-MANY OF THESE CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN HEAVILY REVISED, HOWEVER PRETTY MUCH *ALL* OF THE ORIGINAL CONTENT IN EACH REMAINS. MANY HAVE MORE CONTENT ADDED TO THEM. SO FOR THOSE WHO HAVE READ BEFORE DON'T FRET; I DIDN'T DELETE ANYTHING ANYWHERE.-

*Reviews are always welcome whether you love or hate this story.* If you're feeling up to it let me know your likes, dislikes, and so on (Reviews or not I'ma keep going but it's always nice to hear from you also :0)). This originally was 37 chapters but I've decided to continue this fic so in the future I will be open to ideas from anyone. Do note that being these are mechanical characters, there are no "races" as in white/black/ oriental cars. I use ethnicities instead.

DISCLAIMER: **THIS IS RATED M FOR A REASON! IF YOU ARE TOO YOUNG EXCUSE YOURSELF FROM THIS STORY AT ONCE. YOU WERE WARNED: I DID MY PART. NO UNDERAGE READERS PLEASE**

I will go on record by saying with this fic it's best to just leave your brain at the door (seriously). Or, you can try to envision said scenarios, if you elect.

To all readers: I say get creative in your visioning when reading this! But remember, some (or many) scenes in these chapters may be impossible to fathom. It is, after all, a fan fiction. None of it's real. Only this story line is mine. Prince character is mine, and maybe some few others. Otherwise I DO NOT OWN 'CARS' OR ANYTHING AFFILIATED WITH THE FILM. Wish I did. Because if I did this would be turned into a real 3D cartoon. PIXAR AND DISNEY CLAIM THAT RIGHT. NO MONEY MADE FROM THIS. READING ENJOYMENT ONLY. ****

Final note: (this may not make sense) for my boy vehicles, they all have "two"engines. The normal one under the hood and an extra one in the back of their bodies (for romance reasons-don't ask; it'll confuse you. It even confuses me). I also wrote Wingo to have a spoiler that can be lowered as he chooses.

One final warning: **the N-word is used in some of these chapters.** I'll put it this way, I'm black and personally don't use the word, nor does it "offend" me to hear others say it, and this includes non-blacks. Any usage of it in this fic is for figure of speech, not as a racial thing.

Happy reading!

x

Chapter One

Things were fully normal since Rust-Eze and Lightning McQueen set up headquarters here; Radiator Springs remained the quaint and doting town it was before but had become much larger as several other businesses had opened shop here. The Radiator Springs population had magnified from an original dozen or so residents to almost 1,000 permanent souls. By consensus standards this was still incredibly small but for here, that was a huge change. Unbelievably, the Road Hazard Delinquents, or whatever they were called, became Radiator Springs's newest 4 citizens. Though out of town constantly, they spent as much time here as official residents as they did on the road.

They had set up a nightclub, of all things just on the outskirts of the small town, once obtaining a permit from Doc to do so. The agreement was that the club had to be far enough away so as to not cause noise disturbance to the tranquility of Radiator Springs but close enough so no one had to drive out of one's way to get there.

It never seemed possible but Boost, Snot Rod, Wingo and DJ actually liked Radiator Springs. For big city homeboys they found the quaintness of the historic landmark town charming. In Wingo's words "relaxing". The Delinquents had become regular fixtures on the "Spring Strip" as they called the piece of Route 66 that went through the town. Beforehand, they blew through en route to California using the town's streets as a drag race, so they were no strangers to it; they were always getting caught up and were pulling community service in some form or another around Radiator Springs.

That was in the past; Doc Hudson had not given up on them. There was good in them; he could sense it. Sheriff was sick of chasing them and, despite their obnoxiousness, most of the town's residents enjoyed the 4 youths' wild-spirited ways. They brought a liveliness to what would have been an otherwise staid town. The DHRs had matured a great deal in the past several years and it showed, but they still had their rowdy ways. Though he'd never show it, even Sheriff secretly admired the thuggish car-hoodlums. He genuinely cared about them. Years ago it was clear that simply throwing them in the Impound and making them haul crap around wasn't punishment enough.

They came here to escape the city cops who were always shutting down makeshift drag races and tried to do so in the desert but as they discovered, they were not built for desert racing. So the next best thing was the town's streets. The Judge/doctor realized these bolts could easily be committing far more serious crimes than racing and although drag racing was indeed dangerous, they never threatened others. The four of them at least had the civility to race through the town in the middle of the night while everyone else was asleep. Just the four of them inconsiderately keeping the residents awake with their noise but at least they weren't endangering others. Doc sought to teach them a lesson on their sentencing day. Initially he at first viewed the Delinquents as low-lives , a pack of trouble-causing miscreants unworthy of trust. But like many residents here his opinion of them quickly changed the more he got to know them.

When they first arrived as punishment he sentenced all four of them to his notorious Chain Gang for street racing through town in the middle of the night. Doc—and the Delinquents—would never forget that morning. Boy, were they ever pissed off. Not so much at the fact that they would have to don pink bows and hubcaps but they had to change paint jobs. Boost and DJ spent nearly $700 each on theirs and theirs was costly enough. The one Wingo sported cost him nearly $1,800.00 bucks and he especially wasn't pleased.

Then that rediculously tall spoiler of his...in Doc's mind he might as well should have had a ladder for a spoiler. He thought the one with the external exhaust sitting on his face looked silly. He wanted to laugh at the first sight of them. Wingo especially. He griped about his paint job to Doc for fifteen minutes. Snot Rod didn't make such a big deal as he was just plain orange. The fanciest thing he had were black strips on either side but the three others had to temporarily lose their magnificantly-detailed body work for a full coat of black and white stripes. For thirty days at least. None of them objected to litter pick up. They were willing to take their punishment like men, jail time and all.

What three of them had a cow over was having to switch up their expensive paint jobs. Doc informed them at least the temporary black-n-white stripes were affordable; thirty bucks each for Ramone to paint them up. As for their fabulous coats, well, they could opt for plain colors at a reasonable price or, pay a lot to have what they had before. They'd have to deal with Ramone on that. They were hot, but they still showed immense respect for Doc in the courtroom, as well as for Sheriff and his officers. They were much younger then, and midway in their community service admitted that it was inconsiderate to race on the town's surface streets. Certainly now as they were much older they deemed it rude as hell and were likely to confront anyone silly enough to do it in this present day. But several years ago none of them considered it to be that big of a deal. Still, they grudgingly accepted their punishment.

Doc admittedly couldn't stand the sight of any of them at first just like Lightning McQueen in his courtroom. And he noted in secret glee how they looked when they were told that they would be covered in black and white. Next thing he knew he found himself rolling out to the stretch of road on Route 66 to observe them working with the other identically-clad inmates. All of the other inmates loved the Delinquents and chatted with them. It wasn't against the law for them to talk to each other as they worked. Doc saw even Four Wheel and Steve were talking casually to them. As Doc watched their interaction he found himself enjoying overhearing the Delinquents' conversations.

Wingo was the first to address him, bidding Doc good morning. The now-striped Silvia had his usually-towering spoiler retracted completely down into his trunk where not even one row of it was visible. When he did decide to raise it he had each tier done white, then black and so on. For now it just got in his way so to make it easier to do his job he kept his spoiler concealed in his back. With his spoiler hidden from view he was actually rather sleek-like almost like Boost was in his frame shape. A perfectionist, he was keen to his work and continued whistling as he carried on, not waiting for the judge to return the courtesy. Doc noted that he was an excellent whistler.

He wasn't intentionally being rude to the young car but instead was so captivated by his perfect whistle tune he didn't know Wingo had addressed him. Catching himself Doc apologized for his aloofness and returned the favor, asking how he was. The Silvia answered with part sarcasm and part sincerity, telling Doc that pink wasn't so bad after all. But he was being dead serious that he might convert to an all pink paint job once his punishment was all over…thanks to Doc.

All pink paint job was way cheaper, around $600. A little more expensive due to pink being considered an exotic color, but that was way cheaper than the nearly-two-thousand-dollar detailed paint job he had before. He humorously stated now he thought of it, green and purple with white-orange highlights was rather ugly. Something like pastel pink, a pretty shade of pink like his attractive bow and hubcaps would look nice all over, complete with pitch-black visor. And Doc could see he meant it. Before he knew it he found himself trying to talk Wingo out of pink. Whatever color a vehicle chose to paint himself as was his business, true.

But for some reason he found the idea of a guy like Wingo completely pink horrifying.

Pink, he argued, was a "female" color. It didn't belong on a male. He looked much better green and purple. Now this struck Wingo, that the judge would suddenly care about him wanting to go pink, given it was his idea to make him wear pink hubcaps and the ridiculously-large pink bow—a FEMALE accessory— on his head. He told Doc to look at the bright side: he was Wingo's inspiration for considering to go pink. The good-natured spat between him and Doc turned into a bizarre conversation with Doc almost begging Wingo not to get a pink color scheme.

He didn't know why he cared about the Silvia wanting to do a pink paint job. He just did. Wingo was determined to go all pink with all pitch-black windows, including a super-opaque visor. Boys could look good pink. Doc was humored by his chat with Wingo, bid him a good day and left. He was starting to care about the Delinquents like many of the residents, and would even visit them at the impound jail house. They truly enjoyed his visits as well and near the end of their probation decided to remain in town, spending more and more time with Doc. Out of the kindness of his spark, Ramone opted to repaint all four of them free of charge. Back to their original styles. He even gave Wingo and Boost free reign to help out as body painting was their specialty. So he worked on DJ and Snot Rod while the other two painted each other. To Doc's relief, Wingo did not go pink, just for him, he said.

They all felt guilty about not paying at all although they appreciated it but they felt like they owed Ramone. So they offered to help Ramone around the shop for free. He accepted it as an even exchange. But Wingo did get even with Doc for making him wear that pink bow.

The old Wingo from his "Crippin" days was an expert at breaking and entering. He couldn't count the number of garages and businesses he silently broke into. He would case a targeted spot, sit back and watch it for days, weeks, even months as he observed the occupant(s) comings and goings. He noted the pattern of when he/she/they left, when they returned, the hours they wouldn't be home before breaking and entering. He had done many armed robberies in his criminal career from gas stations to banks with fellow hoo riders so he was not above forceful home invasions, armed and all. But he preferred not to terrorize the occupants if he could help it. He was after whatever valuables were in the garage and not harming innocents. The best way to avoid such a scenario was to hit when no one was home.

He was also a master at disabling garage alarm systems. A wiz at anything electronic, Wingo always managed to find the control panel somewhere outside, or even dig somewhere even down the block, fumble with the wires and cut them, rip them or find some other way to kill whatever alarm dynamics the garage or business had. It didn't matter how sophisticated the system was, how much the owner paid for it; he found a way to disable it. In seconds he rendered it useless before he struck. So yeah, he broke into Doc's garage while he was home. In the middle of the night. With Boost to "pay Doc back". He said HE wasn't going to go pink. Just for Doc. He never said someone else couldn't pink out in his place. Boost thought he was crazy and was nervous about getting caught but Wingo assured him even if they did the punishment couldn't be too bad. He was totally unfazed by the possibility. He was surprised, however, to discover Doc had no such security system for his place. Wingo grumbled to his nervous partner about the "country-ass motherfucker being a famous judge and he didn't even have an alarm system in his own garage." He had also stolen one of Ramone's airbrushes. And a container of hot pink paint.

Sly and crafty, Wingo moved with the silence of a mouse. Doc was a quiet sleeper but he slept heavy. The two tricksters silently left in the night, and were courteous enough to relock Doc's garage. Wingo then returned the secretly-borrowed painting equipment to Ramone's business and locked it up. He returned to his hotel cone.

Everyone within a mile radius was awakened by high-pitched wail of terror around six the following morning. Doc darted from his garage involuntarily sporting a full hot pink paint job. The townsfolk got a kick out of it. Doc knew right away it was Wingo. He looked cute; he did. He was mad but then he wasn't. Yes, he could have sorely sentenced Wingo for something including nailing the Silvia for breaking and entering his property, but no true harm was done to him other than his pride. Both Ramone and Wingo repainted Doc back to his stately blue but he would never forgive the Silvia.

While Wingo taunted him good-spiritedly Doc had to concede that Radiator Springs was much more interesting with the Delinquent Road Hazards in it. Wingo finally asked Doc why he had no security system for his garage. The little greened-up bastard kept baying about how breaking into his place was no challenge. Doc was tempted to arrest the car on the spot but was too fixed on explaining his dislike for modern technology. Wingo had the nerve to advise him he needed to install one "for real" and get with the 21st century. Little smart punk yet Doc knew he was right. Every other resident had an alarm system but he didn't, as a sitting judge. Instead of punishing him Doc felt like he was listening to his father. Darned Delinquents were rubbing off on Doc, they were. He never even swore prior to their abrupt arrival not even in his younger days. Cursing was despicable to him even though he politely dealt with Fillmore's foul mouth back in the counter culture days. Well there was that one fight incident Doc was involved in in SanFran '68, but that was the exception for old Doc and not the rule.

He considered swearing to be ungentleman-like. Since the Delinquents' appearance he caught himself on occasion uttering profanities out of the blue just from talking to them. They had garbage mouths and found it hilarious when Doc let one slip around them. It was like they were changing him. Lightning McQueen got Doc to enjoy racing again. But the Delinquent Road Hazards were loosening him up although they weren't trying to.

x

Doc, Sally and others learned that the four of them had left California with their hard-earned savings. The four of them just hit the road to nowhere, in search of adventure and a new place to call home. So technically none of them truly had a "home". Yet. Everyone was inquisitive of them and The Delinquents opened up to them. They saw Doc like a grandfather figure, and they were starting to mature. Before they knew it, they had become some of Doc's close friends and at the town's request, decided to stay and make Doc's town their home.

Ramone had hired Wingo and Boost part-time as his assistants, plus they helped DJ manage the Axle nightclub. They all jointly owned it and pulled in a very nice income running it. Snot Rod was content working in an automotive shop near Sarge's store.

Doc decided to authorize a racing strip near the town. Besides it would be a nice attraction near Radiator Springs. So he and Lightning connected with Dinoco who agreed to build The Strip. One of the biggest drag racing/racing strips anywhere in the country, drawing visitors from all over the world. Here they and other enthusiasts could race to their content. Doc looked out for the Delinquents. They certainly looked out for him and he was happy to call them his friends. He didn't just hand that title out casually to just anyone. Shortly after their decision to remain permanently a deal was made. Upon speaking to McQueen who spoke to Dinoco, a permanent drag racing strip, almost four miles of it was set up right outside of Radiator Springs. The Delinquents were in charge of it and the nightclub.

The Delinquent Road Hazards could now race all they wanted to their hearts' desires. Their night club titled "AXLE" was right next door. Several djs worked at The AXLE, including DJ. He had become legendary not only for his dragster skills but his extraordinary turntable abilities. He lived up to his name as a disc jockey who had been scratching turntables since he was a kid. He was one of the very few who could perfectly mix up something from Maire Brennan into a 50 Cent track and make it dope enough to dance to. Not many like him could make Celtic folk pop complete with bagpipes and gangsta rap sound fly together. The other 3 jockeys came from Phoenix weekly to perform. Twelve bouncers, a mixture of Escalades, Lotuses, Eclipses and Toyota trucks all clad in black patrolled the club for any trouble makers. Some of them had martial arts training but none of them looked like the type of vehicles the daring drunks or disorderlies wanted to tango with. Any one of them could stomp an unruly vehicle, after kicking him out. There was always someone one stupid enough to try it however. Juiced-up on alcohol and feeling invincible... it was expected.

But the AXLE was a lively hot spot for the clubbing types. The residents of Radiator Springs had grown quite accustomed to the flux of the "in" crowd: "boom cars" they were called, vehicles like the Delinquents with hideous-thumping music and outrageously bouncing hydraulics that put Ramone to shame. Showy drag racers and pop culturalists who dropped in every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night to turn AXLE and the drag strip into a planet of night hoppers. In fact, it clashed perfectly with the otherwise peaceful tranquility of Radiator Springs during the weekdays.

It truly was nice to have young people around and not just youngsters; quite a many older cars and trucks apparently enjoyed what Sheriff called "the wild scene". Among them was Fillmore. He got off on watching the haze of multicolored streaks whiz by on the strip, reminding him of his Woodstock days. Speaking of Woodstock, The AXLE was one of those joints that attracted all sorts of genres. It was largely hip-hop/Reggae/House music night on Fridays and Thursday/Saturday nights was a mix of everything: pop, top 40, grunge, rap, 60s, 70s, and 80s. You name it, the djs had it. The Axle was the jam spot for anyone coming through Radiator Springs and had become quite famous far beyond its desert home.

Tourists as far away as Tokyo and Paris partied here even a few celebrity cars here and there. The faint blare of noise, music, yells and roaring engines could be heard in the distance as Doc Hudson smiled warmly to himself. Boost and his three pals liked it here so much that they chose to live here. And they were welcomed here. They were the entertainment experts.

Doc stood in the doorway of his practice, on call for the potential patients he knew would eventually come during the night. On call with him was one of his two nurses Becky, an attractive 2010 chevy Aveo. On a Saturday night, it was inevitable someone from the Strip or AXLE would be dropping by. Be it voluntarily or forcefully under police escort, they would pay him a visit with an injury due to a drunken brawl, crash or the like. He had grown accustomed to it. Partygoers. He couldn't fault them. He was once just like them. Wild and rowdy in a bye-gone age.

And he got ADT security installed in his home.

Something caught the corner of his eye. There she was creeping across the lot of his medical practice and headed towards her designated cone room as Sally bid her good night. A thing of pure beauty absolute. "Stranger...just beautiful." he muttered.

Beautiful stranger, indeed.