Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lightning McQueen’s back ached. Sleeping in the 95 was his least favourite place to take a nap. There are no reclining chairs, there’s no cabin space; but, if need be, it works. He just wakes up a little sore the next day. He was currently in the middle of a conversation about who he is and how he ended up in the middle of Arizona in a race car, but he couldn’t pay attention to the man in front of him. His head hurt, his back hurt, and it was far too early in the morning for this.

“Is your name Mater, too?”

Lightning’s brain stopped working at that. He hadn’t really had a moment to process with the speed of racing to California, and if he were honest, he didn’t even remember it. That’s worrying. Come to think of it, he barely even remembered the race the day before.

“What?” He took a second to look at the 95 behind him, and then at the impound he found himself standing in, cross-legged on the 95’s hood, “Look, I need to get to California as fast as possible. Where am I?” The world around him spun.

“Where are you? Shoo- you’re in Radiator Springs, the cutest little town in Carburettor County.” The man standing before Lightning was honest to God the kind of country where you don’t even know where all the dirt came from, how this look before you is attractive, or where he got the tobacco. But it worked, goddammit. The landscape around him seemed so dusty, so drab, as if all its colour had been drained, and this guy, Mater, just looked so proud of it, he was beaming. Lightning couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, great. Just great.”

“Well, if you think that’s great, you should see the rest of the town.”

It was as if a lightbulb flicked on in McQueen’s mind. He should see the rest of the town; it’d get him out of the impound lot, and if he were lucky, and Mater let him, he could take the 95. Somehow, that seemed unlikely. It would be nice if that crow would shut up and let him think, too.

“You know what? I’d love to see the rest of the town. So, if you could just open the gate, take this boot off my car here, you and me, we can go cruise and check out the local scene. You know?”

“Dadgum, cool.” He reached for the gate to the impound and Lightning’s freedom was within reach. Any moment and he could get out of this lot and finally take a breath, and more than three steps in any given direction.

“How’d that be Tuh-mater?” That was bold. He couldn’t remember if it was Mater with or without the ‘tuh’ but either worked, it seemed.

Millimeters from Mater pressing the button, however, “Mater?” “Mater!”

Fuck, the Sherriff came up behind him. Of course, this didn’t work out Lightning’s way, none of these things ever did. His whole life, every moment where he thought he had something, it got ripped away. Maybe that’s why he spent every second on racing; if you’re always at the track, or on the road to and from races, you get good, and that gets you respect. Sure, you might not have any true friends, or any relationships with any actual vulnerability, but the illusion was enough. For Lightning, at least, the fame that ran alongside the feeling of success was enough to sustain him.

He'd never been a fan of the cops. They always let the people who should really be put away roam free, and those who really had no business being caught up in the law were the ones Lightning thought caught its fist the hardest. Too many casualties to think any different, even these days. 2006 could be better for people like him.

“What did I tell you about talking to the accused?” Lightning did not like that tone, and Mater skirted away. He suspected Mater often found himself in situations like these, where he was having a great time and the Sherriff came and shut it down. McQueen found that’s how he often felt with his own crew chiefs; hence, the present lack of one. If there’s one thing he hated, it’s when people talk down to someone for no good reason.

Lightning grit his teeth. “To not to,” Mater said, sadly.

“Well then quit your yappin’ and drag this delinquent road hazard to traffic court.”

“We’re gonna talk later, Mater,” he whispered as he went around the back of the 95 and started hooking him up to the tow truck, “Huh, later Mater, that’s funny.” Lightning usually hated when people touched the 95, but something about Mater made him think it was alright. Maybe it was the carefree attitude, the overalls, or the dent-covered tow truck he clearly loved.

It was weird, Lightning thought, that the car came with him to traffic court. Maybe it was a small-town thing, but it’s not like Lightning had ever been to traffic court before (which was, if he were honest, completely ridiculous; he sped almost everywhere he could), so he had no real frame of reference. And he’d barely gotten his normal driving licence, so maybe that was a blessing. The irony of professional race car drivers not having a normal driving licence wasn’t lost on him.

Nevertheless, he followed his 95 on foot, walking beside the cop car because he refused to get in it. He’d learnt that lesson the hard way at 17 when a night out trying to find a bed while Mack was visiting family had ended in a bloody head, a concussion, and being pressed up against the bonnet of a police car at 3am.

It wasn’t a long walk, seven minutes at the most, and not even a mile. As soon as they’d turned out onto the main street, his stomach dropped. It was one thing to see the damage last night, half-lucid and under the cover of darkness. It was another thing entirely to be confronted with that damage in broad daylight, where there was no escape from the thought that he’d singlehandedly ruined these townsfolk’s livelihood. If people can’t get into the town, how would they make their living?

The town blurred past him in hues of brown, dirt, and worn-down paint and neon. The tyre shop had a leaning tower of tyres, too, which if he weren’t walking into a certain licence suspension half-concussed, have would have pointed out as being cool. So far, Radiator Springs consisted of a tyre shop, hay bale, V8 Café, hay bale, a little mechanics shop on the main intersection. It was a good kind of quiet.

“Are you sure you’re not getting in, boy?” The Sherriff leaned out of the driver’s side window, pulling up beside him, “It might not be far, but it sure is hot.”

“I’m sure. It’s not even a mile, I’m hardly going to pass out from heat exhaustion.” A race car gets up to about 40°F hotter than the ambient temperature. So, if he’s racing in, say, Florida in summer, that’s 140° easy, for several hours. In a suit that catches and keeps in all that sweat. With no air-con, and only little, albeit warm, airflow. The seat amplifies the sweat. You come out of that race 5lbs lighter than you went in. This, walking through Arizona in the offset of summer, is child’s play.

“It’s a hundred degrees out, but sure. It’s just up here on the right. See that there red brick?” he pointed out to the building, in disbelief of Lightning’s nonchalance about the heat. Lightning wasn’t going to cave in, so he turned and jumped up onto the footpath strolling up to the courthouse. The 95 was up ahead being hauled around the back of the building.

He could feel the bile rising up in his throat at the thought of having to explain the last night’s incident. He didn’t even remember it, he had no lawyer because having someone on retainer doesn’t mean they can teleport themselves overseas to represent you in rural Arizona traffic court, and he had no idea who any of these people were. What a shame, all this money and fame and it couldn’t even help him right now. Deep breaths, Monty. In and out. In and out.

The wooden doors at both the front entrance and the entrance to his specific room felt mockingly heavy. The Sherriff guided him through the long and winding corridors to the courtroom, but it didn’t help. He took a couple moments to recompose himself. Confidence, Lightning had always thought, was about faking it till you’re making it. He could do that; plaster on a charming face, subtlety flirt with everyone just enough they were charmed but not suspicious, get away with ruining the only road in or out of the town.

In. Out.

If he pretended it was okay, maybe it would be. Maybe he could charm the judge into letting him off scot-free, and go back to his cushy NASCAR life, chasing that Piston Cup with a single-minded focus. That’s what he knew, and that’s what he liked.

In.

Looking at his car up the front of the room felt like a slap in the face. The fluorescent lights did the dents collected from last night’s mishap no justice, and it was evident that he would need to get to California way earlier than the prescribed seven days if he wanted any chance of them being removed. Standing in this courtroom, Lightning had never felt more underprepared, for a race, for life, and in general. He was unprepared, and he didn’t like being unprepared.

At least he was feeling more lucid. Overthinking meant the concussion wasn’t as bad as he originally thought it was.

Out.

He pushed the door open.

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

The decibel level walking into the courtroom once everybody saw him threw him off his kilter. The screams of all the horrible things he did last night hauled at him and he felt his resolve slipping away.  One hey, you scratched my paint here and an I oughta take a blowtorch to you, man there. You broke-a the road, You a very bad car, Fascist, Commie. It was all a bit much.

Turning to the Sherriff on his left he cracked out a whip in a naïve effort to make the screaming stop. This was not helping his headache. “Officer, talk to me, babe. How long is this gonna take? I gotta get to California, pronto.”

“Where’s your lawyer?” he didn’t look impressed, crap.

“I don’t know; Tahiti, maybe,” he didn’t know if that’s where he actually was, but he’d given the office a call with his allocated call. It was unlikely anyone would show up, but it was worth a shot, “He’s got a timeshare there.”

Bullshitting – success. Go, Lightning.

“When the defendant has no lawyer, then the court will assign one to him.” His face dropped. Heartbeat stopped.

“Hey, anyone want to be his lawyer?” Everyone took a step back.

Lightning took a quick look around the room. Everybody, everyone in this god forsaken town, didn’t look even the slightest bit guilty as they took a collective step away from him. So much for small town hospitality. It’s not like he cared about these people, or their interests anyway; still, it hurt to have everybody reject him so readily. Breathe in, breathe out, he told himself and he finished scanning the room.

Everyone, except Mater.

“Shoo- I’ll do it, Sherriff.” He found himself releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. At least Mater was honest.

A knock sounded on the wooden doors to the courtroom. Silence echoed throughout the crowd as they all stopped their chatter. The Sherriff stood up straighter and prepared to project his voice through the room. The Judge’s pedestal had a microphone, but the room was so small nobody else needed one.

“All rise, the Honourable Doc Hudson presiding.”

The Sherriff’s eyes bore down into McQueen and he gulped, not wanting to entertain all the horrible things which could result from him being shit in court today.

“May Doc have mercy on your soul.” In that moment, he felt his soul leave his body, if it was ever there. Focus, Lightning, you’re here to save your ass, not make ginger jokes.

Now, Lightning’s a very bisexual man. He can appreciate a person’s good looks and personality just as much as the next 26-year-old. It’s all part of his charm. But it was cruel of the universe to put the most attractive man he had ever seen as the judge. It was almost as it the fates were sitting there laughing at him. Oh, sure, you’ve just had a horrible accident, can’t remember the last 24 hours, and are in court for probably the worst offense of your life, but at least the judge is hot.

He was tall, to be sure. Lightning’s 5’6” was no match for the surely mid-6’ man stood at the entrance. He wore a medium grey suit with a purple pocket square. No tie, nice. That’s how he liked a casual suit moment. Lightning almost didn’t care that he was too old for anything to happen, but he was willing to risk it all for the chance. That’s how much he, all of him, reacted to the mere sight of this gentleman. God help him.

Lightning’s beady eyes followed the man, the Honourable Doc Hudson, as he stepped into the room breathing a fiery inferno. He seemed like the kind of man who would take no shit from anyone, not even those close to him, if he had them. He didn’t look like the forgiving sort, who would understand that Lightning didn’t remember what he did, and surely that counts for something. If he was fucked up enough to not remember it, he wasn’t in the right state of mind. Right?

As the man, his Honour, walked down the center aisle, he spoke out to the room.

“All right, I wanna know who's responsible for wreckin' my town, Sheriff. I want his head on a platter!”

Shit. Lightning’s luck just went down the drain, along with his hopes of anxiety management. Images flashed through his mind. Headlines about the NASCAR rookie who wound up in prison, inches away from being the first rookie in history to win a Piston Cup. His fans becoming Chicks fans, Chick winning Dinaco. Everything he spent the past eleven years of his life working towards, down the drain in an instant. This was not good for his image, or him.

“I'm gonna put him in jail till he rots!” And his wildest fears confirmed, Lightning was a dead man walking. Well, sitting.

In, out. In, out. Come on, Lightning, you got this.

Doc stormed down the aisle as all heads in the room followed him intently. Clearly, this man was well respected

“No, check that. I'm gonna put him in jail till the jail rots on top of him, and then I'm gonna move him to a new jail and let that jail rot,” He exclaimed to the room as he approached the bench and took his seat. Lightning should have been focussing on the words coming out of his mouth, but the man before him had him ensnared. Nobody should be able to look that sexy sitting in a chair.

“I'm…” Doc had finally sat in the chair and turned it around. His mouth snapped shut the moment he laid eyes on McQueen, and Lightning couldn’t help but wonder whether he was feeling the same as Lightning, or whether he hated him on sight.

There was a pain behind the man’s eyes, but that could’ve been from anything, Lightning thought. He was surely old enough to have conflicted feelings about getting into a relationship, or being attracted to a younger man, and even though Lightning had never met any queer people above 35, that was more to do with the AIDS crisis and society than it did with any actual proportion of queer people within society. He ultimately knew that this man had to have seen some shit. Nobody looks that pained in a position of power without horrors. Lightning had become very good at reading people since he left home, he needed to.

“Throw him out of here, Sheriff.” Well that answered that

“I want him out of my courtroom, I want him out of my town. Case dismissed.” The gavel banged down onto its block with a force that shook Lightning to his core. Bad memories, there.

“Yes!” Lightning exclaimed. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Beside im Mater chimed in, “boy, I'm purty good at this lawyerin' stuff.” Lightning supposed he was.

The relief he felt came crashing down with the other foot. The door opened and a woman walked in, blonde, expensive sunglasses up top on her head, and a blue ensemble. If it were a pink dress instead, Lightning would say she looked almost identical to Elle Woods. Still couldn’t believe he’d been forced to go to that movie with Mack, the old romcom lover. The pretty, underestimated lawyer vibe was clearly a real-life aesthetic, then. Not just in movies.

“Sorry I’m late, Your Honour!”

See, here’s where the bisexuality comes in handy. While Doc was breathtaking, it was quite easy for Lightning to admire this woman as well. He didn’t tend to do women like that, but that wasn’t a rule so much as a guideline to avoid creepy fans.

He concluded that she must be from his attorney’s office.

“Hey, thanks for comin', but we're all set,” Lightning purred, laying on that charm thick, “He's letting me go.”

“He's letting you go?” She seemed like couldn’t believe what she was hearing. To be honest, Lightning wasn’t sure if he believed it either. His plan wasn’t working, and he felt worse that he did before. In too deep, though.

“Yeah, your job's pretty easy today. All you have to do now is stand there and let me look at you.” Okay, that might’ve been a bit too much, but he’s landed here now and it’s not like him to back down.

“Listen, I'm gonna cut to the chase. Me, you, dinner. Pi-cha-kow!”

“What the...?” she looked him up and down, and while Lightning usually enjoyed being checked out, he didn’t when it was so judgemental. There’s only so much you can do to hide your discomfort with your body, “Oh, please stop making that face, it’s like you’re constipated.”

“I know. The charm must be getting to ya. You seem confused. I create feelings in others that they themselves don't understand.” That line was shit, and Lightning felt ashamed he was even trying anymore. He peaked up at Doc and this confident persona was definitely making the ‘the hottest man on the planet hates me and will never give me a chance, not that I deserve it’ problem way worse.

“Agh!” her face mirrored someone at the backend of a skunk, “Stop.” She deadpanned.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Did I scare you?”

“Well, little bit, but I'll be all right.” Mater shoved himself onto Lightning’s shoulder, joining in the conversation. On one hand, it was annoying, but on the other, he was glad that his embarrassing attempt to flirt with a gorgeous woman was over and he could relax.

“Ok. I'm gonna go talk to the judge.” The tone was almost condescending, as if she was finished entertaining a child and wanted to leave the conversation. Lightning didn’t like it, and he buried the feeling as deep as it would go. Pretending to be a confident playboy was the only thing keeping him sane.

“Do what you gotta do, baby. But listen. Be careful. Folks around here are not firing on all cylinders, if you know what I mean. Ka-ching!” He chucked her a wink and hoped that it landed. Mater was over by the window playing with a handball.

“Ah, I'll keep that in mind. Hey there, Mater.” She turned to the man standing on top of him, smiling for the first time since entering the room.

“Howdy, Sally.” Mater replied heartily.

“Hi, folks!” She addressed the room at large.

“Good morning!” Someone shouted amongst the mix of responses from the townspeople.

“You know her?” Lightning turned to ask Mater.

“She's the town attorney and my fiancée.” The tone of his voice was joking, but McQueen wasn’t sure if he eas speaking in earnest or not.

“What?” Lightning was very confused.

“Nah, I'm just kiddin'. She just likes me for my body.” Lightning breathed out, relaxing. The backup plan was still in place. He felt horrible calling a woman a backup plan but since he’d already sown the seeds, so he might as well reap the rewards. The persona stayed intact, even as his hopes of freedom and Doc faded before his eyes.

Sally looked up to the bench, and with little nod of acknowledgement from Doc, she stalked up to the bench. She placed her arm on top of it, which Lightning wasn’t sure was allowed, and looked up at Doc, smiling brightly.

“You look great. You do something different with your hair? Those sideburns are looking thick today.” She was really laying it on thick, clearly wanting something, and Lightning was just glad it wasn’t him making a fool of himself anymore. Lightning didn’t think they knew he could hear them, and he was sure any other person wouldn’t have. His teen years had made him hyper-aware of his surroundings, thought, and it came in handy in times like these, wherein he could eavesdrop with ease where others could not.

“What do you want, Sally?” His expression was full of fondness for the woman, but he clearly didn’t want to deal with her legal prowess. Maybe she pulled everybody’s strings in town.

Sally sighed. “Come on, make this guy fix the road. The town needs this.” She tapped the bench with her hand before looking back at the townspeople in the room behind her.

“No. I know his type. Race car driver.” The phrase said with such disdain that Lightning was instantly infinitely more interested in him than before. What brought such dislike for NASCAR? Was it an ex? An old friend? The politics surrounding it? Lightning just wished the hatred he exhibited wasn’t directed at something that made up roughly 95% of Lightning’s personality and interests, pun intended.

“That's the last thing this town needs.” Doc looked down at Sally, clearly trying to send a much larger message in as few words as possible.

“Ok, I didn't want to have to do this but Doc, but you leave me no choice.” She turned away from the bench with a blue flourish and addressed the room.

“Fellow citizens, you're all aware of our town's proud history.” Her back straightened as she spoke of the town. This didn’t really make sense to Lightning; she had all the hallmarks of the typical LA lawyer. Maybe she was originally from here, but moved away. Or she’d moved here but kept all of the status symbols from her LA lawyering so she was taken seriously as a lawyer. Did they at least pay her well, out here?

“Here she goes again.” Doc whispered. He clearly didn’t expect anybody to hear him, but his words sent a shiver through Lightning’s body. He looked up at the man up at the Judge’s bench, and his look was returned for the briefest of moments with a miniscule headshake. Doc clearly thought Lightning wanted something from him, when in all reality he thought being able to look at the man was enough. Lightning decided to shove any remarks he could have had about Doc agreeing with him down as far as they could go.

There was an air of familiarity about the man that Lightning couldn’t quite place. There’s no way he could have seen him before, so maybe it was that ‘we met and it felt like we’d known each other our whole lives' feeling that old married couples always seem to say. McQueen doubted it, though. He felt like nobody ever looked at him with real interest, and since he never gave them the chance to know him, he suspected it would never happen.

“Radiator Springs, the glorious jewel strung on the necklace of Route 66, the mother road! It is our job and our pleasure to take care of the travellers on our stretch of that road.” This seemed to Lightning like a speech she’d rehearsed, and from the bored looks on the faces around him, was a speech they’d heard many a time before.

Lightning was pretty sure this was how he looked anytime someone had brought up NASCAR and the Piston Cup. The passion that oozes from a person when you talk about something you care about is unparalleled, Lightning had always thought. It was a very attractive quality; however, something Lightning wished wasn’t being weaponised against him.

“Travelers? What travellers?” The military one asked.

“Ignore him.” The hippie counterpart shouted in response.

“But how, I ask you, are we to care for those travellers if there is no road for them to drive on?” Sally asked as she ignored the outburst.

“Luigi, what do you have at your store?” Sally turned to Italian man number one. The man in the yellow shirt and brown pants, slightly taller than his blue clad counterpart.

“Tires.”

“And if no one can get to you?” This seemed to visibly distress the man. Luigi, Lightning reminded himself. If he was going to be stuck here, he was gonna remember their names.

“I won't sell any tires. I will lose everything!”

“Flo, what do you have at your store?” Sally turned to the woman with the vintage periwinkle dress and rollers still in her hair.

“I have gas.” Mater and Ramone, Lightning thought, were cackling at that, “Lotsa gas!” The boys were almost on the floor from the laughter. Lightning did not find it funny.

“Ok boys, stay with me.” They immediately shut it.

“And, Flo, what'll happen if no one can come to your station to buy gas?” She nudged the woman towards the right answer.

“I'll go outta business and we'll have to leave town.” That made sense. From all the tractors and cars around he supposed that this town used a lot of gas. It would be, regardless of his current predicament, a shame is this town fell into ruin.

“What's gonna happen to all of us if Flo leaves town and closes her station?”

“Without gas, we're done for!”  He heard in the sea of exclamations from the townsfolk “What?”

“So, don't you think the car responsible should fix our road?” She led the group.

“The only guy strong enough to fix that road is Big Al!” the old lady in the black Victorian garb exclaimed, for the first time since the session started. She didn’t look very aware, Lightning noticed as he turned around to follow the sound.

“Lizzie, Big Al left like, 15 years ago.” Ramone jested.

“Then why are you bringing him up, you lemon?” Ramone gave up and turned back to the front.

“Oh, he can do it. His car’s got the horsepower.” That may be true, but Lightning shouldn’t even have the 95 with him in the first place. And he wasn’t to keen on using his 800hp race car with no aircon in the blistering Arizona heat to patch up a road. He wasn’t even sure why that required his car.

“So, what do you want him to do?”

“Fix the road!” came the response from the town.

“Because we are a town worth fixing!”

The room cheered.

See, this is exactly the kind of thing Lightning didn’t like about the American justice system. It’s completely rigged. This whole time, Lightning’s not been able to say anything in his defence, and the sentencing’s not even been done by the Judge. Even though this was a small courtroom in Arizona, he knew that the problems with the justice system had roots farther back than any American would like to admit. The 13^th Amendment, for example, which outlawed slavery, but left it completely legal within the prison system. And qualified immunity, which basically allowed, and continues to allow, police officers, like the Sheriff, to kill, harm, and maim people and experience no repercussions for their actions, because they were ‘balancing the law and personal safety.’ Well, fuck that. Lightning wasn’t going to let this slide. The second he got out of here and got a phone, since he’d been sure his was destroyed, he’d be overturning this.

“Order in the court!” Doc shouted out to the room, clearly displeased with the outcome, as he banged the gavel down on its block, “seems like my mind has been changed for me.” Lightning was almost thankful that

“Yeah!” the room echoed together. Man, this town was really close, and that sure was reflected in their cohesion. Lightning wished he had something like that with people other than Mack. But, he supposed, one person was better than nothing, and the fame kind of made up for the general lack of people outside his racing team to talk to.

“No!” He exclaimed. It slipped out much louder than he’d anticipated.

“Nice ruling,” he heard shouted from the back of the room.

“Oh, I am so not taking you to dinner.” He tried to force a disdain but it wasn’t working. His heart wasn’t in it, and he didn’t want to take her anymore.

“That's Ok, Stickers. You can take Bessie.” He did not like that teasing tone.

“Man, you get to work with Bessie! I'd give my truck’s left two lug nuts for somethin' like that.” Mater exclaimed. Lightning wasn’t sure whether to be horrified at Bessie or whether it was good.

“Bessie? Who's Bessie?”

Oh man, he was not going to like this.

Chapter Text

Watching Mater tow the 95 out from the courthouse-slash-firehouse and onto the main road of Radiator Springs was the only highlight of Lightning’s morning. Mater asked him questions about everything in his life, from how he got into racing as a teenager to whether he actually knew anything about the car he drove. Since the car was, in face, not designed to be commercially towed, the whole process was a touch difficult. Lightning was just glad Doc had run off and left him with Mater, presumably to assist.

The welcome interest in him and his shiny racing life did nothing to quell the stress Lightning was feeling. The blazing Arizona heat, arid sun, and the completely weather inappropriate clothing Lightning was wearing had culminated in him having to excuse himself from the explanation from Mater about his towing adventured to change. Hoping for air conditioning, Lightning was sorely disappointed with the lack of such amenities once he’d escaped the beaming orange haze of outside.
Lightning walked out of the bathroom in a huff, flicking the burning-hot dirt under his shoes with each step.

Stuck in this town for however long it took him to fix the road. No end in sight? That’s ridiculous!

He needed to be in California as soon as possible to get a grip about the track. His team needed to see, and fix, his car. He needed to spend likely hours grovelling to his sponsors about how the one time they’d let him go with the 95 on the road to clear his head, he’d only gone and gotten both himself and the car lost in some ghost of a town.

Lightning liked to get there early for practice anyway. What some would describe as monotony of driving around in circles for hours helped him to sort out his thoughts, plan for the race, and avoid as many competitors as he could.

“Oi, Mister Racecar. How’d you like some of Flo’s fine cuisine? I’ve been told we should feed youngsters these days,” laughter startled Lightning out of his reverie as the sheriff had appeared behind him as he sat staring at the ground next to Mater.

He was ushered into Flo’s for lunch by the Sheriff and spent the entire walk out of his mind. Clearly, he was unwanted here, if they were only feeding him if they had to. Lightning tried in vain to ignore the shudder that crept up the small of his back at the memories. The total irony of the situation, and the depths of this fuckup, were not lost on him. All the work he’d put into becoming a NASCAR driver would probably be for nothing if he missed this race. His sponsors were okay, but if he had this one shot to win and become the best, catapulting him into the starlight, he would do everything he could to succeed in a heartbeat.

He couldn’t get his head around last night, though. The haziness and completely insane series of events that lead him here seemed something out of a movie. There was no way it was real, his car falling out of a moving trailer and Lightning barrelling toward a random town. If anyone had asked him before yesterday, he’d have said he would have been more likely to end up dead, al la the classic James Dean style, than wind up in Radiator Springs of all places. He’d never heard about this quaint little town before. Weird how these things end up, right?

Lightning found out Flo was lovely, at least when she wasn’t in a crowd of people yelling at him for ruining their livelihoods. Full of southern charm, she seemed the kind who wasn’t just nice for the social pressure, but someone who was kind of heart. She smiled, made small talk with the townsfolk, and even him, and she had an air to her that made Lightning mourn for his youth. These things were bittersweet if anything.

He ordered a salad, partly because he didn’t think he could stomach something heavy, what with the guilt of his actions, and the possibility of needing to talk to Doc about his next T shot. It was in three- no, two days, and the possibility of him needing to go into a bigger town, get the prescription if Doc would let him, and do it himself – without Mack to help him – weighed on his conscience. He had the biggest phobia of needles ever, and he didn’t like to let people know just how much that impacted his life. NASCAR was becoming more open, but he wasn’t about to announce himself as anything other than Lightning McQueen, playboy and talent.

The idle chatter of the diner was a calming presence in the scattered mind of Lightning. He spoke with Mater and the sheriff, who seemed to have taken up watch over him.

“I’ve told you already, the most I know about cars is how to drive them,” he insisted for probably the fifth time.

“Well, that’s just ridiculous. Everyone should at least know what the components are so they can tell what’s gone wrong. Didn’t your pa ever teach you how to change a tyre?” The sheriff, who lightning now knew was called John, prodded.

“He never had the chance, given he died before I was ten,” Lightning took a sip of the sweet tea in his cup.

“Sorry, son. If you’re here long enough, and Lord knows we hope you ain’t, you just might get a chance or two to learn.”

“Thanks.”

Finishing up his meal, he thanked Flo, and apologised for the mess. He knew she wouldn’t care about how sorry he was, the damage was done, but he was surprised by her response of ‘well thanks, sugar.’

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

The second he stepped out of Flo’s and onto the road he saw it. This must be the road paver he was about to spend an ungodly amount of time hooked up to. Bessie, he assumed. It towered over him, and even over Doc and Mater who were standing in front of it talking. There was a giant asphalt vat atop the monstrous machine, and bubbles of asphalt were popping up from the vat left and right. He gulped as he walked over, suddenly very nervous about the state of his car’s probably very expensive paint job.

Doc was leaning up against Bessie, still in his suit from the courthouse, but a little more dishevelled. Lightning surmised it was from getting Bessie all set up, if that was something the Judge/Doctor even did. It took everything in him not to freeze and just take a moment to stare at the man before him. Doc was gorgeous, and Lightning kind of wanted to curl up in his arms and fall asleep. No, not entertaining that thought. Though, he looked like he’d give good hugs, like he’d be safe. Light had hoped the moment of weakness earlier was just that, a moment, but it seemed that this was a genuine interest. Fuck.

“This here is Bessie, finest Road-Paving Machine ever built,” Doc proclaimed as he caught Lightning’s eyes. There was some glint of mischief in the older man, “I'm hereby sentencing you to community service. You're gonna fix the road under my supervision.”

“What? This place is crazy!”

“Hey,” Mater whispered in his ear, seemingly traversing the roughly 30-feet between him and Bessie and appearing out of thin air beside him, “I know this may be a bad time right now, but you owe me $32,000 in legal fees.”

Lightning couldn’t believe his ears, and every muscle in his body tensed at Mater’s sudden appearance. Even if Mater were being serious, two hours of court couldn’t possibly cost that much money. It wasn’t like he’d done any prep work for it, and he’d lost. No self-respecting lawyer not on retainer by his agent Harvey charged people who’d lost their case.

“What?” He whispered angrily in Mater’s ear.

Doc coughed and it pulled Lightning back to him. God, he was beautiful. Doc had this aura about his that was so calm, even when dealing with Lightning, and it threw him off. It was like he took all the energy buzzing around inside Lightning and bottled it within his smile. Lightning would’ve given anything to see that smile again. Most people, when interacting with him, tended to either be starstruck and fascinated by him, or completely overwhelmed. Lightning had gotten used to stepping on peoples’ toes lately, except for Mack.

But Doc didn’t do that, he acted like he’d never been or never would be phased by Lightning’s antics, and he couldn’t be more grateful. He wasn’t Lightning McQueen, the world’s fastest racing machine, he was that stupid boy who ruined this town. Everything about the older man, even his actions in his outright anger, were redeemable and wholly lovely to Lightning. It was like breathing the first full breath after coming up for air.

“So,” he said rather loudly, getting Lightning’s attention from where he’d zoned out, “we're gonna hitch you up to sweet Bessie, and you're gonna pull her nice.”
Doc stepped aside and gestured to where Mater had hooked up the 95 to the road-paving machine. His car looked so small like this, not at all like the world-class race car that she was.

“You've gotta be kidding me! I’m pulling her?” Lightning was outraged.

“No, kid. The 95 is.” Doc chuckled, as if that wasn’t the most ridiculous sentence he’d heard today. Lightning was stunned. Even his lack of thinking didn’t faze the man.

“Absolutely not.”

“You start there where the road begins.” Doc spoke over him as he walked out of the corner and onto the main road, gesturing for McQueen to follow, “you finish down there where the road ends.”

That smile was back. Lightning and Mater strolled over to see where Doc was pointing, and for the first time since his arrival late last night, he got a good look at the road ahead of him.

Lightning took a moment to take it in. It was a disaster. And he had done this? The idyllic town full of pastels against the backdrop of the hot Arizona skies was contrasted by the most destructive car crash result he had seen. The road had a giant gash winding down it, like an open wound, swerving from side to side. The road was raised a full foot on either side, covered the whole length of the town by rubble from tyres, asphalt, and bad decisions. It seemed no area of the road had been safe from destruction the previous night, with barbed wire fencing at the end of the town with the statue, a collapsed leaning tower of tyres, and a gradient of chucks of asphalt flaking off from the ground and up to the sky like tectonic plates right before a volcano erupts.

It was totally undrivable, and Lightning was never going to forgive himself for this. He appreciated a good road a little bit too much (and maybe that’s down to the whole NASCAR driver thing, but who’s counting?), and suddenly Doc’s attitude in the courthouse made perfect sense. He’d hate someone on sight for doing this to his home, no questions asked.

“Holy shoot!” Mater screamed in his ear. It seemed he did that a lot.

Lightning shook himself free of his self-loathing spiral, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! How long is this gonna take?”

See here; the whole ‘gotta get to California pronto to win the biggest race of his life’ problem.

“Well, fella does it right, should take him about 5-days.” Doc threw out casually.

“5-days? But I should be in California schmoozing Dinoco right now!”

“Then if I were you, I'd quit yapping and start working.”

“But I need to talk to you, medically,” he screamed at the retreating man.

“I’ll make you an appointment,” Doc turned and walked away, giving the pair a wave over his right shoulder. “Hook ‘em up, Mater.”

Lightning stood there, frozen, his mind racing. If he didn’t fully believe that Doc hated him with every fibre of his being, it was almost believable that he was flirting just then. His tone playful and his walk full of sass as he adjourned over to his clinic.

“Okay-dokey.” Mater walked over to the 95, took the parking boot off, and gestured for him to get in the car. He even opened the door for him, bowing towards Lightning’s feet in a dramatic attempt to add levity to the task.

Lightning very quickly saw his opportunity to run. Fuck being on good terms with Doc, that was just a contingency plan for when he had to stay here for almost a week. This was his only opportunity to get out of this hillbilly town in the middle of nowhere. If push came to shove, he could always come back to fix the road, after his race, and in a different car.

He walked over to his car quickly, sat down and chucked it in first as fast as possible and took off with all the NASCAR expertise he had. As he drove away, he saw Mater talking, but what he didn’t see was Doc turning around to follow the commotion. Zero to sixty in five second had never felt so good.

He stuck an arm out the side of the car, and shouted with his whole chest, “FREEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!”

He drove past a sign which read, ‘leaving so soon?’ and he chuckled to himself, “Not soon enough, baby.”

He shifted up so the car would coast at a reasonable speed, switched the wheel to his right hand, and stuck his torso out of the side of the car. Admittedly, reaching the accelerator while basically standing up was more difficult than he had anticipated. He’d never done it before, but something about the wind on his face amidst the Arizonan heat felt like freedom calling to him.

“Whoo hoo!” he shouted as loud as his lungs could push out the air, “Goodbye radiator Springs, and goodbye Bessie. California here I come!”

As his mind drifted to the race, he began to reflect on the racing world. It had always, at least to Lightning and in spite of his best wishes, hopes and dreams, felt like it was crushing him from all directions. It was stifling, even as the main love of Lightning’s life. When he was at the track, he had one goal which he pursued with a single-minded focus that he lacked in any other aspect of his life. His whole job was to drive in the best circle he could as fast as possible against 42 other competitors. He loved the racing, but he didn’t love the environment, the people.

Constantly having to hide who he was and to a lesser extent where he came from was wearing him down. His agent had one idea of who he should be, his crew chief another. Hell, even Mack, who had stood by him all these years, had this picture of Lightning McQueen that he wasn’t. He had to hide half of his life in interviews, could never talk about the issues that he cared about and his values, and he knew that that was only partly due to the world he found himself in.

No matter the hours he put into practice, how well he analysed every race he ever saw, how much of himself he chipped away for racing over the years of his training, he could never be good enough. A part of him, no matter how small, would always feel stifled by everyone’s expectations. So maybe it wasn’t crazy that the possibility of having no expectations placed on him while he drove to California was exciting.

“Feel that wind,” he could peel his hair being pushed back, his face battered by the wind as he yelled, “yes!”

Still, the irony of finally feeling free driving his racecar down a stretch of highway, an action not entirely removed from his day job, was not lost on Lightning. Pulling himself back in the car, he let himself relax; perhaps for the first time in days, perhaps in years. As he tore down Route 66 – the mother road, as Sally had called it – he felt the weight of a thousand suns depress off of his shoulders, and for the first time, a keen sense of calm overtook him.

He looked over at the horizon, the rolling desert hills and valleys which laid before him. The cloudless blue sky contrasted the endless miles of warm tones before him. Reds, oranges, and tans were ever present as far as he could see. He drove over the smallest bridge and saw how greenery surrounded the river, albeit insignificant in the sheer mass of desert, with bushed and grasses a welcome difference. Roaring, tall mountains and the largest rocks Lightning had ever seen were splattered about the landscape, weaving in and out of the hills with the road. Cacti propped themselves up wherever there was sun, and sticks and small animals seemed to be wherever there was shade.

It was beautiful.

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

Oh.

Oh, no.

The car was spluttering and decelerating without Lightning’s consent. It seemed that he had gotten so caught up in his escape that he hadn’t even looked at a map. He had no idea where the Interstate was, which direction he was going, or how to fix the situation.

Luckily, the universe had other plans, as he felt his car start to jerk, spluttering and leaping forward as he found himself running out of gas.

“No, no, no, no!” He found himself banging the steering wheel as he pressed the brake, “Outta gas? How can I be outta gas?”

He finally came to a stop just past another billboard. He turned the key back, took it out of the ignition, and sat back in his seat, hands over his face as the heat beamed down on him. What a joke.

Suddenly he heard a slow clapping and a laugh coming from the side of the car, and as his eyes followed the sound, he saw the Sheriffs car, a shiny light blue Porsche, and the Sheriff and Sally leaning against their bonnets.

“Boy, we ain't as dumb as you think we are.” The Sheriff laughed.

Lightning spluttered, unable to grasp the mortal embarrassment of the situation in front of him, “But, but, but how did...? How did--? You--?” He was out of breath and frantically looking between Sally and the Sheriff. Had they been standing behind this sign this whole time?

“We siphoned your gas while you were passed out,” Sally answered him, clearly amused by what an utter failure he was turning out to be, “Ka-chow.”

Lightning accepted his fate as the pair dragged him into the police car and hauled his ass back into town with the promises that Mater would collect the 95 and bring it back. He reflected even more in that drive back.

Right well, since he was going to be stuck here indefinitely – they surely weren’t going to let him out of their sight after his escape act – he made the decision that, whatever it took, he would leave here on good terms with Doc. He needed to. The thought of leaving behind the only person he’d met in the last 10 years, aside from Mack and Mater (he wasn’t sure if they counted), who didn’t care who he was and treated him based on him actions was horrible. Like how he ruined the town, that was also horrible.

Good terms with Doc, he could do that.

With a newfound determination to get it done, and to prove to them that he was more than a pretty face, Lightning set to work.