#echo's echo

he wakes up with a pounding headache and his body sore, limbs tight and tense. weirdly, he's lying on the ground, back into a corner of his old bedroom, blankets strewn about around him. he has no idea what day it is. when he stands up, he stumbles, head throbbing as he hobbles to the door. the lights are off in his room and max has to use the sun peeking in through the curtains as his guide. making it to the door, he takes a minute to rest, hand loosely grabbing the knob. he has no idea how he got here or even what happened. the last thing he remembered was starting the race at silverstone and then--

a whine escapes at the sharp pain that hits enough to make his knees wobble. he'll figure the rest out later. weakly, he tries to turn the knob.

it doesn't budge.

he tries to pound on the door. it's more of his fist loosely thunking against the door, but it still makes a small noise. he clears his throat, coughing at how dry it feels. he had almost tripped over some empty water bottles and plates, but it doesn't feel like he's had anything in days. still, he tries to croak out. "hello?"

it's quiet, no sound of anyone, and he tries the door again. this time it rattles louder. he coughs again, trying to raise his voice. "is anyone there?"

he strains, trying to hear. there's a buzzing underneath his skin, a throb in his head, and his instincts are oddly quiet. they're not silent-- they never are-- but they feel... subdued. his cat isn't incessantly pushing to the front, and max is just too thankful to question it. he can't deal with a pounding headache and his cat instincts.

he tries one more time on the door, trying not to feel desperate. he hasn't been locked in this room since he was 15, and the memories that are coming back are truly unpleasant. "can someone let me out? please?"

finally, there's the sound of steps. he could recognize the steady gait anywhere. max lets out a breath of relief. "dad? can you let me out please?"

it's silent. max's smile wavers. "dad?"

"you're not still a fucking cat, are you?" max blinks, the venom familiar but the question not.

"what?" he asks dumbly, and he tries to turn the knob again. it still doesn't budge.

"don't make me repeat myself, boy." max is a grown man. he is fighting for a championship. he hasn't lived with his father since he was 18. he still swallows instinctively and desperately tries to think back to the question.

"no?" it comes out more as a question and the loud scoff is his answer.

"you're either still a fucking cat or not, max." max still has no idea what he's talking about, but still he shakes his head rapidly. he's still not a cat. jos knows he hasn't shifted since winter break. he has no idea what this question is for. the door knob still won't turn.

"i'm not! i swear i'm not." he prays thats the answer his father is looking for. it's silent.

finally, there's the sound of a click. the door knob underneath his hand suddenly turns. he stumbles, the door finally pushing forward underneath him.

it opens to reveal his father, face stormy. his cat instincts, which had been so quiet, are suddenly loud again. not safe, not safe, his cat instincts hiss, and max barely resists the wince. it only makes his head pound instead of throb.

his father takes one look at him, gaze scrutinizing. max blinks blearily back at him. he must find what he's looking for because he only scoffs, already turning around and walking off. he leaves max to weakly wobble after him.

"you have been out for a week. you are fine now. we need to prepare for the next race." his father's voice washes over max, rattling off like the commands that max has grown up with.

You will keep driving even if its cold. Stay in your kart. You either win or you lose. Get out of the car.

max doesn't question it.

later, he will be reminded about silverstone. he will be told about his concussion, and how jos had discharged him as soon as possible, bringing him to his childhood home to let him recover. max does not ask anymore questions. his father tells him nothing.

he prepares for the next race.