shakes his head, the movement causing a fresh wave of pain which makes him wince. "Never mind."
Ramirez glances towards Swervez and Treadless and they have a silent conversation before she turns back to Jackson. The concern is still written plainly on her face, and she doesn't seem to care. "Okay then, I, uh, guess we'll be going now." She brightens for just a few moments. "We'll be back though! Something to look forward too!"
Only until after they've left, does Jackson finally conjure a reply. Why would I look forward to it?
Deep down, he knows the answer.
—
Lightning is waiting for Cruz when she gets back to Radiator Springs. "How'd it go?"
"As well as Jackson would allow it," she replies, still seeing the confusion flitting across his face in her mind's eye.
"What does that mean?"
"It's like he doesn't want us to be there. Or maybe he doesn't get why we're there. He kept asking us why we came to see him, but I thought the answer was obvious." Cruz takes the soda bottle that is offered to her by Flo and takes a sip. "I mean, Jackson is a prick most of the time—"
"All of the time," Lightning mutters.
"—but that doesn't mean he deserves it. He was hurt pretty badly."
Lightning glances over at her. "I agree with you, but I don't know—"
"Should I go visit him again?" Cruz muses, not even listening to her mentor. "Because I feel bad for him. The only people I think would visit him would be people who, well, don't care for him as much? Other than Ray and Gale of course."
"Did Danny and Tim object to your going there?" Lightning asks.
"No..." Cruz hesitates. "They actually suggested it from the beginning but I was the one who pushed them to go. Like metaphor-wise," she adds when she sees Lightning's expression.
"Storm's lucky the racing community is so caring," Lightning grumbles, taking a long drink from his bottle. "Otherwise I don't think anyone really would want to visit him, because of his personality and all."
"Don't say that, Mr. McQueen!" Cruz is shocked. Lightning is right of course, but she wants to believe everyone deserves good people to help them. Maybe a lack of that type of care made Jackson the way he is.
Lightning looks a bit regretful at his words but says nothing else, downing the rest of his drink and sliding the empty bottle over the counter to Flo.
There is a brief pause before he asks, "Are you going back?"
"Of course I am," Cruz says, standing. "It'd practically be a crime not to, right? After all I did promise him I would come back. He actually looked happy about it!"
Lightning watches her leave, Flo leaning over the counter to speak while having him a new drink. "By happy, does she mean bored?"
Lightning snorts and takes the a swig from the bottle. "Probably."
—
When Jackson wakes up again, there's something on the cabinet next to his bed. He has to carefully maneuver himself to look at it and then has to look away again for the sheer brightness of it.
It's a package wrapped in bright yellow paper, tied with a blue ribbon; the colors is what tells him who gave this to him.
And he's baffled. Why in the world would Ramirez leave him a gift?
No one — outside of Ray and Gale of course — has ever taken the time to do something like this. He's surprised and touched at the same time. Maybe Ramirez isn't so bad after all.
Speaking of Gale...
The door opens and Gale's familiar baseball cap peeks around the door, followed by Gale herself. "How're you doing, Jackson? Hanging in there?"
Jackson doesn't have enough energy to delve into his emotional turmoil at the moment, so he settles for a quick, "Yeah."
"That was a bad crash," Gale says by way of conversation. "I'm really really glad you survived that. Otherwise, IGNTR would have to find a new racer and you know how much of a hassle it is."
She's joking, Jackson knows, but he feels a twinge of annoyance anyway. It has just sunk in that he has missed death by near inches. "They wouldn't be able to find a good one," he says by response.
Gale seems to understand that he's not in the joking mood right now. "Who sent you that package?" she asks, gesturing to the vividly yellow box sitting next to him.
Jackson closely watches her face for any reaction as he says, "Ramirez did."
"That's sweet of her," Gale says, face betraying any emotions. "You should be grateful."
"I am!" The words that spill out of his mouth is so uncharacteristically like him, Gale looks startled.
Gale slowly recovers from her initial shock to say slowly, "Well, that's good." She pauses. "Aren't you going to open it?"
Jackson shifts slightly, pain shooting through his body. He talks through clenched teeth, partially because of the pain and partially because he doesn't want to say what he's going to ask next. "Can you help me do that?"
Gale nods, eyes flicking over the casts and tubes hooked up Jackson. "Of course."
She walks over to the package and takes it to the foot of he bed so Jackson can see it better without moving. She tugs the ribbon and it slips off and nearly slithers off the bed of Gale didn't grab it in time. "This is a nice ribbon," she muses. "It's the same color as your uniform."
Jackson hadn't noticed that, but he didn't want to talk; his eyes are focused on the package, curiosity rising despite his best efforts.
Gale senses his impatience and takes less time in ripping the wrapping paper off, revealing a small cardboard box, which she pries the lid off of.
Jackson expects it to be store-bought or something close to that value, but instead it's a glass jar with colorful fragments of some kind of silky paper lining the edges. When Gale holds it up for Jackson to see it more clearly, the light catches it in a way that makes the colors dance and reflect across the room.
It actually intrigues Jackson because it actually looks good. Which means Ramirez must've taken the time to actually make it.
The kind gesture just makes him more confused. Why is she being so nice to him? He doesn't deserve any of this.
Gale seems lost for words as well, as she turns the jar for it to show different lights flashing across the white walls. "This is really pretty," she says at last. "Where do you want me to put it?"
Jackson doesn't know. Gale can see the hesitation in his eyes so she chooses for him. "How about here?" She points to the windowsill, and Jackson shrugs, grimacing at the pain again.
He really needs to stop doing that. The pain makes him pass out, and when he awakens, Gale is gone and Ray is sitting in the row of chairs lined underneath the TV screen reading a magazine.
Jackson doesn't know if it's normal that his ribs suddenly hurt. A lot. Every small movement sends jarring stabs of agony that makes him gasp. Ray looks up, and his eyes widen slightly. "You okay, Jackson?"
Jackson manages a small nod and tries to focus on the jar still sitting on the windowsill to keep from blacking out yet again. His breaths are coming in short gasps and it's getting harder to actually breathe as a whole. Ray has put down his magazine and moved to Jackson's bedside, eyes showing concern.
"You'll be fine Jackson, just breathe."
"What...does it look...like I'm doing?" Jackson grunts, struggling to get air. The breathing mask hisses in protest and a cloud of steam erupts from the tube connecting it to his air supply. Ray sees it and quickly reattaches the tube to the mask and air flows into Jackson's nose and mouth.
The pain ebbs into a dull throb and Jackson's mind clears as well. "What was that?"
"Your tube somehow became disconnected to your mask," Ray explains, studying the tube for any leaks. "Maybe it happened while you were sleeping."
Jackson doesn't care. He's exhausted now. He'll think about the weird incident later. "Yeah, thanks Gus."
He misses Ray's look of surprise by a few seconds.
—
Gale visits Radiator Springs on her trip back from the hospital. She needs to pay Cruz Ramirez a visit.
She finds the young racer sitting on a bench outside of the courthouse, and calls out to her. "Hey, Cruz!"
Cruz looks up, eyes lighting up. "Hi Gale!" She hesitates and a nervous look flashes across her face. "Did something happen?"
"Oh, no," Gale replies reassuringly. "Everything's fine. It was you who sent that gift, right?"
Cruz nods. "Did he like it?"
Gale laughs. "He does. He didn't say anything when I opened it for him but I could see that look in his eyes." She sobers and adds, "That did him a good one. Thank you."
Cruz finally relaxes and offers the truck driver a smile. "You're welcome. I actually have a whole bunch I want to give him."
Gale chuckles. "Well, he'll like that."
—
Jackson wakes up to an empty room. There's no one here today, which is a relief and a disappointment because for the past few days, other Next Gen racers have been stopping by; the reason for all the kindness is going way over Jackson's head.
Everyone that has ever raced against him, with the exception of McQueen, has showed up. Ramirez doesn't seem that bad either, which the old Jackson would be mortified to admit. She keeps leaving gifts in his room, ranging from more of those intricately designed jars to small paintings that actually capture images rather well.
His favorite (something he'll never admit) is the one that she painted of the Florida stadium. The race itself is something he doesn't want to remember but the stadium is breathtaking.
Being in the hospital changed him. The countless times he spent in that bed unable to do anything, he had forced himself to count his blessings, partially because he had nothing else to do, and partially because he wanted to match the racing community in their kindness. He couldn't change anything indefinitely, but he could try.
He crashed. He survived. He could've died. That in itself was amazing and Jackson felt more lucky than expectant. A few months ago, he would've taken his survival for granted. But vulnerability is a new thing. He hates it and loves it at the same time.
He doesn't like this change of being open to everything and wearing his heart on his sleeve (well, he isn't quite there yet). But it has helped him get closer to the other racers, and Jackson realizes that they aren't such bad people after all.
Was it possible to be competitors and friends at the same time? He asks Gale this the next time she comes to visit him.
"Yes, absolutely." His driver seems more excited that he's willing to think about these things than to actually focus on the question. "That's what the racing community is all about. You may have some people you don't like and will actively compete against but in general, all the racers are pretty good friends and it's in good competition do they race."
Jackson forces himself to not reprimand her for explaining too much. She's excited, he tells himself. She can do what she wants.
If Gale notices his inner argument, she doesn't show it. "Well, I do hope you can try to make friends with the other racers, Jackson."
The unspoken I'm proud of you hangs in between them before Gale gives a soft smile and leaves.
Jackson doesn't know what to feel about that. He's not trying to do some kind of soul-searching or anything. But he feels some kind of tingling sensation knowing that at least one person is proud of him.
Ramirez probably is too, but she's proud of everyone.
—
Lightning is amazed. When he went into Storm's room, he was surprised to note the forced calm the other was giving off and the extreme lack of insults. From the look on Storm's face, he didn't seem to want to insult Lightning.
Cruz had told him that Storm was trying to improve, but he had never really believed it until this moment.
"You done staring?" The voice speaking was muffled by the air escaping from the breathing mask and rather weak, but unmistakably Storm.
Lightning blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah."
"What'd you come here for? Cruz tell you to?"
Lightning notices that this is the first time he's heard Storm refer to Cruz as Cruz, not Costume Girl nor Ramirez.
"No, I came here myself." Lighting allows a bit of pride to seep into his tone, and Storm rolls his eyes.
"Of course you did."
The two sit in silence for a long time, but it isn't awkward or seething at all. Lightning could dare to call it comfortable but that wasn't a word he would associate with Storm.
But, as Cruz had said, he was trying to improve. So that meant Lightning needed to as well.
—
Treadless visits again, this time alone; it surprises Jackson enough to try to ask but he's learned — as in trying to learn — to not ask so many questions to mock people.
Instead, he gives him a slight nod, the most he can do with a neck brace.
The pain isn't as bad anymore but it has its moments of raw agony and muted throbs. The nurse that attends to his room had said he was healing, which was a good thing. The only question he had left was if he could race or not. Ray had said to take it one step at a time.
Treadless returns the nod, back ramrod-straight with tension and eyes alert. Jackson had noticed that Treadless only gets that way around him so he stays quiet and lets the other racer do the initial talking.
They sit there for a full five minutes before Treadless understands that Jackson doesn't feel like talking first. Or maybe he knows that Jackson is letting him talk, but he doesn't show any emotion other than wariness and nervousness.
"Uh, Cruz wanted to let you know she can't stop by tomorrow because Lightning's giving her impromptu practice laps for the race in a couple of days."
Jackson grimaces at the mention of the race but says nothing. He can tell this isn't the reason why Treadless visited so he waits.
When Treadless doesn't say anymore and instead awkwardly stands in the doorway, Jackson says, "That isn't why you came."
It's a statement, not a question. Treadless' eyes flick to the jars on the windowsill and back again. "I came to check on you."
The truth. Jackson can see it in his — former? — rival's eyes. Treadless, despite everything that happened between the two of them all season, was the only racer besides Ramirez and McQueen to visit Jackson alone.
It's getting more and more confusing by the days but Jackson finally understands. They all care for him despite the rough spots, despite their differences, despite the fact that they are supposed to be competitors. It was just in their nature, as a community and as people.
Jackson smiles the best he can without cringing or injuring himself further and says, as honestly as he can, "Thank you."
Treadless looks confused and grateful at the same time.
—
Two days later, Jackson is watching the race. He doesn't remember the name and he's surprised when he realizes he doesn't really care. He's focused on watching the other racers.
Gale and Ray come in to the TV on and drag chairs next to the bed to watch as well.
Ramirez wins the race, something Jackson was expecting. Without any other further competition, she pulls a huge lead in the last twenty laps and crosses the finish line way ahead of Treadless, who places second.
Jackson finds himself secretly rooting for everyone, which was something both Gale and Ray seemed to pick up on but neither chooses to say anything.
When Ramirez comes in later that day, he congratulates her, which she takes with both pride and confusion.
He sees Gale standing in the corner, smiling proudly. He knows her expression has nothing to do with Ramirez's win.
—
When Jackson gets out of the hospital, he still had a few more weeks before hjs left arm fully heals. And then, the nurse reassures him, he can go back to racing, as long as he doesn't get into any more crashes.
The racing community welcomes him back with open arms, and Jackson finds himself getting along with everyone often enough to consider them friends.
Jackson Storm. Friends. Some words he never would've associated with before.
Jackson is trying to change now; he won't match anyone, least of all, Ramirez, for their kindness, but he's trying. When Gale hears what he has to say about that, suggests to think of it like a competition.
"You are always good at those," she says with a large grin, something that Jackson returns wholeheartedly.
And goddammit, this is one competition he really doesn't want to lose.
—
(Treadless gets into a huge crash a month later, and Jackson is there for him every step of the way, like the others were for him. Ramirez asks him, rather genuinely, where he got all that compassion from and he answers honestly.
"From you.")