Chapter Text
There isn’t much time left, and Fusion isn’t sure his crew is ready.
Not the way he is— not with how they act. It’s late at night and everyone has their head somewhere else. Even Fusion has to fight the heavy nuisance of sleep pushing his eyelids down. He can’t afford that right now.
The lights strewn about their temporary home, a chest Dean’s dropped them in just for today, are all dulled down. They’re not as nearly as bright as they could be and give them just enough to look at themselves through the mirrors that line the walls. Fusion never lets them turn the lights off, no matter how much Peelout nags about it hurting his eyes— the mirrors are the biggest ally they have. This job is just as much about appearance as it is performance, hours of looking yourself in the mirror and being able to say you tried your best, tuning even the tempo of your breathing to match your aspiration, the one you’re going to surpass.
The others don’t get it, which is why Fusion is the one in charge.
“Okay, let’s go over this one more time.” The hard truth is that they’ll never get it, but Fusion finds it best to give reminders. He slides his way over to Lightning, who drops his set of barbells with a clang. “How do you disable Whiplash’s jet engine?”
“Two hundred and thirty seven volts. Directly to the centrifuge.”
Fusion nods, and turns. “How do you throw Smoove off his groove?”
Groove Rider quits sipping his drink. “You blast him with something screechy and out of rhythm!” A smirk grows on Fusion’s face. Maybe they’re prepared after all. Fusion has never doubted his own chance of success, of playing his part, being the one Dean is betting on most. But… for once— it looks like they’ve all decided to deliver.
He turns to Snap, who’s leaning in with that smug smile on her face.
“And how do you get in Skidmark’s head?”
“What’re you asking me for? All I need to know is how to beat Burn. Skidmark is Peelout’s problem.”
Fusion pauses, and then he frowns, wide eyed and starting on devastated. She can’t be serious, can she?
“Wait, You’re telling me you never checked out the others?” Snap rolls her eyes and Fusion’s jaw drops as he twists his head to face the others, “And you, all of you— tell me at least one of you did what I said-”
“Oh, come on! You and Dean are always bossing us around like you’ve got any better idea of what to do than the rest of us, and it’s like, ‘ya totally don’t. I mean, at least not you. I don’t really care about what that big man does.” Snap’s ‘I-told-you-so’ attitude is… Fusion squints. “It’s seriously not gonna kill you if we-”
Snap’s eyes widen as Fusion swiftly encroaches on her space, shutting her up and staring directly into her eyes while ignoring the collective gasps from somewhere to the side of them.
“No, No, don’t even dare! I don’t think you’re really understanding me here, so let me say it one more time. Losing is not an option! Not for you, and absolutely not for me!” His voice strains with the gravity of his words, as if he could bash the concept through her thick skull if he speaks loud enough, “So if you even just think of it, of- of slacking— You’ll wish you’d have just powered through the road rash by the time I’m done with you.”
After a long pause, Snap speaks. “Alright, jeeze… calm down. I get it.” Her voice is shaken, only slightly. The air is heavy and his point has been made, by Fusion can’t get himself to feel like he’s won. He’s never liked raising his voice, losing the control he prides himself on. Fusion turns to the rest of the crew, all similarly disgruntled, and then to the posters on the wall; It’s the FAST crew. Pictures of the foes they’d all been told to study meticulously, for as little time as they were given by Dean— The ones they’re facing tomorrow. Saliva coats his throat and he swallows, eyes scattering across the familiar view. Whiplash, Smoove Move, White Shadow, Burn, Skidmark…
Turbo.
Fusion has never known what to make of him, really. Turbo, who he’s only physically met this morning and yet someone Fusion is primed to become. A star, a phenomenon, beloved by all. They’ve only had about a month to prepare, but for Fusion… it’s been a lifetime.
“Permission to speak?”
Fusion jumps back, his train of thought totally destroyed. “Ack- Lightning, I told you, you don’t have to ask me that every time!”
Lightning just keeps talking, head held high.
“It would be smart of us to sleep now, if we want to get the optimal amount of rest.”
Oh. That’s good. At least someone in this place has some common sense left.
“You know what guys,” Fusion says, “how about we all be more like Lightning!” He slides over and pats Lightning on the back, “this is the mindset of a winner.” Lightning only gives an appreciative grunt.
“It’s been a long day anyways.” Fusion chuckles, his throat strangely dry. “Let’s get to sleep.”
As the rest of them begin to settle down, Fusion does not, deciding to check himself one last time. His reflection in the mirror stands just as he does. He checks his shell— his natural one. He knows from experience that it’s not a good idea to bring those deathtraps into such an enclosed space— There’s not a scratch on him save for some miniscule marks from those stupid practice sessions and… other things. Fusion is sure he’s the only one who can see them anyways; Cuizeen makes a big deal of carrying him and those damn shells around like fragile, precious diamonds. He’s spent hundreds, maybe even thousands making sure those things stay perfectly pristine. He’d probably go insane if he saw anything even slightly wrong. Absolutely nothing can be changed about the way he looks, and it’s Fusion’s job to make sure that doesn’t happen.
There’s a bit of dirt on this mirror Fusion didn’t notice before, directly blurring the view of his face. He doesn’t bother with wiping it clean.