Thanks to my beta DocandLightning.
Chapter 2: Racetrack Rumbles
Sheriff yawned, sinking a little lower on his tires, enjoying the warm air and sweet shade offered by his favorite hideaway: the Radiator Springs sign. It had been a bit slow for the past few weeks. Doc and McQueen figured that business would pick up once again when it grew near the end of the racing season. For now, he was just going to enjoy the silence. Ah yes, nothing like the -
"Hey, Sheriff!"
The old car jumped nearly a foot off the ground before he turned just in time to see a glint of red. Lightning merely grinned at the officer, pulling up from the desert terrain around them. It was times like these that Sheriff hated himself for punishing the racer for speeding … by making him go to Sarge's boot camp. The old Willie's Jeep gave McQueen too many new escape routes with his off-road training … or in this instance, ambush techniques.
"Gag nabbit, kid! Don't go sneaking up on old cars like that. I nearly had engine failure," said the law enforcer as his lights flashed in irritation for a moment.
"Sorry," snickered the dust-covered youth. "Just checking up on you and making sure your reflexes were sharp still. Can't let the town Sherriff get rusty, after all."
"Oh, is that all. Well, I'm fine. Now leave," grumbled Sheriff, knowing all too well why the rookie was here: Doc was checking up on him again. He had been on the lift about four times in the last month and Doc pretty much had everyone in town looking after him as if he were an old car with one tire in the junkyard and three flats. He was fine! Why couldn't anyone get that?!
Yet, as the seconds dragged off into minutes, Sheriff's patience disappeared and he sighed. It was times like these that he wondered if it would have been best if the racer had left and never came back.
"Tell that old harpy that I'm not coming in for a check-up until my shifts over. My repairs are fine and even if they weren't I think I can wait the three days until he comes back from the race," growled the enforcer.
McQueen nodded his hood … but continued to sit there, just staring at Sherriff. It was unnerving, to say the least. Dear Dodge, the rookie would soon have Doc's intimidating stare down pact.
"Didn't you hear what I just said, boy?" said the old Mercury Eight as he lifted a front tire and pointed at the youth.
"Sure did … but Doc said I couldn't leave without you in personal body or a promise that you were coming. Since you have, in fact, not said nor shown any want or immediate need to remove yourself from your present residence, that you have been guarding with hopeless insistence, I cannot hope to evict myself from your personal being or leave until you have readied to do otherwise," said the smart aft, a grin coming to his lips.
"Smart aft," grumbled the officer. "So, I take it Doc said you couldn't come back until you either dragged me back or made me promise to leave my post early?"
"That would be it, Watson," said the younger car, the grin still on his face. He'd never admit it, but there was nothing better than tractor tipping with Mater and taunting the Sheriff.
A grumbled escaped the officer as he dug his tires a little deeper into the sandy earth. "Why can't he just let me be? I keep telling him I'm fine."
"Ha," McQueen made a disbelieving noise. "Please, this is Doc we are talking about. He never gives up on anybody. No one in town does. Heck, you guys never gave up on me. So, let's say you'll come in for a quick check-up around six? And then you'll even go to the race with us tomorrow so Doc can keep an eye on you, yes? Or do I have to sit out here and sing Johnny Carr songs?"
Sheriff was silent, a deep frown on his face as he glared at the youth. It was times like these that he wondered why everyone tried so hard to keep the kid around. He was dang right irritating. Yet, he found himself asking, "You know, McQueen, I always wanted to know … why did you stay, kid? Just to torture me?"
McQueen's eyes quickly met Sherriff's and after a moment of silence, he rubbed his front bumper against the other car's side-guard in an affectionate manner. The younger car then said to the surprised officer, "I found a family, I suppose, and after not having one for so long … how could I say goodbye?"
Despite the gruff attitude he always tried to put forward, Sherriff Mark Carson liked the kid and hearing such a thing made his heart ooze … and a part of him wanted to cry.
"Are you crying?" snickered McQueen as he drew closer, trying to see the older car's windshield.
The peace-keeper merely pulled away, hiding his face as he grumbled, "Well, don't hang around here badgering me, boy. Get back to town and get some sleep. You have a race tomorrow."
Lightning merely laughed, playfully nudging the old car again, "I'll go … just as soon as you tell me if you are going to be coming to this one? I have a feeling something interesting will be happening tomorrow and," said the race car as he started to talk in a child-like voice, "wouldn't the other kids think it strange if mommy always came to the races but you never did, daddy?"
Lightning then jumped away, laughing in a mocking manner, keeping just out of reaching range from the grumpy old car.
"Besides," continued the hotshot. "Doc may lay off on the checkup if you promise to go."
Sheriff stared for a moment with wide eyes and then grumbled, knowing that the racer had him in a tight corner, "Alright you road runner, I'll go to the dang race tomorrow. Just don't let Doc hear you call him mum or you might never drive again. You know he hates that joke."
"Alright, just be there. Tomorrow is going to be an awesome race," said the youth as he drove onto the highway instead of sneaking back through the desert. Mark just shook his head as the hotshot roared his engine and spun away. He had that feeling too … but he wasn't sure if it was the good kind. Tomorrow was probably going to be horrible. Yep, he'd bet money on it.
…
He could only remember the dirt when he thought of home … not that he thought of home very often. It was a taboo thing of sorts. The dirt, where Chick came from, seemed to get into cars' hearts and not just their tires, and they never found themselves leaving. That was how Chick's father was. He was a car of the earth, lost in its sweet decadence. His mother was that way as well. She'd just drive on the nearby gravel roads, listing to the almost rhythmic crunch of small rock beneath her tires. For a while, his older brother seemed that way too, only he liked to throw the dirt up into the air as if it were a brown cloud meant to chase after him.
Later, Chick found out it wasn't the dirt his older brother had loved … it was the speed.
"Come on Chase, you need to slide when you make that turn. Remember, most town cars don't even know what gravel feels like and they don't know the tricks that come with being raised on it!" cheered Manton Hicks as he yelled on the sidelines, the gravel of the dirt track crunching underneath a pair of screaming tires. Chick, still young and small, peered at his brother from a distance. He was supposed to be with his mom right now helping her milk their pet tractor, Massey, but he wanted to watch his brother race.
Yes, racing. It all started a few weeks earlier when they had a guest out at the farm. Chick had been so excited that he had practically danced around the older car's form as he made his way up the long dirt driveway. Strangely, the older car wasn't upset with him like the mail-truck always was when he did that. He, in fact, stopped halfway up the driveway and patted the small racer on the hood lightly.
"Are you Chase's little brother? He speaks of you from time to time," said the cherry red '55 Cadillac with a soft grin, his old voice grinding but not unpleasant.
"Yes!" beamed the young car as he hopped on his tires, "My name's Chick, Chick Hicks! How do ya know my brother?"
"Well, he now races for me. I'm his sponsor. Do you know of Carson-Cola? I'm Henry Carson," said the stranger.
Chick blinked. He knew his brother raced, but what was a sponsor? Most of the races in the area were local with small prizes. He wasn't sure what a sponsor was. "Is that a bad thing?"
The older car laughed out loud, his engine coughing with the same humor, making the young car blush. Henry didn't let Chick drive away in embarrassment though and put a tire out to stop any retreat, "Sorry lad, it's just that everyone always seems to know my face or product. It's kind of refreshing to run into someone who doesn't. So, tell me, are you going to be just as fast as your brother when you get older?"
Chick blinked, his young mind still not getting it, "What do you mean?"
He chuckled again before stating, "A racer, son. Are you going to be a racer?"
Chick wasn't sure why he had said it, but a silly grin rose to his face, his first dream installing itself on him. "Yeah, I'm going to be just as fast as my brother."
"Good. Now keep that promise, and you'll make your daddy and brother proud. So, do you want some cola? Your brother keeps saying it's making him fat, but he'll be getting it free for life. It's best not to waste it."
The child laughed but nodded as he headed down the rest of the way towards the house. The dirt seemed to try to cling to his tires but for some reason, it kept falling to the ground. No longer could it snatch him or keep him.
"Wake up!"
Chick's eyes snapped open and couldn't help but cry out as he slammed into the back of his trailer, his eyes wide and engine panting. It took him a minute to finally get some focus and he frowned as Marv, a pickup with a matching paint job which also happened to be his crew chief, grinned at him from his ramp near the back of the trailer.
"Wh-what are you … who are … uh, Marv? Why are you in my trailer?" said Chick in a half dazed, his face full of confusion.
Marv grinned devilishly and nudged the car with his tire in a mocking gesture. "Well, at first I thought you were merely hiding in here because you didn't want any confrontations like at the last race, but then I noticed you were still asleep and snoring like a little angel. So, I repeatedly poked you with my antenna like you were a dead animal until you woke up. You must have been having a rather happy dream there, Chick, with how dead to the world you were. So, tell me … what model was she?"
Chick blinked once before stating, "W-what?"
Marv shook his head and looked back down at the rest of the crew who were all waiting patiently on the pavement outside. "Poor Chick. He's all upset because we interrupted his happy dream. Well, don't worry too much, Chick ... you get to look at afts all day today. After all, you sure won't be in first. You know … you being shy this season and all."
Chick's eyes got wide and if he were a few years younger he might have blushed, but he was used to Marv's suicidal sense of humor. So, he wasn't too surprised by the comment. That didn't mean he was going to let the other vehicle get away with it, even if it was a nice distraction. He'd admit it. It was nice not to remember, but there was nothing like a good old death threat to chase away old wounds.
"Why you … get over here!" snarled Chick, feeling a grin rise on his face despite the obvious insult. He would never admit it, but his crew was like his family. Heck, they were even torturous like one.
Marv merely laughed evilly in his throat and jumped out of the back of the trailer, his truck bed bouncing at the impact. That didn't slow the truck down though as he rushed over to the pits. The race was about to start in twenty minutes and most of the other crews already had their racers primed and ready to go. Marv only offered a slightly impish grin to the orange crew chief next to his pit, before he plowed up the ramp that was to be his view point for the rest of the race. The roar of a heavy, and not to mention irritated, engine followed after.
Looking around the pits, Chick shook his hood knowing that Marv's comment had been his crew chief's idea of getting him the pit a little earlier than usual. He'd usually have his tires and engine checked in his sponsor's tent, sparing him the look of the other racers, but it seemed he wouldn't be getting his way today. After all, Marv – despite how immature he could be – was his crew chief and it was in his best interest to listen to him. He didn't even spare the orange racer next to him in the pits a glance as he got into his space and popped his hood, the rest of his crew swarming around him like an ant hive. The younger orange racer looked down, blushing.
Rookie was all Chick could think as his team prepared him. One could always tell a rookie was on the track when they'd blush over such a simple thing. After all, it was a common occurrence so the orange rookie had better get used to it or get off the track. Chick would prefer off the track, but no one could ever tell with rookies since so many came and went so easily.
"All's good under the hood," said one of the forklifts as he slammed the hood shut.
"So are the tires. A little dirty though … you been racing in the dirt, Chick?" said another member of his team, Arty.
"No," said Chick softly as they all pulled back into their appropriate spots, "but I've been dreaming of it."
Marv gave him and funny look, putting on his headset, but before he could ask what the racer meant the intercom cried out, "Good morning racers and racing fans. It's a lovely sixty-five degrees today. A little nippy but I'm sure our engines will all be afire soon enough! Today we have –"
The rest of the introduction was lost to Chick as he stared at the pit exit. He hadn't thought about his childhood or his brother in a long time … he didn't want to remember it and he didn't have to. Not when he had the track.
…
Marv tried not to yawn. It had been a slow race. No, it wasn't because Chick was in his usual tenth-ish place, but because it was still. Everyone was playing safe-driver today and little to no action was taking place. There hadn't even been one tire blowout, which was strange. What the Dodge was going on? Was Chick's depression contagious?
Yes, he had noticed. Marv might have had a playful attitude, but he was no fool on any account. He saw things. It was his job after all to observe. He saw that Chick was more than acting now. He seemed distant, paranoid, tired and unhappy. Well, Chick was not the type to go around with a grin on his face, but he sure did love to laugh … usually at the expense of younger racers, but he did have a sense of humor. He hadn't really laughed much in the past few weeks, though.
Well, Marv had decided to use his powers of evil for good … just once. It was bad for a racer to get depressed. If a racer got too depressed he would get sloppy on the track … and if he got too messy, he might get himself and someone else killed out there. He had seen it happen before. There was a racer by the name of Slick Hemming. He was cocky, arrogant, and - he might be a guy, but he'd admit it - elegant. The guy was a Hemi and he made his chassis shine like his yellow paint was made of sunshine itself. Sadly, Slick lost his daughter, a sweet little thing, and drew away from his family thinking he could just drive off his grief. Yeah, he drove off his grief alright, right into a wall. It had been a mess. He had hit so hard that part of his engine went flying into the track like some kind of gruesome war zone, oil splattered everywhere. A few cars crashed and some of the rookies never returned, likely traumatized by the sight of someone's innards scattered across the track.
Chick wasn't going to be some headline followed by a closed-hearted ceremony, though. No. Hicks would not be another thrill for fans as they watched his innards being scrapped off the track. Speaking of which … Chick was getting a little close to the wall especially when he was starting to get boxed in by the other racers.
"Chick?" said Marv over his headset, his gaze still lazy. "You're getting a little close to that wall, draw back and let Better Buy pass you."
There was silence on the other line … and Chick didn't seem to be listening given he was still too close to the wall.
"Come on Chick, it's a slow race. You can get your place back, no prob. Now get away from that wall!" all but yelled Marv into his headset, the orange crew chief next to him giving him a strange look. Marv merely nodded at the other pickup and grumbled into his headset, "Oh come on, Chick. You still pissed about that joke I made before you went on the track?"
There was silence on the other line.
"Okay, I'm sorry. Now get … away … from … that … wall," growled the crew chief as he tried to ignore the worried looks from his forklifts below which were now looking up at him. This, of course, was attracting glances from the crew chiefs on either side. Chick was just trying to embarrass him, wasn't he?
Yet, the closer Chick drew to the wall, the more unlikely that seemed. Marv was starting to worry, memories of Slick Hemming's death reflecting in the back of his mind. Marv tried to keep the panic out of his voice. "Chick. If this is a game, stop. Chick? Chick, are you listening!?"
"Listen," said Chase as he looked down at his little brother, the light of a setting sun reflecting off the lake before them.
"Listen to what, brother?" said Chick as the slightly younger car looked up at his elder, Chase.
Chase had a lazy look in his blue eyes and the black car with his red accents seemed … at peace.
Chick looked back out at the waters, watching his floater bob back and forth on the lake's surface. His brother had come home, tired but happy. He was never home any more than a few days at a time. Chick missed him, even though he had all the Carson Cola he could ever hope to consume. He missed his brother. At first, he was a little glad his older brother was going to be gone since it would give him more time to be with his father. Manton Hicks didn't give him more attention though; Chick was as invisible as he had been when he was born. Father believed the oldest son was the most important son. He was just the backup son. True, his father never said that … but Chick knew it was true. Chase carried the family name … he was just carried.
"Listen … they're your fans … they are cheering for you," said Chase, a grin on his face, his eyes half-mast and relaxed.
Chick blinked, a frown forming, "What do you mean?"
Chase nudged his little brother, his silly grin still on his face, "I know you are upset, Chick. I wanted to sleep in before the next race, but mom wanted me to come down and talk to you."
The youth frowned, shaking his head, "I'm not mad! Okay! Why should I be?!"
The elder brother sighed, putting out a tire before his sibling could run away in a huff. Chick struggled against the older sibling's tire for a while before he finally gave in, a whine escaping him as he turned around and stared at the water. He pretended that the older and larger car wasn't there, his attention fixed on his fishing pole and the bobber in the water. He couldn't ignore the kind tire petting down his back window and towards his trunk though.
"Come on, Chick. I know when something's wrong. I'm your older brother. You can tell me anything," said Chase as he continued to run a soothing tire down his brother's back, trying to get some attention out of his sibling. Finally, a small sniffle escaped the younger car, and Chase pulled forward so he could see the other's Hicks face.
"You sure nothing's wrong?" said Chase, his bumper nudging Chick as if he were more a parent than a brother.
After a minute of silence, Chick finally choked, "Things aren't better."
"Better? Things aren't better how?" said Chase, a frown forming on his face. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.
"I thought dad would love me more, but he doesn't!" all but screamed the young would-be-racer as he suddenly lunged to the side, his tire wrapping around his brother's tire as he suddenly started sniffling in the black car's side panel. "It's like I don't exist now that you're gone. He doesn't even want me here!"
Chase sighed. So that was what this was about. Dad had been at his side an awful lot, but he didn't think he stole dad from his little brother completely. Chase didn't understand it, not one bit. Dad dragged him everywhere when he was a child, but he didn't seem to bother with Chick. He had a feeling it had to do with dad's own resentment to his own family that they had never met, but why would he take that out on Chick? No, there had to be another reason. Dad was probably just excited about his son's career as a racer. Yes, that had to be it.
"Now, Chick. Dad doesn't hate you. He loves you … he's just distracted. He'll stop checking up on my training, and he'll be home more often. Then you'll have more of him than you'll need," said Chase warmly, hugging his brother back.
Chick sniffled, "You sure? Dad always loved you more. I just want to race like you, but dad won't even take me out. H-h-he said I would never be a racer! T-that it was a silly dream!"
The smile fell away from Chase's face, knowing all too well about his little brother's new dream but not what his father had said about it. Dad had been rather supportive of him, but not Chick? Well, he'd cheer his little bro on. If it was the last thing he did, "Now don't give up, Chick. You'll disappoint all your fans."
"Fans?" said Chick, tears streaming down his hood as he looked up at his brother.
"Yeah," said the Cutlass Oldsmobile with a soft snicker. "Can't you hear them? They're cheering just for you."
Chick perked up and listened to the stillness, "I only hear crickets, Chase?"
"Exactly, they're all cheering for you and even if dad isn't at the track to cheer you on, they sure will … and so will I. And Chick," said Chase as he watched the bobble fall beneath the water.
"Yeah?"
"I think you're …"
"… going to hit the wall! Chick! Chick! What the hell are you doing!? You're gonna hit the wall! Chick!" cried Marv over the headset, his voice full of panic.
Chick came out of the memory in a stupor, disorientated and unsure of where he was. It had seemed so real. He could hear the crickets nearby, felt that dry breeze, and even smelled his brother. He had forgotten that smell for the longest time. It was a musky smell of slightly melted rubber and wet dirt, but that smell wasn't here. He smelled asphalt, spilled oil, hot engines, and melting tires. His eyes widened when he realized there was no lake or field, only hot asphalt, zooming bodies, and a closing-in wall.
The Thunder choked, his vents catching, and the next thing he knew he was turning downward. Too bad he hadn't looked before he leaped. He was surrounded by a pack of other race cars. Some were so close they barely had a foot on either side of them. Not that Chick had noticed this. He just knew he was going to hit that wall if he didn't move. The Better Buy car noticed. Of course, he barely had time to yelp before he dodged a crash with Chick. Unfortunately, the Shiny Sheen car didn't notice Better Buy's move, and the next thing everyone knew the scream of tires echoed over the track. The sound of crunching metal followed a dry scream, and the next thing Chick knew the two cars were thrown into a wild spin.
There wasn't even time for the green racer to think of what he had initially caused when it came back into his face, the Shiny Sheen car forcing Better Buy back up into Chick's front fender. A pained grunt escaped him as he ground his teeth, agony lacing up his form, but he struggled to keep some control because he knew he would go into the wall if he gave into the anguish in his body. Not that it mattered, it seemed some poor fool tried to turn and miss hitting into Shiny Sheen by speeding up thus slamming into him from behind.
The crowd gasped, the crew chiefs all cried out, the ambulance lights shimmered into being, and the announcers went crazy.
"Oh my, Chrysler! Bob, did you see that? Someone, I can't tell who, just pulled a rookie mistake, and the rest of the track is paying for it. Number 45, 23, 98, 91, 86, 39, and 55 have been caught in the pileup and that pile just keeps going. No, no, McQueen! Don't … oooooh! That had to hurt."
This, of course, went unheard by Chick's audios. He had been taken by darkness when he had been slammed into by a third car, but now he was slowly coming around, everything aching. With a groan, he opened his eyes. For a minute everything was blurry, and all he could do was blink. What happened? Was he dead? A whimpering sound met his audios, and Chick struggled to look at it. It was just an orange blur at first, but then his vision started to come around, and Chick was a bit surprised to see another pair of eyes staring at him.
"H-h-h-he, C-chick … right?" said the orange car with Demmy's Dukes, a paint company, on his hood. Well, at least that's what Chick thought it was supposed to say … the car was upside down.
The green car blinked and then murmured, "Yeah … what happened? You are the car that was down in the pits next to my station, right?"
Demmy's Dukes grinned and stated, "Y-yah. That was me. We were in an accident. In fact, half the track was in an accident. They still haven't gotten to us."
Chick blinked, his mind still fuzzy. He hurt all over, yet here he was dented and broken but still having a slightly awkward conversation with a rookie. If he wasn't all fuzzy and in agony, the racer might have laughed. It kind of reminded him of his younger days when he would get injured and talk with the other mangled cars down by the tents after they had been dragged off the track.
The orange car laughed nervously, his tires wiggling up into the air. He seemed fine except for a cracked windshield, a dented fender, and the fact that he was on his roof. Then, looking back at Chick he stated nervously, "This is my first crash. I-I kind of felt embarrassed at first, but as I came to a sl-sliding halt in front of you, I didn't feel as bad. I mean, if a more experienced racer like you can get caught in this than I really shouldn't feel too bad."
Yeah, an experienced racer, being caught in a rookie mistake. That was something to certainly be proud of. Despite that, Chick felt a grin raise to his face, a grin his mom used to say belonged to his brother. "Yeah, rookie. Don't feel too bad. The really bad part comes when your crew chief starts to yell at you for being an idiot and then the repairs."
The orange racer laughed slightly, "I'll remember that. By the way … my names Danny Dunes. Nice to meet you, Chick. I always heard you were a bit of a jerk and to stay away from you on the track, b-b-but you seem okay. I mean, not to say that you weren't or that I … uh … well, I mean no offense, but I've heard …"
Chick laughed dryly. He didn't know why he did. Maybe it was because the kid had guts to come out such a thing to his face or because it was nice to know his reputation wasn't completely dead. It was kind of crude to admit, but sometimes he knocked an extra car or two out of the race merely for his reputation. During the beginning of his career Chick had learned the hard way: if people aren't afraid of you, they won't respect you. His father was at least able to teach him that much.
"Well, it's true. Don't go ruining my reputation," said Chick as he tried to see if he could at least limp back to the pits only to choke on a wave of pain as he tried to move his tires. Nope, he was bent out of shape, and it was going to hurt like hell even when they started dragging him away. Ugh, he didn't know if he should start gritting his teeth now or later. "Damn."
"Yeah, I don't think you're going to be able to limp away," said the rookie, not even fazed by the dry comment. "I mean, from this viewpoint, it doesn't seem like a good idea."
Despite himself, Chick snorted at the joke and quickly regretted it when he looked at the rookie's grin. Little rat, he had played right into that.
"Now really isn't the time to be joking, is it?" said Chick, struggling to hide his grin.
"Why not? We're just hanging around," said the youth, laughing.
Chick rolled his eyes, hating the youth for making him smile, yet before he could even open his mouth there was a squeal of tires. He barely got to share a frightened look with the orange car before his hood was rained in glass … a blur of blue slamming into the rookie.
"Almighty Ford! Bob … did you see that? The Hubcap Sheen car thought he could pull a McQueen and get through and … and … oh, the poor rookie. It doesn't look good."
Chick could only continue to stare forward at the glass on his hood and a tire that bounced down into the grass. He couldn't bring himself to look in the direction where Danny Dunes laid broken and bleeding. He couldn't look because he knew the rookie was probably dead or dying with how fast that hit came and the amount of oil and blood dripping down the track and past his tires. He couldn't look because he knew it was his fault. It was his entire fault … just like the last time.
XXX
Paw07: First off, yeah, I know there isn't much happening here, but I wanted to make sure to set up some angst and lots of foreshadowing to taunt everyone. Also, thanks for all the great reviews, and thanks to Fyrehawk for helping me pick out my Henry Carson, Manton Hicks, and Chase Hicks car models. And, don't worry, there will be OC's but only to help develop Chick and his past. Also … oh I wonder, I wonder … just what happened to McQueen in this chapter?
(Revisions July 2017)