I do not own Cars, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do, however, own all the Original Characters.

CHAPTER TWO

The inside of Brian's apartment was in shambles just as James had reported from the previous night. Although Dave knew better, he still hoped Brian would of returned to his rental by morning - throughout his sleepless night in the library he worried what Brian might do. With no phone call or any leads, the maroon and black car formed a plan to coax Brian out of hiding, a notion that would later prove uncomfortable, and by first light Dave had arrived at the apartment with James and Mason.

The same sleepless night provided him with a maddening amount of time to think about what he would say to Brian, if he ever found him, knowing very well the car could be states away by now. But the more he maneuvered between the trail of broken bottles and overturned furniture, all of the words he wanted say were rendered useless. Dave felt sick at the sight of a drunken rage, swearing he could hear the wailing seep from the walls like the liquor that coated the flooring. He thought of Cassie, his plan, and his wife who had given her blessing.

Dave saw Joanna briefly in the living room before he and the crew left. Too afraid to leave Cassie's side throughout the night, Joanna's sacrifice of her own need for comfort was evident when Dave saw her weary face. He had not been able to talk to her - they were in a new hell neither words nor actions could sooth now, not even temporarily. Finally next to her husband, she wept. Still she was pillar of strength, even as she cried, and Dave had given her the tight embrace she so desperately needed.

The maroon and black car had been strong for his mother and now he would have to be strong for the others. A house full of lost cars stared at him, waiting anxiously for direction or relief - an expectation he had grown used to but would relinquish in a single engine rotation. For now he was still their leader. He could not disappoint them, nor would he break or show anymore weakness. Maybe his next move would be detrimental, and the delicate situation with Cassie might worsen, but he could not get through this without the only other car who understood.

And now, staring at a wall full of empty dreams, Dave knew he was making the right choice. Together they stared at the pictures on the wall with a collective heaviness. Caught in the memories from the daunting shrine before him, Dave quietly motioned for Mason to drive down the hallway once more to check for Brian. The weeping echoed in his mind the more he stared at tainted photographs, his horrified gaze only breaking when he heard James clear his pipes from behind him, feeling the comforting touch of a tire on his fender shortly after.

Dave looked away and towards the hallway as Mason returned with a shake of his grille. The maroon and black car sighed before uprighting the coffee table beside him and retrieving the check book from his fender. James and Mason silently listened to the sharp scratching of the pen across the paper. "James," Dave began, tearing the paper from the booklet. "take this and find the landlord - break the lease."

James did what he was told and departed immediately, leaving Dave and Mason to gently pack the memories, and Brian's belongings, into boxes to take back to the mansion.


Brian was free-falling through the pitch black. His body spiraled in the nothingness, eyes shut tight as he dug his tires deeper into the vomit stained comforter of which he had no recollection soiling. The sound of intermittent pounding echoed in the dark accompanied by rapid flashes of white lightning. He groaned but dared not to open his eyes. The pounding came back stronger, the searing lights now bursting constantly while a swelling heat boiled within and quickly surged throughout his frame.

The green and black car knew the inferno that was his body would not win against the inevitable and panic spread through him just as swiftly. The incessant knocking returned. Knocking… the motel… fuck fuck fuck. Now starting to gag he finally opened his eyes and frantically bolted for the sink, hearing the sound of the lock on the door turning as he hurled the unsettling remnants of liquor from his tank. He was mid-heave when the motel door swung open with a gust of cold wind and a feminine gasp.

"I'm so sorry! I thought you left! I didn't—you didn't… you didn't renew for another night—I thought you just left," came the attendant's voice from behind him.

Brian wiped his grille with an already dirty washcloth, trying his best to listen to her fumble through her words as another hoodache replaced the heaves. He ran the faucet to be courteous but the stench of the bile had already wafted through the small room. Having finally caught his breath he rolled around to park his bumper against the wall, the disheveled car unable to look at her as he marinated in the shame of the vomit stained, liquor-soaked motel he destroyed. An apology for the state of the room would mean nothing to her.

He could sense her disgust, shock, concern, and most of all the look of pity – the first of many. He shook his last cigarette from the carton and stuck the unlit roll between his lips. Maybe she thought she was doing him a favor by babysitting, but either way he needed her gone so he could be alone. He retrieved his wallet from his fender; now painfully sober, he needed a few favors. "Don't worry," he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "I'll pay for it all." He slowly counted out the dollars for tonight, paused, then added a few more bills and extended the cash to his left towards her. "I really need you to pick up some more bottles – I don't care what kind – and some packs of Strikes… I added more for the trouble."

The young female attendant said nothing for some time while she studied him and the old tracks of tears cutting through a layer of dust and grime on his hood. She would never forget him but it was evident he did not recognize her from initially renting the room, or the night they shared together only a year ago. She wanted to believe his hangover was the reason though she knew better.

When Brian finally found the nerve to cut a side glance her way, she stared deeply into his bloodshot eyes. As much as he wanted to shy away and tear his gaze from hers, he was desperate for the request he made of her. He could not recall ever seeing a woman look at him with such precaution or horror, but the pleading in his glassy eyes made her cave. She took the money from his tire, mumbling a promise to return soon as he followed her towards the open door.

The motel faced a one lane paved country road. On the other side of the street fresh snow coated the tops of the pines, a cloudy sky made it difficult to tell if it was early morning or dusk.

"I'm sorry," she breathed as she departed for the nearest store – a sentiment Brian missed until he went to close the door and froze.

She knew - everyone knew – because just outside the door between the row of rooms was a newspaper bin with a headline that would haunt Brian for a lifetime:

COLTON DANNELLEY DEAD
Local Racer Dies After Midnight Race

His engine seized with a locking grip. The cigarette dropped from his lips. He released a sharp whimper as he stared at the black and white image of Colton across the front page, fresh tears welling in his eyes and rolling down his cold hood, frightened when he could not feel the presence of his friend behind the ink. He rolled forward and carefully picked up the top copy, cradling the paper in his tire as if he were holding damaged, dying Colton himself only one night ago. He gawked at the words and the picture of the car he had known better than himself.

Brian was forced to confront the reality he created, forced to see it printed for the whole town to read his living nightmare, and he had never felt more alone in his life than he did in this moment. Panic once again surged within him and he choked on a sob – anything would be better than sucking in another hollow breath, thinking how he himself was dead to the world in a different way and how insensitive newspaper headlines seemed when you knew the tragedy personally.

The green and black car retreated back into the darkness of the motel room and slammed the door behind himself. He began to shake uncontrollably as he openly sobbed with the newspaper pressed tightly against his fender. He was stuck with himself until the female attendant returned. He waited in agony for the liquor that would push him into another blackout and past the visions of the crash he saw every time he closed his eyes. Brian was freezing again and he slid closer to the furnace and the heat he could not feel. He glanced down at Colton's beaming grin through blurry eyes.

Brian would spend the rest of his life reminding himself of the car he cared more for than anyone else, and the car he robbed of a future – he would make sure of it.


The moisture in the air from an early morning rain that Friday made for a freezing afternoon funeral service but Dave could hardly tell. He remembered nothing of the procession or the hours of eulogies he sat through. Not even now as he and his friends, with half the town behind them watching Colton's casket being lowered into the ground, could he recall a single moment of the emotionally blinding day. Joanna and Cassie were pressed against his sides sobbing and he was confidant his wife could feel him trembling. Dave shook but not from the cold. He tried to focus on steadying his breath but every exhale carried the threat of his own breakdown.

Dave was snapping under the burdens. The more he held back the angrier he became after a week spent brewing about Brian's absence. His building of resentment had yet to find any bounds for the car he felt he had done so much for, only to be left to pick up the pieces of something that would never fit the same way again. The immediate abandonment from the car he already expected so little from was the final kick in the teeth.

The sounds of hysterical wailing broke Dave from his thoughts and he came to just as the casket reached the bottom. Still, all he could see was that Brian was not there.


Brian found the nerve to return to his apartment at the end of the week and only long after dark. Still burning the mixture of alcohol in his tank from a messy bender, he found his way back home granted by what little mercy he knew he didn't deserve from the world. Despite his glaring high beams against the front door it took him six tries with the key before he realized he was not yet inside the unit. It was still locked. The fuck? He tried again, violently, almost breaking the key in frustration. "You gotta be kidding me!" he grumbled, slamming a tire on the door.

The green and black car jerked to the right of the porch to peer through the living room window to discover the apartment was not in the shape he vividly remembered leaving it in; in fact, it was as if he was never here at all. In a moment of clarity Brian knew in an instant what occurred and he let out a furious string of curse words. Then panic arose. The money, oh fuck, the money! He lashed around to brace himself to crash through the front door, however he halted abruptly when he noticed every porch light down the street was on and illuminating the silhouettes of all the fascinated neighbors gathered on their porches.

He knew now that he was likely louder than he assumed and he turned off his headlights just as quickly as he froze - the last thing he needed was more cops for a drunken breaking and entering. Very swiftly he turned to glide down the porch ramp and back towards the road that would take him to Dave's house, forcing Brian to confront what he spent a whole week denying, and he would spend his drive praying for his mercy to end right about now.


The wake held at his house ended hours ago but Dave had remained silent, as anything worth saying had been spoken long before the funeral. What little energy they all had left was spent acknowledging the condolences from the attendees which comforted them none, and now the house was quiet again. Dave sat alone in the living room with another glass of whiskey of which he lost count of while the others created time for themselves in the home.

Dave saw the reflection of headlights coming up the street and careen into the driveway. Without turning to look Dave knew who they belonged to. He merely sighed and took a sip from his glass to brace for the inevitable just before his front door was thrown open which collided with the wall and startled Dave into immediate outrage, but before the maroon and black car could draw a breath to shout Brian had already thundered in.

"What the fuck did you do?! Where's my stuff?!" Brian demanded to know. With his smoldering eyes he appeared to shake with rage but his engine was pounding in fear. If it were not for the adrenaline the distressing sight of Dave would have paralyzed him where he idled. He felt the tears coming. Every moment since the worst moment of his life was just more terrifying than the previous.

Dave could smell the drunken wreck that was Brian all the way from his spot by the fireplace - the car was even more unrecognizable than the morning in the hospital and another part of him began grieving, but his shock for Brian's audacity released the fury that boiled silently beneath his paint. "Who the hell do you think- fine, you wanna be a dick? It's in what was supposed to be your new room, you-"

"I had a whole lot of money in there! Did you find it?!"

Dave cocked a windshield at the fuming car. "You what?"

Brian recoiled at the response. "I had a fucking bag of money in there! At least two thousand, under the sink!" He cut a quick glance away from Dave and to James and Mason who slid to a halt into the living room from the library hallway after hearing the commotion. "Tell me you-"

"Chrysler, Brian, have you heard of a bank?!" Dave boomed. "How the hell was I supposed to know?!"

"That's not money I can report to the government, and I told-" Brian cut himself off from finishing an obvious explanation. He heard Dave scoff from behind the nearly full glass of alcohol he chugged just after. His panic about the money dwindled into a rage he never expected to feel towards the car. He sneered. "And what the fuck makes you think that I even want to stay here?"

James moved forward to answer on behalf of Dave who was refilling his glass from an open bottle on the table. "Because we all saw this turning ugly and thought it would be best that you stayed here amongst all of us-"

"Amongst us?" Brian asked with venom in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

Dave rolled his eyes and groaned loudly enough to gain everyone's attention. "Everyone opted to stay here with us for you, you prick, you don't-" Dave stopped himself when he caught a glimpse of a weary and tearful Joanna rushing up the other hallway after having finally falling asleep for the first time in days. Her reaction to run and comfort Brian was stopped by James and Mason who turned to catch her from pushing past them when Dave extended a tire outward. He resumed his glare at Brian only to watch him shy in pain at the sight of Joanna. "Do you even know how fucking selfish you are?"

Brian knew that if he met Joanna's gaze he would collapse. "You don't know what you're talking about so shut the fuck up," Brian seethed, inching closer towards Dave and away from the open doorway. He watched unblinkingly as Dave did not fail to meet him halfway across the living room with glass in tire, noting as Mason moved closer beside the maroon and black car when James held back Joanna who was now shrieking.

"Shut the fuck up? We've been speechless for days!" Dave boomed. "While you've been out getting drunk I'm out here giving all the bad news!" he continued, jabbing a tire in front of Brian's grille. Every bolt in his frame wanted to smash the glass over that green hood. The maroon and black car moved in close enough to see the redness in Brian's glossy windshield that mirrored his own. "You left us! You missed the funeral and you're worried about the money?! You missed it and the wake!"

"I know what day it is!" he snapped. "Did you really think I could show up?! And do what, hear Cassie crying or feel the hatred from everyone, for what I did? I never wanted to come back here-"

"You let that get in the way? You should have went for Colton, nothing else!" Dave scolded. He heard Joanna desperately pleading with him to stop but he could not. "You could be in prison right now but everyone is too in shock and you come in here worried about the fucking money? This is the last time I ever do you any favors…"

There it was again: the same old accusation about prison. Brian had heard it said in so many ways… as a threat, an insinuation, another joke that carried too much weight, but hearing it from Dave was harder than the punch the other car was on the verge of throwing. "You're right. You're so right as always. I'm just here to get my stuff so I can get the fuck outta here for good, maybe I should put myself in prison and just be done with it," he spat.

James was trying his best to contain a frantic Joanna who continued to wail and scream at them to calm down while incapable of doing so herself. "Please!" Joanna cried at them. "the both of you are not in the right mindset!"

Brian caught the look of absolute devastation in Joanna's eyes and his scowl contorted into a grimace of pain. He had upset Joanna for the last time when once was never acceptable. "I gotta go- I can't do this-" he admitted to everyone through a breaking voice as he turned to leave the house. "I don't even want the stuff throw it all out, I don't care I can't be here..."

"Brian, wait!" James called out to him. "you can't leave you're gonna die out there like this-"

"I don't think I could get that lucky right now!" Brian shouted back from beyond the reach of the porch light.

Dave was swift to follow Brian out the front door but stopped at the edge of the porch to watch the retreating tail lights disappear into the darkness. "Just know that's a funeral I won't be going to!"