Archive of Our Own ^beta

The world is a cruel, unforgiving place.

At least, that’s what he had come to learn, when he was still a wet behind the knees homicide detective: stationed out in Sin City itself. 

Mike used to be more optimistic, more hopeful- back when he was younger, he thinks. Back, before he witnessed the sort of atrocities that human kind could bestow upon their friends, their family, their neighbors. 

People they claimed to love, claimed to care for. Only to cut their lives short the very next day. 

It changed a person. All that death, all that hate. The destruction of human souls. The cold, chilling looks of those guilty of murder. Of kidnapping. Of rape. 

It had killed him, a little more everyday. 

Applying to the singular Sheriff job out in Radiator Springs, a few years later, had been his breath of fresh air. A second chance. 

Stanley Wilcott had given him a knowing glance during his interview. The old judge had clocked in on the demons haunting him. Had seen just how close Mike was to losing himself in it. So, he offered him sanctuary, hiring him to start the very next day. 

It’s been almost thirty five years now and he’s never regretted his decision to leave that life behind. 

The world has very little softness in it; but, here, with his friends, his family, his town, he likes to think they got their own little slice of heaven carved out. 

A place where nothin’ bad can really touch them. 

Which is why, this, particular day — really fucking sucks.  

November 

2008

Radiator Springs

It’s been a few days since the kid and Doc had returned home to Radiator Springs. Their latest racing season was over for a few months; with, McQueen bouncin’ off the dang walls from his second consecutive Piston Cup win. 

And Doc, like the sappy asshole he is, just smiled down at the little pip squeak, pride evident in the curl of his lips and the shine in his eyes. In the loving arm he wrapped around his kid’s slim shoulders. 

They’re all at Flo’s tonight. The woman insisted they do a family dinner in celebration of the win, closing down her diner to all the nosy tourists that didn’t know their ass from their elbow. To be honest, it’s where they eat most of their meals. It just makes things easier when Flo cooks enough food to feed an entire country, let alone their small two main road town. Besides, Sheriff hates cooking. He’s semi decent at it and doesn’t mind doing it, but he’s always so busy with his job that it’s hard to find the damn time. And, it's a good way to stay connected with all the wonderful people that make up their quirky family, if they can all slow down and eat together. 

But the kid is still relatively new to town, compared to the rest of them. And even though he seems pretty fascinated with the way everyone works together around here, how they support one another— Sheriff can tell there’s still a part of him that seems to be scared shitless with setting down roots anywhere. 

Don’t even get him started on Doc. That asshole went from 0 to 100 with the whole protective instinct thing, just about the second after the kid officially moved into his spare room. 

Two years later, and the bastard still smothers the kid like no other. 

He barely resisted the urge to smack Doc in the back of the head earlier, when he glared at some touchy tourist for standing too close to Lightning for an autograph. So, dinner at Flo’s seems like a good idea. Definitely lowers the odds of his friend punching some random person's lights out for staring at his kid wrong. He even bribes Sally with pulling Lightning away from Doc’s side after they eat. Distracting Flo long enough, to let them raid the kitchen for some of the good apple pie she bakes daily.

The kids look at him with a strange expression, but he just shrugs, holding a finger against his lips and winking at them. 

Besides, McQueen needs all the calories he can get. He’s still way too thin, even for a kid as short and little as he is. Everyone in town is always trying to figure out the best way to sneak him extra stuff without him noticing. Spiced caramel apples baked in a flaky crust is the best he’s getting right now. 

They party and drink their way late into the evening, until everyone unanimously decides to call it a night once the clock strikes midnight; all of them stumbling their way back to their homes. He somehow ends up back at Doc’s, with him and the kid, cracking open a new bottle of whiskey as he sways onto the porch swing. Lightning — the only sober one — is exhausted and passes out on the couch within minutes. Doc checks on him before they keep drinking, turning off the TV and tucking him into the cushions with a blanket. Fucking crazy domestic, is what it is, and Mike can barely believe his gruff friend is this goddamn soft now. 

A few hours later, the whiskey and calm placid night encourage them to reminisce on old times. Discussing the demons that drove them to move here, and how so much has changed in the last thirty years. They are more open than they’ve ever been; with no more secrets festering between. So, of course — his asshole friend brings up the big talk. 

The one about what happens if this shit world does something to take him out before he’s ready. Doc looks at him, asking him to watch over the kid, to make sure he’s safe and that he knows he’s loved.

Tells him to give him the Hornet, the house: all of it. 

There are tears, but neither of them will admit to it.

Mostly he tries not to think about it, but, sometimes it niggles at him in the back of his mind. Doc is his best friend, his brother in all but blood, the toughest son of a bitch he’s ever met; and it scares him. The idea of this mountain of a man dying, or, something equally terrible happening to him. The fear is worse now, with the kid here. It’s been worse since the moment he met Lightning McQueen. It’s been worse since he single handedly destroyed their town; yet, pulled Doc back to life, all at the same time. 

It’s worse, because, that kid needs his friend like he needs fucking air. 

Sheriff never had any kids. Doc never did either, but he’s got Lightning now; so, Mike knows all too well, what a shitty substitute he would be for Doc. And, yeah the town would rally around the kid. Sally would coddle him and be his shoulder to lean on. Flo would cook him food for the rest of his life. Red would grieve in silence with him. Mater would try and cheer him up. 

But, none of them could ever be — Doc — to him. None of them could measure up to that. 

So, Sheriff worries. He worries every time his friend drives like a bat outta hell in his deathtrap of a car out in the desert, and around the Butte. He worries about car crashes, and robberies, and infections, and plane malfunctions. Hell, he worries about goddamn snakes and scorpions.

What he’s not really expecting, is a fucking appendicitis. 

Over a week later, they end up at a hospital in North Rim, the closest medical center in relation to Radiator Springs; and the kid is freaking the fuck out — needless to say.

“Dude! There needs to be a rule or something, aren’t you way too damn old to get one of these?” Lightning asks nervously, pacing back and forth in the small room. 

“I fuckin’ wish,” Doc groans, laying down on the exam table with a barely concealed wince. He’s hurting more than he’s letting on, Sheriff knows, but he’s trying to hide it from the kid. Trying not to let him see. “Alright, honey. Now, you both get home safe and sound, you hear? Don’t be givin’ Sheriff any lip.” 

Lightning’s face tightens. “Did the drugs go to your head already, old man? I’m not leaving you here alone.” 

“Yes, you are.” Doc holds up a hand when the kid’s mouth snaps open to protest. “It’s only gonna make me nervous, thinkin’ about you waiting here all night. Go back to Radiator Springs with Sheriff, and get some rest. You earned it.”

Sheriff can tell how much the hot rodder wants to argue, and normally he thinks Lightning would. He’s a good kid, don’t get him wrong; but, he likes to bicker and Doc is a goddamn wimp when it comes to those big blue eyes of his. It’s normally pretty easy for Lightning to get his way. 

But Doc is using what Mike likes to call his ‘take no shit parental voice’ and Lightning just — loses steam. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, sounding just like Doc. “But… just- just don’t die, okay?” 

Lightning shuffles on his feet, and then quick like a rattler, he darts forward and hugs Doc tight around his chest, nuzzling his honey blonde hair under his chin. 

Doc’s face melts, going softer than Sheriff has ever seen it. He suddenly feels like he’s third wheeling on a private moment, and turns away, pretending he’s counting the different colored stripes on the wallpaper. 

“You’re gonna be just fine, honey,” Doc croons, stroking a hand over his messy hair. 

Only the bustling team of health workers coming in the room, convinces Lightning to leave. 

Sheriff wants to pat his shoulder as they walk out into the waiting room, but he’s almost one hundred percent sure the kid would try and bite him. 

He drops his old ass into a rickety chair that's absolutely going to wreck his back in a couple hours.

“Sit down, kid.” 

Lightning eyes him suspiciously. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“That surgeon said it should only take an hour, two tops.” He leans forward and grabs a good housekeeping magazine, flipping the cover open. “We can stay until it’s over.” 

“But-” he says slowly. “Doc said to go back home.” 

“Yeah? And I’m the Queen o’ England.” He teases, scrolling through the pages. “I don’t answer to Doc, kid. What he don’t know, won’t hurt him.” 

Besides, he would bet every penny he has that if he doesn’t stay here with Lightning, the kid will just end up sneaking out to come back here the second Sheriff goes to sleep. Doc realizing that he let his kid spend a couple hours in a waiting room, is a hell of a lot better than Doc finding out Mike allowed his emotionally driven kid to speed alone through a dark ass desert. 

Twiddling his thumbs, Lightning chooses a chair and sits, leaving two empty chairs between them. Looking around, Sheriff notes a few other people all sat in different corners of the room, some of them were praying, some were on their cellphones; but, all of them were waiting patiently. Waiting to hear any news of their loved ones. 

Just like them. 

Sheriff spends a few minutes reading an article about a homemade herbal eye cream while pretending not to watch the kid. Lightning rocks back and forth on the cushion, fidgets with his phone, sends a few texts out, looks over at the clock above the door. Fidgets more, crossing his leg over his knee, looks at the clock again. Bounces on the seat, switching legs so the other knee is crossed. Another glance at the clock. 

Yeah… it was gonna be a long two hours. 

After a few more rounds of restless behavior, he sighs loudly and pulls a pair of headphones out of his Rust-Eze sweatshirt pocket. Shoving the ear pieces in, he plugs the coiled wire into the bottom of his phone, clicking through a playlist. 

Sheriff gives him a few minutes, until he starts bopping his head to one of the songs. “What kinda music you like, kid?” 

Lightning shoots him a weird look, then shifts his eyes to the clock again. “I don’t know. Stuff.” 

“Like what?” 

He shrugs. 

Kid’s a rambler, never quits talkin, Doc grumbled to him once, pretending to be annoyed about it, but clearly fond. Sheriff would love to get to know that kid. Instead, he’s the one who gets the condescending looks and one word answers. 

“Did ya drink a lot of champagne, after you won?” He asks, immediately regretting the question when Lightning’s face blanches. 

“What’s it to you?” He snaps. 

“Ain’t that what everyone does? Ya know, to celebrate?” Mike asks, feeling like he’s stepping on sharp pieces of glass at the look on the kid’s face. 

Lightning crosses his arms, pressing the volume up on his music. Another glance at the clock. 

He decides to leave him alone for now. Clearly he’s said something wrong, and mentioning the whole champagne thing hadn't helped ease the tension. 

The kid spends the next hour and a half fidgeting, sometimes changing playlists, but mostly just staring daggers at the clock. Like he could magically force it to go faster. When the surgeon walks into the waiting room, Lightning tosses his phone down on the chair and immediately jumps up. 

The doctor laughs. “I had a feeling you’d both still be here.” 

“Is Doc alright?” Lightning asks, a touch impatiently. 

“His surgery was textbook. It went very well,” the surgeon explains. “We got the appendix out before it ruptured, so no complications. He’s coming out of the anesthesia now and he’s been asking for you.” 

“Can I see him? Please.” The kid begs, lip quivering and big blue eyes wide like the sea. Sheriff shuffles his feet, looking away from them.  

“Just for a few minutes. He’ll be very groggy still and needs to rest.” 

Sheriff knows — like the sky is blue — that Doc can be a stubborn bastard. And if he's asking about Lightning, well — he won’t let himself rest until he lays eyes on his kid for himself. Unless they sedate his crazy ass again. 

He follows Lightning back to Doc’s curtained area, just in case. The kid would probably complain to the high heavens that he’s an adult and doesn’t need a babysitter, but if Doc is as out of it as they say, Sheriff wants to be there in case he gets freaked out. 

He never should have been worried. 

Lightning nearly runs to his side, picking up his large hand with both of us. “Hey, Doc.” His voice cracks loudly, on the letter C. 

Doc tries to lift his other hand towards his face and groans. 

“Easy,” Lightning cautions, pressing the raised hand down with his own and tucking it back into Doc’s side. “Don’t mess with your incisions.”

“Ye’h,” Doc slurs, sounding like he was three sheets to the wind. “Can’ really put more in m’self.” 

Lightning snorts, muffling his laugh in his shirt. “I mean, I think the surgeon would do it. Not you, Doc. But let’s just avoid that, mkay? More importantly, how are you feeling?” 

“Hey.” Doc murmurs, slipping his hand free and placing it clumsily around the back of the kid’s neck. He pulls him down, until his ear lays flat against his chest, allowing him to listen to the thrum of his pulse. “M’ alright, sweetie. M’good.” 

Lightning sniffles, digging his chin down. Sheriff leaves them to it for a few minutes. Doc’s missing his glasses so his eyes aren’t totally focused, and he’s mumbling a little under his breath, but if this is the worst thing his friend is gonna do when he’s high off some drugs, Mike is certainly not gonna complain. 

He steps in when Doc’s eyes flutter closed, and it looks like he’s about to fall asleep. Lightning seems like he would be content to twist himself down and sleep in the chair if he could. But he knows Doc wouldn’t want that for the kid, would want him to go home and sleep in his own bed. 

That's where Sheriff needs to come in.  

“Hey, you old bastard,” Sheriff smirks, moving to pat his hand on Doc’s free arm. It puts him opposite to the kid, but Lightning still stiffens. “It’s gettin’ real late. I should probably take the kid back for some dinner and sleep.” 

“Y’h,” Doc sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of Lightning’s hair and mussing it with trembling fingers. “Go on home, honey. I’ll be jus’ fine.” 

Lightning throws a sharp glare at Sheriff as he reluctantly pulls himself off Doc’s chest. “Fine. But I- I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.” 

“Get some rest, Doc,” Mike says, squeezing his arm. “I got the kid, don’t worry.” 

He ignores Lightning’s whine of, “I’m not a fucking kid,” choosing instead to grab him around the shoulders and spinning them towards the exit. This time, they actually make it out of the hospital, though the kid spends the first minute looking back over his shoulder, like he’s considering drop kicking Sheriff and bolting back inside. 

Eventually, though, he turns and walks with him over to his service vehicle. Scrapping his shoe in the dirt, he tucks his shaking hands into his pocket. “I don’t need you to watch me, man. I can take care of myself.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he says, lighting up a cigarette between his lips. It seems like the safest thing to do. “You’re all grown and shit, I get it. Good at bein’ on your own.” 

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. 

“God, you’re such a dickhead,” Lightning snaps, wrenching the door open and throwing himself into the cab. 

Rolling his eyes, he stomps out the butt into the dirt and gets in the car to start it up. “Relax, hot rodder. You don’t need to overreact, alright? I was only jokin'.” 

His instinct is to reach out and catch the side of his arm, but the last time Sarge did that to show him something, the kid got this trapped look in his eyes that Sheriff hated seeing. Hated the familiarity of it. He doesn’t think anyone other than Doc sees it, but he recognizes it. He saw that look one too many times in abuse victims. Sometimes in his own mirror. He doesn’t want to be the one who puts him in that headspace. 

“What the fuck do you want, dude? I’m in the car, let’s go already,” he growls, scrubbing a hand over glossy eyes. 

“Look, I know you can take of yourself. I do,” Mike says, licking his lips. “Doc told me you’re more than capable. But, I just wanna make sure he doesn’t have to worry about you too much. Alright? It would only drive him crazy, and he needs to rest, kid. You know that.” 

“Fine,” he says after a couple sniffles. 

Sheriff sighs softly, buckling his seatbelt and pulling them out of the brightly lit parking lot to head towards home. 

Was tonight over yet? 

Pulling into Radiator Springs, it’s clear Lightning doesn’t exactly love the idea of eating without Doc. Those two are attached at the hip when it comes to doing anything together — almost like an invisible string connects one to other. Which means for tonight, the kid is pretty much stuck with Sheriff, since Sally flew home the other day for her mother’s birthday. 

Everyone else is busy closing down their shops for the night, sweeping and cleaning up after a long day of entertaining the new wave of tourists. 

The only real saving grace is that it’s late, and most of the dinner crowd at Flo’s has died out by now. Patting Lightning’s shoulder, they slide into a booth and fiddle with the clinking silverware. 

Sitting in an awkward as hell silence. 

Flo glides over, exchanging a look with Sheriff before cupping the kid’s cheek and whispering to him that everything was going to be alright. Lightning nods, chewing on the bottom of his lip as they order. 

A few minutes later and their food comes piping hot out of the kitchen. Flo, drops the plates in front of them, filling some glasses with water and giving the kid a chocolate milkshake, his favorite. Lightning smiles up at her, chuckling under his breath when she winks at him.

That smile lasts until she leaves and then the kid blanches when he sees the food, trying to hide the look before Mike can spot it. It’s a thick, hot bowl of chili, the kind of thing that can warm you from the inside out. Turkey chili, he thinks. It looks delicious, especially with the weather starting to cool off in the night, as winter in Arizona knocks around the corner. 

Lightning sighs, spinning his spoon through the bowl, but, not actually scooping anything up to eat. Doc warned him about this. Whenever the kid gets in his own head, or is sick with nerves — he never eats. 

It’s something his friend has fretted to him over a glass of whiskey about. Biting his nails down to the skin when he describes how thin the kid is, how he can count his ribs at times when he gets like this. 

But Doc’s not here tonight. Sheriff is. So, he’ll do what he can. 

Glancing at his own meal — steak and potatoes — he chews his cheek in thought. Scooping a huge lump of mashed potatoes off, he dumps it on a separate plate, along with a small helping of veggies. 

Sliding it across the table, it makes a small ‘ping’ sound when it taps the kid’s bowl. “Here, eat this instead.” 

“Why?” The kid asks warily. Touching the edge of the plate with a hesitate finger, he pulls it closer. Sheriff tries not to smile. He thinks he loses. 

“Because you need to eat,” he reasons. “And this stuff will be easier on your stomach than that.” He says, pointing at the cooling bowl of chili. 

He goes to grab it from him, and Lightning scoffs. “I’m not taking your food, dude.” 

“Yes. You are.” He’s not in the mood for the attitude. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he just wants the kid to eat something so he doesn’t go to bed with his stomach gnawing in pain. Nodding encouragingly at him, he scrapes the rest of his potatoes onto the plate before Lightning can shove it away. 

The kid looks at him like he's about to pull his leg, or something; but gives in, pulling the plate closer. 

Sheriff nods again, this time in satisfaction, and tucks in to the chili; trying not wince at the tingling burn of spices Ramone likes to add. Swallowing, he reaches to the bread basket on the table and pulls out a thick fluffy roll. Slathering it with some honey butter, he drops it on the kid’s plate to eat next. Doc told him the kid is a sucker for all things dairy. Things like ice cream, butter, melty cheese: all that goodness. 

Him and Doc once walked in on both him and Mater devouring a banana split that Flo had put together for them, both of them practically growling before they left them to it. Using the roll as a peace offering, he hopes he’ll be tempted enough to actually eat. 

It’s a carb heavy meal tonight, but Sheriff is more concerned about the kid physically putting shit in his mouth, rather than making sure it’s perfectly balanced in all the different food groups. 

He takes a few more bites of chili in between cuts of his steak, grimacing at Lightning shoveling mashed potatoes in mouth, mildly concerned he’s about to choke… and the fact there’s no Doc around right now to do the damn Heimlich maneuver. 

“Easy, kid,” he says when Lightning chugs down half his shake in a handful of gulps. “You’ll get a nasty brain freeze if you go at that pace,” he teases, chewing his food at a slower rate. He has manners at least.

“Bull.” 

Chuckling, he steeples his fingers. “I ain’t lyin'. It happened to Doc once at a bar with some chilled bourbon. Man made a damn fool of himself that night.” 

Sheriff watches the kid debate how much he wants to satiate his curiosity versus how little he wants to actually ask him. He likes listening to stories about Doc, though. Since the man himself, never deigns to tell the kid anything he doesn’t want him to know. 

“I’ll give. Why?” He finally asks.  

Sheriff lets out a wide smirk. “Well, alright, he was tryin’ to impress a lady. And it didn’t really go the way he was hoping—” laughing at the kid's reaction to that. 

Lightning shouts, clapping his hands over his ears. “Ew, never mind. Never mind. I don’t want to know!” 

The story is a hilarious one, and it makes the kid relax a bit. Not the way being with Doc relaxes him, but some of the stress melts out of his frame. He doesn’t finish his plate, only eats about a third of it, but when Sheriff passes over another roll, he eats that, along with the rest of shake. 

At least by the time they say goodnight to Flo and Ramone, he’s not worried as much about him going to bed on an empty stomach. Still, the kid is quiet on the walk back to Doc’s, hesitating outside the dark house. 

“You want me to stay? I can bunk on the couch or something,” he offers gently. Not pushing him to accept. 

“Okay.” 

The answer is short, clipped, in the way it falls out of his mouth. But, the kid looks over at him from the corner of his eye, body tilted in his direction; like every part of him is screaming how he doesn’t want to be alone right now. 

Gesturing for the kid to unlock the door, he sits on the porch swing, waiting patiently for the invitation in. Usually he lets himself inside whenever Doc is around, the whole open door policy and all that. But the kid looks skittish as hell, and this house is his safe place. The place he goes to escape when things become too much; and the last thing Sheriff wants to do is wreck that safety net for him. 

The kid bangs around for a bit, and Sheriff strains his eyes through the window to try and see what he’s doing. He comes back out soon enough, carrying some spare blankets and an extra pillow in his arms.

“You can come in,” is all he says. 

Sheriff grunts, standing up from the swing and rubbing at his sore back as he follows the kid inside the same house he’s spent the better part of his life shooting the shit in. But, like he said — he’ll go at the kid’s pace. If this is what makes him feel in control of the whole Doc being sliced open kinda thing, Sheriff’ll do it. 

If there’s one thing everyone in town can agree on, it’s worrying about Lightning. 

After the kid makes his ‘bed’ on the couch, he whispers a small goodnight and lumbers up the stairs, closing his door with quiet snap. Mike’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t see the kid again that night. 

At one point, he climbs the stairs to check on him before he hits the sack, but the door is shut tight, no light visible underneath. Kid’s like a wounded dog, he thinks sadly, hunkering down in the safest spot he can. Sighing, he creeps back down the steps and sinks into the cushions. Turning the TV on, he lowers the volume and covers himself with some blankets. Folding the pillow under his neck, he closes his eyes and tries to sleep, hoping tomorrow will be better.

His bladder wakes him up a few hours later, screaming at him to book it to the bathroom, lest he piss his pants. Moving quickly up the stairs, he darts for the open room and relieves himself, rubbing the cramp out of his neck with his other hand. Yawning, he washes his hands and walks back into the hallway, freezing, when a barely audible sob sounds from the kid’s room. 

Sheriff hesitates, hand raised to knock on the door. 

Lightning would not want him to acknowledge the fact that he knows he’s crying. The kid is so, so private when it comes to emotions like that. He remembers when Doc had driven him home after his big tie breaker race, Sheriff could tell he had been crying in the car. His blue eyes were puffy and red. But, by the time the two of them had slammed their doors shut, he’d put on a brave face for everyone, drying his tears before anyone else could see. Doc, Mater, and Sally were usually the only ones he trusted enough to show this type of vulnerability. 

Doc wouldn’t want him crying alone in his room all night, either though. 

Gulping, he knocks on the door, calling in. “Hey, kid. Are you, uh, you alright?” 

There’s a small hiccup and then a moment of silence. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay.” Sheriff rocks on his toes, chewing his lip. “Do you want me to call Mater to come?” 

“Sheriff. I’m fine.” 

He knows he’s not fine, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not Doc. He doesn’t know how to do this shit. And the kid definitely doesn’t want him to be the one here right now. 

“Well— I’ll uh. I’ll be downstairs again, if you need anything.” 

The room stays quiet for the rest of the night. 

Lightning looks like shit in the morning. He looks like he’s barely slept, based on the heavy bags under his eyes and he hesitates in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“Mornin’, kid.” He greets, placing a cup of water on the counter for him. He’s in desperate need of a shower and a huge ass cup of coffee, but there’s things to be done today. So — all that will have to wait. “How about we grab some breakfast from Flo's and drive it over to the hospital?” 

For the first time in two days, Lightning smiles up at him. 

That’s a fucking win, he thinks. 

Luigi and Guido nab the kid away the moment they walk into the diner, talking his ear off in a mix of English and Italian. Lightning looks a little stunned at the back and forth. Sheriff leaves him to it, chuckling to himself while he walks over to chat with Flo. Turns out, she was already getting a crap ton of food together to send along with them for Doc. She ended up packing more than enough extras for both him and the kid, stuffing it all into a huge bag for them. 

“Can you pack some extra hash browns for the kid?” He asks Flo, muttering out of the corner of his mouth. Lightning likes them the best, kid’s always scavenging for extras off of Doc’s plate when he pretends not to notice. Flo smirks at him, already heading in the back for more of them.  

Lightning looks like he’s about to smack his head against a wall by the time they leave. Steering him towards his car again, he watches the kid fidget. “You know I can just, like, drive myself, right? You don’t have to—” gesturing towards his stained uniform. “You don’t have to come with me. You can just go home to shower and stuff.” 

Sheriff laughs, opening the door for him to climb in. “And miss that bastard flash everyone in the hallway? I don’t fucking think so.” 

Lightning smirks, shaking his head as he chuckles. But a second later, he climbs inside the car holding tight to the bag of food, without any further issues.  

Sheriff was on a roll today. 

Doc is looking more like himself today. And significantly less high, he thinks wryly. He’s also up and moving around, even, if it’s a little on the hunched side. 

Lightning frets, rushing over to the side with his bad leg. “Why the hell are you up by yourself? Does the damn doctor know you’re walking around without anyone to help you?” 

“Of course, honey,” he says, easing himself down into a chair with a groan. “I am a doctor, kid. I know how it goes after surgery. The more I move, the easier it’ll get.” 

“They worried about a lung infection?” Sheriff asks, remembering Doc discussing that with the surgeon before he went under yesterday. “I heard that can happen to old people who don’t move enough.” He says, a little on the teasing side. 

But, Lightning looks fucking horrified by that possibility, so Mike wisely shuts up when Doc hits him with a mean ass glare. The kid sits on the edge of the empty bed, twirling the sheets anxiously between his fingers and bouncing his leg up and down so hard, he’s half afraid the tile will crack. 

Clearing his throat, Sheriff reaches over for the bag, unpacking the takeout containers. “Flo put together some food to bring. Just some dry toast and yogurt for you, though.” He winks. 

“Fantastic,” Doc grumbles. 

“Just eat it, old man,” Lightning smirks, chewing slowly on a bite of egg. “Talk about being a difficult patient over here.” It’s the closest the kid has ever come to teaming up with him about something. Mike tries not to be too pleased when his friend just rolls his eyes, scooping up some plain yogurt, and making a big show of putting it in his mouth. 

He does see Lightning sneak Doc a small piece of bacon, but he won’t rat them out. 

Not yet, at least. 

Doc thumps his chest, swallowing hard on a piece of dry toast, coughing a bit. “Lightning, you think you could run and get me some water? My throat is killin’ me.” 

Sheriff raises a brow, expecting the kid to argue. Doc almost never asks Lightning for anything — not wanting to lean on anyone, especially not his kid, more than necessary — but the hot rodder just nods, jumping up to head out into the hallway. 

As soon as the kid is out of earshot, Sheriff pulls the extra container out, dumping more hash browns onto his paper plate. 

Doc watches it with a knowing eye. “Did he eat anything last night?”

“Uhm,” he mutters, scratching his chin. “A little bit. Had the whole shake at least.” 

“Sleep okay?” 

“Some, I’m pretty sure.” 

Doc sighs, rubbing his whiskered face. “Kid packed me some clothes in the closet, bring ‘em to me.” 

“Fuck no, Doc.” Sheriff says, eternally grateful the man can’t discharge himself from here without another physician signing off on it. Like he said, the man was as stubborn and bullheaded as they come. 

“Mike, I ain’t playin’ here.” It’s the tone of voice, that would make a lesser man — a weaker man — move immediately. Good thing Sheriff wasn’t either of those. He’s seen the world chew people up and spit them back out from the fires of hell. He’s been face to face with murderers, with psychopaths, with serial killers. He’s faced situations with worse odds before. 

Doc doesn’t hold a candle to any of them. 

He’s saved from beating his friend’s ass by Lightning coming back, right when Doc starts trying to get up off the chair. 

“What are you doing?” The kid asks, setting the water cup down on the end table and walking in front of the chair. He puts his hands on Doc’s shoulders, nudging him until he collapses back in the cushion, threading an arm over his abdomen. 

“This stubborn old idiot is tryin’ to sign out against medical advice,” Sheriff snitches. He has no shame about spilling the beans to his kid. Let Lightning be the one to deal with his old man. 

“What for?” He twists to look down at Doc. “They didn’t release you, yet. You need to stay.” 

“I’m fine, kiddo. I’ll be much better once I’m home.” 

“Absolutely not.” It shocks Mike, how firm the kid is about it. It must shock Doc too, because the man looks like he’s trying to swallow a damn fish or somethin’. “The surgeon said you needed to stay another day. He said with your old injuries, with all- all the fucking scar tissue, and your meds—”

“Lightning, easy.” Doc cut him off, pulling him down until he’s on the arm on his chair. “Just breathe, honey.” 

He pulls the kid down until he can press a kiss into his hair, burying his chin in locks of honey blonde. 

Fuckin’ softie, he muses, somewhat in awe of how comfortable these two are with one another. 

The Doc he knows, the one he’s known for over thirty years now, would run in the other direction whenever it came to dealing with physical touch. But, he’s noticed since the kid started staying with him, how much that’s changed. Lightning likes to run around town, pulling on Doc’s arms to drag him along, climbing on his shoulders to reach past him, flopping against him when they veg on a couch together. And Doc — well, Doc usually hauls the kid around by his jacket while he moans dramatic things into the air, or wraps an arm around his shoulders, just to show the kid he’s there for him. 

But he’s never really witnessed them doing things like the head kisses or the goddamn nuzzles. Sheriff figured those two emotionally stunted doofus’s would never get to that point. He’s honestly not sure if they’ve even noticed they’re doing it. 

By the time breakfast is done, he can see Doc starting to wear out, blinking slowly in response to whatever his kid is rambling on about. Maybe Mike can leave the kid here for a couple hours, let him watch over his old man; but he knows that would never work. He knows Doc doesn’t like Lightning seeing him like this. Seeing him incapacitated.

“Time to head out, kid. How about we drive back later for dinner?” Sheriff gently suggests, putting his hand up at the protest on his lips.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Doc chuckles. He smooths a hand over Lightning’s messy hair and glances down. “Go have fun with Mater while I’m stuck here.” He bites his lip. “Don’t do anything fuckin’ stupid.” 

Sheriff doesn’t scoff, but it’s a near thing. God help him, if he catches those two knuckleheads messing with Sarge’s shit again. The both of ‘em are gonna end up with an arrow in their asses one day; and Mike’s gonna laugh his goddamn head off when it happens.

Lightning is a little more chipper when they leave. Still not thrilled about it, but, seeing Doc awake and breathing seems to have settled some anxious energy he’s been carrying around.

Thank the Lord for that. 

Glancing over at the kid, he smirks, tapping on the radio until classic rock fills the car. “You ready to go?” 

Lightning unwraps a lollipop he stole from the nurses station, popping it into his mouth with a loud smack. “Lead the way, old timer.” 

Little asshole, he thinks fondly to himself, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards home. 

Mater, thankfully, does take the kid out for something fun once they pull back into town, grabbing Lightning by the arm and dragging him off to go cow tipping or what not. 

Walking into his house, he enjoys some much needed alone time. Discarding his sweat stained uniform, he showers off the grime from the last two days, and inhales nearly three cups of his shitty brand name coffee. Collapsing on his couch in a pair of sweats, he turns on the TV and shuts his eyes for a bit, listening to some baking show talk about the best temperature to cook a meringue at. 

Sipping his coffee, he sighs, enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasts. 

Lightning’s face is sweat soaked and sun kissed by the time they head over to Flo’s later in the day to pick up some food. Sheriff chuckles under his breath at the ruddy flush of his cheeks, silently thanking Mater for getting the kid out of his head a bit. The glow doesn’t last long though, and soon enough the kid is nasty as hell, nudging Sheriff to —

“Hurry up, so we can go.” 

Mike rolls his eyes, waiting at the high top for the to-go containers that Ramone’s putting together. Doc’s is already packed in a separate bag, still under orders from the doctor to not eat anything too heavy; at least until his pain is not as severe. “Easy, kid. Doc ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

Lightning lets out a growl, poking him in the side over and over again, until Sheriff clicks his tongue and bats the finger away. Luckily his phone chimes with a series of rings, distracting the pain in the ass from bothering him more. Bringing the phone to his ear, the kid brightens, stepping off to the left for some privacy. 

Sheriff looks around, sneaking an extra piece of apple crisp pie into the kid’s container while he’s nodding at whatever Sally is saying to him over the phone. 

“And how is, Ms. Sally?” He asks when he comes back over, tapping the screen until it goes black. 

The kid blushes somethin’ fierce, turning pink high up in the cheeks. “She’s fine,” he squeaks, rubbing a hand through his hair. 

Damn kids. 

“She comes home in a couple days, right?” He asks casually. 

Lightning twists his mouth, clapping his hands. “Great detective work there, Sheriff. Truly.” He says, sarcasm bending the way each letter falls from his mouth. 

Scoffing, he shoves the kid with a hand, smirking at the indignant yell he lets out. 

Thanking Ramone for the boxes of food, he whistles a sharp sound, jerking his head toward the exit for the kid to follow behind. “You comin’ slow poke?” 

“I’ll show you slow,” the kid mutters. But a second later, he runs to catch up, throwing a foot in front of Mike to try and trip him up. Shoving the kid’s shoulder again, he lets out a belly laugh when the kid stumbles over a rock, coating the knees of his pants in orange dirt. 

Karma kid, he thinks, smiling at Lightning’s glare.

Gotta love some of that good ole’ karma.

When they make it back to his room at the hospital, Doc is awake, and wearing a pair of loose cotton pants the kid must have stuffed into his bag when they had driven to the ER. He’s still got that ugly ass gown on top though, he notices. 

Lightning doesn’t hesitate, sitting on the edge of the bed right next to his hip. 

“Bring me more burnt toast?” He asks, shifting his body to make room for him. 

“Don’t ever let Flo hear you say that,” Lightning laughs, pulling the food out. “She’ll whip your ass. But, no, I think it’s some kind of lentil soup this time.” 

“Lovely.” But he slips the styrofoam cup out from the kid’s hands with a soft, “Thanks, honey.” 

Sheriff pulls up a chair diagonal to them and gets situated while Lightning describes in detail what he did with Mater, rambling to Doc all about his day. It’s the happiest he’s seen the kid since they left in the morning. Apparently… those two idiots, went on quite the journey through the nearby underground caverns. Shaking his head, he tries not to groan when Doc shoots him a look from the bed, sapphire eyes furious.

“You let them go there alone?!” 

I’m screwed, he thinks bitterly, slapping a hand down his cheek. Ignoring Lightning’s flimsy excuses to Doc, he just shrugs at his friend, claiming. “Kids will be kids.” 

Doc curses under his breath, but finishes up his soup in minutes, reaching over to swipe the piece of pie out of Lightning’s container.

“That’s mine, get your own,” he whines, snatching it back from him. 

“Worth a shot,” Doc laughs, mussing the kid’s hair.

Lightning squints at him and takes a massive bite out of the pie before his grubby fingers can try it again. 

Sheriff rolls his eyes at the behavior, cutting a piece of chicken and popping it into his mouth. Good one, kid. 

It’s after midnight when his bladder wakes him again, and another night spent contorting his old bones onto Doc’s small ass couch. 

Sheriff finishes drying his hands, making his way down the hall when he hears a low thump from the kid’s room. 

He can’t be certain whether they’re cop instincts or just instincts from dealing with Mater’s antics over the years, but he knocks hard on the door, feeling in his gut — that something isn’t right. 

“Kid?” 

Silence. 

“Lightning,” he says, louder this time. “You need to answer me, kid. Or the hinges are coming off the door.” 

Sheriff figures the door’s got a lock on it, remembers Doc mentioning he added one when he caught him and Sally canoodling together on the kid’s bed. He jiggles the knob, listening to the mechanisms click in resistance. 

Cursing to himself, he looks around for a spare screwdriver. 

“Chill out, dude,” he answers… finally. 

Sheriff puts his hands on his hips, tapping his bare foot impatiently. He’s still considering taking the door down, but resists the urge once he hears the lock release. 

“Are you okay, kid?” He asks the moment the door swings open. 

Lightning leans against the frame, holding the doorknob with a white knuckled grip. He sneers at him, grunting a — “Yeah.” 

“What the fuck was that noise?” 

He winces, rubbing a hand against his bicep. “I- I kinda fell off the bench.” He says, pointing to the cushioned seat stationed under the large bay window. 

“Fuck, you just about gave me a damn coronary.” Mike blows out a large breath, rubbing his hand over his aching forehead. He’s too damn tired right now. “Come on, let’s get some ice to put on it before it bruises up like a damn plum.” He says, pointing in the direction of the kitchen downstairs. 

“I’m fine, really.” 

“Do you take pleasure in listening to Doc threaten me?” He asks, not entirely kidding. “You show up tomorrow, all bruised up, and that man is gonna fucking kill me. Sliced abdomen or not. You hate me that much?” He teases. 

Lightning rolls his eyes, snorting into his shoulder. 

A few minutes later, Sheriff gets him down the stairs and sliding into a chair at their kitchen island. Or, more accurately, he’s slumped over the marble with his head resting on the cool stone, pressing a frozen bag of peas into the large bruise forming on his right upper arm. 

Sheriff shifts awkwardly, busying himself with finding a couple glasses and pulling out the jug of milk from the fridge. “You didn’t hit your head, right? Not lightheaded, or anythin’?”

“I don’t have a concussion, dude. Trust me on that,” Lightning drawls, chewing on his lower lip. 

His breath catches with the surety in the kid’s voice. Why, a kid as young as him already knows what a concussion feels like — well, it makes him afraid to ask. Makes him afraid to find out what Lightning’s answer would be. 

“Good,” is all he says, clearing his throat in discomfort. 

Doc wouldn’t approve of him digging where his nose don’t belong, so he'll try to resist. Maybe it was some racing stunt gone wrong; the kid is practically famous for pulling off some crazy ass moves out on the track, much to his old man’s displeasure. Lord only knows Sheriff has been witness to some of them himself. 

But, something rolling in his gut, tells him it wasn’t as simple as that. 

Pouring the milk into both glasses, he drops some almond biscotti he found in a midnight blue painted cookie jar, onto a plate and sets it down in between them. 

Lightning eyes them, lips pursed. “Did Lizzie, Flo… or Luigi, make these?” 

“Probably, Lizzie.” 

The kid brightens, sitting up and grabbing a couple of them to crunch on. 

Lizzie may be getting on in her years, and can’t really stand for too long at a time; but, goddamn does she still make the best cookies. Even better than Flo — or god help them — Luigi, when he’s in a particularly cheery mood. 

“Dip em’,” he suggests, pointing to the glass of milk. “They’re usually better with tea or coffee, but,” he shrugs, dipping his own cookie down, “milk works just as good.” 

Lightning bites his lip, but chooses to listen to him, dunking the cookie down until it’s submerged in the white liquid; fingers catching the crumbles when he takes another bite. The kid hums in delight, dipping another one down. Sheriff smiles at the act, wondering what exactly causes him to be averse to food at times. He’s seen the kid put it away before, especially with Mater egging him on to try new things; but he’s also seen him barely eat, just pushing food around — buying time, until him and Doc head out for practice. He’s seen him swallow hard and fidget, getting up to leave once everyone else is done and not finishing a damn thing on his plate. 

He’s seen Doc’s worried frowns, and concerned looks.

Sheriff isn’t stupid.

Shame, he thinks, fits a kid so poorly; and this kid is steeped in it when it comes to food. 

“Damn, that’s really good.” 

Shaking himself out of his melancholy thoughts, Sheriff smirks over the counter, resisting the urge to brag about being right. He is a grown ass adult, thank you very much. 

“Why are you up this late again?” Lightning asks, cheeks stuffed from chewing on another cookie. “Figured your ass would be fast asleep by now.” 

Scratching at his whiskers, he nods down to his waist. “My damn bladder. Don’t get old, kiddo.” 

The kid snorts some milk out of his nose, laughing into the crook of his arm. The bag of peas gets displaced and slaps onto the counter with a loud smack. “Holy shit. TMI, man! Way too much information over here, on your dinosaur bladder. I do not want to know.” He grins, shoving the last biscotti into his mouth. 

“Laugh it up, hot rodder,” he muses. “You better pray you get blessed with a strong bladder in your old age, unless you want to shuffle your way to the toilet every night, like me, tryin’ to avoid pissing in your pants.” 

He snickers quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind when I beg the toilet gods for mercy.” 

This damn kid, he thinks. He can see why Doc melts like a puddle of goo every time he looks at him. 

Rolling his eyes at the lame comeback, he gestures to the stairs with his head, “Why don’t ya try and get some sleep? It’s real late.” 

Lightning nods, moving to place the empty glass and plate into the sink. Walking toward the stairs, he hesitates for a minute, turning back to look at Mike.

Almost like he’s about to say something. 

Whatever it is, he’ll never know; because the kid just nods at him again, walking quietly back up to his room. 

Lowering his own glass into the sink, he slinks over to his ‘bed’. Tucking himself into the couch, he tries not to think too hard about the kid sitting alone in the dark on a thin cushion, glancing out into the empty desert, wishing someone else — someone better — was there instead. 

Sleep is hard to go back to, after that. 

“Morning,” Lightning greets, meeting him down in the kitchen. 

Sheriff freezes, scrubbing the grit out of his heavy eyes. “Hey, kid. Mornin’,” he croaks, surprised at the pleasant mood he seems to be in.

Lightning looks a little less awful than yesterday. With his insomnia after the whole cookie session, he only heard the bed squeak a couple times, as if the kid tossed and turned in his sleep, before settling. His ears didn’t detect any more thumps, which means the kid at least was able to stay in his bed, avoiding another close call with the wood floor. 

He winces at the dark bruise peeking out from under his t-shirt though. It’s large and very, very visible. Sighing, he looks out at the bright sunny day, cursing the fact the kid can’t wear a jacket to cover the arm up.

Yeah, Doc was gonna be pissed. Oh well.

Ushering the kid out the door, they simultaneously head over to Flo’s. 

Sarge and Fillmore are the ones to accost the kid today, pulling him away to try and discuss some issue with the #95’s fuel line… or some shit like that, he thinks. Shaking his head, he walks over to talk with Flo while she preps their meals. 

He watches Lightning out of the corner of his eye, tapping his shoe against the mint green linoleum. Sometimes the kid likes to wander, especially when he gets caught up in the midst of doing something exciting. Sheriff can’t even count the number of times he and Doc have had to track the kid down. Finding him secluded in all the secret — hard to reach places— in town, over the last two years. 

Kid was slippery like a damn frog. And small enough to squeeze into places most other people here can’t. 

Which is why he stiffens when he sees Sarge say something to kid, clapping him on the shoulder. He nearly bites through his tongue, when Lightning seems to just shut down. 

Sheriff doesn’t have time to even think, telling Flo he’ll be right back before he marches over to him.

“Hey, boys,” he smiles, patting them on the arms. “I gotta nab the kid for a couple minutes, alright?” 

As soon as they walk away, he grabs the kid around the shoulders, feeling him shiver. Leaning down, he whispers, “Go outside for a second.” 

Lightning manages a shaky nod, stumbling toward the jingling door. 

Walking right behind him, he keeps himself sandwiched between the kid and the newly awakened flocking tourists. Tipping his hat at the gawking crowd, he steers Lightning away, taking him around the back of the diner. 

He points at the small table near the storm door, pulling the chair out for the kid to collapse into. His knees crack loudly when he crouches down onto the sand, trying not to spook him into running. 

Lightning lasts about a minute, before he starts breathing way faster than he should be. 

“Alright, alright,” he soothes. “Just breathe, you hear me? You gotta breathe, kiddo. Come on, follow along with me, yeah?” He urges, exaggerating his inhales and exhales until the kid matches them breath for breath. 

He lets some of the panic slither out when the kid no longer looks like he’s about to pass out from lack of air. 

“Again,” he instructs. “And then, again.” 

It takes another couple minutes, but slowly the kid comes back into himself. Sheriff can see the relief in his eyes, can see him rub against the center of his chest. His shoulders loosen, and he continues to breathe. 

“You did it,” he says. “Alright, now, did sergeant stick up his ass— say anything to you that I need to know about? Or Doc?” 

Lightning just looks at him, hesitating. 

Sheriff feels his lips flatten into a thin line. Rubbing his mustache, he asks. “Do you want to get your phone out, and call Doc?” 

“No, I don’t want bother him,” he blurts out, looking ashamed. “He needs to rest. He shouldn’t have to deal with this, with me.” He croaks, sniffling. 

Sheriff shifts on the balls of his feet, and nods. “Easy, kid. We don’t have to.” 

Lightning groans and leans forward, tucking his feet onto the edge of the chair. His fingers are intertwined around one another, clenching his pants in tight fists. 

“Did Doc show you how to do that?” He asks, voice muffled. “It’s what he always does for me, when I get like this—“ he trails off, swirling his finger by his ear. Calling himself fucking crazy.

This damn kid is just about breaking his heart.

He licks his lips, leaning back until his ass hits the ground. “Doc would never betray your trust, kiddo. He loves you too much to do that,” he blinks at the stunned look the kid gives him. Thumbing his chin, he admits. “No, uh. I learned that in my, uh, therapy sessions. After I moved out here,” he clarifies. 

“Therapy?” 

“Yeah, uh, when Stanley first hired me, he told me I had to do it if I wanted the job,” he shrugs, biting his thumbnail. “He wanted me to see someone after I left my old position, back in Vegas. I saw some bad shit there and it messed with the wires in my head, for a long time after. So, I agreed and found a doctor out in Flagstaff that took me on.”

“Did it ever help?” 

“Yeah, I think so. I fucking hated it at first, though. Thought it made me weak, but, yeah I think it helped in the end.” He smiles at the kid’s watery chuckle, ignoring the pull in his chest when a tear slides down his cheek. “Do you want to talk about what Sarge said to you?” 

His lips quiver, breath shuddering on a choppy inhale. “He said — he, uhm, he read a news article today. That- that reported a story on how, Harv, was released from prison the other day. He was sentenced to three to five years,” he whispers bitterly, “but, got out early due to fucking ‘good behavior’. Sounds about right.” 

Inhaling through his nose, he clamps his mouth shut. 

Shit. 

Doc was gonna have a fucking aneurysm.

And, Sheriff wants nothing more than to scoop this kid up and reassure him over and over again, that he was safe here. He’s not dumb enough to not understand why the kid is horrified by this news. They all saw the cuts on his face, the black eye, the cracked ribs: from the last time he was in the same vicinity as that asshole. 

He risks a squeeze to the kid's clenched hand, feeling it tremor under the calloused tips. “You know he won’t be able to come near you, right? Doc and Sally made sure that restraining order was air tight, kid.” 

Lightning nods, eyes glossy in the light of the sun. 

He hesitates. “You sure?”

“I know.” 

It doesn’t escape his notice how terrified the kid still looks, though. How haunted and sick he looks at the thought of this shithead walking free as a bird.

Existing in the same moment as the two of them, albeit far away from this town. 

“Okay.” He risks rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. His pale hands are ice cold despite the heat beating down on them, and he’s sure they would tremble uncontrollably if he allowed them to relax against his jeans. “That man… he ain’t ever gonna gonna hurt you again. You hear me?”

Lightning’s head jerks at the dark promise twisted in his tone. Looking in Sheriff’s eyes, he asks numbly. “Nothing’s ever stopped him before. Why would it now?”

“Because if he tries to find you. If he even steps one foot in your direction. Hell, if anyone ever tried somethin’ with you, Doc and I would fucking kill them.” He doesn’t say it to be dramatic, and he doesn’t say it to make the fear dissipate in those blue eyes. No, Sheriff just needs him to know that they would have his back, that they would take care of it, with any means necessary. 

“But-” he sputters, eyes wide in shock. “You’d both go to jail!” 

“It would be worth it, too,” he reassures, patting the kid on the hand. “You’re family, kid. And we take care of our own.” He says with an easy confidence. 

Lightning looks down at him in awe, exhaling a breath: one that doesn’t make him quiver this time. 

Clapping his hands on his folded knees, he braces himself and stands, brushing the dusty sand off his trousers. “Now, why don’t we head back inside and grab some food to bring over to the hospital? What do you say?” 

Lightning smiles, a small one, but still a smile. “Yeah, Doc’s probably sprouting more gray hair, worrying about us not showing up yet.” 

Sheriff rolls his eyes, extending a hand to pull him up. “All Doc does is worry about you, kid. It’s just him being a—” he freezes at the kid’s furrowed brow; maybe, he thinks, maybe he’s not ready for that word. “Just him being, Doc.” He corrects, winking down at him. 

It makes Lightning chuckle, just a breathy one, pulled from his chest. He stands up and tries to subtly wipe his wet cheeks.

Sheriff pretends not to notice. 

“Come on. Let’s go feed Dr. Grumpy, wouldn’t want him to waste away without his toast,” he jokes, laughing when the kid nudges his ribs. 

“God, how would he ever survive?” Is his cheeky reply. 

How indeed, he wonders to himself, content with watching the kid hop along the curb. 

They finally get some good news, when they arrive at the hospital. Doc has, thankfully, been cleared to go home once he eats his lunch later. 

Sue him, it’s been a long couple of days, alright?

“And lookie here,” Lightning grins, balancing on the bed. “Flo finally promoted you to solid food. You’re all grown up now.” He teases, patting Doc on the head and mussing his salt and pepper hair. 

Doc’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, scooping the container out from his hands and kicking him off the fucking bed. 

Lightning yelps, reaching his hands out to grip the table in front of him, cackling at the nerve of his old man. Learning his lesson, he settles back down, scooting next to Doc when he moves over to make some room for him. 

It’s always near his left leg, his bad leg, Mike realizes.

Now that he thinks about it, Lightning always ends up on his bad side whenever they go anywhere. Even if it’s just to walk the few short minutes to the diner. It’s always Doc, and then Lightning hovering near his left leg, fighting to walk at the same pace as the much taller man.

Sheriff wonders if Doc even understands how he automatically puts himself near Doc’s weaker side, just so he can be there in case his old man needs him.

Damn, this kid is too much. 

Lightning finally eats again, finishing just about everything Flo packed into his container. Sheriff keeps his lips shut, not wanting to jinx the moment or call attention to the kid, embarrassing him into stopping. Doc looks to him in approval, nodding his thanks for the chosen silence.

Sheriff nods back, tucking into his own meal. 

Once the kid finishes, he yawns loudly, smacking his lips and resting his head on top of Doc’s shoulder. 

He falls asleep within minutes, nudging his nose into one of the metal buttons on Doc’s hospital gown. 

Sheriff huffs, picking up the empty to-go boxes and tossing them in the waste bin. He grabs the blanket thrown over the foot of the bed, handing it to Doc. 

Doc shakes it out, laying it gently over Lightning until the edge is tucked right below his pale chin. Kid is so white, he nearly blends into the rough fabric. 

Chuckling at the image of Lightning as a large blanket, he twirls his keys on the tip of his finger.

God, he needs to fucking sleep. 

“I’ll come back after lunch,” he whispers, nodding towards the kid. “He might as well sleep here ‘til then. He’s tired as fuck.” 

“Bring me a shirt with fucking buttons, please,” Doc begs, motioning towards his sore incisions. 

Nodding to him, he salutes on his way out, trying not to crumble at the cute image staring back at him from the doorway. 

After successfully keeping down both his breakfast, and lunch, they finally discharge Doc and let him leave. Sending him home with gentle orders to rest and avoid any heavy lifting until he follows up with the surgeon. Most importantly, though:

NO DRIVING. 

Sheriff laughs hysterically, when both him and the kid groan at the doctor’s orders.

When they walk out of the hospital, he watches how Lightning hovers next to Doc — like a little bug — constantly grabbing at his arm or asking him if he needs help with anything. Sheriff is fairly confident that Doc’s been letting him get away with the behavior, just to ease the kid’s nerves. He knows for a fact that Doc has walked off worse things, things that he never should have walked off from, to begin with.

Now that it’s no longer a dark secret, he’s seen the big wreck from ’64 with his own eyes; and to this day, Sheriff still can’t understand how he survived it and lived to tell the tale. 

Honestly, seeing— and knowing that story now, a fucking simple appendectomy is barely a blip in comparison. The three incisions alone are only a couple inches long and covered with this sticky glue, instead of bandages. 

Easy peasy. 

But, seeing his parental figure hurting is clearly making Lightning tense, and Mike reckons Doc is holding back the urge to tell the kid to back off; just so he doesn’t make him upset. 

He’s not really shocked when they don’t come around for a few days after they get home. No one sees them, except Sally. Who Sheriff pretty sure — catches her picking the damn lock on the front door of their house, when she returns home from Cali. He doesn’t blame them for being scarce. Doc is probably in pain, and exhausted.

Lightning is also, understandably, a little traumatized from witnessing the closest thing he has to a dad here, be cut open and hospitalized for two days. 

So, he decides to take on the job of dropping their meals off. He goes every day to Flo’s between his shifts and collects the bags, knocking and letting them open the door on their volition, once he hightails it out of there. 

If they need to be by themselves for a bit, it’s totally fine. Saves the whole town from listening to Doc grumble under his breath and Lightning fret over every little thing. 

After about three days, though, Friday comes. And Friday's are always a good day to celebrate the end of another long week.

Everyone gathers at Flo’s for their typical family dinner night, splitting off into their usual booths and passing around a bottle of Luigi and Guido’s fancy red wine they store in the basement of their tire shop. 

He’s not really expecting them to come, but he’s in the middle of pouring some bourbon into his coffee, when he hears the door jingle with the sound of someone pushing it open. There’s a call of, “Yes, yes. The party can officially get started. Drumroll please, Doc and Lightning are in the building!” 

The kid shouts it, tapping his fingers against the wall, laughing, when Doc shoves him gently towards Sheriff’s open booth.

“Easy, old man. I’m going!” 

Everyone glances over to them, cheering and holding their glasses up. Doc thanks them all for the well wishes, and nearly collapses into the seat, biting his tongue on a groan. Lightning follows, pulling an orange bottle out of his back pocket and passing over a small white pill to Doc, raising his brow at the stubborn tilt of his chin. 

His friend glares, but takes the pill from him, swallowing it with a sip of water that Sally passes over after she drops off some appetizers Flo cooked up. Sheriff listens to the chatter around him, smiling at the camaraderie of their small family. He’s happy to observe that Lightning sounds almost back to normal, like the events of last week never even happened. 

He’s sipping on his spiked coffee, when he pauses mid slurp at a throat clearing across the table. Sheriff glances over the rim, noting with satisfaction that the kid’s plate is full of food, of all different types. 

“Sometimes, it’s hard seeing this much food,” Lightning starts, chewing on his lip sharply. Doc stiffens next to him, raising an arm to massage the back of the kid’s neck, after a moment. Sheriff swallows his sip, deliberately placing his cup calmly on the table.

“I’ve never had this,” he gestures to all the plates of food. “Like, this much food… ever. My dad, he well— he really sucked most of the time. And, when I get nervous, I kinda fall back into that headspace. Of, not, needing much to survive on.” 

Swallowing hard, Sheriff says, “I hope that’s something we can keep working on to fix. All of us.” He emphasizes, gesturing to the wonderful people that make up their little slice of heaven. 

Lightning smiles brightly at him, nodding his head. “Sounds like a good idea to me.” 

This kid, this fucking kid. Damn near breaks his heart, only to mend it right back together. 

Twirling his fork through some pasta dish, he adds. “Uhm, thanks for— thanks for looking after me. When Doc was, ya know—”

One day, Sheriff considers, maybe one day he’ll understand just how loved he is. Just how much this town, how they all, desperately needed him to crash here. 

Doc smiles at him proudly, leaning forward to smack a kiss on the top of his head. 

Sheriff smirks, gesturing towards his friend. “Any time you get tired of your old man, you’re more than welcome to bum out on my couch. I’ll even take out the clean sheets for you.” 

“Will you have biscotti and milk?” He asks, shooting him a clever look. 

“I’ll have Lizzie stock us up,” he promises. Hell, he’ll go out and buy the damn ingredients for her himself, if he has too. 

“Maybe,” Lightning allows, tapping his chin. 

He smiles but doesn’t push. He can be patient, trust takes time, after all. 

They all work their way through the food, and he fills the kid in on Mater’s latest act, one involving the old abandoned train tracks and Lizzie on her goddamn wheelchair chasin’ after him. Doc rolls his eyes, probably counting down the days until he has to open his clinic back up for his most popular patient. 

Lightning cackles, shouting to Mater across the diner. The kid eats nearly everything on his plate, dipping his third bread roll into the melting pat of butter sitting on the table. 

As the night goes on, Lightning ends up tucked into Doc’s side, stealing some of his food off his plate. Neither of them say anything to stop it; both just content with the knowledge he’ll go to bed on a full stomach. 

“Sally helped with this?” Doc asks, chewing a piece of pasta. “Maybe she should come over, show you how it’s done.” He teases. 

Lightning sticks his tongue out. “Hey! I’d probably be better at cooking than you, old man.” 

Kid’s probably right. Doc’s decent with breakfast food, but fucking burns everything else the moment it touches the a damn frying pan. Sheriff can still taste the heavily charred brisket he tried to make once for a Christmas potluck. 

“Hot rodder over here makes a solid argument.” He grins, at Doc’s look of betrayal. 

Lightning cheers, eyebrows raised in triumph. His cheeks are stuffed with food, as he mumbles out his cry of victory. 

Doc smirks evilly, aiming a kick at Sheriff’s shins under the table. He kicks back, and scores, laughing at the wince on Doc's face. Lightning rolls his eyes, ordering them to grow the fuck up already. 

But, they’re all laughing, so who’s to say who’s grown and who’s not. 

The sun is setting, illuminating the retro diner in colors of amber and golden light. Everyone is talking, singing songs, and drinking the night away. Sheriff’s sitting here, basking in the radiance of it. His best friend is there, alive and kicking across the table from him, being scolded by his sweet, goofball of a kid. 

A kid, that is learning day by day to let more people in. 

Life isn’t always cruel and unforgiving, he thinks; sometimes— sometimes it can be, really damn fulfilling.