~Dedicated to my late grandmother~

~And to everyone who has ever lost someone~

The day was perfect – absolutely perfect.

Lightning McQueen came to that conclusion as he made his way down the slope that circled Willie's Butte. Not a single track-cloud in the sky. No wind, either – no dust devils to sting his eyes during training this time. The bright sun sent a surge of warmth through the stock car's frame, which he welcomed after so many days of unseasonable chilliness.

Indeed – Perfection. Luxury.

McQueen came to a halt in front of the makeshift starting line. He stared up at the sky. And glared.

"You seem to be really mocking me today…"

As soon as the thought crossed his mind McQueen groaned loudly, whipping his cab from side to side. He waggled his back tires and got his front ones into position. He focused his eyes on the rim of the slopes, on the tiniest rock jutting out from the cliffside.

"Nope. Don't. Don't think about him. Don't even say his name. New racing season in a few weeks. You need to train. Don't you dare think about him. Not even for a second."

With that steely resolve in mind McQueen shut his eyes and sucked in a breath, his usual mantra ringing within his brain.

He waited. Then his tires burst to life, spraying dirt behind him as he took off.

McQueen tore across the slopes, past Willie's Butte, his engine roaring against his eardrums. He kept half of his mind on the track, the other half on the future. New racing season– his third ever– just next month– he hoped Lewis would be there– maybe even Jeff as well– not even to race themselves, just for them to be there at all– Chick Hicks would certainly be there– man he couldn't wait to whoop his bumper again –this might just end up being his second Piston Cup win– he couldn't wait– he couldn't wait to see the proud look, hear the raucous laughter of–

A piercing chill suddenly washed over McQueen's frame, penetrating even his inner workings. His tires came to a screeching halt – an action that made his momentum from driving so fast take control. He let out a yelp as he careened off the track, flying over the edge of a cliff.

The next thing McQueen knew, he was clenching his teeth to hold in a wince as he pulled himself out of the ditch, cactus pads digging painfully into his frame.

"What– Just– What was that!?" McQueen furrowed his eyerims, jerking his cab around to shake off the wretched cacti. "You had it! You were doing perfectly fine! You were in your zone! At your highest speed! What the heck happened!? Answer that!"

McQueen scowled.

"What– Okay, why is it that you choose now of all times to get distracted!? The race is in two weeks! You can't keep daydreamin' like that! What do think he'll think!?"

McQueen froze. His scowl intensified. His eyes burned.

"He trained you to be only the best, didn't he? If only he could see you now, he'd be turning in his– !"

"Oh shut UP!"

McQueen raised himself up and screamed, whipping around and slamming his tires into the dirt, sending clouds of the stuff into the air. Again and again he struck the ground, kicking his back tires out like an untethered bulldozer. Much of the dust settled into his eyes and stung them, which only angered him more – dust. So lifeless. Drifting aimlessly in the wind, gone within seconds.

Almost exactly like–

McQueen gasped then, his eyes widening. In an instant he halted the tirade, letting the clouds of dust float back down. He heaved huge breaths, his eyes darting towards the ground. His engine, at first white hot with fury, now pumped an icy chill through his workings.

"Almost exactly like…"

Now his engine was neither flaming nor icy. A dull ache spread through it, extending to the edges of his frame.

McQueen sank low on his tires, heaving a great sigh. He pursed his lips and lightly shook his cab.

"…almost exactly like you…" he whispered. Even now his voice was straining not to crack.

If only he could see him again– if he could just speed by one last time, his hearty laughter permeating the air– if McQueen could only hear his grumbly grandpa voice once more, even if it was just to bark at him to fix his turning on that last bend–

McQueen groaned, his front bumper nearly touching the ground now. He squeezed his stinging eyes shut – even when he shut his eyes he was there, imprinted on the back of his windshield.

Why couldn't things just be normal again? He needed to focus– for both his sake and the rest of the town's. He needed to buck up and be happy again. Why couldn't he feel happy anymore? Why did he often feel nothing, as if his emotional center blew a fuse? Never before had he wanted normalcy so badly…

But how, he realized, could things be normal when the best part of normal was now gone?

…I think I might need to explain myself again. This was originally intended to be a one-shot, but then the first draft ended up becoming way over ten thousand words – I really did not think anyone would want to read something that huge XD So, I guess this'll technically be my first multi-chapter Cars fic! :)

Also, while that dedication at the beginning may have made this story seem like a vent, it was honestly only a matter of time before I wrote about this topic (it actually really surprises me how few stories there are in the archives about this)

Reviews and support give me lifeblood :3 See you guys in the next chapter!

~Pixel

Also: DISCLAIMER: I don't own the magical World of Cars (I'd love to though…)