Giving In

Home : Stories by Catw00man : Giving In

Summary: Friendship goes both ways.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: R
CHARACTER: Martin Truex, Kyle Busch, Alternating POV
SEQUEL TO: Lingering Anguish
COMPLETED: December 22, 2007
WORD COUNT: 3,912
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
DEDICATION: This for for Heather or “mystik78” for Christmas. You are so wrong for bringing back this series. Can it be done now? LOL I hope this is what you were looking for. Merry Christmas sweetie.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic was done my request for Christmas 2007. The premise? A request for a sequel to Hidden Pain and Lingering Anguish. Martin deals with Dale’s leaving DEI.
AUTHOR'S NOTE2: Thanks to Zippit for the awesome beta on this.
AUTHOR'S NOTE3: ~*~*~ denotes POV shift
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Martin’s Lake House in NC: December 2007

AMP.  Sony.  Mountain Dew.  National Guard.  Adidas.  Go Daddy.com. 

None of them sound like him at all.  Okay, maybe the Guard and Sony, but AMP?  An energy drink for the King of Bud?  But he’s not the “Bud Boy” anymore is he?  He’s not even part of DEI.  Sometimes I wonder if he’s even still my friend.  I just can’t believe how much everything’s changed in just one year.

Take a long drink from the blue aluminum bottle in my hand and then wipe my hand across my lips.  I even heard he designed the paint schemes for all his cars.  He used to design my paint schemes, back when I was in Busch.  Back when we both were still part of the “Posse.”  But it’s not even “Busch” anymore is it?  It’s Nationwide.  I swear it’s like every shred of us is stripped away.

Down the rest of my drink and plunge my other hand into the cooler at my side to grab another.  Toss the empty away and then pop the fresh beer before taking a drink from it as well.  It’s all happening just like the media proclaimed it would, DEI is falling apart at the seams. 

It all started with Junior and the Eurys but that was just the start.  Now they are trickling away like an untreated wound and I wonder how long before we’ve lost too much blood to stand.  Oh, Bono’s signed on to stay with me, but what’s a crew chief without a crew?  A captain of a sinking ship is still going down.

Are we all gonna drown?

I know right now I am.  Throw my head back and down half the bottle.  I’ve tried to be strong.  I’ve tried.  I’ve done everything they’ve asked and more.  I’ve put on the brave face and told the world that everything is alright even though I don’t know that I really believe it.  Dale Jr was DEI.  Anyone would be a fool not to admit that.  I may be a lot of things…but I’m not a damn fool.

Glance down at the phone in my lap and think again about calling Kyle.  He’d understand.  He knows all about abandonment and pressure so thick you can’t breathe.  But he’s been doing good lately.  Gibbs has been so good for him. 

Honestly I never dreamed he’d get along with Tony and Denny but somehow…they seem to be making it work.  Unlike us.  Paul is completely useless outside of his daddy’s money and no matter what anyone says Mark already has one foot in the grave.  He’s not going to be leading us to a bright new future.  And don’t even get me started on Amirola and Regan….

It’s all up to me.

And I’m not ready.

Everyone thinks I’m so strong and so good about everything that’s happened.  Are they completely fucking blind?  Haven’t they noticed that Junior and I can barely even be in the same room, much less look at each other?  He betrayed us.  He walked out on us.  And I really don’t give a shit what the reason was. 

He was supposed to be a friend, a leader, not jumping ship just because he couldn’t get along with his step-mommy.  It still makes me sick what he did to Kyle, but at least he’s found a way to land on his feet.  Now…what about me?

Every day I walk into DEI I’m having to wonder who’s leaving next.  It’s like everyone is trying to get out while the getting’s good and I’m stuck, tied to the anchor.  Granted Bono and my guys are hanging around but does it really matter if we all end up eaten by sharks? 

That’s what this series is coming to, survival of the fittest and I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll make the cut.  Hell, I know our Chase performance was less than stellar.  What if my win really was all luck?  What if it really is all going down from here?  What if I end up looking like a total fool?

I can’t handle this.  Chug the rest of my beer and toss the empty across the yard, nearly falling out of my lawn chair in the process.  Steady myself and shake my head as I reach for another.  I really should call Kyle.  Isn’t drinking alone one of the first signs you’ve turned into a pathetic, loser wuss?  Or maybe it’s the second?  Fuck if I know.  But I’ll be damned if I drag him into my own personal hell.  He’s got enough of his own to deal with.

Reach into the cooler again to pull out another and try to get it open, but it doesn’t budge.  Wrap my hand tight around the rough edged bottle cap and grip it as tight as I can before jerking it with my other and… “Holy shit!”

Drop what I now see is another aluminum bottle to the ground and cradle my aching hand against me.  What the…?  Slowly open my hand and it’s only then that I realize I’m bleeding.  Shit, shit, I thought it was a normal bottle.  Why the hell can’t didn’t they make the aluminum bottle twist-off?  Examine my shredded palm and grimace.  Even Budweiser has turned against me!

Kick at the bottle on the ground and only end up spilling the cooler instead.  Steady myself in the chair and I swear the entire world is against me.  Junior didn’t just take teammates with him when he left, he took his friends too. 

It wasn’t until after the banquet when I looked around and realized everyone I thought were my friends were gone, off in Australia, with him.  Kyle was the only one left and he’s so busy being wooed by Gibbs and being sent off by the friends he really did have at HMS I don’t blame him for not noticing.  It’s not his fault that I’m all alone.

I can put all that on one person, and he doesn’t even care.  I know I towed the corporate line.  I know I kissed the Ice Queen’s ass and got a girlfriend of my own.  But does that really mean I have to be ostracized? 

Does it really mean he has to talk about me in the third person when we’re face to face?  I know I haven’t always been the best of friends, that maybe I haven’t always played by his rules of how the world works, but does that really make me such an awful person?  I wasn’t trying to be a dick when I asked him to stop sitting on the pitbox back in ’05.  I just wanted the bad luck to end.  Shouldn’t a championship wipe out all the resulting bad blood?

Fist my hands in frustration and then wince as pain lances up my arm.  My hand, shit, I’m such an idiot.  Look down at my hand as a few more drops of blood fall to the ground and all I can think is how it’s all his fault.  Everything always had to be his way or you’re out of the “Posse.”  And I didn’t always play by the rules.  I was friends with the enemy.  Oh, it didn’t matter if Junior was buddy-buddy with Gordon. 

I was friends with “The Shrub” and apparently that wasn’t looked on in a good light.  No one even tried to understand him but me.  It’s no wonder he took to cutting and isolating himself.  All the big boys were too busy being important to notice him.  So I was looked down on for being friends with the enemy and then Junior goes and joins the enemy…and that’s ok!

Shake my head because I know that’s not exactly the way it went.  I’m not the most social guy out there.  I tend to internalize things and end up making people think I’m cold and unfeeling.  No one ever told me I couldn’t be friends with Kyle.  They probably just didn’t like how I always shut them out about him. 

No one ever said I couldn’t have a girlfriend.  But backing up one who trash talks your closest friend’s sister probably didn’t help matters a whole lot.  And kicking June off the box?  That was probably one of the dumbest things I ever did.

He gave me a ride, a chance and all his support and I go and get superstitious and run my mouth that he’s the bad luck bringing us down.  I don’t know that he ever forgave me for that.  His team is so personal to him, I know he took it as a betrayal and along with everything else…it’s no wonder I’m all alone.

God I’m such a stupid fool.

Flash of red catches my eye again as I turn my hand over and I remember the last time I was faced with blood like this.  It was staining Kyle’s arm when he couldn’t deal with losing his ride and I wonder…did it help?  I’ve read about his problem and the more I know the more it makes me want to know if it really makes things better.  Oh, I know it doesn’t solve anything, that it’s a destructive downward spiral but, for a moment, does it really help? 

Reach down into my front pocket with my good hand and after a few attempts finally manage to pull my large pocket knife out of the front pocket of my jeans.  Easily flip it open with on hand like I have a hundred times before. 

I’ve used this thing to skin out a dozen deer.  Maybe it’s only fitting I finally get a taste of my own medicine.  Adjust the knife in my hand and hold it over my left arm.  What was it Kyle said?  It was like a release?  God, I sure as hell need it now.  Drag the blade across the top of my forearm and….

“Ow, shit, holy crap, OW!” 

What the hell did I just do?  Look down and now my forearm is bleeding more than my hand, and what the fuck was I thinking?  Drop my knife and try to cover the fresh wound with my other hand.  How did I ever think that was gonna make things better?  Crap, I need to take care of this.  I need to get inside.  I need to get sober.

Continue to hold my arm, cradling it against my body, and unsteadily make my way to my feet.  Turn to head back to the house and suddenly I’m crashing to the ground.  Ache in my ankle tells me I slipped on something and I catch a glimpse of something blue skittering across the yard.  Fucking Budweiser.  I never even really liked that beer anyway….

~*~*~*~

I know I’m probably over reacting, but Martin never goes without answering his cell.  It’s kinda been his promise to me since we became friends.  He’s available unless he specifically tells me otherwise and even then he still gives me a way to reach him in case of an “emergency.”  Man I’d love the day there are no more emergencies.  Who knows, maybe there won’t be.

 Things have really looked up since Martin helped pull me back together this summer.  Erica’s still gone but looking back I wonder if she hadn’t just been a gold digging bitch all along.  First sign of trouble and there she was all kicking me to the curb. 

Well she can eat it now.  I didn’t lose it all.  I gained a set of teammates and family.  I thought that when Dale Jr came in the doors to HMS would be closed to me forever.  I never expected that some people would still give a crap about me.  Oh, some are dickheads for sure, but others like Jeff and Mr. H and Alan have given me more support than I imagined.

That has meant more to me than they will ever know.

Martin told me they weren’t just pretending to be my friends, that they wouldn’t really just use me and toss me aside.  It was a tough situation and business decisions had to be made. 

I get it now.  Just like I understand that they still care about me.  The shop doors may be closed on me now but the friendships I take with me are still as strong as they ever were, and I have one person to thank for making me see that.  Now if he would just answer his frickin’ cell phone!

Close my phone and toss it in the passenger seat when it kicks to his voice mail again.  I’m almost to his house anyway.  Who knows, maybe he’s just out on his boat and forgot his cell, but…that’s just so unlike Martin.  All of this is. 

Ever since the banquet he’s been even quieter and more reserved than usual.  With the exception of that DEI media thing I went to with him in New York I’ve hardly seen him in weeks.  And that’s just not normal either.  Sherry even said she hasn’t seen much of him lately…and that’s why I’m on my way over.

Finally spot the lake house and I can already see his truck is in the driveway.  Pull in behind it and head up to the door, ringing the bell a few times.  He doesn’t answer but that doesn’t really surprise me.  If the weather’s half decent he’s usually out back anyway and it is a surprisingly clear day.  Head around the back and at first glance it doesn’t look like he’s taken the boat out.  That must mean he’s gotta be around here som--

“Martin!  Shit!”  Break into a sprint when I finally spot him sprawled out on the ground.  Did he drink himself unconscious?  Pass out?  Something else?  I’ve never seen him drunk enough to sleep in the yard.  Have I missed something?  Please, he’s got to be ok.

Go to my knees as I reach him and it’s only then I see the cell phone flashing a few feet away.  He must have been here awhile because I’ve been calling for hours.  Roll him over and practically into my lap and then suck in a sharp breath when I see the deep crimson staining his hand and grey sweat shirt.  Oh God, it’s everywhere.  What happened to him?  What did he do?  Start to reach up to his neck to check his pulse but his drunken snores let me know he’s just passed out.  He’s drunk, but that still doesn’t explain all the blood.

Take a deep breath to try and slow my racing heart to look him over more closely.  His left hand is crusted with blood and as I turn it over I can see the nasty gash across his palm.  Wince as I take a better look.  That is gonna hurt like hell when he wakes up but it can’t be the source of all of this, not when it’s all over his arm.  Bite my lip and push up the blood stained cuff of his sweat shirt and my eyes go wide in shock at the sight.

A dark, angry red slice cuts across the top of his forearm and now that I’ve moved him an uncovered it it’s starting to bleed again.  Martin, dear god, what have you done?  Quickly glance around the yard trying to figure out what must have happened and spot his knife by the over turned cooler, open and stained with blood.

No, no, no he couldn’t have done this to himself.  Martin wouldn’t do that.  He wouldn’t.  But if he did…it’s all my fault.  I’m the freak that sucked him into my life and dragged him down to my level.  He never would have done this.  Oh god, what have I done?  Martin I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.  I didn’t mean to ruin your--

It’s his groan that breaks into my thoughts, stopping the flood of panic running through me.  Look down at him, cradled in my arms, and see that he’s still unconscious…and bleeding.  I need to get him inside.  Try and pick him up but he’s nothing but dead weight.  There’s no way I’m going to be able to get him inside like this.  Take a deep breath to pull myself together and then shake him roughly.  “Martin, c’mon.  You gotta wake up.  Martin, it’s Kyle, c’mon.  Wake your ass up!”

I end up getting a few moans for my trouble but still he’s not waking up.  Look back towards the house and for a moment consider dragging him but I’d probably end up doing more harm than good.  No, he got himself in this position and he’s gonna help me get himself out of it.  He’s forced me to help myself, it’s time I do the same for him.  Take another breath and then give him an open hand slap hard across the face.  “Martin, wake up!”

~*~*~*~

Pain shoots through my cheek and I hear my name.  Ow, that really hurts.  Is that Kyle?  Reach up to touch my aching cheek and wince as I blink open my eyes.  Everything is way too bright and blurry for a moment and then realize it’s Kyle looking down at me and he’s saying something.

“…up.  I need your help to get you inside and take care of your arm.  Help me.”

Inside?  My arm?  God, my head really is splitting.  How much Bud did I have?  Nod to him slightly and try to get my feet under me as he tugs me up.  Sway for a moment and then he’s half dragging, half carrying me to the house.  He’s got my arm slung over his shoulders and one of his around my waist and by the time we’re halfway there I’m starting to be able to stumble along with him.  Let him lead and try to piece together what all happened.

Look down as we make our way through the back door and that’s when I finally see all the blood.  Oh my god, what happened to me?  Am I hurt?  Wait…the beer bottle.  The knife.  I remember.  Oh shit, Kyle didn’t need to see this.  How could I be such a damn fool.  I’m gonna make everything worse.  “Kyle…” I croak out his name but he just shushes me as he responds between heavy breaths.

“S’ok, Martin.  We’re…almost there.”

Almost where?  And why is he out of breath?  Oh, wait, maybe it’s because he’s practically carrying me.  Frown at myself and try to help but only end up crashing us into the wall.  I expect him to yell at me, but he doesn’t.  He just readjusts my arm over his shoulders and leads me into my bathroom, finally unloading me on the closed toilet.  Watch as he moves around the small room and finds my first aid kit.  Why isn’t he yelling at me?  I’ve made a fool of myself and he’s not saying a word about it.  He should be chewing me out, hell, he should be knocking some sense into me.  But he doesn’t and I can’t understand why.

Watch as he to kneel before me and gently takes my screwed up hand in his. He carefully pulls up the sleeve of my stained sweatshirt and firmly presses a piece of gauze over the wound I now realize is still bleeding.  Did I really cut myself that bad? 

“Hold that,” he tells me softly as he slowly turns my hand palm up and I just nod and do as he asks.  My whole left hand aches and I’m only now starting to really see why.  One look at my torn hand and I think I’ve had my last Budweiser for a long while.

“I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt.  Just keep pressure on your arm, okay?”

Nod again and I don’t even have the words.  I still can’t believe he’s doing all of this for me.  Doesn’t he know I should be knocked around for doing something so stupid?  I can take care of myself.  I should take care of myself.  That’s what I’ve always done before.  I’ve never had anyone baby m--

Hiss sharply when he starts to clean my hand with another gauze pad and, damn, it hurts so much!  Catch his sympathetic glance and just nod to him to keep going.  Funny how pain seems to cut right through a hangover. 

Watch as he finally wraps my hand and then pulls my other hand away to check my arm.  Don’t say a word as he repeats the process and closes the wound with three little butterfly band aids before wrapping my forearm as well.

“Kyle….”  My voice is shaky and rough and I can’t seem to help it.  I’m supposed to be the one to help him.  I’m supposed to be the strong one in all of this.  He’s not supposed to be dealing with my shit.  He has more than enough of his own.

“It’s okay, Martin.  You’ve done so much for me.  Just…let me do this for you.  Let me be a friend?” he tells me softly and with one look into his brown eyes I realize he’s asking my permission.  He doesn’t usually take this kind of initiative and it hits me he’s afraid he might have over stepped his bounds.

He hasn’t.

And I need him to know it.

Reach out with my good hand and squeeze his forearm.  “We’re good, Kyle.” I tell him softly and then lock eyes with him.  “Thank you.  Thank you for being my friend when I needed you.” 

He goes still and for a moment I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing.  But then a slow smile crosses his face and his eyes lose that lost and desperate look.  He nods to me and then moves to his feet before helping me up.  He leads me back to the bedroom and then eases me onto my bed.

“It goes both ways, you know,” he tells me simply s he moves to my feet to start taking off my boots.  Look at him curiously and he shoots me a more serious look.  “You can call me too, anytime, day or night.  I’m gonna be there.  Just like you are for me.” 

Nod to him as he moves closer and carefully helps me out of my blood stained sweat shirt.  His voice is softer as he finally speaks again.  “Thank you for letting me help you like you have me.”

Reach for his hand and give it a squeeze.  “Anytime,” I tell him with a small smile and finally something inside me starts to give.  He is here for me and it’s not because he has to be or should be.  He’s here because he’s my friend and he wants to be.  He’s here because he cares. 

I don’t usually let people in when I’m weak, but if he can let me help him all these years when he’s been at his worst…how can I not do the same?  Smile softly and tell him with more conviction, “Anytime, Kyle.  That’s what friends do.”

And it is.  It’s what I’ve done for him for almost three years.  I just never let him return the favor.  I always shut that side of me, the part that needed people, away from everyone.  But not anymore.  He’s shown me that sometimes it takes more strength to admit that you’re weak than it does to be “strong.”

I won’t make that mistake again.

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com