Chapter Text
What if you weren't alone?
There were kids in the car
What if you were remote?
No one knows where you are
If you changed anything,
would you not have survived?
You're alive, you're alive, you're alive
The deafening roar of engines filled the racetrack, vibrations shaking the very ground beneath Babe’s feet. He sat in the stands, wrapped in a thick hoodie despite the sweltering heat, his body shivering from fever. His skin was clammy, his head heavy, but none of it mattered. His eyes were locked onto Charlie.
Charlie, who had forbidden him from racing today. Charlie, who had insisted he rest, pushing him onto the sidelines despite Babe’s protests. "You're burning up," he had said, pressing a cool hand to Babe’s forehead this morning. "Just this once, sit it out. I’ll win for you."
Even being, weak and exhausted, Babe had not agreed saying I'm not useless but Charlie just kissed him. But now, every second he spent watching felt like a mistake. His heart pounded in his chest, a silent warning. Something was off. The new rival team was aggressive, too reckless, cutting corners too sharply. Charlie had barely avoided two near-collisions already. Babe gripped the metal railing in front of him, his nails digging into the cool surface.
Then it happened.
A sharp screech of tires. A blur of movement.
Metal twisted against metal, a car flipping midair before slamming onto the ground in a deafening crash. Smoke. Sparks. Gasoline spilling onto the track like blood from a wound. And amidst the chaos, a single name ripped from Babe’s throat before he could even think.
"CHARLIE!"
The world tilted. Everything else faded. The screams of the crowd, the frantic announcements over the loudspeakers—all of it became distant, white noise compared to the sharp ringing in Babe’s ears.
Charlie’s car was motionless. No movement. No sign of life.
Babe was running before he even knew it, shoving past people, his body weak and sluggish from the fever, but his desperation fueling his every step. He had to get to him. He had to see him.
Arms grabbed him before he could make it past the barriers. Strong, unyielding.
"Let me go!" Babe struggled violently, kicking and thrashing. "Charlie! Charlie, wake up!"
But the hands holding him back didn’t loosen.
"Babe, stop!" It was Jeff, his voice firm but strained. "They’re handling it! You can’t go out there!"
"No! No, let me go!" Babe shrieked, his voice raw, his throat burning from the force of his screams.
They weren’t letting him through. He couldn’t see. His heart pounded, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as he fought against their grip. It was happening again. Just like before. The last time Charlie had—
No. No, no, no!
Babe twisted in their hold, clawing at Jeff’s arm, his vision blurring with tears. "He’s not breathing! What if he’s not breathing? I have to—I have to get to him—"
"Babe, listen to me—"
"No!" Babe sobbed, his body convulsing with panic. "He faked it once—he faked it once! What if this time it’s real? What if—what if—" His words broke into a choked sob, his knees giving out beneath him.
Jeff barely caught him, struggling to keep him upright as Babe’s entire body trembled violently.
A stretcher. Paramedics.
They were pulling Charlie from the wreckage. Babe saw the limp arm hanging off the side, the unmoving chest. His breath hitched, his stomach twisting painfully.
"Charlie!" His voice cracked, shattering like glass. He lunged again, but Jeff held firm, his own voice breaking as he whispered, "He’s alive, Babe. He’s alive, but they need to take him to the hospital."
"But he’s not moving!" Babe’s hands fisted in his own hoodie, nails digging into his fevered skin. "He’s not moving, Jeff! What if he never moves again?"
Tears spilled freely down his face, hot and endless. His entire body ached, his chest burning as though his heart had been ripped from it. The paramedics moved quickly, loading Charlie into the ambulance. Babe fought harder, desperate to go with him.
"I need to be there! Please, I need to go!" His voice was high-pitched, frantic. "Charlie, wait! Please don’t—don’t leave me!"
Sonic and North appeared beside him, both trying to help Jeff restrain him, their faces twisted with grief as they tried to keep Babe from hurting himself.
"Babe, you’re burning up. You need to calm down," North murmured, his grip gentle yet firm.
"Don’t tell me to calm down!" Babe screamed, thrashing again. "You don’t get it! You weren’t there! You didn’t see—" His voice broke completely.
His mind was spiraling, dragging him back to that night—the night Charlie had died. The night he had collapsed in the hospital room, sobbing while hugging Charlie's dead body, his voice hoarse from screaming a name that never answered.
And now it was happening again. But worse. This time, Charlie wasn’t pretending.
This time, he might really be—
Babe let out a gut-wrenching sob, his entire body folding in on itself as he dropped to his knees. He dug his fingers into his scalp, gasping for air, his chest heaving violently.
"Babe, please," Jeff knelt beside him, voice shaking. "You’re going to pass out if you don’t breathe—"
"I can’t breathe!" Babe choked, clawing at his throat. "I can’t—I can’t—"
His vision blurred, the edges darkening. His fever made everything feel distant, unreal, but the agony in his chest was sharp and suffocating. He barely registered the hands gripping his arms, barely felt Sonic rubbing soothing circles into his back, barely noticed the way Jeff’s own voice wavered as he whispered, "We’re going to the hospital. You’ll see him soon. I promise."
But promises didn’t mean anything.
People made promises, and then they died.
Charlie made promises. And now Charlie was gone.
Babe sobbed into his hands, rocking back and forth as the world closed in around him. His breaths came in short, painful bursts, his lungs screaming for air he couldn’t seem to get. His fingers trembled violently, his entire body wracked with uncontrollable shudders.
"Babe, hey, look at me," Sonic tried, but Babe couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but fall deeper into the panic that consumed him, the memories of Charlie’s ‘death’ overlapping with the present.
What if this was the last time he saw him?
What if Charlie never came back?
The thought sent another fresh wave of agony through him, his body curling in on itself, his nails digging into his arms hard enough to leave marks.
"Babe, we have to go," North said gently. "Come on. Charlie’s waiting for you."
"He's not waiting for me," Babe whispered, voice barely audible. His lips trembled, his entire body feeling like it might shatter apart. "He—he's leaving me behind. Just like before."
Jeff exchanged a look with North before kneeling down, his grip steady yet uncharacteristically soft. "He’s not leaving you, Babe. We’re going to the hospital. You’ll see him. He’ll be fine."
"You don’t know that," Babe whispered.
Silence.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Jeff reached out, hesitated, then slowly pulled Babe into his arms. "I know Charlie," he murmured. "And I know you. He’s going to wake up, and he’s going to be pissed that you’re crying over him instead of yelling at him for scaring you."
A soft, wet laugh escaped Babe’s throat, but it was immediately swallowed by another choked sob.
"I can’t lose him," Babe whispered, his fingers twisting into Jeff’s jacket, gripping it like a lifeline.
"You won’t," Jeff promised.
Another promise. Another lie.
But this time, Babe wanted so badly to believe it.
With shaking legs, he let Jeff and the others help him up, barely able to stand as they guided him toward the parking lot, toward the hospital, toward whatever fate awaited him on the other side.
He didn’t know if Charlie would wake up.
But if he didn’t—
Babe didn’t think he would survive it this time.
.
.
.
.
.
.
As Babe sat outside the hospital room, his body frozen in place. The cold air of the hospital clung to his fevered skin, but it wasn’t enough to ground him. The sterile scent burned his nostrils, suffocating him, dragging him backward into a nightmare he had never truly escaped.
Deja vu.
The same dull hospital walls, the same hushed whispers of doctors and nurses moving around him. The same unbearable silence that followed bad news. The same unbearable waiting.
The same unbearable loss.
His chest heaved as he clenched his trembling hands in his lap, nails digging into his fevered skin. His entire body was burning, but he couldn’t feel anything past the ice wrapping around his heart.
The doctor’s words still echoed in his ears, distorted and twisted, melting into a memory that had never left him.
"We couldn't save him."
Babe's breath hitched. His vision blurred. His hands trembled harder.
The past overlapped with the present.
He could still feel the cold press of his fingertips against Charlie’s unmoving face that night, the sheer horror that had gripped his lungs, the way the world had collapsed around him when he pulled back the white sheet and saw—
No.
He choked on a sob, shaking his head violently.
Charlie had faked his death that time. It had been a lie. But this—this time—
This time, it was his fault.
His nails dug deeper into his palms, his breathing quick and erratic.
Last time, Charlie had done it for him. Last time, Charlie had broken him just to save him from Tony without caring how Babe will feel. The way his stomach churned making him feel nauseous when Charlie said he didn't think His death would matter.
And now, history repeated itself—but this time, Charlie wasn’t coming back.
This time, he had really left him.
And it was Babe’s fault.
"No,"*Babe whispered again, his voice raw. His vision blurred, his chest tightening to the point of suffocation. His hands twitched before he lifted one—then the other—
And then he slapped himself.
Once.
Twice.
Hard.
His head jerked to the side from the impact, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough.
So he did it again.
And again.
And again.
Each slap was harder than the last, his palm striking against his own bruised cheek with a force that made his skin burn. His head snapped back, tears spilling down his face, but he didn’t stop.
He deserved this.
He deserved worse.
"I should've stopped him."
Another slap.
"I should've been racing instead."
Another slap.
"I should’ve known this would happen."
Another slap.
"I should’ve died instead."
Another—
"Babe! Stop!"
A firm grip caught his wrist mid-swing, yanking it away before he could hit himself again.
Babe gasped sharply, his entire body trembling, his breath coming in ragged, painful bursts. His vision spun, his fever making everything blur together in an indistinguishable haze.
It took him a moment to register who had stopped him.
Alan.
Alan was kneeling in front of him, his brows furrowed, his face filled with an emotion Babe couldn't name. His grip was tight, unyielding, stopping Babe from hurting himself further.
"Let go," Babe whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a breath. He struggled weakly against Alan’s hold, his wrist trembling under the pressure.
But Alan didn’t let go.
Instead, his other hand cupped Babe’s face, gently but firmly. Babe flinched at the contact, but Alan didn’t pull away. His thumb brushed over Babe’s reddened, bruising skin, his expression unreadable.
"Look at me," Alan said, his voice softer than usual. "Babe, look at me."
Babe didn’t.
He couldn't.
His lips trembled, his entire body shaking violently. "Let me go," he repeated, weaker this time.
"Not until you stop this," Alan said. "Not until you listen."
Babe squeezed his eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "It’s my fault," he choked out. "Charlie—he—he wouldn’t have raced if I—if I wasn’t sick—if I had just—"
"Babe."
"I should’ve been there." His voice cracked. "I should’ve been the one in that car."
Alan inhaled sharply, his grip tightening just slightly. "You think that would’ve changed anything?"
"Yes!" Babe cried, his voice breaking. He looked up at Alan then, his vision swimming, his eyes wide and filled with devastation. "If it was me, no one would’ve cared! No one would be standing outside waiting for me to wake up! No one—no one would be hurting like this!"
"Babe—"
"I deserve this!" Babe’s voice rose, hysterical. "Charlie—he—he faked it once. And now—now it’s real—and it’s all because of me!" His fingers twisted into his own hoodie, gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I keep breaking things! I keep ruining everything! I—I just—" His voice faltered, his breath hitching violently.
He was spiraling, drowning, suffocating on his own guilt.
Alan exhaled sharply, then before Babe could react, he pulled him into a firm, steady embrace.
Babe froze.
He don't remember last time when someone hug him like this.But right now, Alan was holding Babe together, his grip strong, unwavering, as if he was anchoring him to reality before he could disappear completely.
"You listen to me," Alan said, his voice firm but calm. "Charlie is not dead."
Babe squeezed his eyes shut. "He’s not waking up."
"Not yet," Alan corrected. "But he will."
"You don’t know that," Babe whispered, his voice small, broken.
Alan sighed, his grip on Babe tightening. "And you don’t know that he won’t."
Babe sucked in a sharp, unsteady breath, his fingers twitching against Alan’s jacket.
"I know you're scared," Alan continued, his voice softer now. "I know it feels like you’re living the same nightmare all over again. But this time is not last time. And this time, you are not alone."
Babe trembled in his arms, the sobs still wracking his body, but his grip on Alan’s jacket tightened.
For the first time since the accident, he felt something other than suffocating guilt.
Something fragile.
Something aching.
Something that almost, almost felt like hope.
And he clung to it with everything he had left.