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The second-to last race of the season is over. Usually, the pits of the ones that didn’t end up on the podium are quiet. People mope and figure out ways to get better.
Unfortunately, Lightning McQueen is in the area.
“So, tell me your points!” The red racer thrills, opening the non-existent door with a kick and putting up a smug grin.
The Octane Gain pit is surrounded in purple, and from the small plastic table with a couple of cheap folding chairs around Bobby raises his head.
“They're for everyone to see everywhere. Do we have to?” He pleads. He’s exhausted. With the heat of the race and the strategy that didn’t pay off, his energies have vanished. Close to him, completely limp on the table, a blond racer wearing a Dinoco uniforms grumbles something audible only to the table under him.
Their last race has taken everything out of them, with the very last turns making them fall from the top three to fifth and around that position in a matter of seconds. To add insult to injury, Bobby was even being trialed for an error he’d made in said last lap, when another car had literally bumped into him.
But they are just enough drunk with fatigue to think Lightning's idea is worth a shot. Cal difficulty raises from his position, eyes half-lidded. Where he was before, his figure in sweat lies on the table. He traveled the whole week to get here.
“Okay, I'll go first since we all know who's the worst here.” He says, shedding the blue jumpsuit he’s still wearing and dumping it on the armrest.
The pit is right in between their own, and in this very moment the quietest. Squeals and shouts from the ceremony happening on the other side of the field still reach them. They’re just making the most out of the moment, before the press inevitably swarms them and asks questions about their utter failure in that last turn. Lightning can already picture them fighting to get the microphone as close as possible to his face, all chanting the same mantra. “What went wrong in that last lap?”
Tiredness. Tiredness went wrong.
In fact, Cal’s face speaks of sweat and a missing rampage. He’s at his ever high, he’s broken his record of wins in a single season. Ending it with a fourth place stings.
“I have…”
“Nononono!” The red racer interrupts, slurring a bit. He’s the only one standing, and his legs almost give out under him. He’s used all his power to power walk into here, and while he’s usually buzzing with energy, his adrenaline rush is nonexistent after a sixth place. “Let's… say the number of digits first! I'm gonna go, I.” And he admits somewhat proudly, bringing a hand to his chest and forcing another grin smugger than the last, “have four.”
“Everyone has four digits this late in the season, you buffoon!” Bobby laments, rolling his eyes. This is getting stupid. Or is it? After saying that, he makes sure he has that many in his mind, and nods once he has four fingers raised. “My first number is five, if you've gotta do this facade. Just like my last placing. Ugh.”
Cal needs a bit of time to prop his head up on the table, and uses the other hand to put up five fingers as well, in Bobby's direction. Then he turns to Lightning expecting a higher number with the grin he’s wearing.
Which turns into a frown almost immediately, and his demeanor decreases just as quickly as it raised.
“Aw man, I've got five too.” He whines. “Thought I had this in the bag.”
Cal sighs as Lightning only finds it left in him to plop down on the chair next to the Dinoco figure, fatigue getting a hold of his body and boredom following soon after.
“Next is a... uh, zero.” The blue racer explains, struggling to remember. His mind is fixated on getting in his trailer and sleep all the way back home. It sounds way better than whatever they’ve been doing up until this point.
This time it’s Bobby who pipes up, but only for a second. It’s mostly in amazement.
“Whoa, me too.” He turns to Lightning, who leans back and shrinks on himself. He was hoping he could beat them by a whole hundred points, at least. But he finds himself struggling when he has to voice his points.
“Same.” He replies. It’s not going like he hoped it would, and a difference of fifty points isn’t even worth bragging about. He raises a singular finger. “Next up is one.”
“So five, zero, one?” Cal attempts to get his head back in the game, which is proving difficult with the promise of a bed just as soon as his uncle comes back from talking with the rest of the crew chiefs. The red racer nods, and the blue one puts up the smallest of grins. “Gotta step up your game in the next round. I've got the same.”
“So it's coming down to the last digit?” Lightning's eyes widen the smallest amount, hiding the surprise he truly feels with the excuse of another whine. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“He ain't.” Bobby replies, stretching back and barely keeping his eyes open, unamused. “And I've got that too, so we're all still in the game.” The other two tense and lean over to the table in between them to convince him to keep talking, their bodies now being fueled by anticipation and fear.
The room becomes colder (as much as it can with the sun melting the pit), tenser, and they wait for Bobby to share his last number. He looks very much displeased.
“Why do I have to say the last?”
“Hey, you shared your number first.” Cal retorts. “We went in a circle. It’s your turn again.”
He’s too tired to put up with this. He sighs, propping up three fingers, not even finding the energy to speak.
“Five-zero-one-three?” Lightning asks, just to be sure, counting each number on his fingers.
“Yup.” Bobby replies, lazily popping the P just to make noise with his mouth.
“No way…” the Dinoco racer leans completely forward and brings his hands to cover his face, partly in defeat, partly in release of emotions. He doesn’t know whether he wants to feel happy, nervous or exhilarated.
“No.” The purple one replies as the implications of Cal make their way to his brain. They both look at Lightning, now too tired to even have a reaction and regretting the stupid idea in the first place.
“Don't look at me. I got the same points.”
It all takes a while for the pilots to grasp the true meaning of the conversation. They share a neutral glance, as seconds pass through their sleepy faces, and then in a moment of clarity…
“WAIT! WE'VE GOT THE SAME POINTS?!” They all shout at the same time, raising from their seats. They turn the gaze from one to the other, all wearing the same awed expression. They even go as far as to get their phones to check the actual official ranking. When they all find they are indeed tied at the top, with the same exact points acquired throughout the season, they deflate. Lightning is the first one to fall back to his original place, life briefly flashing before his eyes.
“Just like my rookie year…”
“What are the odds of that happening?” Bobby asks, distraught.
“A three-way tie…” Cal whines as well.
“I'm too tired to put up with this.” They all reply with various degrees of confidence.
“We’ll discuss this when we’re more rested.”
“I agree. I just want to go home.”
“I still can’t believe this…”
“Wait this isn’t all that bad.” Bobby says after a second of consideration. “This wasn’t the last race. We still have next week. One of us is bound to come up on top.” But the other two don’t share the same solace.
“Let's just not tie at the end again.” Cal says, getting up.
“Again?” The purple racer raises an eyebrow.
“Ask Cal's uncle how that went.” Both Lightning and Cal wince at that. Some memories are better if they remain buried.
“Come on, we can't tie in the last race of the last season. Let alone in three.” Bobby turns away to get through the door, showing the way back for the other two. The race track is already buzzing with people cleaning and working. He heads off to get into his trailer, Lightning stops him with his words, and Cal simply with his gaze.
“It has happened once.” The red racer starts.
“It can happen again.” The blue continues. Bobby scoffs.
“Yeah, but what are the odds? It'll never happen.”
They’re exhausted. Again. They’ve given their all in the race, and no matter how hard it is to believe, there’s the very clear possibility of a three-way tie. Again. Honestly, they all just want to cry. Bobby was in first, but Lightning and Cal weren’t giving him or each other any space. They were fighting for every inch, pushing their cars as much as they could on that last turn. Bobby saw red flash on his right, then a blue eruption on his left, with the boom of engines in his ear. He pushed pedal to the metal, but for the piston cup’s sake, it wasn’t clear. It wasn’t clear at all and still isn’t.
They all meet back into the purple pit again. He doesn’t dare speak. He can read the ‘I told you so’ on Cal and Lighting’s lips even as they are sealed.
“McQueen, why is it always you when stuff like this happens.” The King comments, brushing closer to them, on his way to give Cal one last pep talk, one hope to hold on to. But Lightning has already enough of that, even if Doc comes and gives him a pat on the back, he can’t take it. It’s about time his crew gets their vacation, he has a fine holiday plan with Sally, he can’t throw it all away!
Doc seems to understand. He sends him a look as he’s asked by an official to follow her, the same invite being given to the King and Bobby’s crew chief. They disappear in a building and Lighting has an awful feeling.
“Hey, Bobby. Cal.” He says, motioning for the both of them to come closer. “Look, I speak for experience, this looks like it might take a while. And if a three way-tie is in order…” He huffs, with a broken face. “I don’t think I can take this anymore. I’m completely exhausted.”
“Yeah, no, I get you.” The only thing preventing Bobby from yawning is the adrenaline that’s still running in his system. “I really want to go to Hawaii next week.”
“I promised my aunt I was going to spend the week with her.” Cal shakes his head too. “I really hoped this wouldn’t happen.”
Deep in their hearts, they hope there’s only one winner. It’s better if it’s them, sure, but only one will be good enough. Lightning sighs.
“I have an idea. It’s incredibly stupid, but it’s an idea.”
He gets both their attention again. Laser focused like they are, they don’t notice their crew chiefs and official walking back out. They look a bit concerned, but stop just short of their circle to see what they have in mind.
“If it’s a three way tie.” Lightning keeps going, and it physically pains him to say his next words. “Can we just rock-paper-scissors for it?”
The two look at each other, eyes wide and confused. They ponder on it, really halfway between saying yes and no, and that’s when the official takes courage and comes closer, clearing her throat.
“You might want to make your choice now.” She explains, making them all turn towards her. “I’m afraid… it is, a three way tie. All crew chiefs agree on it. I’m sorry.” Lightning deflates, a defeated growl rising out of his throat. Cal and Bobby share one glance, then look down, then lock it again. They speak as one when their heads whip to Lightning’s.
“Let’s do it!”
“Alright.”
They get in a circle, their hands clasped together.
“No do-overs.” Lightning looks laser focused.
“Just the first one who wins, wins it all.” Bobby continues.
“I can’t believe we’re playing a Piston Cup like this.” Cal lets out a sigh. Bobby challenges him back.
“Do you want one more race?”
“No, please, just let me go home.”
“Okay. We’re all in this.”
Strip and Doc, as well as Bobby’s crew chief, take a step closer again. They know there are cameras capturing this moment, but for the first time in forever it’s the least of their concerns. There’s absolute confusion in Bobby’s crew chief’s eyes.
“Are they… are they really doing this?”
“It doesn’t surprise me the idea came from Lightning.”
“And Cal is on board. It checks out.”
The purple crew chief is again baffled by how calmly the other two take the situation in. He can’t help but speak again after a moment.
“Should… should we tell them that-” Doc just shakes his head and shuts him up.
“No. Let them figure out on their own.”
The King takes a second to digest the information, but as the three are arguing he’s positively amused.
“I honestly want to see what happens next.”
The three might-be champions eye each other, take a deep breath and just go for it, shouting the words loud and proud.
“Rock.”
“Paper!”
“SCISSORS!”
They look at each other’s hands. Cal has paper, and he’s ecstatic to see than he has won against Lightning, who’s chosen rock. The same way, Lightning looks at Bobby with a wide smile, since he’s won against him. Bobby is looking proud of having beaten Cal with his scissors against his paper, before he can turn to Lightning.
Their happy faces turn from content to uncomfortable to baffled, while the crew chiefs barely manage to keep their laugh under control. Doc has to turn around and remove his glasses, while the King shakes uncontrollably and the purple crew chief puts his hands in his hair, making weird chocked noises.
Their minds clouded from fatigue are truly a sight to behold.
“Hey, I- no…”
“Wait a second.”
“This doesn’t WORK!”