Chapter Text
Lightning McQueen was a one-man team.
Sure, he may have added a few new essential personnel to his crew, but that didn’t change the fact he worked alone and didn’t need anyone.
His first season with Doc as his crew chief has just begun. Their first race had gone well, earning a number one seed and astounding the country with his entrance back into the spotlight. Doc organized his pit to work perfectly together and hardly anything hindered them anymore.
Even after all the lengths his team had gone through in order to create a formidable force, Lightning was still reluctant to become fully dependent, however, and it was slowly driving each of his friends insane.
“Guido, are you sure that tire doesn’t have a leak?” He frets, pacing around the mechanic. “It looks sort of deflated.”
Luigi, carrying a toolbox of wrenches and lug nuts, paused at Guido’s side as he responded quickly in italian.
“He said it’s fine and-“ Luigi’s eyebrows knit tightly. “I cannot say that to him! He is Lightning McQueen!”
Guido casts them both a potent side-eye, and shuffles past them, grumbling under his breath.
Lightning runs an awkward hand through his hair. “Okay, if he’s sure.”
With a scoff, Luigi waves him off. “Guido is always sure about tires. Trust me.” He finally saunters off towards pit lane, mingling with Sarge as they both organize the tools he supplied.
Later, Fillmore is replacing a can of fuel when Lightning prepares to get into the ninety-five for his practice laps. He takes notice immediately, and pauses all his actions at once. “What’s wrong?”
Fillmore shrugs, pointing at a tainted puddle near the canisters. “There was a leak, man. Good thing we brought extra.”
Lightning exhales loudly, and Doc takes heed of this from his designated spot. “Okay, will it be enough?”
Laughing, Fillmore slugs him on the shoulder. “You don’t even use a quarter of this barrel! And we brought three!”
Slightly more relieved, he nods, although doesn’t add anything else before he returns to his car. Lightning casts one last observant scan of the area, before he pulls out of the pits to experiment on the track.
With the kid gone, Doc climbs down from his chair and sidles up alongside Fillmore. “Does that ever bug you?”
Looking up and down at the spill, Fillmore purses his lips. “No, because my natural fuel gets reunited with the-“
“Not that,” Doc interrupts. “That he’s always in your business.”
“No,” Fillmore repeats. “It’s his race. He’s allowed to be a control freak.”
Clearing his throat from behind them, Sarge inserts himself into the conversation. “He’s not just a control freak. He’s an A-grade freak. He’s getting on my nerves.”
Fillmore frowns. “That’s not fair.”
Sarge turns to him. “You would know a lot about fairness, wouldn’t you hippie?” He puts his hands on his hips. “Well, life’s not fair. He needs to get over himself.”
Doc whistles as he backs away, not entirely sure how to sooth the tensions between the quarrelsome pair. “The race starts in ten,” he informs them bleakly, and returns to his position.
The two friends continue to bicker as he drowns out the noise with his headset. Clearing his throat, he toggles the mic. “Hey, kid. Can you hear me alright?”
Lightning replies instantly. “Yeah, it’s a little staticky though. Are we still playing patiently for this race?”
Doc hums. “You got it, son. I’ll try to fix the line issue.” He says it carefully, almost framed as a question, to confirm if his suspicions were true.
“No need,” Lightning answers. “It’ll be fine. Don’t want it to break anymore.”
That was the confirmation he was waiting for. Throughout the day, he was slowly watching Lightning’s descent into madness as tiny things out of his control went south. He didn’t want to believe it at first, as Lightning was relatively put together and composed, but Sarge had opened his eyes.
“We have back-ups for a reason,” Doc fiddles with the audio board, ignoring his revelation for the time being. “You shouldn’t race with white noise in your ear.”
Lightning’s tone becomes noticeably less confident. “If you’re sure,” he mumbles, and signs off with an audible click.
“Seeeee…” Sarge draws out beside him, and Doc startles slightly at his voice. “Con-trol freak.”
Doc shoves him lightly out of his space. “I’ll talk to him.” He refrains from accepting the fact that Sarge was right, because chances were, he’d never let anyone live it down.
“Damn right,” he hears him muttering as he joins Fillmore. Fillmore looks subdued for now, but he makes sly remarks throughout the race that send Sarge into a tizzy.
By the second pit stop, things fall apart. It could have been worse, but things were sloppy, leaving Lightning in the back of the line with a large amount of space to take back. Guido dropped a drill, Luigi got slugged by a tire, Sarge tripped on the car, and Doc’s headphones broke down the middle.
Lightning was not pleased.
“I’m so far behind now,” he vents breathily, “I should have just trusted my gut. I didn’t need a pit stop. Maybe I should have checked the-“
Doc coughs into the line. Lightning pauses. “Doc? Are you even listening?”
“Are you even driving?” Doc retorts, which seems to snap the kid’s head back on right. “We’ve got a great comeback ahead if you even want top ten. It’ll take a miracle for third.”
If he’s anything, Lightning is efficient. He’s actually quite organized on the trac, and strategizes in a way that his brain comprehends. Doc had asked him back in the day if he had a few methods to racing, to which Lightning replied, “On the fly, yeah.”
So he tears down the track and narrowly nabs a fourth place. It’s not terrible, in fact, it keeps him in the first seed for the season so far, but it isn’t up to Lightning’s nearly impossible standards.
Luigi holds a bag of ice to his head as Lightning returns to the pit. He’s not a complete asshole, luckily, as he apologizes for the mess and checks to make sure everyone made it out all right. Luigi complains about the headache, but besides that, everyone was fine.
Doc does not get that same luck, though. The drive home was nothing short of torture. Lightning goes on and on and on about the pit stop, and Doc considers leaping out of the trailer and starting a new life at the next middle-of-nowhere town he stumbles upon.
Mack does his best to listen, but with his focus fixed on the road, it's Doc who’s forced to undertake the brunt of the kid’s anguish. The conversation had slowly turned into preparation for the next race.
Lightning slumps against the window of Mack’s cab. “Maybe I’ll go it alone. I’ll need Guido, but besides that…” he hums in irritation.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, bucko,” Mack comments helpfully. “It’s the second race of the season! There’s bound to be mistakes.”
Doc nods. “Fourth is not bad, especially after that upset. It was an honest mistake. Next time, everyone will have their own jobs and things will run smoothly.”
Lightning’s breath fogs against the glass. “As long as I check them.”
“No,” Doc crosses his arms sternly. “You need to trust your pit.”
This does not go over any way he thought it would.
“I can’t!” Lightning gasps, turning around to face him in the back seat. “Don’t you get it? I can’t… I can’t trust anyone!”
Mack looks at Doc in the rear view with a shrug.
He raises his voice further. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I can’t afford to make another mistake,” he chokes out. “I can’t let someone ruin everything I’ve dreamed of!”
Doc wonders if he’s imagined the again he hears after that.
Lightning drops his gaze to the center console. “I…can’t.
“If I don’t make sure everything is up to standards, then what happened today will happen again.” He looks like he wants to say more, but as his voice wavers uncertainly, he whips back around and slouches in the seat.
Carefully, almost as if reaching into a tiger’s cage, Mack turns the knob on the radio. Doc blinks astoundedly in the kids direction. This was precisely what they had trained against.
Two weeks they had trained their pit stops to perfection. Blindfolding each member, driving together on the same track- you name it, Doc had tried it. Only on the last day did they seem entirely centered and focused, and he hoped that feeling would stick.
Apparently, it wouldn’t.
The cab falls entirely silent except for the faint music playing over the speakers. Tediously, Doc pulls out his phone and types a few things out.
Doc: Have you talked to Lightning recently? He’s all out of sorts.
Sally: what about?
Doc: Freaked out over a sloppy pit stop. Blew up in the car. Mack turned the radio on.
Sally: that’s how you know it’s serious
Sally: I can try to talk to him. but he’s been distant with me too. was hoping you could talk some sense into him.
Doc: Maybe he just needs some time. I think he still has some reservations about the whole family thing.
Sally: he’ll come around.
-
Careful steps and swift strides take him down the hallway, fingers brushing against the wall as he ducks from doorway to doorway. A faint, incandescent candle flickers overhead, and the curtains by the window billow with the wind.
Monty holds his breath as he surveys the dorm’s sitting room. To his satisfaction, the hall monitor was nowhere to be found. He picks up the pace, pausing at the third room on the left and raises his knuckles up to the wood.
Knock. He drums his fingers against it, a hollow, quiet sound. Knock.
Footsteps glide up on the other side, and the doorknob turns slowly. A pale face appears, illuminated by the moonlight streaming past him, and he unhooks the latch.
Monty slips into the room, listening to the soft click behind him. The figure sidles up beside him with a chuckle. “You don’t have to be so secretive.”
Facing him with a shared laugh, Monty shrugs. “You’re such a buzzkill, Carl. You should let loose.”
Carl rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll keep that in mind.” He stares at him strangely, face washed over with passing emotions. “Why are you here?”
“Can’t a guy see his friend?” Monty retorts, and crosses the room to pluck a textbook off the shelf. “I need this for my exam tomorrow. You took it already, yeah?”
The boy brushes black hair out of his eyes as he reads the title of the book. Suspension for Dummies. “Yeah. It’s easy. Just bring that back.”
Monty sits down on the edge of Carl’s bed, and picks through the pages absently. “I never did understand why there was a lug nut chapter.”
The mattress sinks beside him as Carl joins him. “You’re in big trouble, then,” he replies with a smirk.
Turning with a frown, Monty prods him in the shoulder. “Hey! What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, you know,” Carl drones on. “Section two had you name all types of ‘em. You got your hex nut, your tuner nut…”
“Stop,” Monty pushes him. “You’re joking.”
Carl can't withhold the smile behind his cheeks. “Okay, fine. I am. You just have to know about the mag type.”
Monty groans, and falls backwards onto the bed, the book leaving his hands and sliding onto the floor. Carl stares at him again, chewing on his lip.
“You’ll do fine,” Carl finally says, resting his hands on his lap. Monty hums appreciatively, and keeps his gaze skipping around the room until it finally lands on Carl.
There's a strangeness Monty can’t quite place. As the night grows outside, Carl still doesn’t stop looking at him weirdly. “Is there something on my face?”
Laughing slightly, Carl shakes his head. “No, no… Not that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
Monty sits up, squinting at him. “You’re acting weird. Why?”
“It’s sort of embarrassing,” Carl finally looks at the ground, swiping at the carpet with his feet. Monty scoots a little closer, and his thigh brushes up against Carl’s.
“‘Prolly not,” Monty leans against his shoulder, peering up at him innocently. Carl’s face turns bright red. He doesn’t notice, just yawning as he lazily slumps against his friend.
Carl tries to shrug him off, but Monty stays put. “I’m not moving till you tell me!” He sings, crossing his arms.
Carefully, Carl frees his arms from his sides and grabs Monty’s shoulders. Now facing Carl with that look on his face, Monty feels a warmth grow behind his cheeks. “Carl?”
Monty nervously looks down at his hands, giddy butterflies betraying him as they swirl relentlessly. He feels sick, suddenly, but his chest refuses to heave and air escapes his fleeting breath.
“I’ve never been like this before,” Carl says in a soft voice, and Monty uses the last of his strength to meet his gaze.
“Been like what?” Monty replies, focused intently on the way his mouth moves, the way his fingertips trace slowly, slowly, up to his face. Shivers run down his back and Carl giggles. Everything feels so electrified, even breathing brings a sting to his lungs.
Carl leans forward, gently cupping his chin and pulling him in. “About to kiss someone,” he mutters, and Monty feels his heart pack up and leave the room. It hammers in his chest and before he knows it, his eyes are closed and Carl’s lips are against his, and it’s all so much and so little that it's over and his world is gone.
“What…” Monty finds himself stammering, “what was that for?”
“I like you,” Carl states plainly, but searches his face for discomfort. “Is that okay?”
Laughing, still somewhat of a flustered mess, Monty blushes. “Do you kiss all your friends?”
“No,” Carl drops his hands to Monty’s palms, “just the ones who sneak into my dorm.”
Monty smiles. “Well, surely I have a lot of competition.”
“You do,” his friend traces shapes across his wrist, “on the race track.”
“Who might that be?”
Carl leans forward and places a tiny kiss on his lips despite the fact that their smiles do not fade. “Me. Don’t think this changes anything,” he warns playfully as he draws back. “I’m still your rival.”
Gazing at him with a new sense of fondness, Monty replies, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
-
Sally was beginning to think that being a lawyer in California was far easier than staying here.
Lightning had gotten out of the truck a few hours ago, stormed into the Cozy Cone, slammed the door, and cut out all outside contact. No matter what she tried, he refused to talk, and had only recently left in the ninety-five, speeding down the interstate.
Doc sipped a glass of whiskey with Sheriff across from her, casually exchanging words while she anxiously peered out of the diner at the dully lit road. She prayed to catch sight of illuminated headlights, but for ages, no such thing occurred.
Sheriff looks over his cup at Sally. “He’s an adult, Sally,” he points the cup in the road’s direction. “He’s fine.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t care what he is, when someone storms off I tend to assume the worst,” she snaps. Immediately, her face softens and looks apologetically back at the sheriff. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m just worried.”
Doc pats her hand across the table. “It’s okay to be worried, but you know Lightning. He’s got a stubborn head. He can take care of himself.”
“I guess you’re right,” she mumbles, but can’t get herself to believe it. “I’m going to the Butte.”
“The Butte?” Sheriff questions.
Doc shrugs. “He likes to camp out there with Mater, sometimes by himself. It’s a good bet.”
Taking that as permission, Sally tips her head and slips past them, jogging to her Porsche. She fits the keys in the ignition, turns up the radio, and shoots down the road.
She finds him on the roof of his car, swinging his legs absently against the door. Sally clambers up beside him, wrapping her jacket around herself as he continues staring off into space. Tentatively, she offers him a hand, to which he takes with a smile.
“Are you okay?” Sally asked quietly.
He hums. “Not really. I feel just… bad.”
She scoots over next to him, which he allows for once. Sally constantly yearned for the early days, before Doc had begun to train him. Those first few weeks had been heavenly- where she was, Lightning was, and no matter what she wanted to do, he was at her side. But the distance grew the closer the racing season got.
It would be foolish to have not expected that, but to that extent she wasn’t adequately prepared. Almost like a switch, he insisted on distance; Small things, like spending the day with Mater, and sometimes large things, like telling her to stay home for his races.
Anyone in their right mind would be suspicious, but Sally was just worried. She knew who he had been before Radiator Springs- prestigious, snotty, and entitled- and was afraid he had fallen back into old habits.
That beautiful, kind soul she had unraveled under a blinking yellow light had been bundled back up on the track, rolling further and further until she couldn’t even see what she had started with.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she begins, disguising the hope in her voice with empathy, “but I think it would really help you let go of it.”
He inhales sharply. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “But what matters is how you feel. If it affects you to this day, it does matter, whether you want it to or not,” Sally rubs his back. “It’s okay to share the burden sometimes.”
Lightning nods. “You’re right, Sally.” Pausing, he turns to look at her. “I’m sorry about how much of a douchebag I’ve been.”
She laughs. “Tell that to Doc. He’s sipping his life away on some whiskey with Sheriff.”
His face morphs into concern. “Oh no.”
Sally nods. “Uh huh. The faster you tell me what's going on, the faster we can stop freezing our asses off out here.” Her tone is light as always. If he didn’t want to tell her, she would have backed off. Thankfully, Lightning is inclined to inform her.
“It’s not even that cold-” he begins to complain, but Sally glares at him. Clearing his throat, and revisiting memories that only he held the key to, he starts to talk.
-
Green grass blades bend beneath dirty shoes, the faint roaring of a car engine echoing around the track. Pavement grows cold as the sun sets, but even the cold cannot reach a heart of gold.
Carl flies past him, shooting over the line and slowing to a stop in their makeshift pit. Monty clicks the timer as he does, nodding pleasantly. “A little over ten minutes. A new best,” he adds encouragingly.
Climbing out of his stock car, Carl takes the timer in his hands, brushing his fingertips against Monty’s. His face pitches a frown. “It’s still not fast enough. You’ve gotten yours down to nearly nine.”
Monty covers his view of the timer with his palm. “Stop comparing times. Anything can happen. These are still great times. Bobby’s barely hitting twelve!”
Carl shrugs, staring at the ground. “It just feels like I’m fighting for one of four spots, these days.”
“What do you mean?” Carefully, everything he did with Carl was careful, he trailed his fingers up to his shoulder, making him meet his gaze.
He makes a small, pitiful laugh. “Monty. You’re getting one of the spots. There’s no doubt.”
“And so are you,” he says firmly. “You’re going to do great tomorrow.”
Carl grabs his wrist and tugs him over towards the shadow his car had created, and beckons him to sit in the grass. Monty slouches down, looping his arms around his knees and eyeing Carl strangely. “Everyone believes in you.” A pause. “I believe in you.”
The young racer sighs. “I know. It’s just… this is the future. This is the real world. I can’t let it go.”
“Of course,” Monty nods. “But I promise you, Carl, this is your race to win. We’ll be out of here with a sponsorship in no time!”
Carl tilts his head, almost nervous of all things, as he picks his words. “What’ll happen if you- we- don’t get it?”
“Then we carry on and keep trying,” he assures him. “This isn’t the end of anything. If it's the beginning, so be it.”
Threading his fingers with Monty’s, Carl leans on his shoulder with another lengthy exhale. “Okay.”
“Yeah,” he repeats, “okay.”
When Carl kisses him goodbye that night, it feels like something more. It feels like a parting dream. It feels like falling from a nightmare, but the plummet ever comes to an end.
-
“Believe it or not, I had friends at one point,” Lightning drums his fingers on the roof of the ninety-five. “A really good one.”
Sally chuckles. “Here I was under the impression you just hated everyone.”
“Oh, I do,” he corrects. “But there was a point where I didn’t really mind the company.”
She falls quiet.
“He was a lot like me. Loved racing, had the passion, and had the drive just like me. He knew how great he was and what he needed to do to get that chance to show the world just that. In another timeline, I’m sure I’m just like him.”
“What was his name?”
Lightning meets her searching look, seeing a caring fondness reflected back at him. It was a true, genuine thing, filled with pride and respect and love. He expects it to make him sick, but instead, his heart does a cartwheel.
Sally raises an eyebrow, and he quickly snaps out of his daze. “It was Carl. With a C.”
“Thank god you cleared that up,” Sally muses. “If he was so great, what happened?”
He leans back on his palms, kicking his feet. “He got his dream.”
She frowns, inviting him to continue. “He got his dream by shattering mine in the process.”
-
Monty sprang out of bed in a hustle, hastily tossing on his track suit and nabbing his keys and racing out the door. He didn’t even wait for the needle to drop on his speedometer, and just took his stock car full speed to the track.
Carl was waiting on the edge of the pits, his arms crossed, biting his lip nervously. His gaze lit up when he saw him, but darkened almost immediately. Only in his nightmares could Monty ever notice that look, but caught up in adrenaline, he shrugged it off.
“Monty! Where have you been?” Carl called.
Scratching the back of his neck, and patting down his clothes, Monty laughs. “I overslept a bit,” he admits, “but I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
Carl approaches him, looking him up and down with a strange look behind glassy eyes. Looking back on it, Lightning supposes it was the last time he ever saw Lightning as more than an obstacle.
The unmarked ninety-five ran behind him, and Monty patted the hood as Carl spied something amiss. “Whoa, your rear left tire looks loose,” he observes as Monty prepares himself for the sprint. “Let’s get those lug nuts tightened.”
He briefly remembers the first time he kissed Carl then, speaking of silly ol’ lugnuts and the rather annoying suspension quiz. It brings a warm memory to sun kissed cheeks, and he flushes as Carl brushes past him to fetch a pittie.
As he finishes his final preparations, Carl waves off the pitties and inspects the wheel. “Thank god I noticed, Monty,” he begins, chuckling quietly. “But that’s what friends are for, right?”
Monty turned and looked at him strangely. Carl had been adamant about their status- not a couple, but not only friends, so hearing that word come out of his mouth nearly drained the color from his face.
However, as their fellow classmates crowded around, pushing through to get to their cars, Monty let it go. “I can’t thank you enough, Carl,” and he genuinely means it. The whole academy had been a little bit better with his friend by his side, and Monty wouldn't trade it for the world.
Even if this- their sponsorships- were the end.
The crowd dissipates as the teachers instruct everyone to their cars. Carl pauses in front of him, a sly smirk on his face as his confidence returns, and it makes Monty’s heart hammer once again. “Good luck,” Monty teases, “you’ll need it.”
He scoffs. “As if. It’ll be you who owes me a victory kiss after this,” Carl retorts. But it sounds forced, almost gritting his teeth as Carl finally retreats back to his own stock car.
From three rows back on the track, he sees Carl through his rearview mirror as he winks at him. Monty rolls his eyes, revs his engine, and prepares to race.
Only, there’s something amiss.
The green flag drops, and the dust flies into the air and he feels like he’s flying but…
He’s barely moving. His car hobbles along slowly, and a glance behind him confirms his suspicions- his rear left tire was bouncing away.
“Sorry, pal!” Carl shouts as he rolls past, “It’s every racer for himself today, and I needed to put the odds in my favor!” Cold, and now heartless, Monty barely recognizes the voice that calls to him.
Shame and embarrassment flood his features as he struggles to get his car off the track. There’s no time to consider Carl’s heinous plan as the cars race around the track. All he can do is move.
The pitties gather around him as he ditches the car in the pit, unable to ward against the tears that threaten to overwhelm his vision. He spots Carl’s pit crew with an apologetic expression on their faces, only it wasn’t even close to enough as Monty just shakes his head in disbelief.
He ducks his way out of the track, avoiding classmates and teachers, until he’s finally able to beeline it to his room.
Mortification still stains his face in runny tear tracks. He could barely comprehend it- his own… Partner? Friend?- had betrayed him in the most awaited moment of his life. Ripped away from him was his sponsorship, his dreams, his confidence.
But yet, it was losing Carl that seemed to hit the hardest now.
Monty buries his face in his hands and sobs. He gives himself this, promises himself he’ll never be weak again, just so he can cry now. He promises that trust will not be something anyone will ever gain from him. That was the first, and last time, that will ever happen to him.
It’s hunger that drives him to the dining hall that night, but he finds it quickly not worth it as he spots Carl in the common hall as he laughs with the other racers. Shreds of the conversation drift down the corridor- “It’s a real shame what happened to Monty,” “Have you seen him around?” “That sponsor sounds crazy, dude,”- and it makes him positively sick.
He hears the group break off, and he whips around to hunker back into his dorm. He fumbles with the keys for a second, and is a second late to sweep into the safe expanse of his room.
Monty feels Carl’s burning gaze on him as he finally steps inside.
The last time he sees Carl, he’s packing up the last of his dorm. He walks to Monty's door, and hesitates. Monty watches the shadow underneath the threshold, waiting with baited breath for a knock that he’s not even sure he’ll answer.
Instead, the footsteps depart, leaving only a book to signify they were ever there in the first place.
-
Sally is hugging him now, and he’s unaware of the wetness that gathers in his eyes. She draws back for a second, tilting his chin to face her. “I’m so sorry.”
Lightning just shrugs, not trusting himself to speak. She kisses him softly, murmuring some reassurances against his lips.
They sit there for a while, Sally maintaining her stable presence while Lightning feels the spiral in his chest continue to spin.
He curses himself internally for his weakness. He can only count three times now that he’s ever been so vulnerable, and he finds himself hating it less every time. Sally rubs his shoulders and back, watching him closely as he chews on his lip.
“I have that book,” he finally says, and slowly slides off the roof of the car. He offers Sally a hand to get down, which she takes gratefully. “Suspension for Dummies. I never opened it.”
Sally squeezes his hand. “Maybe if you did, you might find closure.”
Lightning hadn’t even realized that closure was something he was searching for, but it dawned on him slowly. He couldn’t trust his pit if his past still haunted him. Hell, he didn’t even let Sally come to his races out of fear of Carl’s betrayal.
Maybe, just maybe, it was time to move on after all.
“Yeah,” he smiles sadly. “Maybe.”
-
Lightning situates himself on the stool in Doc’s garage. The Hornet sits idle behind him, sunlight streaming through the dusty windows. On the workbench in front of him sits two items- a book, and an envelope.
Doc had seen him walk into the garage with both of those, and left him alone. It seemed the garage had become this strange symbol of nostalgia, or dealing with grief that had been long since unresolved.
He reaches for the envelope first, more willing to face the present than the past. The address in the corner was the Rust-Eze headquarters, but it was addressed to a Monty McQueen. Rusty had given it to Harv, who then gave it to Lightning with a telling gaze. Harv knew all about Carl’s betrayal, but not the depths of the turmoil it had caused in his heart.
Tearing the sleeve along its seam, he carefully withdrew a lined piece of paper. The handwriting was all too familiar, with looped l’s and arial font a’s. It brings his heart to a dead stop.
It was really beginning to dawn on him just how much Carl had affected him.
Lightning unfolds the letter, and with trembling fingers, starts to read.
Dear Monty,
I’m not sure what your reaction will be to this letter, and trust me, I’ve written it out a hundred different times and none of them were deserving of reaching you. It’s been a few years since I last saw you at the Academy, but I think a lifetime has passed between.
I don’t need to say what we both already know. The stunt I pulled at that race was immature, childish, and the last thing someone should ever do to someone they love. I regret it everyday. The hurt I caused is something I’ll never be able to amend, and I truly hope that you never experience something like that again.
There’s so much I want to apologize for, but so little words to say what I mean. The person I was back then was not anyone I was proud of. I wonder everyday how you ever found something redeemable in me- but I guess you always had that quality. No matter what, you found a rainbow in a thunderstorm.
I watch you on TV, you know. You’ve become the finest racer the world has ever seen, with a heart of gold and a true love for the sport. I’ve never seen you so happy. And the Hudson Hornet- WOW! How’d you land that one? He looks just as grumpy as we thought. Is he?
I didn’t get to say it back then, but I wish I had. Thank you. Thank you for everything you ever did for me, whether you meant to or not. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for showing me what it was like to be loved. I’m so sorry I ruined your dream. As much as I’m glad everything worked out for you, possibly better than it would have otherwise, there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of you.
Forgiveness is a beautiful gift. Don’t hand it off to anyone, Monty. I am the last person deserving of it. Sorry is not an excuse for what I’ve done, but I hope you understand my grief. You are the most wonderful person I have ever had the honor of meeting, and I’m positive that the family you found yourself in thinks the same.
Best wishes,
Carl
Lightning takes a deep, staggering breath as he sets the paper down. Carl had been thinking of him. For the amount of times that his memory haunted Lightning, his own had haunted Carl.
It was so much to comprehend that at the very moment he just wanted to sit. He reread the letter an unfathomable amount of times, and each one he felt a clench in his chest.
Carl didn’t deserve his forgiveness, but Lightning forgave him. He’d never forget the lesson he was taught, and he’d never see Carl the way he used to, but he would forgive him. Carl had been just a kid wanting to make it big. He knew better, of course, but power drives people to do unspeakable things.
Lightning knew that, because he had done it. He had trashed a small town, beriddled the occupants, and used every person he had met after Carl. The chase for fame was not victimless, and they both knew that very well.
He turns his attention to the textbook, and slowly opens it to the table of contents. There's nothing there to indicate where he’s looking for a note, or any evidence that this was Carl’s book, so he turns to the lug nut chapter.
As he flips to the page, a polaroid photocard flutters to the ground. Lightning picks it up, his expression morphing from confusion to fondness. It was a picture of them; Carl kissing the smile off his face while Lightning laughed over something he said. He can’t even remember the photo being taken, but that feeling only exemplifies as his focus drags back to the lug nut chapter.
Countless polaroids are tucked in each page, mostly candid photos that Carl took when he wasn’t paying attention, but a few of the academy, their friends, and their cars.
He cries again, and it’s okay this time that he can feel weak and vulnerable because Sally was right- it was closure. It was goodbye to a figure that prevented him from driving onwards.
Goodbye was okay for once, if it was goodbye to this.
-
There’s a strange tense air in the pits today as Sarge and Fillmore pause their current project to observe Lightning. He’s just come back from meeting with Rusty and Dusty, who made the trip out to watch this race.
Doc knows what everyone is thinking, and he’s surely hoping that Lightning’s time in his garage had been well spent.
He didn’t know everything about Lightning, and that was okay. If he had some things to deal with, power to him. Doc understood that feeling all too well. His past had suffocated him too many times to count, and he didn’t want that to happen to his own kid.
Guido crosses between Sarge and Lightning with his box of tools. Fillmore stares intently at Sarge, who in turn glares at Lightning as if just daring him to say something.
Fillmore and Doc sigh a heavy exhale of relief as Lightning simply continues on his way.
Sarge crosses his arms. “Lucky.”
Doc joins them with a hearty chuckle. “You’re dead set on his downfall?”
“No,” he answers gruffly. “I just can smell the control freak wafting off of him.”
“Yeah, sure, man,” Fillmore nudges him. “I think that's just the fumes from my-”
Doc sends him a pointed look. “Live television,” he warns, but sheds a smile anyway. The trio keeps an eye on Lightning as he picks his way through the pit, but Doc thinks their pit troubles are over for good.
In fact, he’s so sure of it for one simple reason…
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them work so hard before,” Sally comments as she sidles up beside Lightning. “Even Fillmore is doing something.”
Lightning laughs. “Everyone has their place here,” he gestures simply to his pit. “I trust them.”
Sally squeezes his hand. “I’m glad. I’m really, really glad,” she says.
When Sarge finds a long-lost wrench in Mack’s trailer, Lightning is perfectly fine with letting it go. As Guido and Luigi inspect the ninety-five for any disparities, he’s far away discussing with Doc. Even when Fillmore curses rather loudly, he barely even spares a glance.
Maybe it pains him just a little to be so carefree, but it's progress. If he ever plans to heal his past wounds, he’s got to trust his pit.
The race goes as smoothly as it can. Each pit stop moves fluidly without disaster, and Sally happily cheers him on from beside Doc.
He’s happy to report he crosses the finish line with all four tires, and returns to a pit full of people who would never dare to hurt him.
And at last, he’s finally ready to let go of his one-man-team status. He never really liked it anyway.
-
Carl wanders down his driveway as he absently picks through a few days worth of mail from his mailbox. He carelessly thumbs over magazines, coupons, and political ads before he stops in his tracks at a handwritten envelope.
The return address displays Radiator Springs in flowing cursive. The name below it reads Monty McQueen.
He can’t move fast enough into the house, ripping the letter open at his kitchen counter. It looks all too familiar, deja vu washing over him as he unfolds a lined paper. He’s seen this handwriting before, looking over at the desk beside him to cheat off his math answers.
Carl takes a seat, inhaling sharply as he reads.
Dear Carl,
I have to say, I was not expecting to see your name anywhere again (besides a jumbotron), but here I am, reading it on a return label. But I would be lying if I said it was a surprise- I’ve been thinking of you equally as much.
As much as I think I’ve moved on, your letter was the closure I needed. I haven’t been the same since the Academy. I’d probably benefit from listing out everything that's happened since, but you and I both don’t have time for that. We’re racers- We go fast for a living.
If not for your sabotage, I don’t think I would have met all the people I did. I wish you hadn’t ever hurt me that way, but everything worked out in the end. I know you said you didn’t want forgiveness, but I’m here to give it to you. I never had it in me to hate you, even as I saw you achieve the dream you robbed from me. But now we’ve both made it, and I think that's pretty cool.
I’ve attached copies of a few certain pictures to this letter. You might recognize them. You always were a photographer- so if the Piston Cup doesn’t work out for you, you should pursue photography.
Carl pauses to dig into the envelope, and true to his word, were a few identical matches to polaroids he had tucked into a textbook years ago. He never thought he would see them again, but Monty had given him back the memories that they’d shared.
He smiles at each and every one, until he realizes there's still more to the letter he hadn’t read.
I hope you’ve been well. Life is great here. I finally found a place I belonged in, and I hope the same for you. Come see me sometime at the next race. I’ll be at the Rust-Eze tent. I’d love for you to meet Doc.
(And yes, he is quite grumpy. Too grumpy for his own good. He has his moments, though.)
Your friend,
Monty