Double-Sided

By Atreyu452

Pain. It was all he could feel, all he could remember feeling. It throbbed behind his eyelids and raced down his limbs. He tried to cry out; the sound died in his throat with a bubbling noise, resulting in a spew of liquid copper. He could taste the blood flooding his mouth and blocking his throat. He retched again, panicked, and with a final convulsion he could breathe again, the air searing his lungs. Gathering strength from the hard-won air, he forced his eyes open.

Red. His dashboard was covered with blood. The windshield was still intact, but there wasn’t much of a view. Something—he squinted hard, it looked like soil—was coated on it, blocking out all but the thinnest shafts of light and making it impossible to tell where he was. Gradually he became aware of another, more pressing matter: he was upside down. His legs were trapped under the crumpled metal of his cockpit, his upper body held firmly in place by his seatbelt. One arm was pinned against the car door; his attempts to flex it resulted in a jolt of pain—broken, probably. His other arm dangled free next to his head, and, though sore, he could still move it.

Pain. It was hard to think, hard to focus. There had been… an accident? No, not an accident. He knew what he was doing; if he didn’t, he would have been long dead before now. He was a racer, born and bred. It was in his very blood. To screw up this badly wasn’t something he’d do.

The race…. Something had happened during the race. He groaned, putting his free hand to his head. It touched something slick and sticky, and he groaned again, this time out of frustration. There was a gash on his head that was openly bleeding. That probably wasn’t the only gash he had to worry about. He briefly considered trying to get out of the seatbelt, but faced with either landing on his head and causing more damage, or getting his legs cut off by the twisted metal that held them so firmly, he decided against it.

He was taking too long to think, his thoughts jumping from point to point. Too many concerns demanded his attention, too many memories popped up and disappeared. The darkness of his cockpit was a painful contrast to the brightness of those memories, disorienting him even more. Perhaps closing his eyes would clear away some of those distractions…

No, he must concentrate. There had been the race. It had been in Vienna—no, Vienna was last week. Montana, that was it. A big race in Montana’s largest desert. It had been highly publicized for some reason. People with signs… yelling… protestors. There had been protestors of the race. Pops Racer had found them both irritating and annoying as only he could. His very loud, opinioned views on the subject could be heard by almost everyone at the starting lines.

He smiled at the memory, but another wave of agony quickly banished the expression. He had foolishly, unconsciously, tried to move his trapped arm again.

His radio spat, snapping his attention painfully toward the damaged dashboard. “zzz…Racer! …Are you…Speed!” The message cut in and out, but the meaning and the owner of the sender were clear.

“Trixie!” he gasped. He reached desperately for the radio. Debris blocked his way, and the belt held him back. His free arm ached even more, and he couldn’t reach the radio. “Trixie, help…” It was no good. Even if he could get to the radio, the likelihood of getting it to work was little. Shoving aside a thin metal plate with the tip of his fingers, his suspicions were confirmed. The radio was a mess of wires and metal. It was a miracle it was receiving anything at all.

“Speed… where… Racer!”

The radio gave one last spurt of static; then fell silent. He screamed, rewarded with more burning pain in his throat for his efforts. It hurt to breathe, hurt to move… he remembered dimly that hanging someone upside down used to be a form of torture. If he was trapped like this for too long, it would kill him.

“Someone… help me.”

-ooo-

In a way, Pops’ temper was both a blessing and a curse. He had inherited that temper and knew both sides of the trait all too well. No one could defend his family more fiercely than the old man. No one had a firmer resolve when his mind was set than Pops. On the other hand, Pops was never keen on those who argued back when they disagreed with him. If one of the Racer children had problems with Pops’ point of view, the neighborhood was bound to hear of it within minutes.

He shouldn’t have gotten into that fight with Pops before the race. His father was simply worried about him and, in his gruff, obstinate way, was trying to protect his son. Pops had never been good at expression emotion, unlike his mother. He covered up worry with anger and hoped no one would notice.

Overcome with another coughing fit, he struggled hard to concentrate. Either he would be smothered by his own blood, or die after blacking out. He couldn’t tell how long he had been conscious; he had no idea how much longer he could stay that way. His only gauge was the creeping sense of weariness that gained strength with each passing moment and the dripping blood which failed to stop flowing from his wounds.

Where was he? Oh, the fight. The fight had been so stupid. It was the climax of what had been a rough week. Neither of them had been willing to admit that they were wrong. His mother, usually the peacemaker, was at a loss of what to do. She could only interject on occasion, watch as things spiraled out of control, and pray that it would end well as all of those other fights had over the years.

This time it hadn’t ended well. If he died here, it never would.

He struggled in his seat once again, trying to do something, anything that would help him escape. The car had a number of safety features and tricks designed to get him out of such a situation. Most were out of his reach or mangled beyond repair. He was trapped, then, until someone found him. If someone found him.

This didn’t make any sense. A normal crash shouldn’t have done this much damage. What had happened? He couldn’t remember. He was having a hard time remembering anything now. He was going to die here, alone and forgotten. He was going to die.

This wasn’t fair. He wasn’t ready to die like this. He had to apologize to his father; he had to give his mother those flowers he had bought her. He had to tell his brother—

Oh God, his brother. How was he going to take this? Sure, they had a strange relationship. His brother was several years younger than him; it was hard to get close with such an age gap. Still, he was proud of his brother, and glad that he held the status of older brother.

Again the creeping darkness was approaching, and this time he knew he would be unable to fight it. He had never been religious; now he wondered if God would accept a last minute pitch.

“I don’t… want to die like this… Please God, I don’t want to die… I want to see my parents again, and my brother, and Trixie, and Sparky, and even that dumb monkey. Please…I want to live.”

-ooo-

He woke up slowly, wincing at the brightness of the room. He could hear strange beeping noises to his right and wondered if he was still on the racetrack.

“Speed!”

Speed Racer opened his eyes wider to see Trixie standing next to him. “Trixie… where…?”

“Mrs. Racer, Speed’s awake!” Trixie shouted. She looked ready to hug him, but gave him a funny look and hugged herself instead.

In the corner of his eye, Speed saw his mother rush in, followed closely by Pops. Now that he was more awake, he realized his was in a hospital room. There were machines whirling and clicking next to him, producing the sounds that had confused him earlier.

“Speed!” his mother looked overjoyed and exhausted at the same time. “Thank goodness!”

“You’re awake!” Pops exclaimed. “It’s a good thing too. Boy, are those protestors going to get it when I get my hands on—”

“Protestors?” Speed broke in. He was completely confused.

“The protestors sabotaged most of the cars in the race,” Pops replied. “Most of them spun out shortly after starting, but the Mach 5 is made of sterner stuff.”

“Unfortunately,” Trixie said. “That means that the Mach 5 made it to the canyons before the damage had an effect. When we lost contact with you, we feared the worst!”

Speed closed his eyes for a moment. There was something wrong with all of this… “How bad is it?”

“You have a fractured rib, a broken leg, and a lot of bruises, but you’ll live,” Trixie said brightly.

“…I meant the car.”

“Oh! You—!”

“The car will be fine, Speed,” his mother said. “Your father and Sparky worked hard on fixing it as they waited for news about you. Sparky is still at it, I believe. Trixie, will you be a dear and let him know Speed’s awake?”

“Yes, Mrs. Racer,” Trixie said meekly, shooting Speed a dark look before leaving.

Speed waited a good five seconds after she had left. “Pops, how old do you have to be to understand girls?”

His wife laughed as Pops Racer fumbled for an answer.

Speed smiled along, but he still couldn’t shake the nagging voice prying at the ends of his thoughts, making him uneasy. There’s something missing… it said, tugging insistently on the corners of his brain.

“Pops, you said… the protestors sabotaged most of the cars in the race?”

“Hm,” Pops looked relieved to have something else to worry about than understanding girls. “That’s right. A big mess they made of everything.”

“Have all the drivers been recovered safely?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Pops admitted. “We were so focused on you.”

Speed hesitated before asking the next question. A part of him said it was a silly worry, that Pops would laugh it off with a reasonable answer and then question his son’s interest. The other part kept nagging, tugging. It would never shut up until he asked.

“Pops… where’s Racer X?”

-ooo-

When he woke, he heard voices arguing. One of them he recognized. Speed?

“I’m telling you, he doesn’t want his mask removed,” the boy said, his tone insistent. “You can treat his injuries with it on, can’t you?”

“Young man, it is not hospital policy to allow such a thing,” the other voice replied. “He has a gash on his head and we need to treat it.”

“Then just cut away that part,” Speed insisted. “Leave the rest of the mask on!”

“Speed,” he called out weakly.

The voices had sounded far, and he doubted anyone could hear him. Yet someone gave a surprised shout, and the sounds of something approaching him could be heard. “Racer X!”

Racer X wearily opened his eyes and regarded the younger racer. “Are you all right, Speed? …Is that a wheelchair?”

Speed fiddled with the wheels of his temporary transportation. “Broken leg, I’m fine. What about you, are you okay?”

“Excuse me!” a man clad in white stepped into Racer X’s line of view and grabbed the handlebars of Speed’s wheelchair. “You can’t be in here!”

“Doc,” Racer X croaked. “Do what the kid says. Leave the mask on.”

The doctor sighed. “As you wish. Now, Mr. Racer, will you please go back to your room and let us continue treating this man?”

“I’ll be back,” Speed promised. Racer X nodded and let his heavy eyelids sink back down.

-ooo-

“What’s he doing in there, Trixie?” Spritle asked in a loud whisper. He inched farther over the doorframe to get a better view.

“Shhh!” Trixie hissed, pulling him back so they would remain unnoticed. “He’s watching over Racer X.”

“Why?”

“Speed feels like he owes it to him. Now be quiet!”

In the hospital room, Speed was dozing in his wheelchair. He had only been using it for a few days, but he was already tearing up and down the halls like a pro. The doctors couldn’t wait to put him on crutches. They figured it would slow him down.

They didn’t know Speed.

Racer X watched the young daredevil through half-closed eyes. The doctors had told him that Speed threw a fit when he heard Racer X hadn’t been seen since the beginning of the race. Most had figured the mysterious driver had taken off; Speed knew better. With the help of Trixie and the rest of the Racer family, X’s overturned car had been recovered and he had been rescued before it was too late. Since he had arrived, Speed refused to leave his side unless he had to. Not even Pops could convince the boy to take a break from his vigil, and if Pops couldn’t do it, the doctors didn’t stand a chance.

“Why are you here?” Racer X asked quietly. “Why here, of all places? You should be tracking down the saboteurs, running them down in that damned wheelchair of yours. Why are you… here?”

Speed slept on. Trixie and Spritle watched breathlessly, but nothing happened. Racer X seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep himself, and after a few boring moments, Spritle began to whine. Afraid of being caught spying, Trixie dragged him off with the promise of sweets.

Racer X chuckled at the sound of them leaving and turned back toward his younger brother. “You have everything in the world, Speed, you just don’t know it. Hang onto it. Don’t let it go, because if you do, you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to get it back. Most don’t.”

“Have you?” Speed asked, raising his head. Racer X hid his surprise. Well, well, it looks like he wasn’t the only sneaky one around here.

“…No. Not yet. And I’ve been searching for a long time.”

Speed looked uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to Racer X being more than mysterious when it came to his personal life. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the older racer laughed, banishing the mood and wiping away the question from Speed’s mind.

“You’re quite the guy, Speed,” Racer X chuckled. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Speed laughed. “I’ve been told that before. I hope you don’t mind that I asked them to keep your mask on. I thought…”

“No, Speed. In fact, I’m very grateful.” Now it was Racer X’s turn to look uncomfortable. Without his mask, and in the same hospital as Speed Racer, it wouldn’t take much time before someone noticed the similarities, even if he could get away with any of the Racer family seeing him unmasked. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure.” Speed fiddled with his wheelchair nervously. “So, do… do you think you’ll find it? What you’re looking for, I mean.”

Racer X gave Speed a long look. Pure, trusting concern shone in the boy’s eyes. Smiling broadly, Rex Racer answered.

“Yeah, Speed, I will. One of these days… I will.”

End

Author’s Notes: Gift fic for the Original Marisa. I haven’t seen very much of the show, but I tried very hard to keep everyone in character. See if you can figure out which brother is narrating the first few parts.