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.’
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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.
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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.